“V, it’s good to see you. You’re looking well.” It wasn’t a lie. I’d never seen her look more stunning. Or maybe I’d never noticed before? Her skin glowed, luminous as a pearl, and I had an uncontrollable urge to stroke her cheek, to see if the translucence was a trick of the light.
“Hello, Beckett.” Venetia stretched out an arm to shake my hand at the same time I leaned forward to give her a hug. We bumped shoulders awkwardly. “Thank you for working me in today. You seem really busy.”
“No problem.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was Garth and not myself who’d made the concession. “This is a pleasant surprise.” Trying to recover my cool, I enveloped her small hand between both of mine. The brush of her fingers over my palm sent shivers of pleasure skittering along my forearm. When I released her hand, she stepped back to put a foot of space between us. Her impersonal smile tamped down my enthusiasm a notch. “I’ve been meaning to call you,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about you.” At night, in the shower, and every single morning.
“Have you?” The way the corners of her mouth turned down suggested she didn’t believe me.
I studied her, struck by her sober gravity. How could someone change so much in such a small amount of time? “Yes. Maybe we could do lunch sometime.” I gestured for her to sit again and tried not to gawk at the miles of slender leg as she crossed them at the knee. Damn. Had her legs always been that long? I had a quick, inappropriate flash of those fantastic stems wrapped around my waist while I pumped into her. Heat raced up my neck. Jesus, Beckett. What’s wrong with you? I was acting like a teenager alone with the babysitter for the first time.
“I’ll have to check my calendar and get back with you,” she said and cleared her throat. When I tore my gaze away from her legs, I found her regarding me with icy blue eyes. The coldness cooled my libidinous thoughts. This Venetia I knew.
“Where are you staying?” I asked and focused on straightening the papers stacked in front of me.
“I rented an apartment until I find something more permanent.” As she spoke, she stared at a place beyond my shoulder and toyed with the ends of her ponytail. It bothered me, this loss of eye contact. Without those blazing eyes boring into me, I had no way to judge her intentions. “You’ll have to forgive me for rushing this along, but you were late, and I’ve got a job interview after this.”
“So what can I do for you? Too many parking tickets?” I teased.
She didn’t smile. “No.” She smoothed her skirt and eased into the chair. “It’s a little more serious than that.”
“Okay.” I clasped my hands on top the desk, giving her my full attention. “Spill it.” I smiled, feeling flattered she sought my help, and curious. Her high spirits and penchant for mischief had gotten her into a few scrapes over the years. Sam had always been quick to rescue her, but given the state of their current relationship, she probably didn’t feel comfortable going to him. “I’m happy to help. What’s up?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Blood drained from the top of my head straight into the tips of my toes. A baby? My baby? Panic raced through every fiber of my being. Suddenly, I was fifteen again, hearing my girlfriend confess she was pregnant, looking at the demise of my future. I ran a finger around the inside of my shirt collar, the cloth unbearably confining, and counted the days backward in my head. “Jesus, V. Are you sure?”
For the first time, her tough façade cracked. She drew in a deep breath and clasped her hands in her lap. “I haven’t been to the doctor yet, but yes. I’m sure. I took five pregnancy tests from the store. I’m four weeks late. There isn’t any other explanation.”
My gaze flitted to the bottle of Woodford Reserve at the wet bar on the wall adjacent to my desk. I rose from my chair, poured two fingers into a short glass, gulped them down, and poured two more. “And you’re sure it’s mine?” The words came out harsher than I intended, but I didn’t apologize. This couldn’t be true. She had to be mistaken. Surely there had been other guys before or since our hookup. It was a reasonable line of questioning, given the circumstances, and I had every right to rule out other possible candidates.
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped. Hot blue eyes drilled into mine. “Don’t you dare try to make me out as a slut, Beckett. You will not disrespect me.”
“And you haven’t been with anyone else?” I held firmly to my line of questioning, hoping for a glimmer of reasonable doubt.
Her chin lifted higher. “You’re the only person I’ve been with for months. Do you really think I’d blame someone like you if it wasn’t true?”
“Like me? What’s that supposed to mean?” My pride bristled. I stood in front of her chair and glared down at her.
“It means you’re not the first person I’d choose as the father of my child.” She held my gaze firmly. “You’re a player. And we both know you’re completely against commitment of any kind. I’m not asking you to raise the child or have anything to do with it. I’m here because you’re Sam’s friend, and I thought you deserved to know.”
Her words served as a substantial blow to my ego. I’d always considered myself a reasonable catch. I had a good job. I stayed in shape. I wasn’t ugly. To know she considered me less than desirable came as quite a shock. I sank down in the chair beside her and covered my eyes with a trembling hand. “How did this happen? We were careful.” I never took chances where my personal safety was concerned. “I used a condom.” The facts of the case continued to speed through my brain as I searched for a loophole, some way to prove this was all a mistake. “I thought you were on birth control.”
“I am. Or was.” Her voice quivered. “But with Sam’s wedding and me looking for a job, I’ve been so busy. I might have missed one.” I opened my eyes to find her staring at her feet. “People make mistakes, Beckett.”
A wave of guilt slammed over me, and my anger dissipated. It was easy to forget she was only twenty-three. Hell, I’d done some pretty dumb things when I was her age. This was as much my fault as hers—even more mine, because I should have been the responsible one. Since this had happened to me once before, I knew better. I got tested regularly, always used a condom, and never took risks. Never.
I wiped a film of sweat from my upper lip. My life didn’t have room for a kid. I didn’t have time to change diapers or babysit. A wave of nervous nausea twitched my gut. “This can’t be happening.”
“It’s happening.” She waved a finger between us. “To both of us. You and me.”
The solemnity of the situation began to sink into my shell-shocked brain. I was having a baby with Venetia, of all people. I’d never wanted children. Hell, I didn’t even want a girlfriend. Now, I had an instant family.
I set the glass of whiskey on the desk and scrubbed my face with both hands. “So what are you going to do? Adoption?” In my mind, it was the only choice. Having been through the anguish of abortion before, I didn’t even consider it. “I have contacts. I can put you in touch with some people.”
“I don’t know. I’m still trying to come to grips with this.” She shrank into the depths of the chair, shoulders hunched.
A surge of empathy made me forget all the crap between us. Here I was, thinking about myself, when she was obviously frightened out of her mind. This was no time for selfish thinking. It would benefit both of us to handle the issue as a team instead of adversaries. “It’ll be okay.” I covered her hand with mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze when I really wanted to run out the door and hide. I pushed aside the panic and took a drink of the Woodford while I waited for her answer. God bless whiskey.
She tugged her lower lip between her teeth and looked away. From the side, her nose had a small tilt at the tip. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do.” The swell of her breasts lifted and fell with a heavy breath. “I’m not sure I want to have it.”
The Woodford clotted in my throat, and I sputtered. Abortion wasn’t an option. At least not for me, not after the hell of the last one. I hadn’t considere
d that she might not want the child, or that—in spite of all my misgivings—I did.
Chapter 12
Venetia
ONCE, WHEN I was six years old, I’d found an injured bird in my mother’s garden. With the help of Mrs. Atwell, I’d tried to nurse it back to health. When it died a few days later, I’d been inconsolable, certain it was my fault. The idea of harming something so small, something utterly dependent on me for protection, renewed my panic.
“I’m not sure I can raise a child,” I whispered, feeling the sting of tears. For the past week, I’d been wavering between fits of crying and panic. “I don’t know how to be a parent.”
“Come here.” The tension in Beckett’s jaw relaxed. He pulled me against his chest and wrapped his arms around my shoulder.
My nose nestled into the crook of his neck. The strength of his embrace flowed through me, and the panic receded. One of his hands stroked soothingly up and down the curve of my spine. “I’m scared, Beckett,” I said into his skin and curled my fingers into the lapels of his jacket. His shirt smelled of starch, comforting and familiar.
“Don’t be. I’m here. You’re not alone in this.” His deep voice rumbled in my ear. I let him lead me to the sofa and found myself seated next to him, his arm curled around my shoulders. “We can do this.”
“I’ll be a terrible mother. You said yourself that I’m immature and impulsive.” My fears tumbled out. “I spent my entire life with nannies and at boarding schools. I don’t know how to be a mom.”
How could I ever explain my impersonal upbringing? How it felt to wake up in the middle of the night at four years old from a bad dream to be comforted by a stranger? My parents had never taken an active role in my life. My mother had filled her days with charities and fundraisers, too busy to be bothered with a small child. And my father? If it wasn’t for the monthly check he deposited into my bank account, I wouldn’t know he existed. Even that would stop soon, with the receipt of my trust fund. Sam had been more of a father to me than Maxwell. I didn’t want that for my child.
“Nonsense.” Beckett tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and smiled, a little weakly. He must be as panicked as I was. “It’s a natural instinct. You’ll be fine.”
“You really think so?” Only a man could say something so naïve. I searched his face and found nothing but sincerity in his eyes. I wished for one drop of his confidence in my abilities.
“Absolutely.” His gaze dipped to my lips. The cadence of my pulse bobbled. He looked strong, unperturbed in his smart black suit and red power tie. It was easy for me to believe I was safe with his maleness filling the room.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips over mine in the sweetest of kisses. The taste of Woodford sizzled on my lips. The impromptu show of affection caught me off guard. I wavered between wanting more and needing distance. Why did this guy tie me up in knots? Even now, after weeks apart, my body melted into his. I placed both palms flat against his hard chest to create a barrier between us. The situation called for a clear head, impossible to have when he was touching me.
“Sorry.” Beckett tensed and pulled back. “I shouldn’t have.”
“It’s a little late for that.” I smiled up at him, nervous again. Had the kiss held desire, or was it only my schoolgirl fantasies at work?
“Yeah. I guess it is.”
A strand of hair drifted down over his forehead. I pushed it back from his eyes. My fingers lingered a little too long on his face. Heat rushed into my cheeks. This wasn’t going to do at all. I let my hand drop into my lap.
“You don’t have to decide anything right away,” he said. “About the baby, I mean. There’s plenty of time for decisions.”
“Right.” Listening to his deep, smooth voice, I could almost believe it was true.
“Make an appointment with the doctor.” One corner of his mouth curled up into a shy smile. Now that the shock had worn off, he seemed to be coming to grips with the idea. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to,” I said, although the idea of facing the doctor made my stomach flip-flop.
He put a finger to my lips. “Not an option.” On impulse, I playfully bit the tip of his finger, desperate to lighten the mood. The warm brown hue of his irises darkened to black. “Careful there. I might bite back.”
The urge to flirt with him came as naturally as breathing. My face heated with embarrassment. This wasn’t a date. We weren’t a couple. He’d made it clear—first in New Orleans then a few minutes ago when he’d apologized for the kiss. I didn’t want to humiliate myself by chasing after a man who wasn’t interested and emotionally unavailable. The sooner I reconciled myself to the fact, the better.
I straightened my posture, drew on every bit of composure I possessed, and stood. He stood alongside me, unfolding his long limbs with athletic grace. “I’ll call your assistant with the date and time. Garth, right?” I plastered a polite smile on my face, the best I could manage under the circumstances.
“Yes. Give me your number,” he said, and drew his phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. I rattled off the digits. He bit his lower lip in concentration while he programmed them into his phone. The gesture reminded me of how soft and full that lip felt pressed against mine.
Stop it, stop it, stop it. Getting over this obsession might take a bit more effort than I first realized. A few seconds later, my phone buzzed inside my purse and stole away my attention.
“There. Now you’ve got my personal cell number. Text or call me any time.” He stared down at me from his lofty height. “I mean it. Any time. Night or day. Got it?”
I hesitated by the door, uncertain if I should shake his hand or give him a hug. We were saved by Garth’s voice on the intercom.
Beckett picked up the received, frowned, and glanced at his watch. He covered the receiver with his palm to speak with me. “We’ll catch up later, okay?”
I nodded and slipped out the door. Once inside the elevator, my knees began to weaken. I sagged against the wall in a combination of relief and shock. Earlier in the day, I thought telling Beckett would be the worst of my problems, but now it only seemed to be the beginning.
Chapter 13
Beckett
VENETIA LEFT, and Garth came in the door two seconds later. “Here are the documents you requested, and your next appointment is here.” He took one look at my wan face and bit his lower lip. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I growled. “Just give me a minute.”
I stalked into the adjoining bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Holy hell. A tremble ran through my hands as I dried my face and smoothed back my hair. I studied myself in the mirror. I looked like the same schmuck whose face greeted me every morning, but the change was there. In the space of thirty minutes, I’d gone from bachelor playboy to a father. A father. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea. A baby changed everything. How could I make senior partner with a kid on my knee? My panic renewed. This wasn’t the plan. My life had been carefully mapped out since college, and a baby was nowhere in it.
“Mr. Beckett?” Garth knocked on the door.
“I said in a minute.” Jesus. Couldn’t a guy get five minutes alone in the john? It wasn’t Garth’s fault, but my emotions were raw and unfettered, and he was conveniently in the way. I straightened the collar of my shirt and took a second look at my pale face. A blown-out knee hadn’t been in the plan either. One ill-timed rebound during NCAA finals had ended a promising future in the NBA, but I had survived, adapted, thrived. So what if my plan had been trashed this morning? The word “defeat” had no place in my vocabulary.
When I came out of the bathroom, I put on my game face and got down to business. Years of discipline on the basketball court and in the courtroom had taught me to work under pressure and put my personal issues aside. Business was business.
I went into meeting after meeting, fueled by the desperation to forget—if even for a few hours—that my life had been shattered. I threw all my
efforts into ending another marriage, but this time it felt different. These people were parents, families. Children would be hurt. Fathers would be ripped away from their sons and daughters. Mothers would be forced to give joint custody to men who’d cheated and lied to them. I thought about my real father, not the man who’d adopted me and gave me his name, but the one who’d abandoned my mother when she was pregnant. It left me sick to my stomach.
By the end of the day, a few points became clear. I didn’t want to be the kind of dad who lived at the office, missed baseball games for conference calls, and put his job above his family. I’d make a new plan, one that allowed for birthday parties and ballet lessons and bedtime stories. Anything worth doing was worth doing well. If I had to be a father, I’d be the best one possible.
I made it through the meetings, but dinner with Sam had my palms sweating and my heart racing. I was used to keeping other people’s secrets. Some were small, like the woman who smoked cigarettes in the bathroom to hide the habit from her husband. Others were enormous. A mistress in New York City. A vacation home in Aspen under an assumed name. Fifty million dollars sheltered in offshore accounts. The estranged spouse had no idea, and as the claimant’s litigator, it was my job to protect those assets from greedy hands. I could dismiss those secrets as a necessary evil to win a case. But Sam? How in the hell was I going to avoid telling my best friend that I’d knocked up his little sister? If he found out before I told him, he’d go ballistic, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d violated his trust; our friendship might never recover.
“Beckett.” Sam’s voice cut into my musings. We were seated at a private table in Sam’s favorite restaurant. I’d been so deep into my own head I’d forgotten he was there. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”
Pretty Dirty Secrets: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 3) Page 7