Chapter Nineteen
Maddie
“…and I think we should include a five-year forecast,” I tell the team sitting at the table with me.
“Ten might be better,” Brielle says. “It’ll look more impressive on a bigger scale.”
“True. Although—” I stop talking as a raised voice sounds from outside the meeting room.
“MADDIE!”
I blink. “What on earth…”
“Who’s that?” Brielle asks.
At that moment, my phone buzzes on the table. I pick it up and answer it. It’s one of the girls from the main office.
“Caesar Ashford’s here,” she says breathlessly. “He’s demanding to see you. Barbara’s trying to get him to calm down, but he’s pretty irate.”
My heart immediately beats at double time. “Okay, thank you, I’ll deal with it.” I end the call and get to my feet.
“What’s going on?” one of the guys asks, but I ignore him, go over to the door, and open it. Taking a deep breath, I go out and walk down the corridor.
Caesar is in reception, currently arguing with one of our security guards who’s trying to block his path.
“Please, sir,” Jack says, “come with me.”
“Get out of my fucking way,” Caesar yells, snatching his arm away from Jack’s grip. He looks past me, and his eyes widen as he sees me. “Maddie!” He pushes Jack away as he tries to grab him again. “I want to talk to you.”
“It’s all right, Jack,” I say. “Everything’s okay. Caesar, come with me.” I turn and walk along the corridor, without looking to see if he’s following.
I can feel his eyes like lasers burning into my back.
People watch us pass, brought out by his yelling, but I don’t look at any of them.
My heart hammers, but I stay calm and take him into the meeting room where I’d been working with Brielle and three other members of my team on the summary report that Gramps requested.
“Can I have the room please?” I ask, and, throwing me curious glances, they get up and vacate the meeting room.
Brielle stops as she goes to pass me and says, “You want me to stay?”
I shake my head. She gives me a curious look, then follows the others out, and I close the door behind them.
This room doesn’t have glass walls like the boardrooms. Is that a good thing? I’m glad we have no witnesses, but his eyes are blazing, his chest heaving, and he’s standing with his hands on hips, glaring at me as if he wants to strangle me.
Fuck me, he’s gorgeous.
Briefly, I imagine stripping the way I did in the cottage, just to see what he’d do, but I discard the idea quickly as I see the iciness in his eyes. He’s really, really mad.
“Can I get you a coffee?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “Thank you.” His voice drips with sarcasm.
I rest my butt on the table and link my fingers, trying to keep my posture relaxed. He stands in front of me, breathing fast.
I have no idea why he’s here or why he’s furious. Has he found out that I’m already working on a summary report before they’ve agreed to the partnership? It’s standard business practice, though. I can’t imagine why he’d be so upset.
“What can I do for you, Caesar?” I ask softly. “Why are you here?”
“Apparently you’ve announced that you’re pregnant,” he says. “Is it true?”
My jaw drops. The only people I’ve told are the ones who were at the meeting yesterday, and my mother, when I got home.
I didn’t swear them all to silence, so it doesn’t surprise me that they might have told their partners or other members of the company.
But I am shocked that the news got to him so fast.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s true.”
His brows draw together. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I look down at his shiny black Oxford brogues. “I wasn’t sure whether I was going to keep it at first. I needed to make that decision before I announced it.”
“But you knew. At Blackridge. You knew you were pregnant.”
I moisten my lips with the tip of my tongue and nod.
“You should have told me.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I could have hurt you.”
That one sentence sucks all the air from my lungs. “You were incredibly gentle, Caesar. And the baby’s safe. You would never have hurt me.”
“I should have guessed. I feel stupid. The nausea, the vomiting, the tiredness. I should have put two and two together.”
“I do get migraines,” I say, not wanting him to feel bad. “It wasn’t a complete lie.” Except it was, of course, and we both know it.
He takes his hands off his hips and slides them into his trouser pockets. He’s come out without his suit jacket. Did he walk straight out of the office when he found out?
I pick at my nails nervously. We study each other in silence for about thirty seconds.
Then he says, “Have you told him?”
“Yes,” I say. “He was quite surprised.”
“I bet he was. What was the outcome?”
“Well, it’s none of his business. It’s not going to affect him much.”
He stares at me. “What are you talking about?”
I frown. “I mean, he was pleased, but he’s not going to get involved. Babies aren’t his thing.”
“It’s not about whether they’re ‘his thing,’” he says sarcastically. “He has a duty to be involved.”
I’m puzzled. “He wants the best for me, sure. But my body is my own.”
“Of course it is, but even if you’re not together, he still needs to stand by you.”
Now I’m completely confused. “What do you mean, ‘not together’?”
“I mean even if you decide not to get back with him, he’s still the father. He needs to step up and support you.”
My jaw drops for the second time. “Ohhh… you’re talking about Peter…”
“Who the fuck did you think I was talking about?”
“My grandfather.”
He blinks. “Tom? Why would I be talking about Tom?”
“I don’t know. Why are you talking about Peter?”
“Fuck me. Because he’s the father!”
“No he’s not.” I say it softly. “You are.”
This time, it’s his jaw that almost hits his chest. “What?!”
Everything becomes clear. His fury. His confusion. His hurt. He thought Peter was the father. He thought I was pregnant by another man when we went to Blackridge.
“The baby’s yours,” I confirm quietly.
His chest heaves again. “Well, isn’t that convenient?”
“What do you mean?”
“Claiming you were on the pill so I didn’t use a condom. Was your plan to get pregnant all along?”
Jesus, he thinks it happened at the cottage. How dense are these men? Fury billows through me at the implication that I let him fertilize me so I could trap him for the company.
I roll my eyes. “You didn’t make me pregnant at Blackridge.
I said I was on the pill and you didn’t need to use a condom because I was already pregnant.
Christ, I thought you were a scientist. If I only ovulated at the weekend, I wouldn’t know I was pregnant yet.
I’m ten weeks pregnant. It happened at the ball. ”
He stares at me again. “I used a condom.”
I shrug. “Condoms break.”
“I don’t believe you.” His gaze hardens. “I think you were already pregnant by your ex, and you’re trying to blame it on me. That’s why you lied to me about your identity. You knew you were pregnant, and you saw it as the perfect opportunity to trap me. What were you going to do, blackmail me?”
“What? Why would I blackmail you? You’re not making any sense.” I’m getting frustrated now. “The dating scan lines up with the ball.”
“Sperm can survive for up to five days. It could still be your ex’s.”
My eyes sting. He’s desperate to get out of being the father. “The last time I had sex with Peter was on his birthday,” I whisper. “The second of December. Before my last period. We didn’t sleep together again after that.”
I turn to my purse, open it, and fumble inside for the piece of paper I carry around with me.
I take out the black-and-white photo and hold it out in front of me, facing him.
“This was taken at the scan two weeks ago. The embryo is eight weeks old. My Little Raspberry.” I swallow, look at the photo, and touch a little white spot with a finger. “That’s its heartbeat.”
Caesar stares at the photo for a long time. Then he looks back at me. “It doesn’t prove anything.”
I lower it slowly. Emotion washes over me, and I have to fight not to dissolve into tears.
“I didn’t get pregnant on purpose,” I say in a low voice.
“This is as inconvenient for me as it is for you. I wasn’t trying to trap you into anything.
I wasn’t even sure I was going to tell you.
At Blackridge, I was still deciding whether to keep it.
I made that decision on the spur of the moment, at a family meeting yesterday, and it just came out. ”
He studies me, his expression hard. Then he says, “I don’t believe you.”
My chin quivers. “Well, fuck you.”
“You’ve lied to me consistently,” he states, stabbing a finger in my direction. “About knowing who I was at the ball, about being pregnant at Blackridge, about sending the text to Tom… I have no idea if any of the words coming out of your mouth are true.”
I get to my feet. I need him to leave before I have a complete meltdown. “Frankly, my dear Caesar, I don’t give a damn. Think of it as if you were a sperm donor, the way you were going to be with Wren. I’m keeping this baby, and you don’t have to be involved at all.”
“I want a DNA test,” he demands.
Fuck, that stings. He really doesn’t trust me. “Absolutely not. I’m not risking the pregnancy for your peace of mind.”
“They can do a non-invasive test just by taking a blood draw from you. They’ll compare the baby’s DNA found in your blood to a cheek swab from me.”
“What’s the point?” My eyes blur. “If you don’t trust me, why the fuck would you want to be a part of this baby’s life?”
“Because I face up to my mistakes.”
I feel winded, as if he’s punched me in the stomach. I can’t catch my breath.
“If I’m the father, I’ll own up to it,” he says. “I’m not having a child of mine brought up without knowing who its father is.”
“That makes no sense! You were prepared to donate for Wren! You wouldn’t have been involved then, presumably? So why not do the same here?”