The Sexy Series: The COMPLETE SERIES Box Set

by Z. L. Arkadie

  Now it’s this smile of mine that’s making me nauseated. “No, don’t apologize. A man will be a man, right?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I shake my head. “Never mind. Let’s just get this place opened.”

  He tilts his head, studying me. “How many months pregnant are you?”

  Wow, that was an unexpected question. “Almost two.”

  He gazes off thoughtfully and then looks back at me. “Was it the night before I left to do the show?”

  “I think so.”

  “And have you been with any other men?”

  I shake my head, almost insulted by that question. However, I can’t blame him for asking. It is reasonable.

  We stare at each other. It feels as if Randy has more to stay, but instead, he stands up and scratches his head. “Well, you should probably get yourself an assistant. Tomorrow, I’ll be interviewing for one. Maybe you can sit in on the interviews and pick one for yourself.”

  I think about how much school I have left and all the work we’re going to be putting into this place from this day forth.

  “Sure, I’ll do that.”

  He nods. “The first interview is at noon tomorrow. Can you make it?”

  Tomorrow is my short day at school. “I can.”

  Again, we share a longing gaze. Finally, he turns his back, but then he looks at me again. “Go home and get some rest, Gina. You look tired.”

  I feel tired too. “I will.”

  He nods. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yep.”

  We fall silent.

  “Yep,” he says and slowly walks out of the office.

  Well, it’s official: our sex sessions are over, and I’m pretty sure I’m heartbroken about it.

  17

  A month ago, I hired Carrie Lemon. She’s a college student originally from Culver City, California, and if I asked her to scrub the floors with a toothbrush, she would do it with a smile on her face. I’ve come to rely on her for just about everything, especially since I’m four months pregnant and busy as hell. She worked with Lloyd, our accountant and financial advisor, to complete the paperwork for our restaurant license. She helped file documents we needed to expand our office. For one week, the doctor ordered me off my feet because I was spotting pretty frequently, and Carrie was the mediator between Randy and me, helping us complete a menu that we both could agree on.

  Within a month, the restaurant has come a long way in general. New hardwood floors have been laid throughout. In two weeks, our new tables and chairs are supposed to arrive. The new windows have been installed, and they’re more soundproof and weather resistant than the old ones.

  In other news, I’m pretty sure Deanna and Randy are a couple. He hasn’t said it outright, but by the way she hangs out around here and on him, one doesn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that they’re fucking. I try not to let it bother me, especially since Randy and I have bickered over just about every decision we’ve made so far.

  I’m in the office, reviewing a list of bartenders and their specialty drinks. Randy is pushing for a guy named Corey Blake. He’s Deanna’s friend, and frankly, I don’t think he’s as qualified as the other applicants.

  I hear the distant sound of giggling, and my senses stay connected to the chatter of voices. It’s Deanna. She’s still here. My head has this fluttering feeling, so I take a deep breath. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing life the right way. I’m pregnant, finishing culinary school, and opening a new restaurant. Last week, I bought a painting of the Stillwater Bridge. I showed Randy, thinking we can base how we design the rest of the restaurant from it, and he shot it down without a second glance.

  “What the hell?” I said.

  Randy stopped helping Luis—one of the construction workers—put shelves on the wall, and he looked at me. “You can’t call a place Sauce and then hang unsophisticated shit on the wall.”

  “Unsophisticated?” I was steaming.

  “Gina. We’re going for modern contemporary, and that’s not it.”

  Then he went right back to pounding a nail in the wall. I wanted to argue until he saw things my way, but I had—have—no fight in me. I really think this pregnancy is starting to get the best of me. Plus, he was right. I took the $300 painting home and couldn’t even find a place in my house for it. It’s now in the basement, sitting behind the pullout sofa.

  Deanna is making a point of being heard. I rise quickly and walk as fast as I can to the kitchen to ask her to please keep her voice down. As soon as they see me, she and Randy freeze as though they’ve been caught getting ready to fuck on the counter. Their guilty expressions make my head spin faster.

  “What are you…?” I want to finish what I was going to say, but my surroundings have turned dim.

  “Gina,” I hear Randy yell from a distance.

  “Oh no!” Deanna says.

  I feel as if I’m falling down a long dark hole. I experience what feels like an earthquake, and then I’m very still. When I open my eyes, I’m lying on top of a stretcher. A man with dark hair is on one side of me, and a middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back from her face is on the other side.

  “How are you feeling, honey?” the woman asks.

  Sirens blare, and I finally realize that I’m in an ambulance.

  “I’m fine,” I say although my body is very weak.

  “Do you remember your name?”

  “Um, yeah…” I grimace. “Gina Gilbert.”

  “Good. That’s real good. How old are you, Gina Gilbert?”

  I get that she’s giving me some kind of test. “I’m twenty-six,” I tell her and then go on to recite my address and Social Security number while struggling to sit up.

  The woman and the guy glance at each other.

  “You have high blood pressure, honey, and you’re pregnant. So we’re going to need you to lie back and relax for a while. Could you do that?”

  My insides are shouting, No way! I want them to take me back to the restaurant so I can stop Randy and Deanna from having sex. But it’s time for me to come to grips with the fact that Randy has moved on with another woman. So I take a deep, calming breath and choose to go with the flow.

  “I can,” I say.

  At the hospital, I’m assigned a room where the nurses draw a lot of blood, take an ultrasound, and give me an IV drip. The doctor, a pretty woman with bright-blue eyes, walks into the room with a sympathetic smile.

  “How do you feel?” Her regular speaking voice is soft like a whisper.

  I think I’ve been asked that question ten times since I regained consciousness. “I’m fine.”

  “That’s good to hear. I’m Doctor Reinhart, and—”

  Suddenly the door opens, and Randy barges in. He’s all red and sweaty like he ran all the way from the parking lot to my room.

  He extends a hand toward the doctor. “Hi, I’m Randy, the father.”

  Dr. Reinhart appears to be caught off guard, probably because of Randy’s good looks and his frantic energy. Finally, she shakes his hand and repeats her name for him. “I was about to tell your wife—”

  “He’s not my husband,” I say.

  “We’re not married,” he says at the same time.

  Her open smile travels from Randy’s face to mine. “Gina, do you have a primary obstetrician?”

  “Sort of. My primary physician ordered an ultrasound when I had spotting and cramping a while ago.”

  Dr. Reinhart grimaces as she writes on my chart. “And how long ago were you spotting and cramping?”

  “It was about a month and a half ago,” Randy says.

  My mouth falls open. I can’t believe he remembered that. The time period is still pretty foggy to me since I’m always on full speed ahead.

  “You were in your first trimester. Spotting and cramping at that point are normal for a lot of women. There’s no protein in your liver. Have you had swelling in your hands and feet?”

  “Only if I’m standing
or walking for too long, but after rest and water, they go down. I’ve lowered my salt intake, eat plenty of fruits and vegetables, and I only eat organic.”

  “Uh-huh,” she says, wearing a blank look. I hoped she would look more impressed than that.

  “She works a lot,” Randy chimes in. “And she’s in school.”

  I flare my nostrils at him.

  “I see,” Dr. Reinhart says. “Well, your ultrasound looks good. You may have to alleviate a lot of your stress. I see you were dizzy before you fainted. Take a few tasks off your plate. Having a baby is a serious deal.”

  I nod briskly. “I understand.”

  Randy grunts as if he doesn’t buy my compliance. I mean, seriously, I have no idea why he’s in here throwing me under the bus in the first place. I didn’t think he cared so much.

  Thank goodness Dr. Reinhart seems to be ignoring him. “Oh,” she says, studying my chart. “Do you have any history of miscarriages in your family?”

  At first I’m thrown off by the question only because the answer is so bright and clear. I see the memory of my mother sitting on the porch out in the cold.

  “Um, yes.”

  She grunts, sounding curious. “Who was this family member to you?”

  I glance at Randy, who’s also waiting for my answer. “My mother.”

  “Oh. I see. Do you know how many miscarriages your mother had?”

  “She had three spontaneous abortions.”

  “How far along was she in her pregnancies?”

  “I don’t know. I was young, and we never talk about what happened.”

  Again, she grunts curiously. “Well… it sounds as though your mother may have suffered from a genetic disorder. Your ultrasound looks good, but we would like to do further tests to see if you have the same issues. How have you felt during your pregnancy so far?”

  I sigh, just thinking about how I’ve felt from week two on. “Sort of miserable, but I’m very busy, so I can’t really wallow in the discomfort.”

  Randy sighs exasperatedly.

  “Do you often have lower-back pain?” she asks.

  “I think so. Yes. As I said, I’ve learned to live in chronic pain to the point where I hardly notice it.”

  “Do you pass clots?”

  “Sometimes, yes.”

  “Large or small?”

  I take a moment to think about it. “The size varies.”

  She asks if I experience a whole host of other symptoms, and I say yes to every single one of them. Dr. Reinhart asks if I would mind seeing her during this pregnancy. She wants me to remain on bed rest and come in for weekly checkups. She also wants to speak to my mom, and she gets a chance to do that because my mom and dad show up right before Dr. Reinhart leaves.

  My mom and Dr. Reinhart go to the doctor’s office, leaving me alone with Randy and my father.

  “So you’re the father,” my dad says, frowning.

  “Yes, sir.” If Randy’s nervous, then it’s definitely not showing.

  My dad nods and comes over to stand by my bedside. “You know you’re going to have to follow the doctor’s orders.”

  “She will,” Randy says.

  My dad gives him the evil eye.

  “I’ll make sure of it, sir.” Randy looks at me. “Gina, you’re going to need to trust me. I will never make a decision without your consent.”

  “But what about Deanna? Why is she still around?”

  “Who’s Deanna?” my dad asks, his curious gaze shifting between Randy and me.

  “Deanna is an award-winning chef, and she’s just sticking around to help us make our restaurant the best it can be,” Randy says.

  I push myself up fully into a seated position. “And how is she doing that?”

  “Honey, simmer down,” my dad says. “Start following doctor’s orders.”

  I take a deep breath. “I will, but I just don’t understand her value, that’s all.”

  “Well,” Randy says in a gentle tone, “she’s opened two restaurants. So she’s helping with the buzz…”

  “What’s the buzz?” my dad asks.

  “Marketing and promotion, sir.”

  “Got it.”

  “We have to get the right people through our doors if we want to put our restaurant on the map.”

  I open my mouth to speak.

  “Is that what you want, honey?” my dad asks.

  He’s watching me intently, waiting for my answer. “Well, yeah.”

  “Well, then, there you have it. You’re going to have to trust your partner. I taught you that trusting a good and loyal partner is smart.”

  Randy looks at my dad with a wide-eyed expression. “Thank you, sir.”

  My dad extends an arm. “Call me Walter.”

  Randy shakes his hand. “Walter. I’m—”

  “Randy. I know. The guy who knocked up my daughter.”

  Randy gulps. My dad winks, and we all chuckle.

  18

  I lie in bed again, as tough as it is. I want to bang my head against the pillow, but that won’t accomplish anything. Doctor’s orders are what they are, and I know it’s for the best. But it’s going on two weeks now, and aside from being at school, which I even had to miss a few days of, I’m feeling cooped up, to say the least.

  My phone rings, and it’s Randy. He’s probably calling with an update for the day.

  “Hey.”

  “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  “Cooped up again.”

  It’s silent for a moment.

  “How are you?” I ask.

  “Well, we’re having a few problems with the plumbing, and it looks like there will be a delay—but,” he says before I have a chance to jump in and try and solve everything. “Don’t worry.”

  I’m getting use to the routine of being hands off, so I battle and win against the urge to get in my car and drive down to the restaurant to solve the problems myself. But every time I get worked up—and lord knows there are plenty of things to get worked up about down there—I’m reminded, primarily by Randy, that the doctor says I need to stay still and let someone else take care of it, or else.

  So my patience is growing, and Randy does a good job of explaining what the course of action is going to be when it comes to solving the problems. Sometimes he even texts me before-and-after pictures.

  “We’ll have to move the toilet over a few inches to get the new vanities you want into the bathroom,” he says and goes on to explain the specifics.

  “Randy.” I interrupt before he can finish. “You don’t have to go into all the details today.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Just send me a pic.”

  I can hear some hammering in the background, and for a second, I actually appreciate that I’m not down there in the middle of a construction zone.

  “Okay,” he says and hangs up the phone.

  I get out of bed and grab a can of soup and a premade curried quinoa salad I bought at the grocery store. I haven’t cooked much during the past couple of weeks. I head back to my room and get comfortable. The season finale of Head Chef Total Domination is on. I turn on the TV and come in at the beginning of the show when they are going over last week’s recap.

  We’re reminded of all the contestants who have been sidelined. While flashing through Deanna’s history on the show, they make sure to showcase the romance that sparked between her and Randy. For a second, I can’t help but turn my head. As of late, I’ve treated her presence on a don’t-ask-don’t-tell basis.

  Aside from that, for the next hour, I remain glued to the TV, which is interesting to me because I already know who wins. I guess there’s something exciting about opening a restaurant with a TV star. The season concludes by showcasing all of the winning dishes, and many of them are Randy’s. I grin when he’s announced the winner even though the other finalist, Chef Adrian Zoe, gave him a run for his money. It’s going to be great publicity for us.

  Next, I get ready for bed. I’ve been able to keep myself
from the hectic remodel but not school, and tomorrow will be a full day.

  In the middle of my second class, I get a text from Randy. It’s a picture. The plumber finished relocating the drain and patched everything up and only charged us $175. I put my hands together in front of my chest, look up, and say, “Thank you. God.” I rub my belly and look at the time. I’m getting hungry and still have three hours of class. I reach into my bag and grab a small Tupperware container with some carrots, cheese, and celery along with a small bag of chips that I grabbed before I left.

  The final phase of school is much more difficult than I thought it would be. I knew this would be an intense program when I signed up for it—I just didn’t plan on having a pregnancy and a new restaurant to go along with it. After a long and tiring day, I go home and take it easy. Tomorrow is a short day for class, but I also have a checkup scheduled.

  My phone rings. It’s Randy.

  “Hi.”

  “We’re still on for tomorrow, right?” he says.

  “Yep, two thirty.”

  “Great. I’ll see you at Dr. Reinhart’s office.”

  I’m impressed that I let the call go dead without even poking into the business at the café. However, I’ll be seeing him tomorrow, and I know I can ask him then.

  When I make it to the doctor’s office, Randy’s already there, waiting in his car. He goes in with me and takes a seat while I tell the receptionist I’ve arrived.

  “So things are going good,” he says the second I take my seat.

  I hold in my smile. For some reason, I don’t want him to see how tickled I am that he knew what was on my mind. “That’s great.”

  He updates me on the status of the kitchen equipment and flooring and asks if I’ve given much thought to the menu.

  “Of course I have. Did you think I was just going to sit at home like a sack of potatoes and let you guys have all the fun?”

  “Nope.” He gets a look on his face like he appreciates my humor.

  “Gina.” A woman in blue scrubs sticks her head out of a door. “You can come back now.”

  Randy and I stand and walk back to the exam room. Normally, Randy waits in the waiting room, but today he comes with me. A nurse takes my vitals and then seats us.