Never Say Never: Gravel Hill Boys Book Two

31. Madison

My feet were crammedinto a pair of Gucci sandals that looked as if they were two sizes too small. “What is happening to me?”

I pried them off and sent them sailing across the kitchen. Getting them off was only slightly easier than getting them on since my ankles were too swollen to buckle the straps. The Prada ballet flats would have to do. They didn’t look like they’d fit either, but they would have to do as I had no intention of moving up a size. I’d expected my belly to grow, but not the rest of me. My cheeks were puffy; my ass was bigger; and to the untrained eye, I looked like I was shoplifting a melon under my dress. I felt frumpy—a word I never thought I would use to describe myself.

Whoever designed maternity clothes should be tarred and feathered and then drawn and quartered. And yes, I knew what all of that meant. It was horrific—just like these clothes. The minute I got to my office I was calling my mother and demanding she get on her designer friends about the lack of attractive maternity wear for the fashion forward. Of the more than fifty luxury brand companies owned by brE Global, not one catered to expectant mothers. Pitiful.

After one more glimpse in the hall mirror, I headed downstairs, grateful that my driver was already waiting. Until recently, I enjoyed walking to the office, but lately, it had become too much.

Something wasn’t right. I’d been feeling awful since before I learned I was pregnant, but all this nonsense was new. I’d swollen up almost overnight. The nausea and vomiting had returned and was causing some wicked headaches. In addition to swollen hands and feet, I was gaining weight, which was really ticking me off. I tried to eat healthy, although I’d made the mistake of dipping into one of the gourmet chocolate gift boxes we sent to new clients and had developed an unhealthy obsession with a local chocolatier’s champagne truffles. There was a box stashed in my desk drawer in the office. I limited myself to one treat a day, which made the sudden weight gain all the more confusing.

It was too early to be retaining water, and I wasn’t far enough along to be out of breath from walking twenty feet. If this was what a typical pregnancy was like, how had the world become over populated?

After shuffling out of the car and into the lobby, I grabbed a yogurt and granola parfait from the café and made my way upstairs, only to be ready to head back home and take a nap. This was insane! At least there was a sofa in my office. If the exhaustion didn’t abate, I could grab my laptop, take off my shoes, and put my feet up for a while.

For now, I refused to give in to the siren call of the sofa. I settled behind my desk, kicked off my shoes, and pulled up my calendar. My day was scheduled down to the last minute, but there were some tasks I could delegate. I had a mid-morning meeting with a cellist who wanted me to turn him into the next Yo-Yo Ma, and this evening I was scheduled for dinner and drinks with the CEO of one of the largest investment firms in the country. It would’ve been an incredible coup to land this sort of account. At first, I’d been convinced he was only meeting with me as a favor to my grandmother. But after doing a little research—which included gossip from the club—I came to the conclusion that he was probably not looking for us to represent his firm as much as help dig him out of a scandal he was embroiled in after being caught in a three-way with one of his senior market executives and a VP from a competing firm. His wife, having discovered the happy little threesome in his office after hours, was threatening to go public by revealing where all the bodies are buried.

It made me question why I wanted to branch out from my niche of promoting small businesses, restaurants, and catering to the typically unusual needs of people in the entertainment industry. Coked up rock stars had nothing on some of my grandmother’s billionaire buddies.

A commotion outside my door had me hurrying to wrap up a call with the owner of a trendy new restaurant in Chestnut Hill. I’d just hung up when I heard my assistant, Samantha, raise her voice.

“I’m sorry, but no. You can’t see her without an appointment.”

“She’ll see me, I promise.”

The door swung open. Samantha dove into the room ahead of the man attempting to breach my ramparts and tried to bar him from entering by gripping the doorjambs.

As if I wasn’t already annoyed with the way my morning was going. I surely didn’t have time for this.

“For goodness sake, Ian. I’m busy. Make an appointment if you wish to see me.”

In the ensuing scuffle between Sam and Ian, her shoe flew off and bounced into my office. Ian dropped the enormous bouquet of roses he was holding, along with a large silver box tied with a blue silk ribbon, that if I wasn’t mistaken, was from one of the city’s oldest chocolatiers. He grabbed my assistant around the waist, picked her up, and deposited her on the other side of the door, then slammed it in her face and locked it. He scooped up the flowers and the candy and stood before me, rose petals littering the carpet, and took a deep breath while Samantha wailed about her shoe on the other side of the door.

“What the?—”

Signaling for me to wait, he moved to stand along the side of my desk. Dressed in a charcoal gray bespoke suit that fit him perfectly, a navy dress shirt, burgundy tie, and matching pocket square, he was a far cry from the leather-jacket wearing stranger I’d met at the Four Seasons or the shorts and flip-flop clad man I’d visited in Savannah.

“Seriously, Ian. I have a meeting soon, and I’m not feeling up to dealing with your drama.”

His face scrunched. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

I glared up at the big, handsome, doofus. For starters, Ian, my feet and ankles are twice their normal size and my toes are beginning to resemble sausages; my clothes are hideous; I’m tired; light-headed; and I have the headache from hell; and now, thanks to your sudden arrival, I’m experiencing a huge pain in my ass as well.

“Nothing. Go away. I’m busy.” Although…I nodded toward the box. “Are those from Shane’s?”

He held up the large box. “Yes.”

“Buttercreams?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“Assorted.” His voice rose as if his answer was a question.

My mouth instantly watered. It didn’t matter that it was barely after ten a.m. I wiggled my fingers. “Those can stay. You can go.”

Did I care that I was being rude? No. He brought it out in me. Shane’s buttercreams were the least he could do after impregnating me. The roses were a nice touch though. There had to be four or five dozen arranged in an ombre bouquet in shades of reds and pinks. A little over the top for apology flowers, but he had a lot to be sorry for.

“You can leave the flowers too.”

He thrust them at me, and I had no choice but to take them, even though I’d need to go find a vase. Since I had no intention of getting up—I’d finally gotten comfortable—I was about to tell him to hand them to Samantha on his way out, when he dropped to one knee on the floor in front of me.

What the…“Ian?—”

“Could you please shut up for one minute?” he grumbled as he dug into the pocket of his suit jacket and produced a royal blue velvet box.

Shut up?No problem. I’d gone speechless.

He flipped the lid exposing an oval diamond of at least four carats set in platinum with a micro pavé diamond band. It was stunning.

And he was insane.

“Madison, I know this is unexpected, but I’m ready to do the right thing. That’s my baby and you’re gonna be its mama, so I think we should get married and I can take care of you.”

I blinked. Then I blinked again. My mouth opened and closed. Like a fish…all in slow motion. He reached for my left hand, looking as if he meant to slide that ring onto my finger. My brain and mouth re-engaged, snapping to life as I snatched my hand from his.

“Have you lost your mind? I’m not going to marry you. I barely know you. And if I’m being honest, what I do know hasn’t exactly put me at ease about you being a parent. You’re an impulsive, irresponsible, playboy, Ian, who probably needs as much supervision as this baby,” I said, pointing to my belly.

His mouth drooped into a frown.

“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”

“I just did.”

“Look, I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“Well don’t. I’m perfectly capable of doing the right thing for myself and my child. I don’t need anyone’s help, especially yours.” I folded my hands in front of me and practiced Gibby’s imperious glare. “Besides, the last time we spoke you told me that not only were you not interested in raising this child together…” I used air quotes to emphasize his words right back at him, “…you said you weren’t a relationship guy. That was only a few weeks ago. I’m sure nothing’s changed.”

He jutted his chin out. “Maybe I’ve changed.”

“Ha! Doubtful.”

“Can you quit bustin’ my balls? I’m trying here, Mads. Cut me some slack.”

There was so much to unpack there. “For starters, please don’t speak to me like I’m one of the guys. Second, never call me Mads. And third, I’ll cut you some slack when you deserve to have said slack cut.”

“Huh?”

I lifted the receiver from my phone, hoping he’d take the hint. “So that there’s no confusion, my answer is no, I will not marry you, but thank you for asking. Is there anything else?”

His eyes narrowed, and I could see his jaw ticking beneath his beard. “I want to be involved.”

I set down the receiver. “How involved?”

“Everything. I want to know where you are, what you’re eating, when you go to the doctor.”

I gaped. “Why?”

“Because that’s my kid. I want to know that you’re eating well. And resting. And exercising.” His lips twitched. “No offense, but you’re getting a little pudgy. Looks like you don’t need these.” He reached for the box of chocolates, but I was faster. I cradled it in my arms, mentally daring him to try and take it from me.

“Get up off your knees,” I snapped. “You look ridiculous.”

He rose and folded his arms across his chest and waited for me to acquiesce.

We might have stared at each other the rest of the morning had Samantha not buzzed me to let me know my client had arrived and was waiting for me in the conference room. I slid open the bottom drawer of my desk, tucked the box of buttercreams inside, and then locked it, slipping the key into the pocket of my dress.

I pressed my palms onto the edge of my desk to help me stand, and then tried to maneuver my feet back into my stupid shoes.

“As you can see, I’m busy. Thanks for stopping by. Please don’t make a habit of it.”

“What about my conditions?”

“Conditions?”

“Like I said, I want an all-access pass to your…” He waved a hand up and down the length of my body. “…situation.”

“I’ll think about it, okay? If you push me on it right now, the answer is no. Give me a couple days.” My head was pounding and the room felt as if it was undulating. I tried not to sway. “I’ll give it some thought and get back to you.”

Although it looked like he was about to keep arguing with me, he somehow thought better of it, and with an abrupt nod, turned toward the door. Grimacing in my too-tight shoes, I followed.

He turned back. “Can I call you in a couple of—Holy shit, what happened to your ankles? They’re huge!”

If looks could kill, Ian Donohue wouldn’t live long enough to become a daddy.

After a long, tiring day, where I really did have to lock my door and take a quick nap before heading out for my dinner with Bryson Padgett, I arrived at Elevate fifteen minutes early in order to get a table and be seated before he arrived. It felt like everyone was staring as the hostess led me to a quiet table in the back. I’m sure I was the only woman wearing ballet flats with business attire.

The waiter took my order for a ginger ale, the nausea had returned, and while I waited for Mr. Padgett, I pulled my tablet out of my bag and tapped out a few ideas for my new client, the cellist.

My drink arrived, and I sipped and buried myself in my work, determined to keep my eyes down, hoping not to see anyone I knew. Physically, I was so far out of my comfort zone, it was throwing me off my game. The last thing I felt like doing was making nice with anyone from my social circle. This dinner meeting would be bad enough.

This was so unlike me. Normally, I’d be chomping at the bit to get my hands on a new client, especially one who came with nine zeroes behind his name.

“Ms. Enright?”

I looked up to find an attractive older man smiling down at me, and immediately regretted being in an inferior position. Strong jaw, expensive haircut, graying at the temples, bespoke suit. His entire presence screamed power and wealth. I noticed he was wearing a wedding band. I didn’t know if it was for show or if his wife had forgiven his infidelity.

I’d have sent him packing.

I slipped my tablet back into my bag and attempted to stand.

“Please, don’t get up.” He reached down to shake my hand, then unbuttoned his jacket and sat across from me, flashing a perfect, bright smile. He instructed the hostess to bring him a Michter’s neat and asked her to bring me another of whatever I was drinking.

“How’s Sissy?” he asked, referring to my grandmother by the name her friends called her. “I haven’t seen her since Derby Day.”

“She’s well, thank you. She’s in Paris for work and then off to Morocco.”

He chuckled. “Ah, she’s keeping tabs on Charles.” What he said was most likely true, but it set my teeth on edge. My father also had a bit of a reputation, although nothing like the man sitting before me. At least he and my mother had an understanding, whatever that meant.

“So what can I do for you, Mr. Padgett?”

“Bryson, please, and isn’t it enough that I wanted to have dinner with a beautiful woman?”

I wasn’t in the mood for games, but out of respect for Gibby and my ingrained business decorum, I held my tongue, more or less. “Thank you, but we both know that you’re married and I’m far too young for you.”

My barb landed and the bastard visibly cringed. Good. He took a sip of his bourbon, and I continued.

“I also know that you have an in-house PR division, so I can assume this isn’t directly related to your company and that you’re not looking to hire me to paint rosy pictures for your investors.”

He snorted before slipping into business mode.

“I could buy and sell your little public relations firm a dozen times over.”

“Don’t insult me. I know you didn’t ask me here to show off. I know who you are, and I also know what you’ve done. And I know that you know I’m the best in the business when it comes to cleaning up messes like the one you’ve gotten yourself into. So you can either get to the point and let me know what it is you’d like me to do for you, or we can say goodnight and I’ll be on my way.”

Was it wrong to hope he’d get up and go?

The smiling fa?ade faded. “You’re rather presumptuous, aren’t you, sweetheart.”

“I’m direct.” I waited. His clean-shaven jaw clenched; his eyes narrowed; and he reached for another swig of bourbon. “And well-informed,” I continued. “According to my research, your predilection for ménage à trois has gotten you into trouble with not only your wife this time, but with your board of directors since your indiscretion included not only a woman from your own company—who has been sent packing, big mistake, by the way—and an officer—a man, I’m told—from another financial firm. Not that I have a problem with anyone who is gay or bi-sexual, but dipping your wick in the competition’s well?” I tsked. “I can understand why your board is threatening to send you packing with a golden parachute of your own. Stop me if I’m wrong.”

His jaw ticked. It looked as if he was shooting me daggers similar to the ones I’d aimed at Ian earlier.

“Good,” I continued. “I’ll take that as an affirmation of my research.”

“Listen here, you little bitch?—”

I held up my hand. “We’re done here. Clearly, this was a bad idea. I’m not interested in your business or your misogyny, sweetheart.” I snatched my bag off the seat beside me and prayed I could stand in one fluid motion without having to hoist myself up out of my chair. With that done, I wrapped up this colossal waste of time. “Good luck finding a publicist to fix your mess. Perhaps someone from your other club—the Good Ol’ Boys Club—will have your back. As for me? I’m not interested in getting my hands that dirty.”

Without another glance, I swept out of the dining room and headed straight for the ladies room. I wasn’t about to sweep out of the restaurant and then stand there waiting for my car, especially if Bryson Padgett had followed me out of the restaurant. As it was, I was already kicking myself for behaving so unprofessionally, but in my defense, I was pregnant and miserable and he was a misogynist and a cheater. I already had one of those in my life—my father, only without all the slime.

I’d barely made it into the restroom before everything started to spin and the pressure in my head began to pulse. A loveseat was angled in the corner. Gripping the wall to keep me up, I made my way across the room and collapsed onto a cushy rose velvet settee. Two women chatted in front of a large, gilded mirror as they reapplied their lipstick, eyeing me nervously.

I tapped out a text to my driver and asked him to message me when he was out front.

Then I closed my eyes and waited, grateful that this day would soon be over.