Meanwhile, I was known as the woman who had fought tooth and nail to come through for them in spite of the mess Ian had made. It was refreshing to finally come clean, and watch my own reputation slowly rise instead of being dragged down by Ian’s incompetence or my company’s refusal to give credit. But that didn’t make my visits to the office any less trying.
I just hope they put in that electrical system upgrade I recommended. Their mountaintop lodge wasn’t even up to code, which was half the reason why the power failure happened. They argued against the upgrade, which doesn’t bode well. But it’s out of my hands now.
I took another swallow of tea as I mulled this—and then gagged, its faint bitterness suddenly too much for me. It didn’t alleviate until I had dumped enough sugar in that it almost tasted like Kool-Aid. What the heck is wrong with me?
Caffeine barely helped the dragged feeling. And once I got to work, things got even weirder.
It wasn’t the exhaustion that got worse. I felt less queasy with some French toast in my stomach. But once the afternoon rolled around, a fresh symptom hit: one that completely baffled me.
I wanted canned ravioli.
I didn’t just want it, actually—I needed it, like chocolate on my period or comfort food when it was freezing. I needed a whole big plateful of too-soft noodles stuffed with dubious meat, drenched in sugary, bland tomato sauce that tasted faintly of the can. The craving was so intense that it distracted me for hours.
It was the kind of junk I had only ever eaten at friends’ houses as a kid, choking it down out of politeness while secretly longing for real pasta from Dad’s chef back home. I questioned myself even as I bought two cans of it on the way home from work, along with one of those cheap containers of pre-grated Parmesan that tasted like wood shavings.
Once I was home, though, I had to force myself to shove the bowl full of it into the microwave instead of devouring it all cold.
I found myself staring down into the empty bowl fifteen minutes later, stomach satisfied but head full of questions. It really had hit the spot. But why?
My brain suddenly clicked on a list of symptoms. Okay. Exhaustion in spite of good sleep. Queasiness. Both weird food sensitivities and weird food cravings. What is going on?
I looked up those symptoms online just to be sure, comparing them across several sites. My eyes widened at the results…which only matched my suspicions.
Oh, no. Oh no, no, no, you have to be kidding me.
I made one more run out that evening, to a drug store. My heart pounded the whole way there, and the whole way back.
Half an hour after I got home, I stood in my bathroom with three pregnancy tests sitting in a row on my marble counter. Three different brands, all with the same result.
Positive.
I’m pregnant. Oh God. Now what?
Clashing emotions flooded me. Reflexive shame, which I pushed away; worry, which I couldn’t. Anger at the timing; I needed all my energy right now to fight the good fight at Archimedes Gears. Confusion, because I had used protection. Wonder, because there was suddenly, unexpectedly, a whole human life inside of me. Panic, because of course.
“Okay,” I said to myself as I sat on the toilet lid and got my shivering under control. “Okay. You can handle this.” The emotions rattling around in my chest wanted to tell me otherwise, but I forced myself to breathe deeply until my fear and conflict died down enough that I could think.
I’m having a baby. I could afford to have one; I could afford all the expenses, from long vacation time to nannies and tutors. I had wanted to have kids eventually, though I really would have preferred to be settled down and married when I did. But that was one of the reasons I hadn’t contemplated it before now.
I already knew from my father what a bad dad looked like, and what he felt like for the kid. That loneliness, the emptiness, the constant mix of rage and resentment and desperate need to earn his love. The pain of knowing, deep down, that there was no earning his love, his respect or approval, but needing it anyway, and trying over and over. Exhausting myself with trying.
My father had not loved me. He had not loved my mother either; she had been there to fill the wife-function, half arm candy and half baby-producer, disregarded beyond that. I had struggled, and my mom had screamed; now she was gone, and he was gone, but the pain still lived in my heart.
An unloving man could ruin a wife or child’s life without ever even raising a hand to them.
I had always been super picky about sex and dating in part because of that. I did not want to end up yoked to some ass with no heart, or with a cash register in its place. My heart wouldn’t have taken it, and I would never have inflicted a man like that on a kid.
Now, I was about to become a single mom. Worrying, from a career point of view; with all the male dinosaurs on the board and Ian already gunning for me, I would face even more scorn when they learned of my pregnancy.
I had gleaned from their disgusting casual talk that at least a third of the board members stepped out on their wives; at least one frequented high-end call girls and bragged about it when he forgot I was in the room. And then there was Ian the creep, who only backed off when I told him to so that he could avoid a lawsuit. Not because he felt bad about wanting to fuck a superior he was constantly undermining. No; the men of Archimedes Gears could be loose with their affections and brag about it.
But God forbid that the one woman among company leadership showed any signs of having a sex life. Especially one that Ian couldn’t exploit.
At least I would have a few months to plan before I started to show.
Of course, that just started making me think about exit strategies again. I didn’t want to be around Archimedes Gears for that drama. In fact, if I felt this lousy every morning until I gave birth, and then had to deal with interrupted sleep for at least a year after, I didn’t want to be around Archimedes Gears anymore at all.
But again came that nagging feeling: like I was giving up right on the threshold of getting what I wanted. It kept stopping me whenever I fantasized about just walking out. But those fantasies came more and more these days anyway.
Was my dream of getting respect for heading my father’s company unattainable? Was I simply chasing it because I was too stubborn to give up? Was I caught up in a sunk-cost phenomenon, thinking of all those years of fighting that felt like it would be for nothing if I didn’t win?
I turned and looked at myself in the mirror: too pale, too tired-looking, conflict riding in my eyes.
“You deserve better than this,” I said to my reflection and knew it was right.
One thing at a time, though. Tomorrow, I had to deal with this pregnancy thing on top of my usual tasks. I would need to call my OB-GYN during business hours. I needed final verification, and I needed advice.
And there was one more phone call I needed to make—to the only man who could be this baby’s father. The only man I had slept with in over two years.
I’ll have to talk to Ace.
Chapter 8
Naomi
I couldn’t bring myself to call Ace that morning. It embarrassed me to admit it, but the attack of nerves I had whenever I picked up the phone wouldn’t let me put the call through.
How would he react? I knew from friends that some guys turned on a dime the moment a woman got pregnant: got angry, blamed her, took off, blocked her number, sometimes left town altogether to avoid any responsibility. I hoped Ace wouldn’t be like that, but I also knew that I didn’t actually know him all that well.
A baby from a one-night stand. My father would have yelled at me for being stupid. But then again, he had been the type to come home bitching that another member of the clerical pool had “gotten herself knocked up” even when the woman in question was happily married. He hadn’t liked women. Archimedes Gears reflected that attitude to this day.
I’ll make sure first. Talk to my doctor. After that, I’ll figure out what to do.
The day plodded on slowly, full of
little frustrations. Ian was glaring at me a lot, fallout for my snide response to his last email, which had involved his questioning my expertise on product testing again. I had told him to get it done and that I would be checking his progress daily; micromanaging was the only way to get him to do his job. Now, every damn time I looked up from my desk, I saw him out of the corner of my eye, staring at me with a petulant frown on, like a teenager giving me the silent treatment.
The last time, I turned my head and stared hard back at him, until he sat back in his seat and looked away. At least I already have practice dealing with childish behavior, I soothed myself, and went back to work.
I didn’t realize until I pulled my cell out at my desk to make the call that I had been too distracted to charge it last night. Ugh, are you kidding me? That meant that I had to make the call on the company phones. I hated using them for personal business; I always wanted to set a good example. And it felt less private than I wanted to deal with.
Still, I knew that the more I put off making the call, the more I would become comfortable with putting it off more. There was a part of my brain which, like a panicked teenager, wanted to think that not thinking about my probable pregnancy would somehow make it go away. But like Ian’s animosity or the board’s casual bigotry, ignoring it would not change my circumstances. Except to make them worse by not dealing with them.
It was after lunch by the time I worked up the nerve. I waited until one exactly—my doctor’s receptionist came back promptly at twelve forty-five—and then shut my office door, braced myself, and dialed.
The line clicked a few more times than usual as the phone rang. I frowned, worried that we were having a technical problem. But then it stopped, and the receptionist picked up. “Manhattan Women’s Health Center, Charlene speaking.”
“Hi, Charlene, this is Naomi Richards. I need to get an appointment on an urgent basis. Do you have any cancellations for this week?” I was talking too fast. I slowed my breathing and felt my heart slow down gradually. My stomach fluttered as she went quiet for a few moments.
“Sure, let me check. Are you in any pain, honey?” She was Texan; her gentle concern was as naked as her endearments.
It made me smile a little.
“No, not that kind of urgent. I, um…” I hesitated, chewing my lip. Just spit it out, you’re a CEO with an engineering doctorate, for pity’s sake. “I need a pregnancy test.”
I heard a soft gasp in the quiet that followed and my cheeks got hot. “Charlene?”
“Oh sorry, just checking the schedule.” I heard rapid typing. “She’s got a three thirty, can you make that?”
I checked my schedule. I would have to be back that evening for a call with a Hawaii-based client, but it was only twenty minutes each way. “Sure, I’ll manage. Thanks a lot.”
There were too many clicks again when I hung up. It made me wonder if I needed to call our service company. We had dealt with glitches before; it was a legacy system from my father’s days, and I had fought for months to get it properly updated. Just another petty battle among many. I puffed out my cheeks and glanced over at the culprit—to find Ian glaring at me again.
His face was oddly white, and he actually maintained eye contact for a few seconds before looking away.
That look on his face haunted me a little as I made my way over to my OB-GYN’s office. He had looked beyond furious for some reason—and shocked, as well. That made absolutely no sense to me. Had someone in the office tipped him off to just how much more dirt I had on him than I had sent to the board? Had something else happened? Or was he just that pissed off that I was keeping a constant eye on him?
It’s probably just that. He loves to get worked up over the tiniest thing. No reason for me to do the same.
* * *
The OB-GYN’s office was about as unsubtle as one could be: all pink and lavender decor, cushy padded seats, Georgia O’Keeffe prints framed on the walls. I sat staring around, too nervous to read from my phone, surrounded by the colors of a Parisian sunrise.
A wave of exhaustion hit as I sat there, and I nodded off briefly, only to startle awake when the door opened.
“The doctor will see you now,” Charlene beamed out at me, her orange-rose lipstick clashing slightly with the room.
Dr. Nancy Bellamy was tall and thin, with crinkly black-and-white hair, a sharp nose, and a wide smile that didn’t quite fit her face. “So how are we doing?” she asked as she shut the door.
I tugged at the cloth drape her nurse had provided and sighed. “Well, Charlene probably told you already, but I may be pregnant.”
“I’m assuming this is unexpected.” Nancy knew way too much about my sex life—or usually, my lack thereof. Her eyebrows had climbed toward her hairline.
“Completely.” I huffed out a sigh and looked out the window, realized I was avoiding her gaze and looked back at her. “I need to make sure.”
We made sure; she took urine, blood, asked my symptoms, and waited on the lab results. I paid extra to have them rushed through, but it still felt like an eternity as we sat talking.
“So do you know who it is?” she asked gently. “The father.”
I nodded, the corner of my mouth tucked up wryly. “There’s only been one guy in two years, Nancy.”
“Do you have any connection with him?” she asked, even more gently.
I swallowed hard. “He’s in Aspen, I can call him. He’ll…be shocked too, probably. It was one night, and we used protection.”
She winced slightly. “Awkward. What kind of guy is he?”
I thought of Ace: smoldering, powerful, gentle Ace, who had carried me across a deadly gap in midair and then to his bed; Ace who had made me come at least twice when no other man had managed once. Ace whose arms I had left only very reluctantly, two months ago.
“Oh, he’s great, but…we’re nothing official.” The wistful feeling that washed over me caught me by surprise. “I’m really not sure how he’ll take this.”
“You know…I mostly do medical advice.” She sat up on the counter like a lanky teenager, pressing her palms between her knees. “But if I were you, I would tell him as soon as you possibly can.”
Her gaze was earnest. I nodded slowly, lower lip between my teeth again. “I’ll…give him a call.”
I didn’t get the chance at first when I got back from my appointment. Instead, I found Ian hovering outside my office, with my assistant watching him warily. He was still pale, his mouth working furiously, his arms folded. I slowed as I reached my door.
“Help you with something, Ian?” I asked, a lot more casually than I felt.
“Oh, no,” he said in a snippy tone, as haughtily offended as a rich church lady. “I just wanted to make sure that I was the absolute first person in the office to congratulate you.”
The way he said congratulate dripped with so much spite that for a moment, I wondered if the board had finally decided to take me seriously. Why else would he be so angry?
I just shook my head at him, baffled and annoyed. “Congratulate me for what?” I asked, not even bothering to hide my disdain. “Go back to your desk, Ian. I have a client call to deal with.”
“What the hell was that about?” Carol asked me as I sighed and stepped through my door.
“I have no idea,” I said. “But whatever it is, I’m sure that being closely managed isn’t helping things.”
“You wouldn’t have to do it if he would grow up and do his job,” she tutted. I snorted and nodded as I stepped into my office to make my call.
The Hawaii call surprised me. The guy, Carter Yamamoto, was with the Parks Department and had ridden on my new cable system in Aspen three days ago. He wanted a new disabled-access ascension system for one of their volcanoes, and wanted to know if I was willing to take a remote project there over the winter. The idea of wintering in Hawaii excited me—even if I would be spending it pregnant.
Once it was over, I found myself torn. Yamamoto hadn’t dealt with anyone but me. I coul
d take him as a personal client, behind their backs. With what they’re offering, I could take off a year after that to raise my child.
But that just circled my thoughts back to two issues: what I would do when Ian and the board found out I was expecting, and how I was going to break the news to Ace.
One thing at a time.
Still stuck with a dead phone, I had to use our system to call Ace as well—and I made sure to shut my door first.
He picked up in two rings. “This is Ace, help ya?”
My mouth dried up and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. “Ace? It’s Naomi. Sorry, I had to call you on my office landline. My phone’s dead.”
“Oh, hey!” he sounded very pleased to hear from me. “How’s it going, sweetheart?”
“Uh…been kinda crazy lately. Look, I was wondering…” I frowned, suddenly very thoughtful. I could easily afford a flight over there on short notice, and what could Ian or anyone else say if I decided to take Friday off?
Ace and I had talked a few times since our wild night together, but we hadn’t met up again. Now, as I spoke with him, I realized that needed to happen, as soon as possible. I can’t just break the news to him over the phone.
“I was wondering…are you doing anything this weekend?”
His deep, soft chuckle sent a tingle through me; I suddenly, keenly remembered the warmth of his bed, and how it had felt to be in his arms. My knees squeezed together, and I blushed slightly again.
“If you want me, I’ll clear my whole schedule,” he purred.
I swallowed hard, suddenly completely distracted from what I was going to tell him.
“I’d like that,” I said in a breathy voice. “I want to try and get out there Friday evening, if that’s okay.”
“It’s perfect,” he replied warmly.
My toes curled inside of my shoes.
“Okay. Let me try and get a flight, and I’ll let you know when it’s coming into Aspen.” We signed off for the moment, and I went online to book my trip. My heart was beating fast.
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