Chapter Thirty-Five
Max
It’s abnormal to feel this amazing on a Monday, but I can’t help it. Wouldn’t surprise me if some kind of liquid, languid happiness has replaced the blood in my veins.
Must be the sex. Magic Dick? is living up to its name.
Rhys was insatiable—as though driven to prove something.
But a hint of caution threaded his behavior outside of bed, as though he couldn’t bear to upset me.
But I can’t figure out what he thought would upset me.
Sex might’ve been to soothe me after my jealous outburst over Selena, but the rest…
? The only thing I can think of is Auric’s rudeness, but he’s always obnoxious and oblivious.
Maybe I’ll talk to Rhys about it if he continues to be weird.
I don’t want to waste this amazing mood stewing over something I might just be imagining.
Even the monthly expense report doesn’t seem too horrible—my least favorite task to do because it’s tedious to match each receipt and expense to the correct portfolio and project.
Accounting complains when anything isn’t done to their specifications.
Or just to let you know they’re doing their job—so you’d better do yours, too.
All done! I hit send and lean back in my chair to take a moment to breathe, when my desk phone rings.
“Max Norman, RF Investment.”
“Hullo. This is Selena Chesterfield. We met outside Danica’s store, remember?” The snide vibe in her tone hints, You might be too dumb to recall.
“How could I ever forget?”
“Indeed. You introduced yourself as his girlfriend.”
“Because I am.”
“Of course.” She makes a skeptical noise, one that kindles a desire to throat-punch her.
“Anyhow, I’m doing a feature on great modern ballerinas, and Sorcha is one of the subjects.
To get a better picture, I want to interview her family and the people close to her.
” She waits a beat as though expecting me to offer help. Except I know nothing about Sorcha.
I tap my finger on my desk as my mind wanders. Is Selena on the list of candidates Sorcha made for Rhys? Is that why she’s so confident about her place in Rhys’s life?
Too bad, so sad, he doesn’t want to marry one of Sorcha’s approved women.
“You need Marie and Camilo’s phone numbers?” I say finally, tired of wasting time.
“Who?”
“Auric and Elita’s assistants.”
“Nooooo. That would be silly.” No wonder the best you can be is the help, her tone says. “I’d like an appointment with Rhys.”
So you can rub yourself all over him like a bitch in heat? Just the idea makes me want to vomit. “He wasn’t even born when she was dancing.” My tone drips with faux sweetness.
“Just do your job, and let me be the judge of whether or not I need him.”
“My job is to manage his schedule and keep it free of unnecessary distractions. And right now, it says he’s too busy for you.”
“Don’t be obnoxious.” Based on the seething in her voice, she barely stopped herself before adding bitch or something similar.
“Listen, Selena. You’re only calling me because you can’t reach Rhys directly. So why not cut the attitude?”
“What are you implying?” She bristles. “I’ve been strictly professional.”
“Not based on your behavior outside of Danica’s.”
“Oh my— Are you jealous? We share a history.” Her voice grows provocative. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Amateur, I sneer inwardly. Lily might be a crass home wrecker, but her taunts were far superior to Selena’s.
“Nor do I want to. Regardless, he’s busy unless you can make him billions.
Buh-bye.” I hang up. There goes my good mood.
Rhys swore he and she were over, and I tend to believe it because I’ve never seen him get re-entangled with a woman he broke up with.
But that doesn’t mean she’s willing to slink away and stay low.
An ex doesn’t come back after fourteen years for no reason.
I get up and swiftly march into Rhys’s office. He’s at his desk, reviewing another due diligence, most likely. He lifts his head, a smile splitting his face.
Without a preamble, I say, “Your ex just called. If she wants to see you, you’re too busy.”
The grin falters. He blinks at me once, slowly. “I am?”
“That’s what I told her. I didn’t like the way she asked. Besides, she ‘claims’ she wants to talk to you about Sorcha, but I don’t buy it. What can you tell her about your grandmother anyway?”
“I dunno. Maybe how devastated Grandmother was when she learned I couldn’t dance ballet…?” He shrugs.
Somehow, this makes me laugh. “Did she make you wear leotards when you were little?”
His face scrunches. “Ugh. Don’t even.”
I cock my head. She totally did. Cute. “Anyway, you’ve been warned.”
“Fine.” He grows serious, his eyes meeting mine unflinchingly. “I won’t meet her without your okay. You won’t have any reason to be upset. Scout’s honor.”
Nodding, I return to my desk. Some time passes, I do a bit of work, and the initial annoyance wears off. Then:
Did I overreact?
Our relationship isn’t even real—it has a firm expiration date. But I’m reacting like I have some permanent claim to him.
My thoughts and emotions jumble together. I pick up my phone and text Ailee.
–Me: Hey, I need an objective opinion. Tell me if I screwed up:
I quickly lay out what happened with Selena’s call, without letting her know about the fake-dating part. That’s a secret between me and Rhys, not something I can unilaterally decide to share, even with my best friend. Plus, until the final day comes, part of me wants to pretend it’s real.
–Ailee: Wait, you already got yourself a new boyfriend, and it’s Rhys Kingswood??? I thought you hated your boss?
–Me: It’s a long story. But he’s better than Jeffrey.
–Ailee: Isn’t that setting the bar kinda low?
–Me: He’s the best I’ve ever had.
–Ailee: Okay, that’s better. But is this rebound really wise?
–Me: A girl’s gotta put herself out there if she wants to find the love of her life and get married and start a family and all that. Princes on white horses don’t just come to you.
–Ailee: Okay, fair point. Anyway, tough call, but wouldn’t it be better to let them meet at the office rather than have her engineer a forced meeting in a more private setting?
–Me: You think so?
–Ailee: Based on what you said, she doesn’t seem like a person who’ll just roll over. And that way, you can have more control. Not only that, you’ll be there, too, in case she tries anything. You gotta guard your man.
Except I won’t even have to guard him for long. We’re done in a year. Less than a year. I wrinkle my nose, trying to pretend the notion doesn’t sting. Don’t think about that. Just enjoy the moment.
My phone buzzes with an alert. You haven’t recorded your period for the month. Don’t forget to update for more accurate predictions!
I tap the notification. The fertility and monthly cycle tracking app opens, showing I’m four days late. Although I’m not super regular, four days late is unusual. I tap my desk. Rhys and I engaged in safe sex, always with a condom.
Stress?
No. I’m not more stressed than normal. I was pissed that I ran into Trevor and Jeffrey, but that shouldn’t be enough to mess with my hormones. So what gives?
I go still as the memory of that first time with Rhys pops into my head. He didn’t have a condom, so we did it bare. But he pulled out. His swimmers shouldn't have been able to make their way to my vagina and up the cervix, could they?
I Google the probability of getting pregnant from the pull-out method. If used perfectly, four percent…but in real life, twenty percent. I’d like to believe Rhys timed it meticulously, but we were both so lost in need. He could’ve been late by a second, and some of it made it in.
Twenty percent. The number slowly sinks into my head. One in five. I jump to my feet and look around the office. If everyone on the floor practices it, at least nine women would be informing Kaitlyn of their upcoming maternity leave.
My heart pounding, I grab my purse and head out. I clench and unclench my shaking hands. No way. I can’t be this unlucky, can I?
The CVS two blocks away looms like a court of judgment. Don’t be so melodramatic. It’s probably nothing.
I pay for a pregnancy test at a self-checkout line, then slip into the bathroom to pee on it, then pace as I wait for the result. The square of truth stays unchanged.
Maybe my body’s just messed up because of traveling through so many time zones. I’ve never done that before—didn’t have the money, then, once I had the money, I didn’t have the time.
Two pink lines emerge. What does that mean?
The box says: Two lines mean you’re pregnant.
I go back in my stall, lower the toilet seat and slowly sit down on it. What?
The insert claims the test is ninety-seven to ninety-nine percent accurate, although false positives are possible if it’s too early.
Lying insert writers. An OTC test can’t be this good.
I Google. It repeats what’s on the insert, then adds, Generally accurate if administered after missing your period.
That’s me. I put my head in one hand and sit for a very long moment. Then I get up, brace myself against the sink and stare at my reflection. “Now what?”
The eyes that look back are full of confusion and shock. This isn’t how my life was supposed to go. The proper order is: first find the love of my life, then get married, then get pregnant.
The mature part of me says I should tell Rhys…but then what? This isn’t something we bargained on. Maybe we shouldn’t have had sex at all, but plenty of people have it and don’t end up pregnant.
My body starts shaking. I tighten my grip on the sink.
The problem isn’t that I want to hide it from Rhys.
It’s that I can’t stand the idea of his doing the right thing out of obligation.
Staying with me because of the baby won’t be fair to either of us—or the baby.
Dad married Mom because she got pregnant, and he resented her for having a girl.
Not that I think Rhys would resent me if I gave him a girl—
Mom didn’t believe Dad would be that kind of asshole when she married him, either.
But do I want to be a single mom? Is that something I’m ready for? The baby couldn’t have come at a worse time. I’m too young, and haven’t even saved enough money. Not to mention the father will return to being just my boss in a year.
I long to give my child a complete family—let it revel in the joy of having its father’s love. It should never experience the soul-crushing burden of a rejection from its father, or worse yet, the blame for forcing its parents to stay together when they would’ve been better off apart.
What a mess. It’s all just…a mess. I’m not only letting Mom down, but the baby, too.
Don’t make any hasty decisions. It’s still early. I can give myself a couple of weeks to consider the best course of action.