Never Say Never: Gravel Hill Boys Book Two

13. Madison

Liane appearedin the doorway to my office. Her arms folded and her foot tapping.

“Well?” she asked, her eyebrows twin peaks.

My fingers flew over my keyboard, tapping out an email that should’ve been sent yesterday, but after my doctor’s visit and the lunch meeting I’d nearly missed, I’d gone home for a quick nap and didn’t wake up until midnight.

“Well what?” My eyes scanned what I’d written before hitting send.

She stepped into my office, closing the door behind her and took a seat in one of the chairs across from me.

Besties aside, I was too far behind for a random gab session.

“What do you mean ‘well what?’ Please tell me you didn’t put off going to the doctor again. I know you’re freaked out, but by ignoring your…” she lowered her voice, “…condition doesn’t mean it will clear up on its own. It’s not a common cold. It’s a baby.”

I shushed her loudly, but she waved me off.

“I tried calling you last night, but it went straight to voicemail. I assumed you needed some alone time to mull over your decision.”

Her eyes were burning a hole in the top of my head. I put the file I’d been working on into the OUT basket and grabbed the next one from the stack atop my desk.

“No mulling necessary.” I couldn’t seem to make eye contact, so I kept my hands busy and opened the folder, not that I could focus on a single word.

“Then you’ve decided?”

I reached for a stack of papers and tapped them on the desk, evening the pile out.

“Decided?” I parroted, deliberately obtuse.

Like some Chanel-clad ninja, Liane swiped the papers from my hands.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” she demanded, which despite my nervous agitation, sent me into a fit of giggles that became belly laughs when she broke and started to laugh as well.

“Who are you?” I asked. “My father?” I swiped a tear from under my eye.

“That did sound like him, didn’t it?” The state of her mascara was likely a reflection of mine. Given the number of times my eyes welled up and my mascara smeared over the past few weeks, I needed to invest in a better waterproof variety.

Liane snatched a tissue from the box on my desk and settled back into her chair. “Spill,” she said dabbing the tissue carefully under her eyes. “I don’t have a lot of time. Having to spend a week in West Virginia on top of all that drama with Beau and his insane relatives has me so far behind.”

Good grief. How had that slipped my mind? Beau Edward Taylor and his band, The Gravel Hill Boys, were one of our top clients. He’d gone rogue on us and scheduled a benefit concert for a family in his hometown and then two days before the concert, disappeared after some family secrets had been leaked to the press.

Talk about a PR nightmare. Thankfully, Liane was the best fixer on my payroll.

As our client roster grew—I’d assigned her two junior account assistants just to help deal with some of the day-to-day crises that we needed to manage.

Once we signed a few more high-profile celebrity clients, I intended to create a separate entertainment division and promote Liane to vice president of that division. Honestly, with the sudden change in my own situation, I might do it sooner.

I forced my eyes upward and leveled my gaze with hers.

“Yes, I’ve made a decision.”

She drew in a deep breath. “And?”

I pulled open the top drawer of my desk and removed the sleek silver frame I’d picked up at Tiffany’s yesterday afternoon to hold my sonogram. I set the frame on my desk with the sonogram facing Liane and waited. Confusion marred her face. She blinked a few times before the realization dawned that she was looking at the little lime that had been wreaking havoc on my body for the past three months.

She pointed an accusatory finger at the image. “Is that…” She leaned in for a closer look. “…a baby?”

Her shock had me laughing. “Why do you look so surprised? Weren’t you the one who figured out I was pregnant?”

“Yeah, but…” She snatched the frame off the desk and studied it, before looking up at me. “It has a nose.”

My throat grew tight. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“Of course it has a nose, but I mean I can actually see it. It’s got a profile and fingers and everything.” She looked at me in awe.

Here I was with a baby no bigger than a lime, and I was already awash with pride that it had fingers—fingers that I had seen it put into its own mouth. In direct contrast, I’d been an overachiever, with multiple accomplishments, and yet I still waited for my father to tell me that he was proud of me. My child would never long to hear those words.

Liane set the frame down and rushed around my desk. “Oh no! What’s wrong?” She tore several tissues from the box on my desk and jammed them into my hand before throwing her arms around me.

Liane came from a normal family. Wealthy, although not as obscenely wealthy as my family. Her parents had been married for thirty years and lived in the same house, while mine were technically married, but didn’t even live in the same country. She knew my mother was self-centered and my father was a textbook narcissist, but she would never understand the level of hurt I felt at my less-than-traditional upbringing. The only consistency I’d had growing up, other than the two months of the year my grandmother was in residence at our estate in Gladwyne, just outside of Philadelphia, was my nanny, Juliette.

As far as the world was concerned, and that included my best friend, I operated as if none of that bothered me. But that was a big, fat lie.

“Is Connor being a dick?”

I wiped under my eyes and dabbed under my nose. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Why would he be?”

“Well, what did he have to say?”

I shrugged.

“Please tell me you’ve spoken to him.”

I shrugged again. “Not exactly.”

Liane pulled out the voice she used with some of her most difficult clients. “Madison,” she added a glare to compel me into submission. “He has a right to know.”

“Actually, he doesn’t.”

Her arms folded across her chest, and if I deserved her ire, I’d be squirming about now. This was the Liane who got bad boy rock stars back onto the straight and narrow.

“How do you figure?”

“Because he’s not the father,” I answered with a lot more conviction than I was feeling.

Her eyes widened comically. “Excuse me?”

“Connor’s not the father.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “But you got pregnant right before you broke up.”

“You assumed that. It was actually right after he dumped me…like hours after he dumped me.”

Her jaw fell open as she stared down at me.

“But…but… How?” She shook her head. “I mean, I know how, but when? Where?” She paced in front of the windows that looked out over Logan Square Plaza.

“I just told you; it happened right after Connor dumped me. At the Four Seasons. Room 5211 to be exact.”

“You didn’t even leave the building?” she screeched.

“Why don’t you yell a little louder so the rest of the office can hear you?”

Chastised, she lowered her voice. “Sorry, I don’t mean to slut-shame you. I’m just…surprised.”

I scoffed. “That makes two of us, especially since I’m certain he used a condom each time.”

Liane raised her eyebrows along with her volume. Again. “Each time? Jesus, Maddie. How many times are we talking here?”

Was I feeling slut-shamed? A little bit.

She plopped down onto a chair, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes and looked at me, I knew she was trying to remain calm about how I came to be in my current condition. Her smile was conciliatory. “Again, sorry. I’m just a bit…shocked. This just isn’t like you. You’re usually so level-headed and precise. Cautious. Calculating, even.”

“Good grief. You make me sound like an automaton.”

“No, no, no. That’s not what I meant at all. But you are level-headed. Jumping into bed with some guy right after breaking up with Connor? It just doesn’t sound like something you’d do.”

Sitting on my desk, the sonogram caught my eye. The little hands and feet; the fingers splayed in a tiny wave; the tiny nose that made me catch my breath every time I saw it. A wave of panic washed over me. What would I tell her—or him—when they asked who their father was?

Reading my mind, as she often did, Liane posed a similar question.

“Who’s the father? Did you run into an old boyfriend or something?” When I grimaced, a look of horror crossed her face. “Please tell me you know who the father is.”

I picked up the silver frame and returned it to its place and took a deep breath.

“I do not.”

Her face fell. “Maddie. What are you going to do?”

I lifted my chin and tried to be the cautious and calculating person she accused me of being. “I’m going to have a baby, that’s what I’m going to do. I don’t need a man for that. At least not to raise it. I’m financially and emotionally stable. I can do it on my own. Or at least hire someone to help me. That’s what my parents did, and I turned out fine.” I motioned toward the wall holding my degrees and my Woman of the Year award from the city’s Women in Leadership Council. “Goals are fluid, right? I’ll just add Mother of the Year to my list of accomplishments.” A nervous laugh escaped. “And don’t forget, I was also named one of Philly’s Favorite Fashionistas last year. My baby will certainly be stylish.”

“Well, that was…a lot to unpack. Listen, babe. I have faith in you, but you don’t need to do this alone. I’m here for you,” she said. “I’ll always be here for you.”

I narrowed one eye. “So you’ll babysit, change diapers, all the fun stuff?”

It was hard not to laugh at the face she made.

“Don’t push your luck. I’m sure there are other things I can help you with. Like in the office. Or shopping.” She grew more excited. “I can shop!”

“I have no idea what lies ahead for me, but if I’m ever overwhelmed with shopping, I know who to turn to.”

Her offer of assistance gained traction. “And if it’s an emergency, I could change a pee-pee diaper,” she said, “but not the other kind.” She shivered.

“I’ll try and remember that.”

“So you really have no clue who the father is? What’s his name? Maybe we can google him.”

“I don’t know. After Connor left and I’d been escorted from the restaurant—” I raised my hand to stop Liane from going there. “—I later went up to the lounge and sat at the bar and tried to drown my feelings.”

“Dirty Grey Goose martinis?”

I nodded.

“Oh dear.” As my best friend, Liane knew that I typically limited myself to one martini, maybe two, and sipped it over the course of an entire evening. I liked being in control.

“Yes, well. Humiliation makes you do crazy things. I don’t recommend it. But while I’d set out to drown my sorrows, I never got more than a little tipsy.” I slipped my shoes off and wiggled my toes.

“I hadn’t been there long when this tall, good-looking guy came up beside me. He wasn’t my type at all. He was wearing jeans, a button-down with the sleeves rolled up, leather jacket, motorcycle boots?—”

“At Jean-Georges?”

“Well, in the bar, but yes.”

“Anyway, he smelled amazing—leather and spice.” If I closed my eyes I could almost conjure up the exact scent. “Royal Oud, I think. Whatever it was, it was loaded with pheromones, because I was about ready to climb him like a tree.”

Liane giggled. “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“I know.” I smiled at the memory. “Anyway, he asked for my name, and I insisted that we not use our names. He looked like trouble, so that’s what I called him. He was fine with that, so he called me Sugar.”

“Sugar?” She laughed. “Sounds like a fuckboy.”

I rolled my lips together before I could answer. “Definitely. He could’ve been a professional fuckboy.”

She squealed. “Madison Enright!”

Heat bloomed on my neck and face, but I couldn’t help my smile. “It was the best sex I’ve ever had. It started at the bar, heated up in the elevator, and we caught fire the minute we stepped into my room.”

“Damn.” Liane fanned her face. “Was he a guest at the hotel?”

I shook my head. “He said he didn’t have a room there.”

“So then maybe he lives here, in Philly.”

“It’s possible, but he had an accent.”

“I love men with accents,” she gushed. “French? British? Italian?”

“Um…no. Southern.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Southern what? Please tell me southern France.”

“Not exactly. I’d say he was more of a good ol’ boy.”

She gaped at me.

“He was droppin’ those G’s all night long.”

Liane picked up the framed sonogram. “Hey there, little bean. I’m your Aunt Liane. I just want you to know that due to temporary insanity compounded by vodka martinis, your mama hooked up with a good ol’ fuckboy from down south. But don’t you worry none, ‘cause he smelled real nice. And when you’re in kindergarten, and your teacher asks what your daddy’s name is, you tell her it’s Trouble with a capital T.”

“That’s disturbingly accurate, only deeper and softer. Less twang.”

She returned the photo to its place. “You really know nothing at all? I mean, despite there being thousands of southern fuckboys, there has to be a way to narrow it down.”

It was too embarrassing, but I did have one tiny clue—if you could even call it that.

“When I woke up the morning after, alone?—”

With a roll of her eyes, she frowned. “Figures.”

“Yes, but…he left a note, more or less.”

“Well why didn’t you say so?”

“Actually, it’s more of a card than a note.”

“Like a business card?”

“Kinda,” I mumbled, already sorry I’d mentioned it. Waking up alone the next morning I’d felt like a hooker with nothing but a calling card as a reminder of my client from the night before. At least he hadn’t left me any money on the nightstand.

“Kinda?” she asked, no doubt mocking my elocution.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, flicking my hand. “He signed the card, but it isn’t legible. I can’t read it, so you won’t be able to either. Trust me; I’ve tried.”

“If he wrote his name, that probably means he wanted to see you again.”

“In case one of his condoms failed and he thought I might want to get in touch with him so he could set up a college fund?”

Judging by her scowl, my sarcasm was not appreciated. “Hand it over,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“I don’t have it,” I lied. It was currently buried in the back of my top desk drawer. Since I spent more time in the office than I did anywhere else, I’d stashed it there as a reminder to be wary of anyone carrying a Y chromosome. It didn’t matter if it was a business relationship or a personal one. Connor was near the top of the jackass list, but my baby daddy followed close behind due to said card.

My father, Charles Randolph Enright III, held tight to the number one spot on the men-can-be-jerks list. And once he found out I’d accidentally become pregnant during a one-night stand with a stranger, his response would surely secure him the crown for the foreseeable future.

Liane stalked around my desk and rolled me and my chair out of her way. Before I could stop her, she wrenched open my desk drawer and rooted around until she found the bag of Belgian chocolates I stashed back there. With a frown, she tossed them on my desk as I scrambled out of my chair and tried to stop her from digging deeper into the drawer.

“You think you’re clever,” she said, “but I can smell chocolate on your breath whenever you’re stressed.”

I grabbed her arm, but she was taller and stronger, and used it to hold me back and out of the way while she kept digging through my drawer.

“Aha,” she cried, holding up the cream stock business card over her head so I couldn’t reach it.

“Damn it, Liane,” I snarled. “Give me that.”

“I think not.” She continued holding it out of reach while she read it aloud.

“Hey there, sweetheart. Thanks for a special night.”

An odd sound escaped from her throat, and she stopped reading.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She sounded stunned, but she couldn’t be any more shocked than I was when I’d found it.

This was my chance. “Yes,” I said. “It’s a joke. Now give it back.” I kneeled on my chair, ready to climb on top of my desk if I had to in order to get that card.

Her iron grip kept me in place, but she lowered her arm. The look of shock on her face caused my stomach to flip.

“Oh, dear god,” I whispered. “Please don’t tell me you slept with him and got a card too.”

Shock morphed into horror, and she released me. “Hell no!” She took a step back.

“Then why do you look so freaked out?” I demanded, dropping into my chair now that the proverbial cat was out of the bag.

She tapped a blood-red manicured fingernail on the card. “I have good news and bad news.”

And I had a headache, plus I wanted some chocolate-covered toffee. “What’s the good news?”

Liane kept the card but folded her arms across her chest. “The good news is that I’m certain I know who the father of your baby is.

My mouth fell open. “And the bad news?”

“The bad news is that your baby will grow up without a father, because I’m going to kill him.”