Accidental HusbandA Secret Baby Romance

by Nikki Chase

  “He’s not answering my calls,” I say glumly. “I’ve been trying to get hold of him, but it just rings and rings.”

  “Well, you keep damn well trying,” Claire says. “The richest, most eligible bachelor in America, and you think a few calls is enough? Hell no, girl, you need to go over there and sing under his damn window, Romeo-style, if you have to. Pay for a sky-writing plane. Break into his freaking house and force him to listen to you. I don’t even care, but you are not giving up.”

  “But—”

  “But my ass, Tessa. I’m hanging up this call now. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You fucked up, but you can fix this. You’re amazing, you’re beautiful, and he’s crazy about you. Make it work.”

  The line goes dead and she’s gone.

  Tough love, for sure, but maybe that’s exactly what I need.

  It’s probably too late even for tough love though. He’s going to fire me, divorce me, and probably even take my baby away from me. How can I have fucked everything up this badly?

  My mind goes over everything that has unfolded between us. Has it really only been a few weeks? It feels like longer.

  A dark part of me wishes I’d taken advantage of my status as Mrs. Alder when I had the chance. Maybe then he wouldn’t be able to get rid of me so easily. If he’d bought me a house or something, then at least the legal side of things, the division of assets or whatever, would’ve slowed the process down.

  Shame on you, Tess, I chide myself.

  I pace around the apartment and end up staring out of the window. There’s the InFini building—soon to be renamed Alder Tower—lit up in the distance. I can even see that some of the lights are on inside from here.

  Is Luke inside? Or has he gone home? Is he in there right now, conferring with his lawyers, working out how to get rid of me as efficiently and cheaply as possible?

  Even if that doesn’t happen, he’s definitely going to fire me. He won’t want me as his PA, not after what’s happened. There’s a chance I’ll never see him again.

  Claire’s right—I need to fix this. If it’s not too late. I can at least try.

  I perch on the windowsill and stare out at the city skyline, trying to come up with a plan. Nothing is okay, and it’s all my fault. I just hope it’s not too late to fix things.

  Luke

  It’s late and I’m slumped over my desk, poring over some papers, my business suit wilted.

  My lawyers are working late into the night to get things fixed before resubmitting everything tomorrow. I’m staying until this legal mess is sorted. I figure it’s best that I’m about to make sure they don’t screw up anything else.

  I’ve told my secretary to hold my calls, unless its from my parents, my legal team, or from Brock. She told me Tessa had called a few times earlier in the evening . . . but I’ll deal with Tessa tomorrow. I told my secretary to all callers—including Tessa—I was in an urgent crisis meeting.

  I push the mouse on my desk to illuminate my computer screen. There’s a number of emails from my Dad sitting in my inbox.

  He’s probably on the plane right now, which means he’s using the in-flight WiFi, which means he’s most likely heard about the situation—most likely from Brock—and wants to know what’s going on.

  I can’t ask Brock what exactly he’s told my dad because he’s already left the office. He’s not part of the legal team so I told him to go home and get some rest. That means my dad only has half the picture.

  I take a sip of the whiskey I’ve poured for myself, savoring the pleasant burn for a moment before turning to face my computer screen, clicking on the emails.

  Judging from the first one, he’s only been told we’d messed up a clause in the documents and not much else.

  The next email is a little more worried, asking if this will affect the merger, and how I’m going to handle it.

  The final email is a repetition of the second, just written a little more frantically, asking for an update as to what’s going on. My dad, though retired, says he still has contacts that owe him favors if I need them.

  I click on the reply button, thinking for a moment before quickly tapping out a response.

  Dad,

  Everything is okay. The legal team missed out a key clause in the documents they submitted. The competition regulator were, understandably, pretty pissed off.

  We managed to call in a favor to get a stay of execution of two days, by which time the documents must be re-submitted in full.

  The legal team are amending the documents as we speak, and I’m staying in the office overnight to make sure they get it right this time. I’m going to personally check the documents myself once they’re done, most likely around mid-day tomorrow.

  Brock or I will let you know when this whole mess is fixed.

  For now, stop worrying and enjoy your holiday! I’ve got it covered.

  Luke

  I jump at the sound of the phone on my desk ringing, loud and shrill. I frown at it. Who’s calling me at this time of night?

  I swear if it’s someone else telling me they’ve fucked something else up, I’m going to explode with violent rage. I whisper a silent prayer that it’s nothing, or good news—as unlikely as that is—before lifting the receiver to my ear.

  “Yes?” I answer, my voice weary from stress and from the whiskey.

  “Sir, I’ve got your mom on the phone. Okay to put her through?” It’s my receptionist. What is she still doing here?

  “Sure, and when you do, go home. It’s late. I’ve got things covered here.”

  A click, and then I hear my mom talking, probably to my dad. There are more important things to worry about right now, she says, her voice muffled.

  I picture her manicured fingers covering the phone as she chides my dad, who’s probably pacing around their swanky hotel suite, wearing out the lush carpeting with the soles of his Italian leather shoes as he reads and re-reads my email.

  “Mom? How’s it going?” I ask, glancing down at my watch. “Isn’t it real late there?”

  “Hey, Luke. We just got to the hotel, thought we’d give you a quick call to let you know we got here safe.” A pause tells me there’s something she’s not saying.

  Obviously, she wants me to tell her things with Tessa are amazing and we’re browsing through cribs and diapers online together right now.

  But I can’t say the things she wants to hear. In fact, I’m really not in the mood for this conversation right now.

  “That’s . . . great, Mom. Enjoy your trip, okay?” I say a little quiet prayer that she’d take the hint and leave me alone.

  “What are you still doing at the office?” she asks in a motherly tone, concern in her voice. Is she worried about me, Tessa, or the baby?

  “We had a little mix up here with a few things. I’ve just been making sure things get smoothed over. Nothing to worry about. My guys are on the case. I thought I’d stay here, just to make sure things are okay,” I reply, trying to play down the almighty fuck-up that has occurred.

  “I heard from your Dad. He’s worried sick.” she says, sounding a little worried herself.

  “I’ve just emailed him. Like I said, everything’s okay. Tell him everything’s in the email, and tell him to stop worrying. I don’t want your romantic getaway spoiled by something he should have stopped worrying about when he retired,” I say, hoping she manages to get my old man to calm down.

  A short, pregnant pause.

  “How’s it going with Tessa? Everything okay with you two?” Mom asks, unable to restrain herself any longer. “She’s a sweet girl, Luke. You can’t let this come between you two. Maybe she was scared, or had only just found out herself. You shouldn’t be too hard on her, son.”

  I sigh.

  My mother would probably be right—if this were a real marriage. But she has no idea what our relationship is really like.

  Still, I think briefly about my parents, who are still happily married after 35 long years. Still very much in love, the relatio
nship stronger than ever.

  I’ve always looked up to them both a great deal, and I’ve always thought that, one day, I’d like to have what they have. A strong, loving marriage, able to withstand anything that life throws at it.

  I had deluded myself that I would be able to find that with Tessa, but now I’m not so sure.

  “We . . . Well, we haven’t spoken since dinner. I just need some time, is all. To process this. And now with this thing at work taking up my day, I haven’t had time to think about much else.” I reply, the words sounding lame even to my own ears. But I don’t feel like explaining what’s really going on with us.

  My mum tuts, and I can tell she’s shaking her head in disappointment. “Well, promise me you’ll talk to her tomorrow. Think of the good times, Luke. Remember how good you two are together. Try and make this work, okay? We’re both rooting for you.”

  I smile at my Mom’s words. Oh, she’s completely clueless.

  My Mom and I chat idly for a little longer, and I promise to try and make amends with Tessa. I don’t even know if I’m lying, but I don’t want to give my Mom a sleepless night worrying about us.

  She hangs up, and I settle back into my chair, finishing the whiskey.

  What am I going to do about this whole mess?

  I look down at my desk to see the annulment documents I received from Tessa’s lawyer earlier tonight. I’ve been trying not to think about her, but seeing the document brings back a flood of emotions.

  Did she really plan on doing me like this, getting the marriage annulled and never telling me about the baby?

  I sigh, rising to my feet and pacing across my office. I’m stressed, upset, and still a little angry as I stop next to the drinks counter to one side of my office.

  Shrugging to myself, I pour out another large measure of single-malt scotch whiskey into a crystal tumbler. The whiskey burns pleasantly as I sip it. A pleasant, warm relaxation settles over me as I return to my chair. Putting my feet up on my desk, I lean back and stare at the ceiling.

  I briefly check my cell phone to see a number of missed calls and text messages from Tessa. My thumb hovers over the green dial button for a second . . . but I don’t even know what to say to her.

  How do I even begin this conversation? Nothing in my life has prepared me for this.

  What if, in the middle of our talk, the lawyers knock on my door, needing my urgent attention? I wouldn’t be able to focus.

  I put my phone back in the pocket of my suit jacket and push Tessa from my thoughts.

  It’s just after midday the next day, and we’ve finally submitted the amended documents. This time around, there should be no problems. I’d sat down with the legal team and gone through every single page before deciding that they were ready.

  I thank the legal team for their hard work in sorting out the mess, not mentioning their own part in creating it in the first place. Before walking out of the conference room, though, I warn them, “If anything like this should happen again, I’ll be recruiting a whole new team of lawyers and legal advisors.”

  Back in my office, I check my cell phone. Nothing from Tessa. No calls. Not even a single text.

  I’m completely exhausted, but I’m getting a little worried about Tessa. I’ll admit I also feel guilty about the way I acted last night.

  She hasn’t yet turned up for work. She hasn’t even phoned in to say she’s sick or isn’t coming in today.

  I pace in my office—this is starting to become a habit—getting more worried with each step.

  Maybe I should call her.

  Or maybe I should see her.

  Yes. I’ll see her. Face to face. We need to sort this out, once and for all.

  Grabbing my stuff, I rush out of the office.

  Tessa

  I wake up with a jerk, and immediately come to a few realizations.

  One: someone is pounding on the door. Loud.

  Two: I fell asleep, and never went to find Luke and make things right.

  Three: it’s the afternoon, and I should be at work.

  Great. We’re off to an awesome start here. Just what I need.

  I drag myself up from the couch, catching sight of myself in a window reflection as I do. Hair everywhere, makeup smudged all over my face, dark circles under my eyes. The picture of health and happiness.

  I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, and I probably look like it too. I must have fallen asleep while contemplating how to go about convincing Luke to take me back.

  Despite the fact that it’s afternoon and I must have slept for at least ten hours, I feel like crap. And it’s not even the morning sickness now.

  Bang-bang-bang. My head throbs to the rhythm of the knocking on my cheap, hollow door.

  Soon enough, I won’t even have this shitty apartment. I’ve lost everything. My job, my husband . . . And it’s all my fault.

  My bad decisions got me into this whole mess in the first place, and then some more bad decisions just made it all worse. What am I going to do?

  This job was supposed to be a fresh start, a new beginning. But just like everything else I’ve ever done, I’ve messed it up. Nothing ever goes right for me, and I don’t have anyone to blame except myself.

  Someone’s still pounding at the door. The last thing I want to do in my current state is see anyone, talk to anyone, have anything to do with anyone. I pull a pillow over my ear, deciding to pretend I’m not home.

  But whoever’s knocking, they’re persistent. And the pounding is so loud it pierces through my cheap, thin pillow, stabbing my ear drums.

  Fine. I’ll open the door, just so I can tell whoever it is to go away.

  Angry words form in my mind and perch at the tip of my tongue as I pull open the door, but . . . it’s Luke.

  His fist is frozen in mid-air, his knuckles halfway toward the door—no doubt the source of the pounding that woke me up.

  Luke looks worse than me, if that’s even possible. He’s still wearing the same clothes from last night. Has he even slept at all?

  “Oh, thank God you’re here,” he says. “I was worried that something had happened to you. I’ve been trying to reach you for ages. Why didn’t you come to work? I needed you today.”

  I shake my head, trying to get my thoughts clear. I stare at him.

  “What?” I eventually ask. “You wanted me to come into work today? After last night? I just kind of assumed you’d want to get rid of me.”

  “What?” he asks, looking surprised.

  “Last night, at the restaurant,” I say, my hand gripping the door handle, hard—as if it’d help. “You just stormed out, like you never wanted to talk to me again. And you didn’t pick up any of my calls.”

  He looks a little sheepish. “Well, yeah, I mean I was pissed off. Wouldn’t you have been? And then I got a call from work about the latest colossal screw-up that required my immediate attention, and it wouldn’t wait. So I figured I would go, cool off a little, and that we could talk today. So when you didn’t show up . . . well, I came here to find you.”

  “But I was calling you all night. Again and again and again. You never answered. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

  “It was just the work thing,” he says, looking a little frantic. “Once it was dealt with, I tried calling you—I have been all morning; check your phone. When you didn’t answer, I came right over here.”

  I glance over my shoulder—my phone’s on the couch, near a wet spot where I obviously drooled in my sleep. I could go over there and check, but that can wait. Luke wouldn’t lie about something that obvious.

  “I was up all night worrying,” I tell him. “I thought I’d lost you forever, that you’d fire me and never want to see me again. I must have passed out in the early hours, and was sleeping so deeply I just didn’t hear your calls.”

  He laughs tiredly. “Well, look at the two of us, huh? Both as useless as each other. But . . . we do have a lot to talk about, Tessa. I need answers from you, a lot of answers. I n
eed to know why you kept this a secret from me for so long, and I need a final answer about our marriage.”

  It’s only then that I notice he’s clutching a crumpled stack of paper—the annulment documents from my lawyer. He follows my gaze.

  “Yeah,” he says. “This turned up. I saw it when I got into the office last night.”

  This is all so overwhelming, and I haven’t even had any coffee yet.

  “So . . . I’m not fired?” I ask dumbly.

  A weak smile curves Luke’s lips. “I can’t fire the mother of my child.”

  I don’t even know what to say. I stand there silently, uselessly, gaping at him, my sleep-addled mind wondering if I’m dreaming.

  “So are you going to invite me in?” Luke asks.

  Luke

  I follow Tessa into her apartment. She looks so upset, so disheveled and downtrodden, all I want to do is give her a big hug.

  But I’m still raw with hurt myself and I can’t bring myself to.

  I need to know why she kept the baby from me, why she did what she did. I also need her to know that she hurt me, and that it had made me wonder if she really cared about me at all.

  I’m a little stunned that she would even think I’d fire her. No matter what happens, I’d never throw a pregnant woman out on the street—not one who’s good at her job, and especially not one who’s carrying my child.

  Tessa’s apartment looks empty and lived in, all at once. Cardboard boxes remain unopened, and the crumpled knit blanket on the couch tells me she spent the night there. A bottle of wine sits on the coffee table, drained of its content—apparently, I’m not the only one who had a rough night.