8. Stephie
STEPHIE
Present
I shouldn’t have let on.
Dane leans forwards, braced on the desk. His brows are so low on his face I’m surprised they haven’t turned into chest hair—although he has plenty of that too—he crooks his finger and beckons me back towards him.
“How long?” he rasps.
“Sixteen weeks.” My cheeks stain red. He’s going to know. He can’t not, right? “Well, technically, eighteen weeks.” The thing about counting your pregnancy from your last period rather than the date of conception makes no sense to me, but that’s how it is.
I should have done something to prevent pregnancy, and I almost blurt out an apology. Instead, I bite my lip. Nearly dying is distracting. As are snowstorms that leave you stranded with your kingpin boss.
He said that fateful morning that he couldn’t remember, and I thought I could save us both humiliation and job inconveniences, but now my hand is forced.
I knew I would tell him eventually. I’m not a monster, and I wouldn’t keep him from his child. But when he denied that we had sex, a part of me died inside, so hurt.
“Who’s the father?” he demands.
All the blood drains from me.
We’re not… This isn’t real.
He’s still maintaining we didn’t have sex? He’s looked at me getting pregnant four months ago, exactly when we had sex, and gone, no idea who the father is? I meet his steely eyes and try to remain calm under his scrutiny. He’s grumpy and murderous, yes, but he’s always been reasonable with me.
The truth is, he doesn’t want to be the father. That’s the only logical reason for him looking so nauseous that morning after we had sex, and then leaving for four whole months.
“No one.” I give a careless gesture.
“An immaculate conception,” he drawls. “You’re good, but you’re not that good. Who is it, and why isn’t he here?”
He is here.
I grit my teeth. Sometimes this man is infuriating, but I will not be steamrollered by him.
“Might as well be divine intervention, because it’s none of your business.” My voice emerges stronger than I’d have thought, given I’m a crumpled paper bag inside. “I only need some time off to have the baby, and flexible working hours when I return.”
“You’re my PA. Tell me who the father is.” He’s glaring at me.
“I don’t have to.” I’m quivering because I’m so angry. My baby deserves better from her father. “And I’m not your PA anymore. You reallocated me.”
“Miss Oliver,” he snarls.
He’s not calling me princess, now, and it’s a stab in the gut.
“This is not some bratva issue that you can fix with a murder. It’s my baby.” I emphasise the possessive. He doesn’t want it, and I do. And I’m going to ensure that my baby is loved and knows they’re wanted. If that means a white lie or two? It’s a price I’ll pay.
“You don’t have a man in your life.” He states it as fact, but I feel the question.
“No. I don’t.” I have my grumpy, difficult, stunning boss. But I only had him the way I want him for one night.
“I will kill him if he hurt you,” he snarls.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “That’s not necessary.”
“Tell me.” He’s on his feet now, towering his stupidly tall height over me. He’s intimidating, but if I can eat for two, I can have courage for two.
“So you can kill him?” I smirk at my private joke. “I think not.”
Dane swears colourfully under his breath. Shoving his chair away, he stomps to the window that overlooks the blue waters of the docklands. His hands flex into taut-flat lines then clench into fists.
His response makes a rock in my stomach. Why is he so upset that he—famous for his calm in negotiations with the most powerful and scary mafia bosses in the world—can’t hold his emotions together?
“Fine,” he snarls. “I promise not to kill the man who got you pregnant. Tell me who he is.”
I sigh. He’s furious with me for getting pregnant, still not asking the obvious question of whether it’s his baby, and god knows what he’d do in this mood if I told him.
“Think of him as a sperm donor.”
“Was it that?” He spins on his heel, and the hope in his expression only makes me angrier that he’s refusing to admit his part in this pregnancy.
Nothing says “everything is fine and nothing happened that night” like leaving your assistant alone for four months when previously she travelled everywhere with you.
“Might as well have been.”
“But it wasn’t.” His brows lower.
“No.” I stroke my bump, and mentally tell it that this will turn out okay. I’ll inform Dane when he’s in a more sane mood. Maybe with a paternity test, since he’s so set on his lies.
“You’re pregnant, and there’s no father in the picture.” His face has cleared, no longer revealing any of his thoughts. A mask, just as he is when he’s making deals with cartel leaders or bratva pakhans.
“Yeah. No baby daddy.” Except for the one in this room who broke my heart.
He nods curtly. “I’ll be your baby’s father.”