One Song: book two in the one series

by Best, Victoria J.

  With as much dignity as I could muster, I exited the bathroom, paid for the Coke, and sauntered from the building with a trail of onlookers trying to figure out what the hell my problem was. I hoped no one recognized me as I sipped the Coke and walked down the sidewalk towards Uptown. My feet hurt from my shoes, and an unexpected chill crept into the still September air but I kept walking. I should have called my driver, but I didn’t want to see anyone, not even him. I was punishing myself for all the mistakes I had made in the past, including the one that was now growing inside of me.

  Guilt at the thought of calling my own child a mistake gnawed at my gut and fresh tears sprang to my eyes. Tossing the empty cup in a nearby trash can I willed back the urge to sob as I wound my way closer to my neighborhood. But it was no use and the tears began to stream down my cheeks freely as I swiped them away with angry movements. The emotions, the nausea, everything was getting to me and once again, I was furious at myself for letting this happen.

  I was irresponsible to have sex with Rhys that night and I was paying the price for it, rightly. There was no point in crying about it because I had made my decision and knew what I had to do. Rhys was gone, out of the picture, just like I wanted, and now I had to find a suitable father for this baby, or everything else would fall apart around me.

  * * *

  The following night, Saturday, I pulled on my sexiest dress and shoes, did my makeup perfectly, and grabbed a clutch before heading out the door. The driver was waiting for me at the curb when I exited the building and I gave him a nod as I slid into the car. This was it. This was the night I fixed everything so this baby and I were set for life. A life without Rhys.

  Taking a deep breath, I willed away the nausea that was rising up. Now was not the time for this because I had a carefully executed plan to play out and I needed to be at the top of my game. Opening a small can of ginger ale, I sipped it the whole way to the club and the nausea subsided. When we pulled up, I had composed myself enough to climb out of the car as Davis opened the door to the car.

  “What time do you need me back, Miss Livingston?” Davis asked as I started to walk away from the curb.

  “I’ll text you, Davis. Thanks.”

  He nodded and got back into the car as I made my way into the club. It was crowded but not stuffy and I pushed past the throng of people, searching in the semi-darkness for the person I was hoping was here. If he wasn’t, I was screwed, but I had it from a good source this was the place he was spending most of his Saturdays recently.

  My eyes lit up as I spotted Jackson, sitting on the same couch from the tabloid photo I saw of him online. Snorting at how predictable he was, I sauntered my way over to him, swaying my hips in a way I hoped enticed him to look at my legs. They were always his favorite. He looked up as I approached, confusion followed by suspicion crossing over his face before all emotion was locked down behind his cold, brown eyes.

  I wondered every day how I once convinced myself I was in love with this man. He was handsome, that was for sure, with thick, curly chestnut-colored hair and a chiseled face, but I had never met a man colder than Jackson. He was always so closed off and curt with me, I couldn’t fathom to this day why I let my father convince me to marry him. Actually, I did know the answer to that; it was his social standing, his fame, and his money. I felt powerful when I was with Jackson even though I knew he didn’t like me, let alone love me.

  Keeping my face neutral, I stopped in front of where he stood, popped my hip out and put my hand on it, and waited for him to respond.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked me.

  A note of suspicion was evident in his voice as he looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on my legs. Part of my plan was already in action, but I needed him to trust that I was here by accident.

  “I’m waiting for a friend to meet me here,” I said. My eyes wandered around the room to give him the impression I was looking for someone.

  “Is that so?” He smirked when he said it, and I relaxed a little.

  “Yes,” I answered, giving him a sly smile. “What are you doing here?”

  “What does it look like?” He waved a hand at the women surrounding him, and I raised an eyebrow.

  “I see. Any room for me on that couch?”

  Jackson looked at me with mistrust again before shooing away the woman on his left and patting the spot she vacated.

  “Can I get you a drink?” He waved a waitress over, just as I was trying to think of a way to turn him down without arousing suspicion.

  “Uh, sure.” I motioned for the waitress to come over to me, and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

  “Can you bring me a club soda, no alcohol, but don’t tell him. Put it on his tab as vodka and club. All right?”

  She gave me a strange look but nodded and walked away.

  “What does a girl have to do to be one of the few lucky ones invited to hang out with the famous Jackson Radcliffe?” I asked him after about five minutes of sitting there without speaking.

  The waitress brought out my club soda and I thanked her as I waited for Jackson to respond to my question. For a minute, I didn’t think he was going to answer but just as I was working on a follow-up question, he leaned towards me, close to my ear.

  “Why do you want to know, Natalie? Are you planning on trying to get close to me again?” There was humor in his question but also distrust.

  “You’re looking pretty sexy tonight, Jackson, and apparently my friend isn’t planning to show up. I need something, or someone, to occupy me tonight, if you aren’t too busy.” I looked between him and the other women on the sofa before turning back to him again, the unasked question in my eyes.

  It was bold of me, and forward, more forward than I usually was with him, but despite all of our differences and the reasons we separated, I needed this to work.

  Jackson leaned over, his mouth close to my ear. “I always have time for you, Natalie, if time is all that you are asking of me, and nothing else.”

  It was pretty clear what he meant by time.

  I bit my lip and tried to formulate a response. There was once a time when Jackson would say “jump” and I would ask “how high,” but he didn’t have the same hold on me as before. Youth, naiveté, and my father’s influence, as well as a pretty face, all led me to Jackson’s bed in the past but tonight, I had one objective and one objective only: to make Jackson think he impregnated me.

  Clearing my throat, I finally responded after much careful thought. “Just a little bit of your time,” I said, with the same emphasis on the last word.

  Jackson nodded and stood up, shooing away the gaggle of women, and took my hand. I resisted the urge to shy away from him or shake off his hold. It didn’t feel right, almost awkward, but I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t interested.

  “Would you like another drink for the road?” he asked me as we weaved our way through the crowd towards the exit.

  I shook my head. “I think I’ve had enough already.” I feigned a buzz, stumbling and slurring.

  “I know a hotel we can go to,” he whispered in my ear as we exited the club.

  I trailed him to his waiting car, my hand no longer in his. He had dropped it sometime on our way out of the club, looking from me to my hand as if I had a contagious disease. I knew how he felt because I hadn’t wanted to hold his hand either, but I also didn’t want to be the one to push him away. It would have ruined my whole plan.

  We climbed into his car and sped around the block to a hotel, a new one from the looks of it. The car stopped and the driver came around to my side first. I stepped out, standing on the sidewalk, and tried not to look awkward while I waited for Jackson to slide out. He looked me up and down before giving me a nod to follow him, and turned towards the building. He never reached for me again, and I didn’t reach for him, neither of us touching until we got to the hotel room.

  We undressed robotically, never touching until we came together on the bed. I wondered, not for the first tim
e, how I was once desperately attracted to him, but then it occurred to me that maybe I never was. Sex with Jackson became routine after less than one year of being together, and tonight was no different. He must have been drunk, because I was able to make him forget about a condom, at least I thought I had. When it was over, I jumped from the bed quickly, as if it were on fire, and dressed. I felt used, or like a user, dirty and ashamed, as I strode to the hotel room door without a backward glance. Jackson didn’t get up from the bed and I didn’t ask him to. We exchanged one look before I left, one that said we would never speak of this, or to each other, again.

  “Monroe can take you home, Natalie,” he called after me, but I shook my head as I stepped out into the hall.

  I couldn’t face Monroe or anyone right now because I was too humiliated by the path my screwed-up life had led me down. For the second time that week, I walked all the way home in stilettos, the pain in my feet feeling like a masochistic penitence for my sins.

  7

  Natalie

  “You can sit up now.” The obstetrician patted my knee through the white sheet covering my lap and legs before she scooted her rolling stool back over to the desk.

  I sat up, gathering the gown and sheet around me even though the doctor had already seen everything. Four weeks had passed since that humiliating night with Jackson. Four weeks since I pushed Rhys away and did my best to frame someone else for the baby inside of me. The baby I had just seen on screen during the most invasive ultrasound I ever had.

  Everything was becoming incredibly real. I was ten weeks along and the baby was growing wonderfully, according to the doctor. My life, however, was unraveling at the seams. I still hadn’t told anyone besides Carla about my pregnancy but knew I had to soon, before they could tell by my growing belly. Work made me feel like I was drowning, and the morning sickness was not subsiding the least bit. This was my second appointment with the doctor, and I was practically begging her for some relief.

  “Unfortunately, we have been urged to dissuade expectant mothers to refrain from taking Zofran unless the morning sickness is so severe that you are losing weight or becoming malnourished. While I see here that you have not gained any weight as of yet, I don’t think that your morning sickness is severe enough for intervention. I’m sorry, Natalie, but you are almost to the end of this stage. Give it another month or so.”

  Dr. Davidson finished her spiel and gave me a sympathetic look. I tried to smile but I was sure it looked more like a sneer.

  “Do you have any more questions for me before you go?” She handed me a long printout of ultrasound images as I shook my head.

  “No, I think that’s everything.” I wanted to cry because my workload was so heavy and my energy was so low, from vomiting as well as general pregnancy exhaustion.

  “Okay, then. Let me know if you think of anything. Call the office at any time.”

  The doctor left the room and I sagged back onto the exam table, throwing my arms over my face as I lay there a minute to gather myself. There was no one I could confide in, no one I could share the photos of my growing baby with, or explain the excitement and fear that were building inside of me. I wanted to tell my father, but shame held me back. He would be furious, but I was hoping when I told him the baby was Jackson’s, his ire would dissipate.

  I forced myself to get up from the table and get dressed. My phone was ringing from somewhere inside my purse on the chair across the room and I knew it was someone from my office, calling with more demands.

  Sighing, I pulled my sweater dress on, followed by my tights and knee-high boots. Most of my clothes still fit but were getting tight around the middle.

  I had to find the time to tell my father about the pregnancy.

  Shrugging into my jacket, I made my way out of the office, setting up my next appointment before walking out the doors to my waiting car. October in New York City was fickle and today, though it seemed it was going to finally cool off, I was sweating in my long sleeves. I pushed them up, then poured myself some ginger ale and sipped it as the car headed towards my father’s building.

  They were waiting for me, which was what the angry voicemail from my assistant Jessica said when I listened to it moments earlier. I was supposed to be in a meeting ten minutes ago and everyone was wondering where I was. Again. This was the third time I was late for a meeting this week. The last two times were because I had to change because I was sweating through my dress as I was heaving over the toilet.

  Picking up my phone, I cleared my throat as I waited for Jessica to answer.

  “Livingston PR, Jessica Helms speaking.” At least she was polite when she didn’t know it was me.

  “Hi, Jessica. It’s Natalie. I’m on my way. Can you stall for about five minutes more?”

  I held my breath as I waited for her to answer. Jessica was unusually short with me lately, but I didn’t blame her. I wasn’t exactly the warmest person to work with. None of that mattered anyway because I had a business to run and I wasn’t there to make friends.

  “Sure. But hurry. They are starting to turn on you. This is the third time this week.” She said those few sentences to me in a way that made me feel like a second grader.

  I wanted to let it go, but I was hot, sweaty and feeling nauseous again. So, I didn’t.

  “I’m sorry you’re so inconvenienced to have to do your job, Jessica, but if there’s a problem, you don’t have to do the job anymore,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Livingston. I’ll get right on that.” She didn’t sound the least bit sorry but at least she said it.

  Tossing the phone onto the seat next to my purse, I let my head fall back against the seat and closed my eyes for a minute. I couldn’t sleep—work, guilt, and everything in between kept me awake most of the night, but I was beyond exhausted. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go on this way.

  The ride back Uptown wasn’t as long as I would have liked and when I stepped from my car, a chill gripped me where sweat still clung to me under my sweater dress. Shivering, I ambled inside, stabbed the elevator button for the tenth floor, and put a hand on my roiling belly.

  Not today. Please, not today.

  Just before the doors opened, I took a deep breath, smoothed my hair, and held my head high as I sauntered out and made my way towards the conference room. The room was packed with men and women waiting for me to have something witty and informative to say. I set my bag down and looked between everyone, including Jessica with her mocking disapproval, and my dad, with his barely contained disappointment.

  “Good morning, sorry for the delay…” I began before launching into the spiel I had practiced all week.

  By the time I was finished, most people in the room were smiling. Jessica was not one of them because I think she was hoping I would flop, but my dad was. I packed up my notes as everyone made their way out of the room, a few stopping to tell me how great the pitch was, before my dad approached.

  “What’s going on with you, Nat?” he whispered so no one else could hear.

  “I can’t talk about it right now. How about we have dinner tonight at my place and we’ll talk?” We had to be alone when I told him, so a restaurant would not be ideal.

  “Is everything all right? Are you ill?” Panic flooded his eyes and I felt guilty for keeping this from him for so long.

  “No, Dad. Nothing like that. Please don’t worry. Meet me at my apartment at seven and we’ll talk. Okay?” I waited for his response.

  He nodded, masking the worry that still marred his face. I could tell he was still unnerved though. “All right. I’ll see you at seven.”

  He patted my arm and walked away.

  “Miss Livingston, is there anything else that you’d like me to do before I head out for lunch?” Jessica approached and I wondered how much of the conversation she had heard between my father and me.

  I glanced at my watch. Was it lunchtime already?

  “No, Jessica, go ahead to lunch a little ear
ly.” I was suddenly feeling benevolent since I chewed her out earlier.

  Giving me a genuine smile, which was a rare exchange between the two of us, she thanked me and walked away.

  I wanted nothing more than to retreat to my office and lie on the couch for an hour but as I gathered my belongings and made my way back there, I realized I was behind on two of our new accounts, and the clients were waiting for information on an album release party I was supposed to organize while the others were waiting on the flyers for their show. No rest for the wicked.

  The last few weeks had been rough but today was shaping up to be the worst. I wasn’t likely to get home until just before seven, which meant I had to call a caterer to deliver dinner for my father and I, or we would have to eat old saltines as that was the only thing I had in the pantry.

  Collapsing in my chair, I snatched my desk phone to get started on the arrangements for dinner and my new clients. By the time I set the receiver back in the cradle, two hours had passed and I missed lunch. My stomach growled as I stood up and stretched, hunger gripping me swiftly and without warning. Baby wanted food and of course, I didn’t bring lunch or even order anything.

  Rubbing my stomach, I headed to the office kitchen to see if we had anything left from the meeting this morning—a croissant or a bagel to tide me over until tonight.

  “Miss Livingston, do you want me to order you a sandwich?” Jessica asked me with disgust as I swung around at the sound of her voice, a croissant between my teeth.

  Startled, I pulled the croissant out quickly and set it on a napkin on the counter, wiping my mouth.

  “Jessica! I didn’t hear you come in.” I felt foolish. I was so engrossed in rummaging around in the bags on the counter, I didn’t hear her enter the kitchen.

  “What are you looking for?” She moved closer and tried to peer at what I was searching for in the bags.

  I glanced down, lowering my head a little with embarrassment. “Uh, jelly or butter.”