The Shacking Up Series

by Helena Hunting

  “We can talk about it if it becomes something to talk about.”

  Once we’re finished with breakfast, Griffin sees me out to the valet where he’s requested a car. He laces his fingers with mine, and I’m suddenly very glad for the dress I’m wearing. People address him as Mr. Mills and give me inquisitive looks. I can’t imagine the stares if I were wearing one of my cheeky logo tanks and shorts.

  I’m pretty much floating across the lobby when I spot a very agitated woman, hands flailing as she barks at the concierge. It catches Griffin’s attention, and he comes to an abrupt halt. “Fuck me.” His grip on my hand tightens momentarily before he releases it and steps in front of me, like a shield.

  “I’m his fiancée, and I demand to see him!” the woman shouts.

  All the buoyancy of the morning seems to be sucked down in a vortex of impending doom. Griffin looks like he wants to sink into the floor. “Who is that woman?”

  She scans the lobby and spots Griffin. “Never mind. There he is.” She adjusts her purse and turns, which is the moment all the air seems to disappear from the room. “Griffin! Sweetheart, you need to talk to the staff here. I’ve been looking for you for almost an hour,” she calls out as she approaches.

  She’s beautiful, her light brown hair cut in an elegant, smooth bob. Her makeup is flawless. She’s willowy and tall and screams of money and sophistication.

  When she tries to hug Griffin, he holds her at arm’s length. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She smiles up at him. She’s in heels, and she’s tall so she doesn’t have to look up very far. She rubs her belly, which is when I notice the very obvious bump.

  “Griffin? Who is this?” I croak.

  The woman in question turns to look at me, her smile shifting quickly into an annoyed sneer as she looks me over. She holds up her hand, flashing a rock the size of my head. The glare from the lights nearly blinds me. “I’m Griffin’s fiancée, and who might you be?”

  “An idiot, apparently.”

  Chapter Fifteen: Baby Daddy

  Griffin

  Before I have a chance to process what’s happening, Cosy is already halfway across the lobby, heading for the valet. I fix an angry glare on Imogen. “Stay here.” I rush after Cosy, my stomach already in knots.

  Imogen is pregnant.

  Imogen who broke off the engagement because she wanted roots and stability and didn’t think I would ever be able to settle down and provide that. Imogen who wrote me an entire manifesto of my shortcomings so I would know, without a doubt, that it was my fault we didn’t work out.

  By the time I get outside, Cosy is already at the taxi stand. I don’t know what I’m going to say to her, or how to explain this, but I need to at least try. The valet steps up to the cab, prepared to help her escape me.

  “Do not open that door,” I shout. “Cosy, wait. You need to listen to me.”

  She whirls around. Her anger is stunning and damning at the same time. “You have a pregnant fiancée that you failed to tell me about. What the hell can you possibly have to explain?”

  “Imogen is my ex-fiancée. We ended things months ago.” I keep advancing, and she holds up a hand.

  “Months ago? And you didn’t think it was relevant to tell me about her or the fact that she’s pregnant?”

  “I didn’t know she was pregnant until now.”

  She closes her eyes and rubs her temples. “Then I think you need to be dealing with her and not me right now, wouldn’t you agree?” She turns to the valet. “I’d like to leave, please.”

  I desperately want to stop her, but nothing I can say is going to undo the damage that’s been done, so all I can do is watch Cosy disappear into the car and drive away.

  “Who was that girl?” Imogen asks, a sour expression on her face.

  “I thought I told you to stay put,” I snap.

  She purses her lips and rearranges her face into a disapproving smile. She steps in front of me and puts her hands on my chest, making a show of smoothing out my lapels. “We have an audience, Griffin, and that little girl just made a scene, so I expect you, as the father of our child, to show some contrition. We obviously need to talk. In private.”

  I blow out a breath and resist the urge to brush her hands away. “You’re right about the talking part.” My stomach churns as she links arms with me and I numbly let her lead me back into the hotel.

  “Shall we go up to your suite?”

  “Absolutely not.” Cosy’s things are still up there, including several changes of clothes lying in a pile on the floor after her fashion show prior to breakfast, and I doubt housekeeping has been by to clean up the rose petals, or the sheets that smell like sex. “You have your own room booked? We can go there.”

  “I don’t, actually. I assumed I’d be staying with you, circumstances being what they are.” She pats her swollen belly and smiles up at me.

  I don’t think I’ve ever hated another person, but right now the emotion I’m feeling seems a lot like loathing. “That’s not a good idea. I’ll have concierge set you up with your own room.” I lead her down the hall to the conference rooms and call Nancy, requesting that she reschedule my meetings for the rest of the day. I usher Imogen into an empty conference room and hold out a chair for her.

  “A conference room, Griffin? Really?”

  “You wanted private and this is private.” I close the door and pour two glasses of water, setting them on the table. I settle into the chair beside her and shift away to give myself more space. “How far along are you?”

  “Twenty-six weeks.”

  I do the math in my head, going backward through the months. Twenty-six weeks ago, I was in New York. There’s a strong likelihood that the night she conceived is also the night before she broke off the engagement, which is the most epic kick in the balls ever. “And you’re just telling me now? Jesus, Imogen, why wait this long?”

  “I didn’t realize I was pregnant at first. I’m tall, and I was stress eating, so I thought that accounted for the weight gain.”

  “But clearly you’ve known for quite some time. So why drop this bomb on me now?”

  She makes a tsking sound and rubs her belly protectively. “It’s not a bomb; it’s a baby. Our baby, Griffin. And I tried to talk to you, but you wouldn’t return my calls, and when I suggested we try to reconcile, you shut me out. I was in a fragile state, alone, dealing with the pregnancy on my own. I worried the stress would be bad for the baby, so I waited. But then I went for my six-month checkup and I found out we’re having a boy, and I knew I needed to make you sit down and listen to reason.” She reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away. “I made a mistake, Griffin. I shouldn’t have broken off the engagement. I was lonely and scared that I’d be a married woman with a husband who was never there.”

  “You could’ve come with me on every single damn trip if you’d wanted.”

  “You know how sensitive I am to changes in environment. It would’ve been so difficult on me, on us. But now, I realize how wrong I was to end things the way I did. I miss you, Griffin. We have so much history together. I know I hurt you, but we can work it out, for our baby.”

  I think about the way she broke off the engagement. How we’d had wine with dinner, followed by sex. How the next morning she’d told me over coffee and egg whites that she couldn’t see a future with me anymore. She’d been cold and detached and matter-of-fact as she’d explained how I was incapable of providing her with stability, that my projects overseas and my charity work with Lincoln always took precedence over her. I didn’t want her enough, love her well enough. I wasn’t enough for her. She’d followed it up with a twenty-page list of things I should work on for future relationships.

  And as I sit across from her, I realize that as painful as it was to hear at the time, she was right. I would never be enough for her, but she wouldn’t be enough for me either. She wanted me to settle down and stay put, and I was never going to be that person. Not with her, and yet, now I was tied t
o her for the rest of my life.

  “I’m seeing someone.”

  She barks out a humorous laugh. “You mean that little girl who made a scene?”

  “She’s very much a woman, and she had every right to be upset, as I do, considering you appeared out of nowhere with no warning and you’re pregnant.”

  “With your child,” she snaps.

  “So you say. How the hell do I know you weren’t running around behind my back screwing away your loneliness with someone else? I was never good enough, remember, Imogen? Maybe you found someone to give it to you better than me.”

  She tips her chin up, cheeks flushing. “You know how stress affects me.”

  “You were always stressed. Always critical. I tried, Imogen, did you?”

  “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

  “Too little, too late. I don’t want you back. I’m happy now. I have no interest in trying with you again.”

  Imogen gives me her practiced smile. “How old is your plaything, Griffin?”

  “She’s my goddamn girlfriend and her age is not relevant to this conversation.”

  “Twenty, twenty-one?” Imogen needles.

  “Twenty-two.”

  Imogen’s face twists into a disgusted grimace before it smooths out into something that resembles pity. “This is my fault. I pushed you to this. Of course you’d need to find someone who would bolster your ego after I broke off the engagement. It’s completely understandable.”

  “That’s not what this is about.”

  She moves into my personal space and puts a hand on my arm. “It’s reasonable for you to be upset and, dare I say, shocked by this news, but this girl, has she even finished college?”

  I grit my teeth and look anywhere but Imogen.

  She sighs. “Darling, listen. You’re going to be a father, and she’s just starting her life. What are you planning to do? Split up our family? Only see your son fifty percent of the time so you can play house with her until she realizes her reality and yours don’t belong together?”

  I scrub a hand over my face. “I don’t want you back.”

  “Not right now, no. You’re still angry, and I understand that, but we’re meant to be together. You’ll see that with time.”

  “I don’t think so, Imogen.”

  “I do. I believe in us, in being a family. I know you’re coming back to New York in a few weeks. I’m willing to give you time to process. I knew you’d be upset, and I’m sorry about the complication that girl poses, but you know I’m right about her.”

  I don’t respond because I have nothing to say. Every word out of her mouth makes me feel like I’m drowning.

  She exhales a shuddery breath as if she’s on the verge of tears. I doubt she is. I’ve only seen her cry a handful of times in the four years we were together.

  “Anyway, I’ll be in Vegas for a while. If you need space and for me to sleep in separate accommodations, I can deal with that, but I think we should have dinner together so we can start planning for the birth once you’re back home. There’s just so much to do. Oh!” Imogen sits up straighter and cradles her belly. Her nails are pale blue. “He’s kicking. Here, give me your hand so you can feel it too.”

  She stands and moves closer. Morbid curiosity gets the better of me, and I let her place my hand over her stomach. The bump against my palm feels very much like a stab in the heart. Because she’s right. Cosy isn’t going to want any part of this, and I can’t blame her. More than that, if this baby is mine, I’m responsible not only for his welfare, but the welfare of his mother too.

  Chapter Sixteen: Bliss Undone

  Cosy

  The whole scene at the hotel plays over and over again in my head all the way home. As soon as I walk through the door to my apartment, I burst into tears. My girlfriend status didn’t even last twenty-four hours. I was fine not getting serious with anyone until he came along and made me believe I could have more. Now my heart is shattered, and I’m doomed to a solitary existence.

  “Cosy? Are you okay?” Nev’s slippered feet appear in my vision. They’re blurry thanks to all the tears.

  I sniff and drag the back of my hand under my nose, which is a terrible idea since it leaves a snail-like trail behind. “I’m fantastic.”

  “So, these are tears of joy?” She puffs on her e-cigarette. This one smells like cinnamon. Sometimes I wish I were a smoker so I could have a vice.

  “Absolutely.” I peel myself off the floor and throw myself at my sister, sobbing into her shoulder.

  She pats me on the back. “I have weed if you want to get high and talk about it. Oh, and I think there are a few of those gross coolers you like in the fridge. I saved those for you.”

  Leave it to my sister to offer drugs and alcohol as a coping mechanism for heartbreak. “I’ll pass on the weed, but the coolers sound like a good idea. What time is it?”

  “Ten thirty.”

  “Close enough to eleven.”

  She puts her arm around my shoulder and leads me down the hall toward the living room. “Those coolers have at least five percent fruit juice, so it’s almost like a breakfast food. Come tell your big sis what that stupid man-boy did to make you cry.”

  I flop down on the couch. “How did you know it was about Griffin?”

  “Lucky guess. You’re not a big crier and usually it’s over losing your heart to someone. So, what did the bastard do?” She opens the fridge and almost climbs inside to retrieve a cooler for me.

  “He has a pregnant ex-fiancée.”

  She smacks her head on the freezer door on her way back up. “Ow! Say what now?”

  “He has a baby mama.”

  “Wow. How the hell did you find that out?”

  “She showed up at the hotel this morning, right after Griffin offered to get me an internship in New York.”

  She passes me the bottle with the cap still on. “Wait. That doesn’t even make any sense. Why would he offer to set you up with an internship if he has a baby on the way? Unless he’s a psycho.”

  “He said he didn’t know about the baby until today.” I try to use the side of the coffee table to get the cap off like Nev always does, but all I do is chip off a chunk of wood.

  “Here, let me do that before you break it.” She takes the bottle, caps it with one solid tap and hands it back to me. “How pregnant is she?”

  “Really pregnant. Like there’s - a - basketball - attached - to - the - front - of - her - body pregnant. The not-knowing part I might be able to understand, but they couldn’t have been broken up all that long when he started dating me. And he didn’t even tell me about her. Then there’s the fact that he slept with you, probably right after they broke up. With my luck, he’s a serial killer too.”

  “I find that unlikely. Oh and by the way, I forgot to tell you, I didn’t sleep with Griffin.”

  I give her a look. “Don’t make jokes right now, Nev. I’m not in the mood.”

  “I’m not joking. I hit on him, and we did some shots. He was super shitfaced. Like he could barely string words together. He said he was going to sleep off his drunk in his car, so of course, I wanted to see it, you know? I mean, he looks like money with the way he dresses, am I right?”

  “You’re right.” I’m annoyed that my sister is taking forever to get to the damn point, but then that’s Nev.

  “So we get outside, and his car was on my bang bucket list, so I figure I might as well get the check mark even if he was super hammered and his performance was probably going to suck.”

  “Can we move this story along, please?” I take a very long draught from my bottle, effectively consuming half the contents in one gulp.

  “Right. Yeah. So I asked if I could sit in his car with him, and he said, sure, but he was going to take a nap. I tried to kiss him, but he told me he needed to pee and that he thought he left his credit card in the bar, then he passed out cold. I tried to wake him up, but he was like, done. Anyway, I was light on cash, so I borrowed some of his and I may have
snagged his credit card from the bar.” She takes another drag from her e-cigarette and blows cinnamon smoke in the air.

  “You stole his money and his credit card?” I’m not even that surprised, which says something about my sister, I realize.

  “I borrowed it without the intention of giving it back, which isn’t the same as stealing. Besides, all I bought with the credit card was some snacks, a carton of smokes, and a pizza. Guy drives a car that costs as much as a house around here; he wouldn’t even notice the money is missing.”

  “Jesus, Nev.” I’m still trying to understand how borrowing without the intention of giving back is any different than stealing, but then, my sister’s rationale for things isn’t always logical.

  “It was a bad night. What can I say?”

  “Not much, I guess. It’s not like it changes anything. He still kept things from me and now has a pregnant ex-fiancée, who incidentally looks like the exact kind of woman who belongs on his arm. Even preggers, that bitch was gorgeous.”

  “Well, that sucks. Maybe their beautiful genetics will create a monster of a child.”

  “One can only hope.”

  After a few minutes of silence in which Nev surrounds me with a cloud of cinnamon vape smoke, she pats my leg. “I guess it’s better this way, huh?”

  “Better that Griffin has a gorgeous, pregnant ex-fiancée, as opposed to what?”

  “As opposed to you getting all starry-eyed over him, and then he dumps you when he goes back to New York or wherever for some pencil skirt–wearing tightass who thinks diamonds make the world go around.”

  “Yeah. So glad I didn’t get starry-eyed over him.” Obviously I’m being sarcastic, since I was totally falling for him.

  “See, there’s always a silver lining.” She shifts on the couch and pulls a granola bar from between the cushions. “I was looking for this!”

  I’m on my third cooler and realize I already have a headache. What’s worse is that I know it’s Griffin’s fault for all the sparkles and glamour he threw at me, and expensive alcohol. He was so right about the hangover not being as bad as long as I avoid the sugary cheap crap. But since that’s all I can afford, I send Nev out on a shopping trip.