8. Franny
CHAPTER 8
Franny
S wimming up through the fog of sleep, I blink my eyes open. It’s so dark that I can’t make out anything around me, and it takes a moment to remember I’m in Dayton’s guest room. I honestly didn’t expect to fall asleep earlier when he brought me in here, but I knew he was right. I needed sleep, so I slid between the silky-smooth sheets and under the big, fluffy duvet. This bed is a million times more comfortable than the one I bought for a few hundred dollars from a small furniture store with same-day delivery.
I must have only laid awake for just a few minutes in the dark before I passed out.
Placing my hand against my stomach when it grumbles, reminding me I need to eat, I wonder what time it is. I probably fell asleep around three, and I’m still tired—just not as tired as I was earlier. Reaching over to the side table, I pick up my phone, and the screen lights up.
No way. My eyes widen when I see that it’s after ten in the evening. I thought I had slept for an hour, maybe two, not seven!
Tossing back the duvet and sheet, I sit up, and my head spins. I need water and something in my stomach, but first, I need to use the restroom and apologize to Dayton for pawning my pup off on him for so long. When I get to my feet, I shuffle to the door of the bedroom, slowly opening it, before I scoot across the hall to the bathroom he pointed out before he showed me his guest room. Turning on the light, I close the door and quickly use the bathroom, then wash my hands.
As I’m hanging up the white fuzzy towel I used to dry my hands next to the sink, I realize how clean the bathroom is. I know it’s an odd thing to notice, but before I moved in with Matthew, I would spend time at his place, and his bathroom was always a mess. There would be toothpaste or grime in the sink, and the toilet always had that gross mark around the bowl, like he never cleaned it.
I should have known then that he wasn’t the kind of guy to clean up after himself—something I despised finding out after we moved in together and realized that if I wanted our apartment clean, then I had to do it myself. And sure, Dayton could be the same way, and I just happened to come over after his housekeeper was here. Or maybe he just never uses this bathroom. But when we came upstairs, even though I didn’t spend much time in his place before he showed me to his guest room, I saw his home was tidy. There weren’t any random clothes tossed on the back of his couch nor unread mail out in the open. Everything seemed to have and be in its place, and it smelled good—and not like he had just sprayed something to mask the smell.
Shoving those thoughts out of my head, I open the bathroom door and step back into the hall. It’s quiet—no TV playing or even music on in the background to fill the silence. I hope he didn’t go to bed, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did since it’s late. Or late for me since I’m usually in bed by nine most nights unless I’m painting.
When I step around the corner of the hall, I find Dayton sitting on his big, dark leather couch, wearing a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, with his bare feet up on the coffee table and a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, studying a stack of papers in his hand. Lots more papers are strewn across the top of the coffee table, where there is a can of soda resting on a coaster, and PJ is asleep at Dayton’s side, his free hand sliding through my pup’s long fur.
I don’t know if I make a noise or if he just senses me, but he lowers the papers he’s looking over and meets my gaze before his eyes slowly wander over my face and down my body, then lift back to mine.
“How do you feel?” It’s hard to think or even breathe. Things would probably be easier if I wasn’t so attracted to him, and he didn’t intrigue me as much as he does. But I am attracted to him, and he does intrigue me. He’s like a painting in my head that hasn’t been finished, and I want to work on it until it’s done—until I figure out exactly what makes him, him .
“Not as tired,” I tell him, watching PJ lift his head and look at me. He doesn’t jump up and get off the couch to greet me like I expect him to. Instead, he rolls to his back, giving Dayton his belly. “I’m sorry for sleeping for so long.”
“Why? You needed it.”
“Yeah,” I agree quietly.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, but I’ll get out of your hair and go home. I’ll probably have some toast and go back to bed.”
“I have bread here.” He leans forward, placing the papers he’s holding down on the coffee table before he stands. “And a toaster.” He takes off his glasses. I can’t decide if he looks better with them or without them.
“Oh, nooow you want to come see me.” I smile when PJ hops off the couch and scampers over to me. “Was he okay?”
I pick him up, then tip my head back to Dayton as he steps toward me.
“Yep, we’re buds now.” He rubs the top of PJ’s head.
“How did you pull that off?”
“I bribed him with bacon and let him run off-leash in my brother’s private backyard in the back of the building.”
“So you spoiled him?” I laugh, and he smiles. The sight of it causes my stomach to fill with butterflies.
“What matters is we’re cool now.” He moves his hand from the top of PJ’s head and touches my jaw with the tips of his fingers, sending a spiral of sensations through my body before he lets it fall away. “Come sit and eat something.”
I don’t put up a fight. I like being in his presence; it’s easy, and there’s something about him that makes me feel weirdly safe, even if I hardly know him. I follow him to the open kitchen, where he pulls out a stool from the island for me. Taking a seat, I run my fingers through PJ’s fur as Dayton gets a loaf of bread out of one cabinet and a toaster from another.
“Were you working on your case?” I ask him as he opens the fridge.
“Yeah, I want to have most of the documents gone through by Monday so I can schedule appointments to meet with the family of the victim and the detectives who opened the case.” He carries a jug of orange juice over to me.
“Is it normal to meet with the family?”
“Yes, we like to fill them in on what is about to take place. But in this case, I’d like to have everyone on the same page since there is a lot of doubt surrounding the person who allegedly committed the crime, and I don’t want any of them siding with the defense when we bring charges forward.” He fills a glass with orange juice and slides it over to me.
“Thanks.” I pick it up and take a sip, watching him put two pieces of bread in the toaster.
“I need to talk to you about something.” He comes back to stand in front of me, resting his hands on the counter, his T-shirt stretching under the strain of his muscular torso.
“Okay.” I brace myself. I don’t know if it’s the expression on his face or just the way he’s holding himself, but I have a feeling whatever he’s going to say isn’t going to be good.
“My secretary overheard our conversation when you came into the office,” he tells me, and my stomach drops. “She told Billy about it, and today, he put two and two together.”
“Oh,” I whisper, feeling lightheaded.
“I don’t want you stressed about the situation, but I need to talk to you about it so you’re not blindsided by what’s about to happen.”
“What’s about to happen?” My brows draw together. “Is he going to go to my dad?” The idea is ridiculous. I’m not a teenager, and I don’t live at home. And my dad might be disappointed—maybe even a little angry—when he finds out I’m pregnant, but again I’m not a teenager, I’m a grown woman.
“No, it’s not that. Billy’s been having an affair with my assistant since before she started working for the DA’s office.”
My lips part in surprise. That is not what I expected him to say. Poor Shelly.
“Someone told the media that they believe she is his mistress, and they are going to run a story about it at some point tomorrow. Billy’s grand plan is to play it off like I’m the one in a relationship with her. I’m not, but in order to keep him from going to the media about your pregnancy, I’m going to go along with it.”
“Why would you have to go along with that?” I feel sick—physically sick—at the idea of him even pretending to be in a relationship with someone else. It doesn’t bode well for me and my future if I’m already feeling possessive over him, especially since we don’t really know each other. Right now, he is nothing more than a guy I had sex with once. Oh, and the father of my unborn child.
Maybe that’s what it is.
Probably , I lie to myself.
“He threatened to go to the media with the news about your pregnancy if I don’t.”
“He’s blackmailing you?” He doesn’t nod nor say yes, but I know that’s exactly what’s happening. “I’ll tell my dad about the baby.”
“Are you ready to do that?” he asks gently, and I tug my eyes off his and drop them to the top of PJ’s head.
I’m not ready. Not yet. I want more time—not just for me, but to figure out what is going to happen with Dayton, if he’s going to be involved. I need to know that before I tell my dad. Not that it will make it easier, but I don’t want my dad to pressure Dayton into making a decision before he’s ready.
“You need time, and that’s okay.”
“You need time too.” I lift my eyes back to his, and his jaw shifts. Yeah, he needs time. Maybe he still doesn’t believe that this is his kid. I don’t fault him for having doubts—not when it shouldn’t even be possible for him to get someone pregnant. Still, I can admit that it stings a little.
“What does you being in a relationship with her entail?”
“I’m not sure at this point. I’m guessing I’ll just need to say that she and I are together if anyone asks.”
Yep, I feel sick.
I let out a slow breath, willing the knot in my stomach to loosen. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. This isn’t on you.”
“It kinda is, though. You wouldn’t feel forced to do this if it weren’t for me.”
“No, I wouldn’t be forced to do this if Billy wasn’t fucking another woman while he’s married. And trust me, Franny, he would have found something else to use against me, even if you weren’t in the picture. He’s a dick.”
“Agreed.” My nose scrunches, and his eyes drop to it, a small smile ghosting across his mouth. Turning away from me, he goes to the toaster and takes out the toast, placing it on a plate.
“Thank you,” I tell him when he slides the plate my way and scoots a fancy butter dish across the counter. I’m not hungry anymore, but I know I need to eat, so I put PJ down on the floor and take the knife Dayton gives me.
“When is your next doctor’s appointment?” he asks after I take a bite of toast.
“Next Thursday.” I want to ask if he wants to come, but I don’t.
“Did they give you a due date?”
“December eighteenth,” I tell him after swallowing another bite. “During my last visit, they just ran a bunch of tests and asked me a lot of questions. This one, they’re going to do an ultrasound.”
Maybe that’s why it still hasn’t hit me that I’m actually going to have a baby. Maybe I’ll feel differently after I have my next appointment and they do the ultrasound and I hear the baby’s heartbeat. Right now, it feels like I’m in this weird place where I know this is really happening, but it doesn’t exactly feel like it’s happening to me .
“Who’s going with you?”
“I’m not sure. My mom went to the last one with me, and it was a lot. She kept asking a million questions, and even though I know her heart is in the right place, it was overwhelming.”
“Could I go?”
That knot in the pit of my stomach gets tighter.
Seconds ago, I stopped myself from asking if he wanted to come with me, but now that he’s asked, I’m not sure I should say yes. Probably because I know there’s a chance I’ll be doing this alone, and I don’t want to get used to having him around.
But maybe he needs to hear the heartbeat and see the ultrasound, too.