Fake Love Rich Boss Series

by Peterson , Sloane

“We want to know,” I tell her, looking back in her direction.

  The tech nods, shifting the position of the transducer to get a better view of it.

  “Well, it looks like the two of you are going to be having a girl. Congratulations.”

  I look back at the ultrasound machine, staring at the black and white image of our little bean. We’re having a girl, a daughter. I feel overwhelmed at that moment. I’m torn between finding it hilarious that Oliver was so sure of it being a boy, and wanting to cry from joy. He’s just as silent as I am, and for once, I’m thankful for the quietness.

  “Wow,” Oliver finally breaks the silence, pulling his eyes away from the screen and looking down at me. “I guess Noelle and your mom were right. We’re having a little girl.”

  “I knew it,” I smirk up to him.

  “You’re just saying that because you know now,” he smirks back at me.

  “I’ll print out some photos for you,” the tech smiles. “Congratulations again.”

  I think Oliver and I are both starstruck at the idea. We’re having a little girl. It feels more real than it ever has before. Now that I know the gender, the idea that we are going to be parents is much more tangible.

  We don’t exchange many words throughout the rest of the appointment. We get our new ultrasound photo and leave together. We don’t speak again until we’re in Oliver’s car, driving back to the office together.

  “We’re having a girl,” he says again. His hands are on the wheel, we’re not making eye contact. We’re both in our own little world here.

  “We’re having a girl,” I confirm. I stare straight ahead as we drive.

  “This is really happening.”

  “It is.”

  “I guess we make the announcement,” he says, finally looking over to make eye contact with me. “Everybody close to us knows. Now that we know the gender, we can make it public. If you’re okay with that.”

  I don’t think I have much of a choice. Our relationship is public. We live extremely public lives. People are going to notice sooner or later, since I’m beginning to show. It’s only going to get more obvious.

  “Let’s do it,” I agree.

  We announce the pregnancy the same way we announced the engagement, through a social media post. Hosting a press conference to announce either of those things is too self-centered. Social media is what really matters these days.

  The post blows up, as expected. In general, the comments are positive. People are excited because it’s the first big ‘celebrity’ baby announcement in a while. I still don’t think of myself as a celebrity, despite the following I’ve gained because of my relationship with Oliver. Oliver’s the celebrity, I’m just living in his world.

  After the announcement goes public, and I start to get used to more attention from the press, I believe the hardest part of all of this is over. The next challenge is going to be entering into the third trimester, giving birth, and figuring out where Oliver and I are going to go from there. I’m not worried about making the media believe anything anymore.

  I don’t have to make them believe. Oliver and I are actually a thing, I think. We’ve never discussed it except for that night after the engagement. I think it’s one of those unspoken understandings between the two of us. We don’t need to talk about it because that’s just how it is, how it should be.

  I’m sitting in the lobby of Dr. Johnson’s office, my phone in my lap. Oliver is running late. I double-checked with him yesterday that he knew I had my sixteen-week appointment today. He assured me that he had cleared his schedule and that he would be here. I’m starting to get worried.

  I’m not worried that he forgot about me. I’m not worried that he’s blowing me off. I’m worried that something has happened to him. Oliver has been on time for each and every one of my doctor’s appointments since we decided to go through this together. Most of the time he is the one reminding me that I have an appointment the next day. He usually makes lunch plans for after the appointment or we go shopping for baby stuff. It is one of those things that I began to take for granted.

  I stare at my phone, silently willing him to text me back before the nurse calls me to the back. I have to know; I just have to. Where is he?

  Just as I’m willing my phone to vibrate for the umpteenth time, the nurse in dark blue scrubs sticks her head out from the back. “Cassidy Hanson?”

  I let out a frustrated groan and stuff my phone into my purse. I stand and walk back to the exam room for my appointment, quietly seething the entire time because Oliver didn’t show. I don’t need him to be here with me to hold my hand. I can handle this on my own.

  But he has promised time and time again that he would be there for every doctor’s appointment. That was seemingly a non-negotiable for him; he had to be there. And yet today he isn’t.

  I think Dr. Johnson catches on that something is wrong. She keeps everything short and sweet, not initiating conversation as much as usual. She asks me a few questions, makes sure that everything is advancing as it should be, and then it’s over. I thank her and leave.

  As soon as I set foot outside of the office door, I’m bombarded with a familiar face.

  “Cassidy!” Oliver says. He looks slightly breathless like he rushed to get here.

  After taking an initial glance at him, mostly to make sure that he’s still in one piece, I decide I’d rather not look at him much more.

  I step past him, starting to walk down the sidewalk. I hear him sigh and his heavy footsteps rushing to catch up to me (not that I’m moving fast).

  “Cassidy,” he says my name again. “I’m so sorry. I swear that I didn’t forget. I just got the times mixed up. I’m so sorry.”

  Oliver isn’t the type to apologize unless he has to. To hear him repeat an apology over and over again like a prayer on his tongue, I can tell that he truly means it.

  That doesn’t satiate my anger though. I feel stood up and lied to. I’m more furious than I’d like to let on. I’m silent as I continue walking, my speed decreasing slightly, as Oliver falls into step next to me.

  “I swear I just got the times mixed up. I thought that it was after lunch, not before.”

  I finally break my silence, my annoyance reaching a peak.

  “When have I ever scheduled an appointment after lunch? I always schedule before or during. You know that.” I still refuse to look at him. “If you were unsure of the times, you could have asked.”

  “I know. I know. But I swear that I was just so sure it was after. I messed up Cassidy, I know that. I’m sorry. You have to forgive me.”

  “I don’t have to do anything.”

  I’m more bothered by this than I expected to be. At first, it was an annoyance, then rage, and now... betrayal. I feel betrayed as if he stood me up, and made me look like a fool for what wouldn’t be the first time.

  He sighs heavily. I can tell that he’s biting his tongue.

  “Cassidy, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else you want me to say. I can’t go back and change the fact that I missed the appointment. I wish that I could, but I can’t.”

  “It would be nice if you could go back in time and change a lot of things,” the comment slips out before I can stop it. I try not to throw his past mistakes in his face, especially since it’s been the biggest hitch in moving forward with our relationship, but it’s not easy. Especially when I feel this way towards him.

  “Are we really going there?” his voice drops an octave or two, his annoyance with me leaking through.

  I don’t answer his question, instead deciding to let my slip of anger fade into the background.

  Instead, I ask another question.

  “Where were you, Oliver? What was so important that you missed your pregnant whatever-I-am’s sixteen-week appointment?”

  He sighs heavily, quickly realizing that I’m not just going to let this slide. I’m not letting him worm his way out of this one.

  “I had a meeting with a client. It was important, Cassidy. I
t was contractual. If I missed this meeting, I would be in deep trouble. I couldn’t just run out when I realized I was missing your appointment, but I rushed here as soon as I could. I know you probably don’t believe me, but it’s the truth.”

  I shake my head.

  “Never said I didn’t believe you,” I believe him. Maybe I shouldn’t. It’s not like Oliver has a great track record with the truth, but he’s given me no reason to doubt him. “You just let me down.”

  I don’t know how else to put it into words. I’m disappointed. I’m hurt. I don’t know if I’m overreacting. I don’t know if I’m thinking too much about this, but I can’t help it.

  He sighs again.

  “I know, Cassidy.”

  He reaches out and finds my hand, taking it in his own. I don’t pull away and Oliver clearly takes that as a sign that I’m giving in to him. He stops walking, using his grip on my hand to make me stop as well. He turns so I can look at him and I finally make eye contact with him again.

  He reaches down and takes my chin between his forefinger and thumb, forcing me to look up at him and maintain that eye contact.

  “You have to believe that I never meant to hurt you and that I feel like a huge asshole for missing your appointment. I know that I said I would be there for every appointment and I know I shouldn’t have promised that if I couldn’t keep it,” he says. “But I never meant for this to happen. Please be a little less mad at me?”

  The icing on top of the cake that is a heartfelt apology from Oliver, is the look he gives me at the end. A pouting bottom lip and his best attempt at puppy dog eyes. This is the first time I’ve ever seen that expression on his face, and I don’t want to ever forget it. I sigh, knowing that I’m going to relent.

  “You’re on thin ice. One more slip up and,” I use my free hand to mock drawing a knife over my throat.

  He laughs - it’s a sound that always makes me feel comfortable and at home. A sound that I adore because it’s not the most common.

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he lets go of my chin and wraps his arms around me, pulling me tightly to him.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. I find myself melting into his warmth, my anger melting away at the same time. I can forgive him for one slip up, right? It’s not like it was an important appointment. I look up from the embrace and my lips crash into his. Just as I melted into his embrace, I melt into the kiss.

  Before I have an opportunity to deepen it, Oliver breaks it, leaving me to let out a frustrated whimper and with a slight pout. He chuckles, keeping me close to him.

  “I take it that I’m forgiven?”

  “Still on thin ice,” I murmur, not wanting to pull away from him.

  He chuckles.

  “Still understood. Now, why don’t I take you somewhere nice for lunch? Can I win you back over with food?”

  “Are you saying that just because I’m pregnant? Because the answer is yes. You could absolutely win me over with food,” I say before pausing, “although, there is also something else you could win me over with.”

  I’m insatiable. These hormones are making me feel worse than a teenager and it’s hard as hell when Oliver looks like he does and makes me feel the way he does. I raise my eyebrows as if he didn’t catch my drift the first time.

  He looks at me in mock shock.

  “Cassidy Hanson, are you really suggesting we go do that instead of having lunch?”

  He has my hand in his, guiding me back down the sidewalk in the direction of the parking garage.

  “It would get you on less thin ice than just buying me lunch,” I say in a sing-song voice. “Plus, that kiss was...”

  He laughs again, shaking his head.

  “You’re something else,” he says, letting the conversation between us drop for a moment before adding on, “should we head back to your apartment or just do it in the backseat of my car?”

  “Absolutely your car,” I don’t think I can wait.

  I can forgive him for one little slip-up, especially when he was so apologetic about it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As the weeks wear on, I can’t help but notice a pattern developing, one that I’m admittedly afraid of. Oliver is pulling away again. Not as obviously as he had the first time, but lately we are going to dinner only about once a week, and he’s over at my apartment less. He doesn’t pop into my office to make sure that I’ve taken a break or that I’ve eaten that day. He sends me texts to check in, and apologizes when he has to cancel our dates.

  I tell myself that it’s not that important, that it’s not like before. I tell myself that things must be hectic for him. Alan probably has him working harder right now, that’s all.

  Of course, I bring these worries up to Noelle. We’re sitting in my apartment, something that’s become more common. I was so firm that we weren’t that close, but now I’m realizing just how close we are.

  She’s drinking a glass of wine; I have water.

  “You should just confront him,” she says, pouring more wine into her glass. “You deserve to know. You’re pregnant with his child at this point. He can’t be playing these stupid Oliver Windsor games.”

  She lets out a sigh after that, staring pointedly at me.

  “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey Oliver, are you planning to break up with me?’” I scoff.

  I know that being direct is the best approach here, but the problem is, I don’t think I want to know the answer.

  I want to blame it on hormones. I’ve been overthinking everything, I’m making assumptions based on past experiences when Oliver hasn’t given me any reasons to assume that that’s the case. I don’t know what to think.

  Noelle scoffs back at me.

  “Absolutely. You demand an answer from him or else he’s going to placate you with pretty words and false promises. Oliver doesn’t like telling the truth when it doesn’t benefit him or when he doesn’t like what the truth is,” she says matter-of-factly. “We both know that.”

  God. I hate it when she’s right. It’s worse than when Oliver is right because Noelle gets even cockier. Plus, she’s not above saying ‘I told you so.’

  I may hate it, but she’s right.

  “I know,” I admit with a sigh.

  I grab my phone from the end table. I haven’t heard from Oliver since earlier in the day. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, maybe a call to let me know he made it home or a text to make sure I’m okay. I don’t need him to hold my hand, I was convinced at the beginning that I could do this without him being involved, but now that I have him, I’m not entirely sure of that.

  “So, do it,” she says, downing the rest of the wine in her cup. She gestures toward my phone with the hand that’s holding the cup. “Or I’ll take your phone and I’ll do it.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter under my breath.

  I open the messages on my phone and scroll to Oliver’s name. My fingers hover over the keyboard for longer than I’d like to admit. I feel Noelle’s hazel eyes staring at me the entire time, waiting for me to type. I don’t know what to say, so I just word vomit a message out.

  ‘This is going to sound stupid, but is everything okay? I respect your space, you’re free to take as much as you need...but things are beginning to feel too close to how they were before. I want to trust you and I do, but I’m worried that something’s going on. Can you set aside time for the two of us to talk? Just let me know. Thanks.’

  I finish typing it and then I read it out loud to Noelle.

  She scoffs as I read it.

  “Can you set aside time for the two of us to talk? Thanks? God, you’re more polite than I would be in this situation,” she says rolling her eyes. Then she mutters just loudly enough for me to hear, “I would be like ‘look here buck-o, what the fuck is wrong with you?’”

  “We’re two different people, Noelle,” I say, shaking my head. “And I adore how direct you are.”

  “You learn after dealing with bullshit for years that
you have to be direct.”

  My phone sits on my lap and I wait anxiously for it to buzz. My heart is pounding, and I realize how ridiculous I sound. It’s just a text. What’s the worst that could happen? When it finally buzzes, I almost jump. I scramble for my phone and pick it up, seeing the message from Oliver.

  ‘We can talk tonight. I’m on my way over.’

  Great, now the panic is really settling in. I keep telling myself that it’s nothing important. I keep reassuring myself that he’s going to tell me everything that I’ve already been thinking. I’m overthinking. He’s just been busy with work stuff. I don’t know the extent of what Alan requires Oliver to do at work. I know that lately he’s just been a face for the company, but that could always change depending on Alan’s mood.

  Noelle quickly notices my change in demeanor. She downs the rest of the wine in her glass, instead of refilling it, she just sets it down on the coffee table.

  “What did he say?” she asks, somehow knowing immediately that it was Oliver.

  “He’s coming over to talk.”

  She huffs.

  “Does he have to be so damned dramatic? Like you send a simple text and he’s all ‘I’m coming over.’ Like a phone call will suffice, dude. Am I wrong?” she looks at me point blank and I don’t know what to say.

  I’m actually glad he’s coming to talk to me in person. I like in-person conversations because I can tell what Oliver’s thinking better. I can get a read on his face.

  “I’m just glad he’s willing to talk about it.”

  “He should be willing. He’s the father of your child, Cassidy! You really give him too much credit,” she says. Noelle stands, swaying a bit from the wine that she has consumed. “I guess that means I should leave, yeah?”

  I shrug.

  “Probably. I don’t think he’d be too keen to open up about what’s going on with you front row center,” Noelle scoffs again at that. As much as I’d like to have her around for moral support, Oliver’s a very private person when it comes to things like this.

  I bid Noelle goodbye, hugging her tightly and walking down to the lobby with her to make sure she gets to her taxi safely. Then, I take the elevator back up to my apartment alone. As the elevator climbs, so does my anxiety. I don’t know what this conversation with Oliver will entail, but I think I know it’s not going to be good.