by Elise Faber
“The door was wide open,” he countered.
The doctor coughed and Abby jumped. “I’m sorry—”
“Carry on,” Jordan said. “I’ll just sit over here and not bother anyone.”
Another snort from Abby, but she didn’t protest as he moved to the chair at her side.
“Cold,” Dr. Stephens warned and then moved her hand under the paper blanket thing Abigail had draped over her legs.
Abby winced but didn’t say anything, just turned her attention to the machine next to her.
Jordan’s breath caught. “Is that—?”
Dr. Stephens smiled. “That’s your baby. Here’s the head and the feet and that little oval there is the heart.”
He watched the rapid flutter-flutter of his baby’s heart, heard the whoosh-whoosh as the organ pumped furiously on the black and white screen, and something unlocked inside him.
“Here.” Dr. Stephens handed him a printout of the image. “For the scrapbook. Or wallet. Or whatever.” She passed a larger stack to Abby. “Everything looks good. I’ll see you in two weeks, okay?”
“Okay,” Abby said.
“Keep it up with those small meals and call or email me if you experience any dizziness or fainting.”
Abby agreed and the doctor left.
Jordan leaned toward Abby to getter a better look at the ultrasound pictures, but she pushed him away.
“Are you serious right now?”
“I just want to see the pictures.”
She shoved them into his hands. “Look all you want, but get away from me.” She gulped, clapping a hand over her nose. “Haven’t puked in two freaking weeks. Five minutes with you and I’m a hairsbreadth away. You’re wearing it again, aren’t you?”
“Wearing what?” He was barely listening as he flipped through the photos of his baby. His baby.
How was this his life?
“Satan’s deodorant.”
That got his attention and he shifted his gaze to Abby. “What are you talking about?”
“Your deodorant smells like shit.” She stood up, careful to keep the drape around herself.
Disappointing, that. He hadn’t seen nearly enough of her.
And he was fucking insane to go there. Even if it was just in his head.
“You just turn your back, mister,” she ordered, shuffling toward the pile of clothes on the bench. “Last thing you need to see is more of me.”
He could argue the point, but Jordan opted not to.
Instead, he did what any normal man would do: acquiesced to Abby’s wishes and shifted in the chair—and then watched like hell out of the corner of his eye.
Chapter Thirteen
Why the hell was Jordan there?
I pulled on my underwear and pants, moving quickly to get decent. The man had horrible timing.
“Okay,” I said once I’d slipped on my sweater and boots. “You can turn around now.”
Jordan spun in the chair, his long legs cluttering up the small space between the exam table and the wall. The room had been plenty big without him. Then he’d barged in and taken over.
I could smell him. I could feel him, his presence somehow radiating into the space between us and reminding me of the spark that was always there when he was near.
So far, that spark had brought me nothing but frustration and anguish.
I needed to remember that.
Because when he wasn’t actively being a jerk, my body seemed to forget the fact that I hardly knew him and that he was batting at a less than ideal average, both in the bedroom activities—cough, coffee table—and normal human interactions.
“Why were you at my apartment?”
He sighed. “Should we continue this conversation somewhere that isn’t a doctor’s office?”
I huffed, slammed my hands on my hips. “Why, Jordan?”
“I want you to call off your lawyer.”
I laughed and started for the door. “You’re kidding right?”
“No, I’m not.”
Turning the knob, I said. “Then you must just be stupid because I’m not calling off Bec—”
The rest of my sentence was cut off as a warm chest pressed me against the door, a slightly calloused palm covered mine on the knob. “I’m not stupid,” Jordan said into my ear.
“A-acting like it,” I said, forcing my idiot body to stop melting, to stop liking the feel of him against me.
He was bad in bed.
He knocked me up.
He tried to take my baby away.
“Let me go,” I hissed and struggled against him.
Jordan released me, backing up a step. His pupils were dilated, the black nearly eclipsing the blue of his irises. He raised his palms when I whipped around.
“What the hell is with you?” I asked, flattening my palms against the wooden panel of the door. “I can barely keep up with your moods. One second you want to fuck me, the next you’re gone. Then you’re back and I see this glimpse of a nice, caring guy who, oh, by the way, wants to fuck me again.” I laughed but it wasn’t filled with humor. “Then it’s like whiplash because all of a sudden you hate me, accusing me that I’m a gold digger. We hardly know each other. I wouldn’t invest this much time into managing some asshole’s moods even if I did know him.”
“Are you done?” he asked when I’d finished, chest heaving, cheeks hot.
Unbelievable.
“Yeah,” I said and opened the door. “I’m done here. In the future, communicate through my attorney.”
As I walked out of Dr. Stephens’ office, I half expected him to stop me, but Jordan let me go, and I was relieved.
Really, I was.
He was insane, his moods yo-yoed faster than I could keep up with, and furthermore, he wanted to take my baby from me.
I forced a smile at the receptionist, making a note to call and speak to the manager about them letting Jordan in without asking me first, before hurrying out of the waiting room and into the hall. I found my way to the stairs leading down to the hospital’s lobby and walked out to my car. But when I pulled the door handle, it didn’t unlock. Frowning, I pulled again. I had one of those cars with the locks that automatically disengaged when the key fob was near, because, well, history told me repeatedly that keys and I didn’t mix.
But the theory of automatic locks only worked when I had my purse. Or rather, my keys in my purse.
Which was likely sitting on the counter in Dr. Stephens’ exam room.
Dropping my head back, I stared up at the clouds. December wasn’t the coldest time in California, but the sky was gray and there was a definite chill in the air. None of which would help me get my purse back.
I was exhausted. I didn’t want to walk back into the hospital. I didn’t want to do a damn thing except cozy up on my couch with a blanket and a book. But I needed to go back to my apartment, make sure everything was moved out and locked up, and then drive across town to my new house.
Which was on Seraphina’s street—actually directly across the street from her home. We were both excited.
Separate but close by worked for us.
Of course, none of this changed the fact that I still didn’t have my keys.
I made a face, wanting to be in the jammies-on-the-couch portion of the day already without the rest of my adult responsibilities.
Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way and with a sigh, I pushed away from my car.
“Looking for this?”
Jordan.
I made a sound, a whiny little cry that would indicate to any of my friends that I was nearing the end of my rope.
He didn’t pick up on the signal. Instead, he stood there, my black purse gripped in his hand like it was a clutch rather than a good-sized handbag.
I’d forgotten how big he was.
Big.
I giggled at the absurdity of it all, especially when my thighs clenched and I felt moisture pool between my legs.
He was horrible in bed, you little hussy, I tho
ught.
Well, not horrible so much as premature. With a little practice . . .
Oh, my God. I was going insane. It was the hormones. Had to be. All the books said that my sex drive might increase. That was the only reasonable expectation for why I could possibly still be attracted to him.
Jordan rattled the bag, like he was shaking a toy for a dog. Annoyance flared. Really? Should I trot over and rub myself all over him in thanks?
My body liked that idea. Especially when the movement lifted the hem of his T-shirt, exposing a couple of inches of hard, flat abs. It liked the rubbing-all-over-him option a lot.
I tilted my head to the sky again and tried to find my freaking brain.
I was losing it, switching personalities faster than the man in front of me.
But what could I possibly say?
“Come closer. Let me smell that Satan’s deodorant of yours and remember all the reasons why I can’t fuck you.”
His brows drew down. “What was that?”
Oh come on, Abby, I yelled internally. Filters. Stop allowing your thoughts to vomit all over the sidewalk.
“Nothing,” I said. Thank God I hadn’t spoken loudly. “Just thanks for grabbing that.”
“Did you say—?”
“Uh-uh. I didn’t say anything. I most definitely did not say that my body is a confused asshole that still wants to have sex with you, even though you’re maybe the worst lay of my life and—”
Oh. Good. God. I clamped my lips closed.
“You want to have sex with me?” Jordan closed the distance between us and I backed up until my spine was pressed against the cold metal of my car.
“I didn’t say that.”
One hand came up, caging me in. “I think you did.”
“Nope.” I lifted my chin. “What I said was that my body wants to fuck you. My brain, on the other hand, is very logical and understands that while you may be pretty to look at and have a rather large . . . hammer, you’re not equipped with the knowledge to use your apparatus properly.”
I smiled when his jaw dropped open.
“And let it also be noted that you’re a jerk.”
After snagging my purse from his limp fingers, I slipped under his arm—gagged, because his deodorant was seriously the worst—and pulled the door handle.
Thankfully, the locks disengaged and I slipped inside, locking them behind me before Jordan got any ideas. I pushed the button to start the car, put the engine in gear and began backing up, forcing him to move away or get run over.
Unfortunately for me, he chose option A.
I glanced out my window just before driving away and saw that his expression was stormy. I could have sworn that his lips had formed the words, “I’m not done with you,” but I pretended not to notice.
I was done with Jordan O’Keith. Once and for all.
Chapter Fourteen
My black pencil skirt was a little tight and I was struggling to suppress the urge to adjust it as I walked across the lobby toward the bank of elevators leading up to my new job.
Usually, I’d take the stairs, but RoboTech was on the fifth floor which was about four floors too many in the heels I was wearing.
“Ms. Roberts?”
I turned and smiled at the security guard. “Oh,” I said. “Was I supposed to check in with you? I didn’t realize—”
The younger man smiled, eyeing my too-tight skirt in a way that made me instantly uncomfortable.
“I’ve got your badge,” he said, gaze most definitely not on my face. I knew I was a little extra boobalicious because of the pregnancy. My ass and breasts were the only parts of my body to increase in size thus far. “Mr. Sutter”—Rich—“said to give it to you. You’ll need it to access the elevators.”
I took it from him, feeling gross. This is why I’d begun to hate corporate jobs, why I’d worked at the graphic design firm with Frank and Susan. They’d had a family business, full of understanding and teamwork. With big corporations, the attitude and, often, the whole Mad Men-type climate that still existed in some circles, was deplorable.
One word to my father and this troll would literally be bankrupt, but I didn’t equate being sleazy on the same level as ruining someone’s life.
Unfortunately.
“Thanks,” I said and reached for the pass. “If you’ll just hand it over, I’ll be on my way.”
“You know,” the guard said as he pulled the rectangle of plastic back and held it out of reach. “I have a lot of power here, and if you go out with me, I can show you how that power works.”
Gross.
“I’m confused,” I said, tilting my head to the side and blinking doe-eyed up at him. “How would you show me your power?”
A wink. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” Barf. “But I do have keys to every office in the building. I have access to some . . . interesting projects.”
And great, the guard had escalated from sleazy pickup lines to corporate espionage. Now I’d definitely have to report him.
I sighed, and his expression went from supremely confident to more than a little desperate.
Idiotic man-child.
Didn’t he understand what he was saying?
Hadn’t he signed an iron-clad NDA like I had? That paperwork alone should give any reasonable person pause. And he was just offering this up like candy to get a date? With me?
I stood by my idiot statement.
“I’ll show you,” he said when I didn’t reply. “In fact, just the other day I went into one of the offices and saw—”
“You’re fired.”
My head whipped around. Heather stood there, furious.
“I—” His arms flapped at his sides, the desperation from the previous moment turning into pure panic.
Heather picked up her cell phone and dialed a number. “Stan. Get your ass up here. Now.”
I bit my lip in nervousness when she hung up and stared at the guard. “Uh”—I hitched a thumb toward the elevators—“should I go on up?”
Heather shook her head fiercely and not one strand of her hair dared to disobey. It was pulled tightly into a bun that stayed perfectly in place. My ponytail—that I’d spent a good forty-five minutes attempting to wrangle into some semblance of control—looked positively messy in comparison.
“You’ll stay.” Her eyes flew up, pinning the guard in place with laser focus. “And you as well.” A sniff. “For the moment.”
Our trio stood there for an awkward ninety-six seconds—yes, I counted. Several people walked through the lobby, a few even pausing as though to offer help, but one shake of Heather’s head sent them on the way.
I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the bun, or more realistically, how the bun didn’t move a millimeter.
“What?” she asked, catching me staring.
My cheeks heated. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I have hair envy.” I pointed to my mess of brown hair, which I could already feel sliding loose. “Mine is hopeless.”
She raised a brow.
“Totally inappropriate, I know.” My nose wrinkled, knowing this was my boss, but not able to stop the verbal diarrhea, I continued talking. “But in stressful situations, I tend to focus on the minute details.”
“Sharing flaws on your first day?” she asked, her mouth almost curving into a smile. “Most wouldn’t risk that.”
“I’m assuming you like me more for my work than my personality at this point,” I said. “Might as well give you reasonable expectations to start.”
Heather shook her head, but I definitely saw a smile. It lasted a whole four and a half seconds—yes, I counted again—before it disappeared.
A door behind the security desk flew open and a man with gorgeous olive skin came out. He was sporting a trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and had a network of lines around his eyes that made him appear more friendly than harsh.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Stan,” Heather said, “meet Abigail.”
He shook my
hand. “Nice to meet you, Abigail. I’m Stan. I’m in charge of security here at RoboTech.”
I nodded. “Nice to meet you too.”
“Introductions made, let’s get down to business,” Heather said. She nodded at the nervous looking guard. “We’ve got another one and this one is extra stupid.”
“Fuck,” Stan said. “Not so much as for the language as for this asshole.” He turned, gestured for another man to come from the back. “Go with Francis,” he ordered. “Now.”
“I didn’t—”
“Diego,” Stan said. “That wasn’t an invitation for you to speak. Do yourself a favor, shut the fuck up, and go in the back.”
The guard hung his head and I felt a moment’s pang of guilt before I shoved it away.
This mess was his fault. Not mine.
“How many more are left?” Heather asked when he’d gone.
“Of the old staff? Two. But I actually like those two.” He sighed. “Then again, I liked Diego too, or I thought he had the potential to change.”
“Mmm,” Heather said. “If they step one toe out of line—”
“Gone,” Stan agreed. “What specifically did Diego do?”
“Offered to exchange corporate secrets for a date with this one.” She pointed at me. “Admitted to going into RoboTech offices to look at projects. Not to mention sexually harassing my new employee on her first day.”
“Fucking moron.”
“I mean for a minute there I actually felt bad for him,” I said. “Then I realized he was a giant idiot.”
Stan snorted, and I winced.
“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s the truth,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. My company recently took over security and cleared house.” He sighed. “Or I thought we had. That’s not how I expect my employees to act. He’ll be gone before you come down for lunch.” His eyes tracked to Heather. “I’ll talk to him, see what he knows.”
“Make it clear to him what he’ll lose if he chooses to blab again,” she said. “Lucky it was here and now. All of these leaks need to be plugged.”
Stan nodded and left them.
“Let’s get to work,” Heather said and led the way to the elevators.