Chapter 6
6
IVY
THREE WEEKS LATER
“Where are you with the Let’s Get Blitzen’d preparations?”
Grayson’s voice has me jerking up in my office chair and swiping the drool away from my chin. With my eyes heavy, I look to where he’s watching me from the entrance to my cubicle. Today, he’s shed the suit and opted for a stiff turtleneck colour matched to the bland paint in the office.
“What?” I ask.
“How are you doing with the event at the Frosty Mug? I haven’t had an update in a week, and we’re only one away.”
It’s an effort to keep a straight face. “It’s going good.”
His expression flattens. “Anything else? Maybe something more specific?”
“My folder is at home.” Where I wish I was.
For the past three weeks, I’ve hidden in my home office and planned an entire Christmas event for the town without the help of the owner of the venue. Calls have been made, and orders have been placed without prior approval.
In all fairness, Niko’s had the chance to tell me if he disagreed with something. He’s so interested in the event, after all.
I’ve ensured that every contact I’ve spoken to has kept him in the loop, and I’ve yet to hear him complain about any of my decisions. I’m taking that as approval. If he thought I was doing something wrong or wasn’t comfortable with a choice I’ve made, I’d have expected one of the several emails he’s sent me since . . . that night . . . to include a gruff, demanded change.
God, that night.
Three weeks after he quite literally fucked the daylights out of me, and I haven’t forgotten a single detail. Not the feel of his calloused, rough hands on my skin, the soft, testing pressure of our first kiss, or the ache between my legs that I had to soak away the next morning. The pain was a first for me, but with the size of his cock, it wasn’t all that surprising.
Although, it was bad enough that I thought I was going to be stuck in the tub for days.
Then there was the mess he’d left on my skin. Not only was I covered in love bites and bright red handprints on my ass, but I had to scrub my skin raw just to get the dried cum off my thighs. I gave up trying to cover the hickeys with makeup the week after they appeared.
Good lord, I wish I hadn’t left the way I did. After the sex we had, I was too emotional. The intimacy was giving me all the wrong ideas, and when he suggested work . . . it hurt me to the point I had to run.
His spicy cinnamon scent lingered on my clothes and neck for days. I couldn’t bring myself to throw what was left of my blouse into the washing machine, so I draped it over my armchair and haven’t touched it since.
The shirt he dressed me in before I left the bar is in my bed. It’s pathetic, but I’ve kept it there because it makes me feel like he’s with me. Just without all of the grunts and searing stares that led me into his arms.
I miss him.
One day together and I miss the man. It’s crazy, maybe even a little na?ve. The last few nights have been rougher than usual with my new stomach bug, but even before it hit out of nowhere, I was having trouble sleeping. And when I’m asleep, he’s there in my dreams.
It’s easier not to sleep at all.
“Ivy? Are you still ill?”
I choke on nothing and wipe at my eyes, thankful I didn’t have the energy to put makeup on this morning.
“Sorry, Grayson. What did you say?”
He takes a step into my cubicle and furrows his brows in suspicion. “I asked if you needed the folder to give me an update or if you were well enough up to date on your own to give me something to go off of.”
“Oh, of course. Yes, I know about the project. It’s mine, after all. It would be pretty pathetic if I didn’t know everything off the top of my head, right?” I ask, attempting to make a joke but failing terribly.
Grayson doesn’t laugh. “So? Tell me something.”
“Yes, right. Okay. Well, I know we spoke last week about the fact that in the past, the event hasn’t really drawn interest from the young adult crowd, so I actually reached out to a tattoo studio that’s owned by one of my old classmates, and he’s agreed to come run a pop-up. Tattoos would be discounted for a few hours, and he’ll create a few custom designs that fit the whole Christmas vibe people can easily choose from.”
“What’s the name of the studio?”
“Into The Shade.”
“I’ve heard of it. And you’re right. It will draw the younger crowd. What about the kids?”
His praise makes me sit a bit straighter, proud of my work.
“I read in last year’s plans that there were sleigh rides, and I think that’s still a really great idea. It’s not something that I think will ever really go out of style. So, we’re going ahead with that again this year.
“I’ve also added a snowman-building competition, with the prizes being donated from a few of the businesses in town. There are some gift cards, a day pass for the rink, and I did reach out to a couple of places a bit further from us and found a contact for Steele Ranch. The owners have agreed to not only lend us a few of their horses for the sleigh rides, but they’re offering a few certificates for free riding lessons,” I tell him, stretching my legs out beneath my desk. “There will be hot chocolate stands and an area to make maple taffy, along with a few food trucks.”
Greyson blinks at me, digesting all that I’ve said. When he recovers, he looks pleased, his features relaxing.
“What about the bar itself? I assume all of this will be taking place outside, but surely Niko hasn’t allowed for there to be nothing bringing traffic into his territory.”
I swallow my immediate response. If I told him that I’m pretty sure Niko would allow just about anything if I asked him to, he could pull me off the project, and I’ve put too many hours into this to have it stolen from me.
“I’ve tried to leave control up to him on that front, but I have given a few suggestions, like an eating challenge with an enticing prize or a raffle of some sort. Honestly, I think most people will go into the bar on their own without any sort of incentive.”
“And he agrees with you?”
I sure hope so.
“As far as I know, yes.”
“This is good work, Ivy,” he says.
My cheeks heat. “Thank you, Grayson.”
“I assume you have another meeting set up with Niko before the event? We’re only a week away, and as great as this sounds, I need you to make sure things stay moving according to plan.”
“Of course.”
Shit.
He taps his hand to the wall and nods. “I’ll leave you be, then. If you need anything, let me know.”
“Will do?—”
I cut myself off with a hand to my mouth. My skin turns cold to the touch as I shoot off my seat and shove past my boss into the hallway.
For the hundredth time this week, my stomach rolls, and my throat burns with vomit. The bathroom is unoccupied when I shove my way inside and immediately wretch into the toilet. Cool skin heats until I’m breaking out in a sweat.
It only goes on for a few minutes before my stomach settles, and I lean back on my heels. My hand trembles when I press the back of it to my forehead and take a deep breath.
Every time I think the flu has moved on from me, it comes back with a vengeance. It’s frustrating, considering the majority of the day, I’m just fine. No nausea or exhaustion.
Oh .
Oh, no.
Surely not. There’s no way. I’m on birth control. I have been since I was sixteen and my mom sat me down and gave me the sex talk. And Niko, well, surely he’s too old to have that many sperm. Right? I know I let him screw me without a condom on, which, yeah, was super irresponsible, considering we didn’t talk about STDs or anything, but . . .
I touch my cheeks and widen my eyes as the potential reality of this hits me upside the head with a brick.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door that I know I left open, and then Grayson’s voice slips through the crack.
“Are you ill, Ivy?”
“Yes,” I squeak, rising on shaky knees to wash my hands.
“Do you need to go home?”
I let the water run cold and cup some to swish in my mouth and splash on my face. Spitting the water into the sink, I dry my hands on a paper towel.
“I’d appreciate if I could,” I reply.
“Are you decent? Can I open the door?”
My stomach is unsettled for a completely different reason as I pull the door open on my own and dab my mouth with the damp paper towel.
“You can have the rest of this week off. Just send me an email with a recap of your meeting with Niko and if there’s anything that you need my approval for. Other than that, you aren’t needed here right now, Ivy. Stay home and rest,” he says, and for the first time since I started at the office, his voice isn’t bland and cool. There’s a kind tinge to it that makes me smile slightly.
“You’ll be at the event, right?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Will I see you at the tattoo pop-up?”
He snorts a laugh. “No. But I’ll be around.”
“Well, I guess it’s time I wish you a Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Ivy,” he returns before gesturing for me to exit the bathroom ahead of him.
It’ll be a Christmas for sure. Only time will tell if it’s merry.
Tipping the grocery bag upside down, I shake out the boxed pregnancy test and watch as it falls to the bathroom counter with a clunk.
It’s like my brain has switched off to allow my limbs to move of their own accord. With every rip my nails create in the box, the knot in my stomach twists tighter and tighter. I’m doubtful that I’ll be able to untangle it at this point.
The slim stick falls into my palm when I finally tear the box open. Once I pee on it, I set it on the counter with the cap back on and the little hourglass flashing on the screen.
I slam the toilet lid shut and set a timer on my phone before sitting atop it with my head in my hands and my feet tapping the floor. It said to wait two minutes, but why does that feel like the world’s most impossible task? In this day and age, the results should be instant.
Maybe this would be easier if I wasn’t doing it alone. Or if I had intended for this to happen. But a baby? I wasn’t planning on one of those for a long time still. I’m only twenty-one, and I mean, come on! While I’m not exactly the most immature or reckless person, I doubt I’m mother material right now.
I don’t even have a boyfriend! It was a one-night stand. A hookup. Even if it was the best I’ve ever had, and if he offered, I’d be happy to do it again.
I groan into my hands. What am I supposed to do? Niko’s already lived through being a parent. His son is my age, for god’s sake. I doubt he wants to start at the beginning again with someone who he slept with in the back office of a bar.
We haven’t spoken in three weeks, not in a less professional setting than our business emails. How’s this for an icebreaker?
The ring of my alarm sounds. I hold my breath and drop my hands from my face. It’s like someone’s tugging at my puppet strings as I stand and sway to the sink.
One look at the tiny screen and I’m gripping the edge of the counter for balance.
Positive .