Chapter 35
Jenna
I'm rushing to get my things together so I can get changed and return to the event when I hear the front door open and close.
I smile to myself. Grayson has come to check on me after all. That man is something else. I told him I didn't need help, but I suspected he would come anyway. That's just the type of man he is—so incredibly caring and supportive, yet always ready to take charge if I need him to.
Is it any wonder that I'm in love with him?
The cherry on top was his attitude when I told him I was pregnant. I expected him to react in one of two ways—either with anger, growing cold at the fact that I allowed the pregnancy to happen, or with too much enthusiasm, trying to convince me to keep it.
I don't know which reaction I was more afraid of.
But there had been no need to be scared.
Somehow, his answer was perfect.
He didn't tell me what his opinion was on keeping the child, leaving it entirely in my hands. I suspect that he might lean a little toward me keeping the baby, but his reaction made it clear there was no pressure either way, and he hasn't brought it up since.
It helped the tension in my chest fade. I'm no longer afraid of potentially losing him one way or the other. I'm also no longer afraid that a decision either way will ruin my life forever. That breathing space has helped me consider the situation with a clearer mind.
Strangely enough, right now, I'm leaning toward having the child.
I know—it's insane. I never would have thought I'd be at this point where I'm seriously considering having a baby right now… but I truly can't see why not.
Thousands of mothers—millions even—have managed to hold down their careers and care for a child at the same time.
I plan on working through my pregnancy until I absolutely have to stop, and when that happens, I can still delegate from home.
If I'm honest, though it's not always ideal, very little actually has to happen in the office.
My employees are all highly competent, and Iris can probably run the place without me—better than if I'm there getting in her way.
They mostly need me for higher-level decisions, but apart from that…
Yes, if my colleagues are willing to support me, then between us we can handle it.
Of course, one consideration is that after the publicity gained from the Wolfe Foundation gig, I'm hoping a lot of new inquiries will come our way.
If we can grow just a little bit more, I can take on a partner or hire a senior event manager to help shoulder the load.
That's a pretty solid plan, and I'm grateful to Grayson because he gave me the time and space to come up with it on my own terms. That way, I'm sure I'm doing this for the right reasons—not just to please him.
I haven't told him yet, though. I was planning to let him know after this gala, during the surprise weekend trip to Paris that he thinks I don't know he's planning for us.
In his defense, he's done a pretty good job of keeping it a secret—for a man.
He even had Iris rearrange my schedule to allow for it.
He just didn't realize how much of a romantic she is—or how terrible she is at keeping secrets.
She's been practically giddy to tell me the entire time, and with just a little prompting, the whole thing came spilling out.
So again I ask, is it any wonder that I love him?
"I'll be right out, babe," I call as I grab a stack of my business cards from the dresser by the bed. "You didn't have to come back—there's not much to carry."
He doesn't answer. I don't hear his footsteps coming closer either. He has a very distinctive walk—a slow, measured, but heavy one that always makes my heart race.
Instead, what I hear is the light click-clack of… heels?
I frown and straighten. "Grayson?" I call out.
A feminine voice responds from the doorway behind me. "It's not Grayson."
I whip around in shock to find Marina in the doorway.
And she's pointing a gun at me.
My mind blanks for a second, unable to process what's happening. The pieces come together slowly, absurdly. I almost laugh—whether from hysteria or the sheer strangeness of it all. This sort of thing doesn't really happen. Not in real life. Only in the movies.
I blink. Marina is still there.
She's still holding a gun.
It's pointed at me, and she's staring at me very much like she wants to kill me.
"He's mine," she spits.
"What?" I manage, my voice quiet and stunned.
"Grayson," she continues. "He's mine. He's always been mine, and he's always going to be mine."
My mouth gapes open, but nothing comes out. What could I possibly say? I probably should be using hostage-negotiation tactics or saying something to calm the situation, but for some reason a ridiculous laugh is building in my chest, and I know the last thing I should do is laugh in her face.
As the danger in the air sharpens, I scramble through my mind for how to bring things down again.
"Listen… Marina…"
"Do you have any idea how hard I worked to get him?
" she goes on, as if I haven't spoken—her quiet, trembling voice loaded with rage.
"How hard I worked to get him to love me?
He didn't see me at first. No, I was only a contractor.
But I studied him, turned myself into everything he wanted in a woman, and charmed him.
Yet I still came second fiddle to his work, and that stupid idiot George swooped in during a moment of weakness.
He…" Her face twists. "He distracted me.
But he's not the one for me. Grayson is. "
She's unhinged. She must be.
I wonder why I never noticed it before—how she was able to lie without flinching in that bathroom the first time she approached me, then again when she pretended I made her fall.
It wasn't like she was lying. It was like she truly believed it.
And she's got a gun.
"He dropped me the second I made… the mistake," she keeps talking, almost to herself. "Even though I never complained once about how his family treated me and was always nice and accommodating, he couldn't forgive that one mistake. But with you… with you he gave up everything."
Her hand trembles, her index finger curled tight around the trigger. Sweat breaks out on my forehead, the salt stinging my eyes as it trickles down.
"Why? Why you? Why couldn't you have just listened to me and stayed away from him?"
"How…" I shake my head. "How did you even get in here?" It's the only thing I can think to say.
"Alvaro wouldn't let me in, but I remembered the code to the emergency back door."
"Of course." That's a stupid question to ask, but my brain isn't working. Time to jump-start it.
"Marina, please," I say, holding my hands up in surrender. "Don't do this. Look, you can have Grayson. I'll stay away from him from now on, I promise."
Her eyes narrow. "You're lying."
Shit. How could she tell?
"You should have left him alone," she whispers.
"Maybe you're right," I try again. "I should have. But even if you kill me, it's not going to make him love you more."
"I'm not going to kill you," she says, smiling. "You're going to kill yourself."
"What?"
"You're going to jump right off that balcony," she gestures with the gun, "and die. But before that, you'll write a nice suicide note for Grayson, so there's no awkward suspicion that I had anything to do with it."
Oh God. She's crazy—and cunning.
"Come on, Marina…"
She points the gun even harder at me, and I hastily put up my hands, palms out. "No, no, I'll do what you ask, Marina, I promise. But can't we at least talk about this first?"
"No," she says flatly. "Do it. Now."
"I…" I'm frozen. What do I say? How do I get out of this? "I don't have a pen and paper," I finish lamely.
Without taking her eyes off me, she reaches with her left hand into the Chanel flap dangling from her elbow, carefully pulls out a small gold pen and a leather-bound notepad, all while keeping the gun trained on me with her right hand.
Then she crouches, placing the pen and pad on the floor and sliding them toward me, never breaking eye contact.
God, I'm so screwed.
I lean down and pick them up. She gestures with the gun for me to start writing.
I move slowly, cursing that my purse with my phone is in the living room.
It might as well be on the far side of Manhattan.
I have no chance of reaching it. Not that I could call for help if I had it anyway.
If I tried, she'd just start shooting, and at this range even a mentally unstable, pregnant woman could hardly miss.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep calm. My pulse is racing. Is this how it ends for me—a tragic death at the hands of my lover's ex, taking both me and his baby from him in one instant? One finger tightening just a little more on that trigger, and I'll be gone.
I sit on the sofa, balancing Marina's notepad on my knees, and start to write.
I try to make it a long, elaborate suicide note, with hints of the truth hidden by the first letter of every sentence.
It's stupid, but it's all I can think of.
Thing is, my mind has gone blank and I cannot think what to write.
I'm acutely aware of the woman in front of me, the gun still steady in her hand. The initial shock is wearing off, replaced by a raw, pounding fear. My heart hammers, my muscles lock, my breathing comes in quick, uneven bursts.
It's such a stupid way to go. I don't want to die like this.
Please, someone, help me.
"Make it quick," she barks, and I jerk.
Then suddenly, directly behind Marina, the door bursts open and someone shouts my name.
Marina swings the gun around toward the noise, and without thinking, I take my chance.
I leap toward her, but before I reach her, she's already turned back, training the gun on me again, but the other person has the same idea and tackles her full-length, slamming her to the floor just as a shot rings out.
"Don't hurt her!" I hear someone shout. That's George's voice.
"Don't hurt her? She just shot me."
That voice. I know that voice.
"Grayson!" My heart seizes. "Have you been shot?"
I grab Marina's hair, ignoring her wild screams, pulling her off him while Grayson wrestles the gun from her grasp.
"No!" she yells. "No! You're mine! You've ruined everything!"
I ignore her, dragging her completely away so I can see Grayson. Blood spreads across his shirt, and another kind of fear takes over.
"You're wounded," I whisper.
"Yeah." He winces as he sits up, while George pins a struggling Marina behind us. "It's okay, I think it's just a shoulder wound. Didn't hit anything important."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. You okay?"
I nod. Then I kiss him.
We stay like that, holding each other close. I don't know how long we stay locked together, the chaos fading around us.
By the time we pull away, George is cradling a sobbing Marina in his arms. Sirens wail in the street below, growing louder. He looks at us apologetically.
"I'm sorry," he says. "This is partially my fault. I should… I should have noticed sooner."
"It's okay."
I should be angry but I'm not. I can't help feeling sorry for both of them, even her. Clearly, she's a woman who needs help. A lot of help.
"Is she okay?"
"No," George admits quietly. "Not really. But hopefully she will be."
He carries her into the living room to wait for the police and the ambulance, and I stay with Grayson.
"I love you," I tell him.
"I love you too," he replies.
"I hope the baby has your eyes."
It takes him a second to process it. "Wait, you're…" He trails off, disbelief turning to wonder.
I nod, and even bleeding, even in pain, he laughs, sealing it with a kiss.