by Lex Martin
A protective beast in my chest roars to life at the sight of her outside my home. I want to tug her inside by her cuffs and squeeze her so tight she squeals. I want to tell her everything I’ve been thinking since she told me the news. I want to get over this damned awkwardness with her.
I’m struck dumb at the sight of her, but I can’t help my smile.
She shoves her hands in her pockets, then looks up and catches my eye. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Stepping in, she shrugs out of her coat. I take it and stare at her, fascinated by the way she checks out my place, as if she’s trying to figure me out by the décor—framed black and white landscape photography, sports memorabilia, and paintings of the Portland bridges. White lights outline the patio, and garlands hang inside, courtesy of my decorator.
Tapping her lip with her index finger, she walks around the living room slowly. “You don’t live in a frat house.”
“Not when my best friend’s an architect. He wouldn’t let me get away with that even if I wanted.” For the record, I removed the neon beer signs a while ago. “Josh redid my house, made me buy real art and real furniture. And while it’s a man cave, yeah, it’s not gross.”
Anymore.
Especially with the housekeeper.
“Want something to drink?” I continue.
Ignoring my question, she cocks her head, inspecting my shirt that says #phuckifino. “What’s your shirt mean?”
God, there’s so much we don’t know about each other. Somehow we managed to spend days together without ever discussing my work. Perhaps she assumed I didn’t need to do any work and lived on a trust fund.
I mean, that’s accurate, but I’d be bored out of my skull if I didn’t have something to do.
“That’s my company, Detention. We make T-shirts and apparel, kind of like Tom’s Shoes. One shirt goes to a child in need for every one we sell. But the ones for the kids don’t have the logo.”
I shouldn’t be surprised she doesn’t know this. An internet search only pulls up page after page of bad press, arrests, and the socialites I’ve partied with over the years.
She scrutinizes me a long moment and then waves her hands. “Why am I just now learning this? It’s like you deliberately hide that you’re a decent guy.”
“Not that decent.” We’ve done a few indecent things together, K-shizzle.
She sounds it out. “Hashtag phuck-if-I-no. ‘Fuck if I know.’ Ohmigod. This is the most Drew company I’ve ever heard of.” Her light laughter fills the room, and I’m delighted to hear it. “The next time you’re arrested, you should wear that in your mugshot. It would be great PR.”
“Good idea, but I’m not planning on ever being arrested again,” I call out, heading into the kitchen to get her some water. I guess that’s what I said the time before last, though.
But now, I mean it. Because what kid wants their parent to get arrested? That’s some trauma I’d like to spare my spawn.
Again, I’m rewarded with her laugh, and it loosens a knot around my gut. Returning, I hand her a glass and sit down next to her on the couch.
She smells irresistibly alluring. Her lustrous hair shines in the low light of my living room. Her legs are tucked under her, and I want to get my hands on them.
I can’t say any of that. Instead, I ask, “How was your Christmas?”
“Good. Yours?”
“I just hung with my Bee. She’s great. She got me this wallet.”
When I reach for the side table, my shirt rides up and I sense Kendall’s eyes on me. Maybe not. I hand the wallet to her. She frowns. “Why ninja turtles?”
“When I was a kid, I liked the show. Grandmas don’t forget that stuff.”
Her mouth slackens, and she blinks rapidly. “So you’re gonna use that?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
For the first time in a while, I get a full-fledged Kendall grin. “You’re really sweet to your grandma.”
“Thanks.” My heart beats a little faster. “Actually, I got you something.” Crossing to a desk, I pull out a small box from a drawer. “Don’t worry,” I say, judging by the panicked look on her face. “It doesn’t have a ninja or a turtle on it.”
As she cups the box in her hands, her expression relaxes. “Can I open it?”
“Yep. It’s Christmas.”
She rips the paper and reveals a white box. A moment later, she pulls out a gold necklace with a snowflake charm, which dangles from her slim fingers. Carefully inspecting it, she murmurs, “It’s beautiful.”
“It reminded me of being stranded with you in the mountains.” I catch the curious look on her face. “I didn’t mean to assume anything. I just…I just wanted to get it for you.”
During the few weeks we were apart, during a moment of weakness, I bought it, hoping we’d find a way to reconnect and I could surprise her.
“It’s so delicate and gorgeous, Drew.” She unclasps it and puts it on. The gold glows against her pale skin and red hair.
Her beaming smile sends a rush of satisfaction through me.
She leans over to her purse and pulls out a small wrapped package, which she sets in her lap. “I got you something too. I think the problem is…I don’t know…” Exhaling, she stops, closes her eyes, and begins again, steeling herself. “I want to keep the baby. I don’t know how you feel. You can be as involved as you want. I’m not going to pressure you into anything, but”—she reddens, clearly embarrassed that she’s blurted too much—“I don’t know how to navigate the changes that are going to happen.”
A buffet of emotions flash in her eyes, and she braces herself as if I’m going to disappoint her, which makes me ache.
I never want to hurt this girl.
Letting out her breath, she asks, “What? Please tell me what you’re thinking.”
My face serious, I take both of her hands in mine and gaze into her blue eyes. “I want to help you with this pregnancy, KK. There’s no way in hell you’re going through this on your own, feeling alone. I want to go with you to the doctor. To every appointment. I’m going to do whatever I can to ensure you have everything you need.”
She bursts out in a muffled sob and tugs her hands back, wiping her tears with the backs of her hands as she sniffles. “I’m not a crier, I swear. I’m just hormonal. I’ve been so scared of what’s going to happen. And how you were going to take it.”
Wrapping my arms around her, I nod. “I’m scared too. It’s going to be weird for a while. But I’m here. I’m going to help you with this pregnancy.”
With tears still streaking down her face, she shakes her head and blurts out, “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk more about it the other night. I was exhausted from freaking out the whole day and then we had all that other stuff to work out. By the time we got to the bun in the oven, I thought I was going to pass out.” Her whole body shivers, and I run my hand up and down her back. “I didn’t mean to drop a bomb and ditch you in the foxhole.”
I chuckle when I think about how I nearly drove to California. But I don’t wanna make her feel any worse.
“I get it. You need to take care of yourself, especially now. And Kendall,” I whisper against her hair, “I got you. You need something, I’m there, okay?”
She takes a deep breath. It sounds like a sigh of relief.
I reluctantly let her go when she sits back. Even though her face is mottled from tears, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Hesitantly, she hands me the package in her lap. It’s a pair of yellow baby booties. “I didn’t know if you would want these,” she says. “But if you’re going to be a dad…”
They both fit in the palm of my hand.
“Holy shit, we’re going to be parents.”
We both laugh nervously, but she’s smiling, so I’m smiling.
Kendall stays for hours, although our conversation feels like minutes. I want to ask her to stay, to spend the night, but it’s not right. Not tonight. We have a lot more gettin
g to know each other to do if we’re going to be parents. Even though my body and heart revolt from this decision, wanting her near, always.
When she goes to leave, she says, “I thought this would be really awkward, but I had the best time with you.”
I hug her tight and kiss the top of her head. “I did too.”
24
Kendall
Surreal.
There’s no other word to describe this feeling.
I’m having a baby with Drew. A child. A living, breathing entity who will depend on us for everything.
A breath catches in my throat at the thought.
“You look like you’re having an existential crisis.”
Tristan’s deep voice makes me jerk.
He studies me across our conference table.
“You okay there, Mama?”
A small smile tilts my lips even though I scold him. “Shh. I’m not ready to share the news.”
Even though we’re the only ones in the office because everyone is taking vacation days this week, I don’t want to get in the habit of unleashing my personal life here.
It’s been three days since I saw Drew at his condo, but we’ve been texting and plan to meet up for lunch this weekend.
As a woman who crashed and burned in her last relationship because my ex had his own agenda that did not take into consideration what I wanted, I appreciate Drew’s efforts to be my friend. He must sense I’m not ready to dive back into whatever we had at the cabin.
My chaotic brain registers this is too much, too fast. We just stopped wanting to kill each other last month. We need to drive in a lower gear for a while before I consider what else he and I might mean to each other aside from being parents to the nugget I’m gestating.
But hanging out with him was promising.
He genuinely seems to want to be a part of this pregnancy. He seems sincere in his concern and said all the right things to put me at ease until we were having fun and enjoying each other’s company.
Old Drew never said the right thing. He basically had his foot sewn to his mouth twenty-four seven. Drew 2.0, however, is sensitive to my needs in a way I could never fathom.
I admit I like getting to know Drew like this—with training wheels instead of speeding down the highway on a motorcycle without a helmet. And I figure we’ve already seen each other at our worst. If he’s serious about his health recovery and staying out of trouble, I figure we have a shot at being decent parents.
Last night he sent me stupid memes, texted me links to ridiculous baby names, and asked if it’s too early to order our kid a Tesla.
For that last one, I have to admit I wasn’t completely sure if he was joking or not, but I erred on the side of caution and told him Baby Merritt needs about ten thousand other things first.
Baby Merritt.
I sigh, delight and fear commingling in my stomach to form a wicked heartburn. But deep down, I’m excited, nearly jumping out of my skin sometimes when I realize what’s happening.
Is this baby fever? I didn’t even know I wanted a baby.
But I do want this baby. So much.
Even if I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.
While I’m lost in thought, my finger circles the gold snowflake resting on my collarbone. I can’t stop touching it.
The movement catches Tristan’s attention, and he lifts a knowing eyebrow. “Christmas present?”
An eager grin spreads on my mouth. “Maybe.”
“From your baby daddy?”
“Maybe.”
He returns my smile. “I’m happy things are working out for you. I wasn’t looking forward to kicking Drew’s ass if he turned out to be a douche.” He pats his trim abs. “Please thank him for the fruit basket. It was delicious.”
“He sent that to me, dummy.”
“The note was lovely too. Sorry I didn’t see it until I’d ravaged all of the chocolate-covered pineapple.”
I roll my eyes. “This is why we need better interns.”
“LaRoe’s numbers are up,” he says, switching gears. “You killed it at his event last week. His campaign pay yet?”
“No, that cheapskate.”
I wish I could be a hardass with Howard, but I need his campaign, perhaps as much as he needs our company. While we represent several national brands, I want to build my local roots. That was a major reason I started my own PR firm—to help companies and brands I grew up with and help them thrive. So the fact that the heart of LaRoe’s campaign touts buying local means I can do that while building my relationships with those Portland companies.
After a moment, Tristan sighs. “We gonna make payroll this month without it?” He drums his fingers on the table, a rare expression of worry on his face.
“I know we have more overhead than we thought we would, but our dilemma is mostly a cashflow issue. We have the clients. We have the work. It’s a matter of—”
His low chuckle cuts me off. “I understand the dilemma.” He rubs his chin slowly with his thumb. “What about your boy?”
“What boy?”
He gives me a look. “You juggling more than one man right now?”
I toss a crumpled piece of paper at his head. “What are you talking about?”
“Just that Demerit has that killer T-shirt company. Wouldn’t hurt to represent him. At least you know he’ll pay his PR bills on time.”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “I’m not interested.”
Tristan’s expression morphs from teasing to incredulous in a nanosecond. “Why not? Why wouldn’t you want to rep him? He’s local and always in the headlines. Gossip mags love him. Why not work with someone who’s naturally inclined to put himself out there? Isn’t that easier than having to drag a wallflower into the public eye?”
No. No. No.
I pause before I answer so I can calm down.
Holding out my hand, I count off. “One, it’s breaking your cardinal rule and mixing business with pleasure.” Ignoring his eye roll, I wave a second finger. “Two, I don’t want to approach him for something he already has well in hand.”
After Drew and I hung out on Christmas, I Googled his company and a shot of pride ran through me from head to toe when I realized how well it was doing. He doesn’t need me for this at all.
“Third, I’ve seen how people glom on to him for things. They want his connections. They want to be in pics with the famous name. They want his booze.” They want his drugs or his dick. I don’t say that part. Though the thought of some chick coming on to him now makes me homicidal. “I won’t be one of those people. I don’t want his money.”
Could Drew bail me out of my financial crisis? In a New York heartbeat. But I would never ask him to. Hell to the motherfucking no. The idea of needing him for that makes me itchy all over. Besides, I haven’t worked my ass off all these years to go to a man and beg for money.
Tristan’s eyes soften, and he nods. “Sorry, boo. Didn’t know it was like that for you.” My brows furrow in confusion, and Tristan’s lips tilt up. “I just thought you guys were having a kid. Didn’t know you’d caught feelings.”
I sit there a second and process his words.
Huh.
“I guess I…really like Drew.”
His smile widens. “You think?”
A flush washes under my skin, and I laugh.
Tristan holds out his fist, and I jab him back. This is why we work so well. He gets me.
We’re still all aglow with our BFF-ness when his cell phone lights up with a notification. And then another. And then another.
It doesn’t stop. It’s practically levitating off the table with alerts.
His concerned eyes meet mine for a second that seems to stretch out.
Neither of us have clients right now in the middle of a press conference or event.
His frown deepens as he swipes his phone and scrolls.
They always say that any press is good press. But as Tristan holds his phone up to me and I’m greeted
with the sight of my own mugshot, I wonder if this is the death knell of our public relations firm.
* * *
Folding at my waist, I lean back against the wall of my office and take another wavering breath as I listen to Tristan pace.
“You still can’t get hold of Drew?”
I shake my head.
“How the fuck did Gary get this story? I thought you said Demerit took care of everything?”
He doesn’t wait for a response before he curses again.
Here’s our conundrum. If we make a statement before touching base with Drew, we run the risk of contradicting whatever Drew might’ve told the press, and then we both look like idiots.
The phone rings again from the reception area, but thankfully stops after two rings.
Jessica runs in with a handful of yellow slips. She looks as harried as I feel, but I’m grateful she could come when Tristan called her two hours ago and asked her to handle the phones.
Tristan flips through the messages and growls, “Jess, why didn’t you transfer Drew’s call like I told you to?”
She winces. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried to transfer him, but I kept disconnecting the call and then I thought it would be easier if I told you myself.” She’s as bad as Evie’s old secretary, Penny. An awkward smile spreads on Jessica’s face as she picks the slips from Tristan’s fingers and waves them in the air. “So yeah. Drew called.”
For fuck’s sake, I can’t deal with this today.
One very small voice warns me not to fire her since it’s the holidays, but it’s being drowned out by the desperate cry that wants today’s craptastic adventure to end.
My cell has been lit up with calls from several different gossip blogs and celebrity shows. Tristan has been fielding them and wondered if we’d missed a call from Drew since my line might’ve been busy when he called.
I’m guessing it was. So he called my office. And then my intern hung up on him. Maybe more than once.
“Thanks, Jessica,” I grit out. “You can go back to your desk. If Drew calls again, just come get me.”