“Nope,” I said. “I tried babysitting when I was in high school. What a nightmare. Kids are like aliens to me. I have them in front of me, and I’m like, what am I supposed to do with these little people?”
“You’re overthinking it,” said Isabella, the two of us ducking into an electronics store. “Kids are easy. You ask them what they want, and they’ll tell you. And they’ll tell you exactly what they think of you, too.”
“That’s what I don’t like,” I said. “I’m better with humans after they’ve learned the fine art of tact. And even more than that, I’m better with food.”
“I bet you make a plate of that famous macaroni of yours and you’d have kids starting little fan clubs for you.”
“That’s the other thing,” I said with a grin. “I like to make food for people who will pay me to do it.”
Isabella let out a bark of a laugh as we made our way down the video game aisle.
“Speaking of which,” she said. “How’re things with the Kings?”
I’d wanted to keep all of this business with Jordan to myself, but I’d only managed a week before I called up Isabella and vented it all. She’d come over one night, and she and Amy had shared tissue duties as I let it all out about Jordan. Other than that, however, I felt like I’d been handling the situation well.
“Which part do you mean?” I asked.
“Why not both?”
“Alfred’s great as always. He’s got me working this huge Christmas dinner, but he’s hired a team of caterers to help out. Plus, I’m getting a nice bonus.”
“Very nice,” said Isabella. “Now you get to be the boss. You ready for it?”
“I think so,” I said. “I’ve gotten pretty familiar with the ins and outs of how things work there. And they’re all kids from one of the local culinary schools, so I think I’m fine with doing some bossing around.”
“Be careful,” said Isabella with a sly smile. “Once you get that first taste of power there’s no going back.”
I let out a chiming laugh.
“I’ll try not to let it corrupt me,” I said.
A strange tinge of nausea ran through my belly as if the laugh had unsettled something inside of me. I stopped and held my hand in front of my stomach, a mildly confused look on my face.
“You okay there?” asked Isabella.
“Yeah,” I said, the nausea fading. “I think my lunch is settling weirdly.”
“Gotcha,” said Isabella, turning her attention back to the video game displays. “Pretty exciting thing with that party, huh? Maybe you’ll find someone special under the mistletoe. Someone handsome and rich, even.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “After everything that happened with Jordan, getting involved again is the last thing I want right now.”
“Sure,” said Isabella, taking one of the video games off the rack and giving it a close look. “You say that now, but just wait until some billionaire tech guy has you in his sights. You’ll be singing a different tune.”
She set the game back on the shelf and continued browsing.
“And wait,” she said. “What if this Jordan guy’s there? I mean, it is a family Christmas party, after all.”
The idea that Jordan might show up didn’t even occur to me, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that possibility. Part of me wanted to see him again, and the other part of me…well, wanted to see him again, but for the purposes of throwing a glass of wine in his face.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll deal with that if it happens. Right now, I want to get this shopping out of the way and get mentally prepared for the dinner party.”
“Good idea,” she replied.
She took a game off the shelf, one with a cover of two burly men in the process of beating the crap out of each other, a dramatic cityscape in the background.
“See, look at this,” she said. “What kind of message does a game like this send to a kid?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could get a word out another hot pulse of nausea ran through me, this one even more intense than the first. I stood in place, my eyes wide and my hand on my belly.
“Whoa,” said Isabella. “You look seasick, girl.”
I didn’t respond, still doubled-over. For a moment I thought I might upchuck right there in the middle of the video game aisle.
“Hey, you okay?” asked Isabella. “Need me to walk you to the bathroom?”
But as before, the nausea passed. I took in several slow, deep breaths as I collected myself. After a few minutes, I felt better.
“No,” I said. “I think I’ll be okay, but I should probably be getting home. If I feel like that again, I might not want to be in public for what happens next.”
“Sure,” said Isabella. “Here, give me the list. You’ve only got a few things on there. I can grab them for you.”
I handed over the piece of paper with the last few purchases on it.
“Thanks, Iz,” I said.
“No problem,” she said. “And there’s a drugstore somewhere in the mall if you need some stomach stuff.”
“Got it.”
We said our goodbyes, and I made my way through the mall, the sickly sweet Christmas music in the air threatening to make my nausea return with a vengeance. After a few minutes, I stepped into the fluorescent-lit interior of the drug store at the end of one of the wings and walked through the aisles looking for indigestion products.
While walking down one aisle, I laid eyes on two shelves filled with pregnancy tests. Thank goodness I didn’t have to worry about that since I was on the pill.
Hmm. When was the last time I had my period?
I stopped in my tracks, considering the question. It had been over a month. I specifically remembered starting my last one before Jordan had come to stay at the house.
But I couldn’t be pregnant, right? I was on the pill.
Panic gripped me as I remembered the birth control failure statistics my doctor had warned me about, years before. My period was late. The horror of what might be happening, what might be the cause of my nausea, forced a rush of heat to flood my body.
I glanced up again, snatching a pregnancy test off the shelf. I quickly paid for it and hurried out of the mall, out into the parking lot and to my car, my mind racing all the while.
Soon I was on the road and driving as fast as was safe back to my apartment. My eyes shot to the pregnancy test on the seat next to me as I drove, my heart pounding at what I was about to find out.
What if I was pregnant? What if I was going to be a single mother? How would I make room in life for a baby?
I tried to calm myself down as best I could as I entered my neighborhood. After all, I could very well be late, but it very well could be that my lunch was settling poorly. Despite my attempts at reassuring myself, I snatched up the test as soon as I parked and ran so fast up to my apartment that I nearly tripped going up the stairs.
“Hey!” said Amy, busy wrapping presents on the kitchen table. “How’d the shopping go?”
“Um, fine,” I said, hiding the pregnancy test box under my jacket. “Just have to pee!”
Well, I wasn’t lying about that. I hurried into the bathroom and shut the door behind me and took a few moments to catch my breath. Once I was ready, I took the test out from beneath my coat and looked it over. The box was decorated with soft pinks and purples, the calm design a total contrast to how I felt.
I took the test out of the box and set it on the pearl-white countertop as I unfolded the directions with my other hand.
“Okay,” I said to myself. “Just, um, go to the bathroom on it and wait three minutes. Easy enough.”
I did as the directions instructed. Once it was done, I set the test back on the counter and began pacing the small space of the bathroom, my mind racing with the possibilities of what my life might look like if I was indeed pregnant.
After the longest three minutes of my life, the timer I’d set on my phone went off—the moment of truth.
I turned the alarm off as quickly as I could before snatching up the pregnancy test and bringing it up to my face.
Two lines. Two little, pink lines that would change my life forever.
Chapter 13
Jordan
Truthfully, I wasn’t sure quite how I felt when I spotted the familiar San Bravado skyline as my plane slowly descended. Part of me felt excited to be back, to see my friends and family, to walk the city streets that I knew so well. But another part of me wanted to catch the first flight back to New York.
I sipped my wine and tried to relax as the city lights grew brighter. It was still something of a shock that my father had sprung for a first-class ticket; after all the roughing it he’d been making me do, I’d been prepared to be riding coach back home for the first time in my life.
The plane’s landing was uneventful, and soon I was seated in the back of the car that my father had sent for me. I took in the softness of the leather, the gentle ride, and the other assorted luxuries of the chauffeured car. I’d spent the last month or so living without the finer things, and I was ready to kick up my feet and do some well-earned relaxing.
By the time the driver pulled up to the mansion, my emotions hadn’t untangled even a bit. The car came to a halt, and the driver stepped out to fetch my bag and open the door for me. Moments later I was back in the house, the place so quiet that it was almost eerie.
I’d barely had a chance to set down my bag when my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from my father.
Welcome back. I hope the flight was uneventful. I’ve made reservations at the Pearl for eight. The keys to your car are where they normally are.
I read over the text a few times, trying to pick up on what sort of tone my father was going for. But it was crisp and professional, like all of his texts.
After setting my bag in my room, I headed to the kitchen to grab my keys. As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, however, memories of Chloe stirred in my mind. The place was dark and empty now, but I couldn’t help imagine her there, dressed in some simple jeans and a T-shirt, an apron wrapped around her slender body, maybe even a dab of flour on the end of her adorable nose.
I shook my head, trying to dismiss the thoughts. I’d been trying to forget about Chloe—the physical distance between us had made it slightly easier than it otherwise might’ve been. But being back home, in her workplace, made me think of her once again with total, crystal clarity.
Enough dallying, I decided. Time to go.
My sports car awaited me the in the garage, and a broad smile formed on my face as soon as I was behind the wheel. I hadn’t driven once in New York, having been forced to take the train like every other nine-to-fiver there. I’d been craving this drive for weeks.
I tore through the winding roads leading from the mansion, gunning the engine and letting it rip. It wasn’t long before I was downtown and in front of the Pearl. Once there I gave the keys to the valet and hopped out, ready to see my father.
Stepping into the Pearl caused another wave of longing to pass over me. It was, after all, where Chloe and I had gone for our first date—if that was even what it’d be considered. But the tinge of longing passed as soon as I laid eyes on my father, dressed in a sharp suit and seated at a two-top table, a stern expression on his face.
“Evening, Dad,” I said as I approached the table.
“Evening, Jordan,” he said, rising from his seat and giving me a brief, tight hug.
I slid into the chair and took the menu into my hands. Something about the lobster roll jumped out at me, and once my mind was made up, I poured myself a tall glass of wine from the bottle that my father had ordered.
“Getting comfortable, I see?” he said, watching the level of the wine rise and rise in the glass.
“That’s what visiting family back home is all about, isn’t it?” I asked, raising the glass of wine to my lips and taking a sip.
“I suppose so,” he said. “And relaxing does seem to be what you have a natural affinity for.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a barb, but I let it pass. If my father wanted to chew me out for one reason or another, we had the whole dinner during which to do it. No need to rush things.
“Well,” he said, setting his napkin back onto his lap. “How’re you finding the city?”
“Crowded,” I said. “Crowded and cold and miserable. We had our first heavy snow, and while the city was picturesque at first, it took about an hour of traffic before it all turned to gray sludge piled up on the sidewalks.”
“I see,” said my father.
“And my God is it an expensive place to live. Everything seems out of reach, and everyone living so close to one another means wealth is in your face constantly. Makes my apartment seem even more cramped in comparison.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Seeing what other people have might light a fire under your ass. Nothing wrong with a little competition to start the engines of ambition.”
“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” I said, taking another long sip of wine, hoping the buzz would arrive soon, the drink from the plane having long worn off.
“And how are things here on the West Coast?” I asked. “Business running smoothly?”
“Business is fine,” he said, his eyes fixed on me.
Silence hung in the air for several long moments. Thankfully, the waiter arrived and took our orders, easing the tension somewhat. But the moment he left, it returned.
“Okay,” I said. “There’s clearly something you want to talk to me about. Let’s hear it.”
“Don’t you take that impatient tone with me,” he said. “Treating other people like little annoyances that you have to put up with.”
He shook his head. If there was any doubt that he was upset about something, this sure as shit dispelled it.
“You’ve noticed that I haven’t called to check up on you,” he said. “There was a reason for that. I wanted to give you your space, to let you not feel like you’re under my judging eye. And that wasn’t about taking the pressure off of you. It was about seeing what kind of man you’d be without me watching over you.”
I said nothing, figuring that my input wouldn’t exactly be welcome right now.
“However, after a month, I decided to give Conrad Walker a call, to see how my boy was holding up.”
I didn’t like where this was going. Not one bit.
“And I was very, very disappointed by what he had to say.”
I took another sip of wine, certain that I was going to need it to deal with what was next.
“He told me that you’d been, well, not exactly the ideal intern. He tried to be tactful at first, suggesting that you needed some time to adjust to the working world. But I told him to give it to me straight.”
Here we go.
“Once I gave him the go-ahead, he filled me in on all of the details. You’ve been showing up late just about every damn day at work. You’ve been showing up clearly hungover. Sometimes late and hungover. And when you’re there, you do whatever it takes to shirk your responsibilities.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ve been going out. But only because in New York you live and die by your connections. If I want to make it in that town—”
“Oh, spare me,” he said, waving his hand dismissively through the air. “Don’t try and dress up your party life with some bullshit excuse about networking.”
He had me there. Sure, networking was the rationalization, but deep down it was all about partying and having fun.
“Now, I’m going to ask you this, and I’m going to give you one more chance not to throw me some excuse. Why the hell would you think this is acceptable behavior?”
He was right to assume I’d try another line. But I decided to show respect and come clean.
“It’s…it’s because I hate working for someone else,” I said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—Conrad is a good boss. But I’m trading my time for money, and most of the value I bring to the company is g
oing right to the people above me. I want to work for myself, to earn my own way like you said.”
Dad laughed. “I’m sure,” he said. “I’m so sure that your slacking off is all about some deep-seated entrepreneurial desire and not you being unable to deal with having someone above you tell you what to do.”
“I’m serious,” I said. “I’ve been working for Conrad for several weeks, and it’s been more than enough time for me to realize that I don’t want to be some cog in a machine. I want to make something of my own.”
“Is that right?” asked my father, his tone one of total disbelief. “And what exactly is this ‘something’ you want to make?”
“I don’t know yet. But I want to start a business of my own, maybe something with technology, maybe even social media.”
“That’s your idea?” he asked. “That’s nothing but a vague concept, and barely that. You know how many people are struggling to get by in this town while they peddle some app idea, hoping to find an investor?”
He took a sip of his wine before going on. “No,” he said. “What you’re going to do is learn some discipline, learn how a company works from the inside out. And while you’re doing that, you might even put all this womanizing crap behind you and settle down.”
“Are you serious?” I asked. “Dad, you didn’t marry mom until you were more than a decade older than me! And now you’re telling me to settle down?”
His eyes narrowed and I winced a little internally. I knew I’d screwed up by bringing up my late mother.
“I married at the age I did because I was building this company from scratch. And because I was waiting for the right woman, not because I couldn’t keep it in my pants!”
We both realized at that moment that things were getting too heated. I could feel the eyes of the diners around us. The waiter arrived, placing a modest filet in front of my father and a lobster roll in front of me.
“Now,” he said. “You’re going to go back to New York after the holidays, let Conrad know that you’ve been screwing up, and tell him that from now on, you’re going to bring your A-game. And that’s that.”
Four Secret Babies - A Second Chance Billionaire Romance (San Bravado Billionaires' Club Book 7) Page 9