Chapter Seven
Taylor
Two Months Later
I spend the day schmoozing potential donors.
I meet with the franchise owner of a chain of coffee shops who is contemplating donating twenty-five thousand dollars to Chandler’s campaign.
As much as I want out of doing anything for him, working on his contributions is another thing he gives me no choice about.
Afterward, I drive to the infant and children’s hospital and speak to the human resources department about unpaid internships for the high schoolers our foundation helps.
Following a productive discussion, the coordinator accompanies me to the elevator and waits for it to open before saying goodbye.
Once I’m alone, I lean back against the wall in exhaustion. I’ve been so tired lately, I wonder if I’m coming down with something. As I step out of the elevator, my phone buzzes with a message. I pull the cell from my purse, look at the screen, and see it’s from Chandler.
I’m joining you for dinner at your parents’ house tonight.
My stomach churns and I sigh. I’ve been fortunate that lately he’s been too busy with work to bother me.
Because it’s an election year, he’s been campaigning, and it’s been keeping him occupied day and night.
The break has been good for me, which is why him intruding on my family time aggravates me.
My parents have connections and are a part of the society Chandler wishes he came from.
His association with them came about thanks to his reaching out to the charity, and yes, sucking up to my dad and other board members.
I text back something cool but polite and shove the phone back in my bag.
Then, I head to my car and drive home. I’ve been renting a small patio home in a family neighborhood.
I pull into the driveway and park. I’m warm and not feeling well, so I grab my purse and rush to the front door, key in hand.
By the time I make it inside, I’m nauseous and run to the bathroom.
I barely have time to sink to my knees before I get sick.
Resting my forehead on my arm, I wait a few minutes, giving myself a chance to calm down and be sure I’m not going to throw up again before pushing to my feet. I brush my teeth and open the doors under the sink for some mouthwash.
The first thing I see is a box of tampons and a shocking realization hits me. I didn’t get my period last month. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Now my stomach is rolling for a whole different reason. I bend down and pick up my purse I’d dropped on the floor and leave my house again.
I drive to the pharmacy, buy two pregnancy tests, and go back home where I proceed to take both. The two tests are in agreement and show PREGNANT in bold letters.
I wash my hands and clean up, then walk to my bedroom and lie down on the bed, my hands on my stomach.
My flat stomach that won’t be flat for much longer.
I close my eyes and think about my life.
I make a good living. I can afford to raise a baby on my own and keep working.
My parents won’t flip out much. Mom talks about wanting grandbabies enough that I know she’ll be pleased.
I can even see myself getting excited about the notion … except my life isn’t my own. Which means I have very little time to figure a way out of the threats Chandler issued before I start showing and he discovers I’m pregnant with another man’s baby.
Being alone allows me to think about how I ended up being blackmailed by Chandler.
Before I knew what a slime he was, I worked on his campaigns, mostly on donor relations, given how prominent my parents are in the community.
And there were obviously emails between myself and various donors.
One of the biggest, Victor Hale, became furious when a reporter contacted him about a state contract he received that looked like it was given in exchange for his large campaign donation.
At Chandler’s request, I wrote him an email to smooth things over, promising to take care of things, asking him not to speak on the record until we’d looked into the matter and handled it.
All innocuous language to calm him down.
Then I discovered the reporter’s accusations were legitimate.
Chandler had pushed through Victor Hale’s contract in exchange for the campaign donation, and I found the information in a file I wasn’t meant to see.
Information which implicated the senator.
I printed the contents of the file and hid them in a safe deposit box at the bank.
Then, I broke up with Chandler, informing him I was going to report the information I had to the authorities.
That’s when he produced my emails, highlighted with the wording that made it look like I was handling the cover-up.
Wording Chandler had given to me to use.
He threatened to hand them over to the reporter, the Federal Election Commission, and the Department of Justice.
The revelation would cost me everything.
Most importantly, if Chandler found a way to blame me entirely for the cover-up, I could be facing jail time.
Right now, we’re at a stalemate. I’m holding on to the information to protect myself and he’s doing the same.
Until I can figure a way out of the situation, I’m stuck.
I don’t think the authorities would believe me over Chandler.
I know he’d find a way to explain away what he’s been doing.
And he’s scared me into believing I’d end up in more trouble than him. I’m too frightened to take the risk.
I feel guilty knowing Chandler doesn’t deserve to win the election again while he has no problem dirty dealing. I’m also afraid of the consequences should our deal fall apart.
I rub my stomach and sigh. Instead of thinking about Chandler, I should be thinking about Jack. The father of my baby. The man who thought he had a one-night stand, never to see me again, and is now going to be tied to me for life.
Before I can sort things through more, my phone rings. I reach for it on my nightstand where I left it, see my mom is calling, and answer the phone. “Hi, Mom!”
“Hi, honey. I’m just calling to tell you that we’re having dinner at Max and Margo’s, the steakhouse downtown. Your father insists we go out so I don’t have to cook dinner tonight.” I’d almost forgotten I had dinner plans tonight with my family, and Chandler had invited himself to join us. Ugh.
“Sounds great. What time?” I ask.
“Seven. Is that good for you?” I’d rather be sleeping, but I have no doubt Chandler will have something to say about that.
Then again … I’m allowed to be sick. And I am. Nauseous and exhausted, and sick and tired of jumping through hoops to please a man who’s blackmailing me. Something has to give.
Though I can’t think of how to get myself out of this mess right now, I’m sure something will come to me.
Especially if I take time for myself because I can’t keep running on this hamster wheel.
There’s so much more at stake now. I’m having a child, and I refuse to keep up this charade any longer than I absolutely have to.
The stress of dealing with Chandler isn’t good for me, and it can’t be good for the baby.
First things first. “Mom? I’m actually not feeling well. I’m going to have to pass tonight. Give everyone my regrets. I’ll let Chandler know, okay?”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. Feel better and let me know if I can get you anything, okay?”
I smile at her soft words. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye.” I disconnect the call.
As I lie thinking, I realize I need to get away.
Time alone will be good for me. A spur-of-the-moment leave from work isn’t ideal, but I have solid people who can run things while I’m gone.
I’m supposed to introduce Chandler at an event in three weeks, and I’ll have to be back by then to appease him. Speaking of …
I lift the phone to text him.
I’m not going to make dinner tonight. Stomach virus. Step one in taking a break from my current life. I need time to process, to figure out how to fix things here without me ending up in jail.
I consider my next words, then type again. Also, there’s a major donor from out of town who is interested in giving a large sum to The Next Step Foundation. It’s out of town and once I meet with the potential donors, I’m going to stay for a few weeks. I need time to relax and unwind.
I see the dots telling me he’s replying.
Fine about tonight. I don’t want to catch a virus. Then … You need to be home for the annual Performing Arts Festival. As if I could forget.
I see the dots moving, telling me he’s typing, then deleting, then typing again.
Be sure you keep in touch. Where are you going?
I grind my teeth, and type: Does it matter?
It does if you want to test my patience. We may be at an impasse with the information we each have, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make your life miserable.
His threats are getting old but for now, I’ll let him have this play. I’m going to Miami.
To Jack. He deserves to know he’s going to be a father. What he does with that information afterward is up to him. I’m having this baby and one way or another, I’m going to build a new life.