Chapter 21 #2
The only things different here are that I’m pregnant and there’s no lust in his eyes or alcohol in our systems.
Hell, the last time I saw him, his back was turned to me after a night of drunken mistakes. And then, he was gone.
Motherfucker. Mother maker is more accurate.
But the sight of him here is like being sucker punched, a cheap shot that life felt like throwing at me. The fact that he doesn’t recognize me is the motherfucking K.O.
“I—” My eyes flit between the two men as my face warms, hot with embarrassment.
I feel like a whore; it doesn’t make sense, but that’s what it is.
Both these men have been inside me, and only one of them remembers—and it isn’t the one who left me with a permanent fucking souvenir of our short-lived time together.
Quintin frowns, and I can’t bear the sight as I try to maneuver through my heartbreak.
“You’re the chef, right?” One-Night Stand asks, and I keep my eyes on Quintin as he stares back at me, willing myself to pretend everything is okay.
Who is he, and why is he here? Even though I’m asking myself the question, I can almost hear Quintin wondering too.
For as big a city as Chicago, this is fucking ridiculous. He can’t be here, and I can’t be around him. What if he does end up remembering? Then I’d have to face awkward questions and the potential of forcing my child to have a parent who might actually fucking suck.
Stop , I start to tell myself. Don’t drive yourself crazy with made-up scenarios.
Quintin answers him, but I don’t hear it over the chaos in my brain. I stand there awkwardly as they talk, trying to smile even as my eyes begin to mist.
Yeah, fuck this. I’m out of here.
Instead of choosing to wallow in my despair in the same room as the stranger who impregnated me, I turn on my heel and rush toward the exit. I hear Quintin call after me, but I can’t look at him. I can’t stop as I hold my belly, damn near running to the back door toward my car.
“Dani?”
I squeeze my eyes shut as I glance back at my boss. Her brows are raised, her hands up in confusion. She’s dressed in a long, black gown, and I envy how elegant she looks. Meanwhile I’m sweaty, big, and my makeup is likely running down my face.
“I’m—not feeling well,” is all I can offer. Her eyes drop to my belly, and, with her lips pressed together, she nods once.
“Bridget will cover the rest of the event for you. We’ll talk on Monday.” Foreboding words, but I can’t bring myself to care about it.
I don’t take a second to try to dissect her tone or worry whether I’m going to have a job come next week.
Only once I make it to my car do I fully give in to my emotions, letting out a cry and hitting my steering wheel with my palms.
Because, again, what the fuck?
My pulse thumps with adrenaline as I watch the woman I’m in love with waddle her beautiful pregnant ass out of the venue, her hand on her belly, as if to stop the baby from dropping out. A crazy thought, I know. My lips twitch as I try to keep from laughing until the moment sobers me again.
I can’t help the narrowing of my gaze as I turn to look at the man who got such a reaction from her.
Who the fuck…
The familiarity pisses me off; while I can’t place him, I know I’ve seen him before. He stands in front of me, staring after her, his hands in his suit pockets.
Who are you?
He clears his throat before pressing his lips together, and I let the silence linger. If you’re quiet enough, people will tell you exactly what you need to know. Silence is the greatest truth serum.
“So, uh…” he starts, and I’m stoic, waiting for whatever he says next. “I’ve been to your restaurant. The food is amazing.”
I nod, not breaking eye contact.
“Hey, but you look like you’re doing pretty well for yourself.” He gestures toward the wait staff as they empty out of the kitchen with prepared hors d’oeuvres on platters. I steady my gaze back on him. “I hear you were the only candidate considered to cater the event.”
Now how would he know that?
I choose a generic answer, giving nothing away.
“It hasn’t been easy, but I’d like to think I’m hitting my stride.”
He nods, eyes far away for a moment, and, idly, he twists the gold band on his finger. With a few blinks, he’s smiling again, his hands back to his sides.
“Well, if you’re ever looking for investment opportunities, I’m your guy.” I tilt my head ever so slightly as he reaches into his pocket. He hands me a business card, and it hits me like a motherfucking freight train.
Holy shit.
Me, touring the apartment with my landlord before I moved in. Me, walking up the steps and seeing a man leaving the apartment next to the one I was looking at.
Daniela’s apartment.
And if her reaction is any indication…
I take the card, glancing down at it when he speaks again, his voice cutting through my emotional turmoil.
The anger, the frustration.
The feeling of my world bottoming out merely because he exists.
“How…” he starts before clearing his throat, reaching to adjust his tie, unable to look me in the eyes as he speaks. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but the woman who just left…”
“Yes?” I ask, my spine straightening as I try not to let my protective instincts smother all my sense. What the fuck does his presence mean now?
I think about Daniela and how close we’ve gotten. I think about how often the baby has kicked against my palm, how I’ve dreamed of a beautiful life, just the three of us. I think of calls made and money moved, plans shifted and priorities changed.
They were finally starting to feel like mine, my own little family.
Before he can continue, someone calls out the name stamped on the card he gave me. One of my waitstaff taps me on the shoulder at the same time, and before I can excuse myself, he’s already walked away from me.
I address the server’s issue, and when I look back up to find him, it only takes me a second. The man who holds the power to change everything is staring at me from across the room, his lips pressed in a line.
I wonder what the fuck he’s thinking. I fight the urge to approach him—what would I even say?
Don’t ever lay eyes on her again, or you’ll meet the end of my chef’s knife?
I take a deep breath as I look away, trying to look at things logically and remove my emotions from the situation.
He should know about the baby. He deserves to know, the same way I would want to know if things were different.
Even if I consider the baby mine.
But what does that mean for me?
What if she doesn’t need me the way I thought she would?
Then she’d just want you—and that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?