15. Sutton
SUTTON
Later, when I arrive at Foster’s, I walk into his bedroom, where he’s lying on top of the duvet, sitting against the headboard, typing away on his laptop.
There is Foster in a suit working in his office, and then there is Foster in sweats and a t-shirt working on a weekend.
One version is polished and can be hard to read for some, while the other is direct.
The other is him, casual and relaxed, more sarcastic, and that smirk that is soft and unguarded.
“It’s Sunday,” I say blandly, catching his attention as I wander to the bed and flop down, barefoot in my spring dress.
“No rest for the wicked. Quarterlies and all.” He shuts the laptop and moves it to the side table, lying on his side with his head resting against his propped hand, intent on listening.
Smiling, he’s right. We share the same work ethic.
“How was it with Julian and Hayes?” I ask, curious.
Foster’s cheeks puff as he lets out a deep breath. “They were surprised-ish. Julian for sure. Supportive. It was easy to talk about, in all honesty.”
“Same.”
His eyes meet mine, and we both softly smile, exhausted from our days but tranquil all the same. It’s all out.
“Your parents? Should we head back to Everhope next weekend? I should meet them.”
“As much as I would like to have real coffee at Foxy Rox, there isn’t much point in going.
My parents won’t be back in Illinois anytime soon.
I spoke to them real quick. Kind of my style.
” I laugh. “They’re… understanding people.
No thousand questions from them. You’ll meet them when they’re back.
” I gather my hair to bring it up into a messy bun.
“Lucky.” His eyes drill into me, but then I notice it’s my finger he’s looking at. “You’re wearing the ring.” His smile is different, sentimental, proud with possessiveness. It’s a complete turn-on, if I’m honest.
Finishing placing the elastic in my hair, I hold my hand out to look at the engagement ring on my finger.
“I am. Figured that I don’t need to hide it if our friends know.
I’ll have to take it off when I’m in the office, but I’m getting good at hiding behind clothing.
I figure as long as it buys me time. Facing HR is not what I want on my agenda this week, but we don’t have much choice. ”
He softly grabs my wrist to bring my hand closer to him for inspection. “The ring looks good on you. Actually, you’re pretty sexy when my ring is on your finger.”
“Am I? Good, because I plan to wear it every day. Speaking of every day, my closet needs should be discussed,” I joke, turning the conversation.
“Yeah, about moving in. I’ve arranged help and a designer for the baby’s room. I’ll leave all choices to you,” he says coolly.
I snicker and pull my hand away from his grasp. “Sure. I’ll be the carrier vessel for this baby, gain the weight, and prepare the nursery.” I’m for sure amused.
“I mean, I don’t need to arrange it. It’s just, I have no imagination and don’t want us to get into debating color swatches. Plus, I travel more for work. You can keep the project moving.”
I stretch my neck, pretending to inspect him and his intentions to play along. “Believable.”
He wipes his hand across his forehead. “Phew.”
The good news: I’ve been quietly migrating my things to his place, so there’s no need to dash home for work essentials anymore.
“But I do kind of have a surprise for you already.” He slides off the bed and offers me his hand.
Gladly, I accept, and he pulls me off the bed. I point out, "The word surprise around us isn’t exactly a tiny thing."
His cunning grin tells me he doesn’t care. “Come on.”
He leads me out of his room and down the hall to a closed guest room door. I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Am I being demoted to the guest room?”
His chuckle tells me not. “No, but open the door.”
Obeying, my eyes remain suspiciously locked with his. When the door opens, I abandon him and step inside, where I stop dead in my tracks as my jaw hangs low.
“Thought you might need a space.”
In front of me is a room that no longer looks like a bland spare bedroom. The bed is there, but there’s new wallpaper on one wall, a dark turquoise to complement the white bookcases where the shelves are filled… with my law books.
“I remember you never unpacked your boxes, even though you love them. I managed to convince your building super to let me in and had someone handle this while we were at the office.”
My smile grows. I nearly lunge to the shelves, my hands trembling with excitement as though this is a dream.
“It’s the sweetest thing someone has ever done for me.
” I run my fingers along the spines of the books, needing to feel their texture to check my disbelief, but it’s all real.
My gaze lands on the Newton’s Cradle—a new one, not the one from Foster’s office.
He notices. “Figured you could use one. Every sophisticated person needs one.”
I glance over my shoulder. “In case they need to fucking calm down,” I repeat what he once told me, keeping the playful tone.
His eyes are heavy on me with a tint of cockiness, knowing very well that he just played a grand move.
I don’t care about his smugness; I throw my arms around him. “I love it. It’s honestly perfect.”
“Good.”
“I can’t believe you did this. I’m… Wow.”
His finger lands on my lips. “Say no more. I get it.”
I nod gently, mesmerized by him, basking in the quiet surrounding us.
“You deserve everything, Sutton. Now, if you are satisfied, then let’s go grab a shower.”
“Very satisfied. The shower is tempting, but I’m going to go to the kitchen to make some tea. I found some special pregnancy tea at the store and figured why not if it helps me sleep.”
He hums a sound, agreeing that I might as well try.
A few minutes later, I discover that the taste of the tea isn’t really for me, and I return to the bedroom to get into some comfy clothes for the evening.
I slip off my dress, drape it over the chair, and look in the long mirror in Foster’s bedroom.
There is no way around it.
Moving in different angles wearing only my bra and panties, my hand follows the curve of my belly. I’m now in the “is she pregnant or has she just gained weight” phase. Not quite obvious, but enough for people to be asking in their heads.
“Gah,” I growl.
Foster enters the bedroom with a towel hung around his hips. “Stop it. I know what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t think I’m fat. I know what this is. I’m just frustrated that I have to put my wardrobe on hiatus. Also, this is the moment of truth of what will happen to my career. Plus, now Celeste is going to have a meltdown because we’re already short-staffed.”
He steps behind me, arms circling my waist, chin settling on my shoulder, hands warm below my belly button. In the mirror, our eyes meet, and his coy smirk appears. I love how he watches me—like I’m something rare and precious.
“We’re not worried, remember? Nobody wants to piss off the CFO.
” Sometimes, he off-handedly says things that remind me of his power and influence in this world.
I’m very attracted to that. The back of his fingers follow the trail of my side and move down.
“But I believe someone who is carrying my child mentioned something once.”
It takes me only a second to catch on, and I can’t help the bashful smile tugging at my lips.
“It’s time for a courthouse wedding so I can still look somewhat not pregnant, and one day when our child looks at photos, they don’t immediately think that they are the reason for their parents’ marriage…
Let them have a moment, then when it settles, our kid might be smart and use a calculator to crush that image. ”
He sputters a laugh as he firmly places his palm on my belly. “Love that for us. But in plain terms, let’s just call it what it is. Your clothes are signaling that it's time to get hitched. The clock is ticking for his arrival.” I love how he is so convinced it’s a boy.
“A man of numbers. That’s why I’m not worried. You think in numbers, I think in words. We’re a balanced partnership, strengthened by harmony and excellent sex.”
His long fingers draw a circle on my belly. “That was complete vow material.”
Proudly, I reflect. “I know.”
I lean back against him, feeling the natural fit of our bodies, and I take an easy breath. It sinks in what we’re doing.
“So… about the nuptials.” I turn slightly, teasing. “Are we adding it to our agenda between your 9am conference call and your 11am executive team meeting?”
He brushes his lips along the shell of my ear. “The end of the day so I can take you to bed after.” His voice swelters.
How romantic of him.
“Okay.” I feel that I’m getting giddy again, but then I notice his own closed-mouth smile slip away.
Foster steps back and to the side, offering me his hand. “Come here.”
He guides me by the hand to the edge of the bed, where we sit down together.
I grow slightly worried. “Everything okay?”
He remains silent for a few extra seconds. “I want to be honest before the wedding.”
My stomach drops.
“It’s silly. Ridiculous.”
I nervously offer a smile. “What?”
"My mother left a crazy clause in her will. I would eventually need to settle down for the Roth company to continue, otherwise we would lose shares." He widens his eyes, as if saying it aloud sounds absurd.
My face squinches. “People still make clauses like that?”
“Yeah, she was raised in a very traditional family.”
“So what does it entail exactly?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Just, you know, the board could decide that bachelor me doesn’t fulfill the clause, and they can claim some percent of shares. Perhaps, a wife might imply I’m settled enough, hopefully.” There is a vagueness in his facial expression, but I ignore it.
“Why do you think she did it?”
“It was her way of ensuring that I’m happy. Having a wife and kids. Not being alone.”
“Uhh.” I’m not sure how to analyze this information. “How come you’re only now telling me?”