CHAPTER 6
AVERY
I woke up this morning feeling great. That should have been an instant red flag.
After the last four months since I found out about the little peanut I’m carrying, waking up and not feeling like I was going to be sick, or not having crippling anxiety about everyone finding out I’m pregnant should have had me on high alert.
It didn’t.
Instead, I was happy when I could eat a normal breakfast and not puke.
I was happy about my blazer fitting just right over my dress to hide my baby bump which had popped out of nowhere.
I was happy to find myself on time for work and didn’t have to make any excuses.
Hell, I was happy I didn’t wake up exhausted.
Do you know how hard it is growing a human?
I had no idea until four months ago when I looked down at the pregnancy test and realized the timing with Bridger was not as safe as I told him it was when he admitted the condom broke.
In that moment, it felt like my world was imploding and the ground was pulled right out from underneath me.
The first instinct I had when I found out was to reach out to Bridger and tell him. But then I remembered how we didn’t exchange numbers, didn’t talk about anything beyond one night together, and how I snuck out of the hotel room while he was still sleeping.
Fear gripped my heart, and I didn’t know what to do other than go it alone. It’s not like I’m not used to forging ahead and doing things on my own. It’s kind of my bread and butter.
Would it have been nice to have someone at my side for the first doctor’s appointment and every time I was trying to not be sick or was sick?
Absolutely, but loneliness isn’t something I needed to get used to.
Longing for something else and for someone to care about me is my norm.
Why would finding out I’m pregnant be any different?
It’s not like I’m never going to tell Bridger, I am. Soon. I think. Maybe.
The thought of him looking me in my eye without a single emotion in his eyes and telling me I’m not wanted, that our baby isn’t wanted, has kept my lips sealed. I don’t think I can take that kind of rejection. Not right now.
Not when everything feels so fragile.
I’ve been walking on eggshells for the last four months. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder and listening in on conversations that aren’t my business just to see if anyone around the office has caught on to what is going on with me.
There hasn’t been any gossip. No one has been the wiser.
I’m not sure if it’s because no one has noticed, or they simply don’t care enough to look. Either way, I should be grateful to have flown under the radar as long as I have.
My gut is screaming at me that everything is going to change today.
Because now people are giving me looks. Now people are whispering about me.
And today started out so damn good.
Now look at where we are. I’m on pins and needles just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it’s all because of a spilled cup of coffee.
There was no way I could continue to wear the white blazer I put on this morning to hide my baby bump.
The moment I took it off, coffee stain and all, the whispers started.
I should have never worn a dress today, even this one with the empire waist and the fluttery bottom.
With the blazer, it was chic and professional.
Without it I might as well have a giant neon arrow pointing at my belly.
“Miss Page, please come to Mr. Page’s office,” the clipped demand from my father’s secretary doesn’t surprise me when it comes through the intercom on my desk phone.
It also doesn’t escape anyone’s notice who is in the vicinity. As I stand up, my heart starts to race in a way that I’m sure can’t be good in my current state. My nerves were already frayed and now I need to go and face my father?
Fuck. This isn’t going to end well.
When has it ever ended well when I’ve been called to my father’s office like I’m just a random employee instead of his daughter?
As much as I try to slink away undetected, the whispers follow me.
“How did we not notice she’s pregnant?”
“Who is the father?”
“I heard she’s supposed to be marrying Eric soon. Do you think it’s his?”
The speculation and the murmured judgements have my cheeks heating. I try to keep my head up and ignore every word, but each step feels like I’ve been caught in quicksand and am sinking quickly.
By the time I make it to my father’s office, not even caring whether I see Eric on the way or not, because he’s the last thing on my mind, I’m sweating. I feel it rolling down my back and dotting my forehead.
My gut is roiling, and I have to swallow a few times around the lump in my throat. Going to meet with my father shouldn’t feel like facing a firing squad, but it does.
I hate that we’ve become this, but it’s not like we’ve ever been any other way, either.
I always knew I wasn’t what my father wanted.
He wanted a son to carry on his name. Instead, he got a daughter he could mold into the perfect woman and wife for his partner’s son.
What I wanted wasn’t a consideration, it never was.
My father’s secretary looks at me with pity. She nods toward the door and everything in me is screaming to turn around and run. When I step up to the door, I pause at the angry voices I hear coming from the other side.
“Have you seen her?” Eric spits out the question, his voice simmering with rage. “Everyone is talking about it. She looks like a fucking whale.”
Instead of making me want to cower, his words send my anger spiking. How fucking dare he. Eric is the furthest thing from a prize. He’s a slimeball. The way he radiates creepy should be illegal. He’s probably never noticed, but women avoid him, especially around the office.
My father wanted me to marry him because of who his father is. I’d love to say it would matter if my father knew how much of a creep he is and how uncomfortable he makes the women around here. I don’t think it would make a difference or change anything.
For all I know, my father does know and still wants me to marry the man.
This is supposed to be my family. What a joke.
I don’t bother knocking. Not this time. I swing the door open and walk into my father’s office with my back straight and my shoulders squared for the first time in my life.
I’m not going to cower even though part of me wants to.
If I could avoid this whole show, I would, but it’s not going to happen.
I sure as fuck am not going to be insulted by a walking HR nightmare like Eric fucking Prescott.
The only good thing about his entire family is Tasha.
“Avery,” my father growls, his eyes flashing with annoyance, “you should have knocked.”
“I figured since you were discussing me and I was called to your office like a dog who performs tricks then I could come in,” the words fall from my lips like frozen barbs.
My father blinks a few times, surprise written all over his face because I dared to speak back to him instead of ducking my head and taking his abuse as if it’s supposed to be love. No more.
When his eyes drift down to my baby bump, the surprise vanishes from his face and is replaced by fury while his skin becomes red and blotchy. It’s kind of disgusting. And a little bit amusing.
If he weren’t looking at me like I’m a bug he wanted to squish, taking my baby with me, I would laugh at the look on his face. I might be putting on a brave front right now, but I do have some self-preservation instincts still.
He shakes his head as Eric takes a seat in one of the high-back chairs in front of the built-in bookcases filled with leatherbound law books. The smug look on Eric’s face makes me want to throw up all over him, but I swallow down the impulse. He’s a snake; always has been, always will be.
“You know,” my father’s voice pulls my attention back toward him to find him looking me over again, “I thought you were just gaining a little weight.” He chuckles like anything he just said is funny.
“I figured you’re getting to the age where women start to let themselves go a little.
I didn’t think it was a good idea considering you already knew you were going to need to keep Eric happy as your husband, but…
,” he lets his words fall off and punctuates them with a casual shrug like he’s talking about baseball or the weather.
“I will not have a fat wife,” Eric spits out the words, clearly offended at the notion.
My lip curls in disgust before I can stop it and I swear lust shines in Eric’s eyes along with a hint of surprise.
“But then I started hearing whispers and rumors around the office,” my father continues like Eric isn’t a disgusting pig.
He waves a hand toward my baby bump, his voice rising and becoming sharper as he plants his hands on his desk and sneers at me as he leans over the furniture, which is a power play all on its own because of its size, “Care to explain?”
My hands go to where my baby is safely growing inside of me. “I’m pregnant,” the words ring out like a shot in the room.
“That’s obvious,” my father mocks with indignation. He points an accusing finger at me, his voice rising an octave, “What I want to know is why you didn’t abort the bastard in your belly the moment you found out about it.”
I gasp, my fingers tightening around my bump as if it’ll be enough to shield my baby from his awful words. It won’t be. Nothing will.