CHAPTER 23
WINDY
Three Months Later ...
I sit at my desk, rubbing my swollen stomach with one hand.
My other hovers over a stack of paperwork.
I twirl my pen as I stare at the partnership proposal for a potential restaurant near Cedar Hill.
The same sentence blurs for the third time.
I exhale—long, tired. I push away from the desk, toss my pen on top.
Standing feels like a small relief. My back hurts anytime, especially if I sit for an extended period.
This little girl loves to stay in my ribs, and it’s much easier to stand than to sit and cramp her up even more.
She’s a little devil and loves kicking mommy in the ribs while tap dancing on my bladder.
I cross the room to the floor-to-ceiling windows and let my gaze fall over the city.
Below, people weave through crosswalks; cars honk at anyone who dares to hesitate, and life moves in its usual chaotic rhythm.
I’m far removed from it all. Elevated. Untouchable, even if I am on the verge of crumbling.
I’m in charge of ninety percent of what I see, but in my life, I’m so lost it’s not even funny.
My family has their hands in everything—real estate, restaurants, retail, and whatever else falls under the Carmichael umbrella these days. Sometimes it feels like businesses multiply on their own, and I’m the one expected to keep track of every branch, every risk, every opportunity.
I’m the one in charge of thousands of people, even when I can’t trust myself.
Right now, it’s a restaurant partnership: silent partner, clean model, low risk.
But there’s no spark, nothing that sets my pulse racing.
Saying no guts me, especially when people look at me with hope, with prayers.
But I have to—because that’s the job. That’s why my parents put me in charge.
I’m the one with business sense: I know when something could be a bestseller or a bust. I’m good at spotting the truth behind a pitch, even when it hurts.
I rest my palm against the glass and watch the city breathe around me, wishing—just for a minute—that decisions didn’t always have to weigh this much.
“Must be nice,” I whisper. “To just ... live.”
Sometimes it feels like the empire is growing faster than I can track it. In the past three months, since taking over for my parents, we have entered fifteen different partnerships, with the potential of adding three more today alone.
Doing this type of work is much different than working at Lavish Darlings.
But working there just didn’t seem feasible after I began showing.
When I could no longer fit into my fancy dresses, I knew it was time to throw in the towel and fully commit to the business.
It’s been about a month and a half now that it’s just been me and this business.
While it’s something good to pass the time, I know this isn’t what I want to do with the rest of my life.
I have no drive to run this empire. I have business sense, but I’m not a natural at it like some people are.
My phone buzzes on the desk behind me. I don’t turn around. I already know what it is—another message from someone wanting a meeting, a pity, a favor ... a yes.
It’s always something.
I rest my forehead against the cool glass. “I didn’t think I’d be here,” I say quietly. “Not like this.”
Three months ago, I opened my front door expecting someone other than my family. A family I hadn’t spoken to personally for over a decade. Instead, I got news that detonated my entire life. And now here I am, running an empire alone and preparing to raise a child alone, too.
I place my hand on my stomach again. “It’s just you and me, kid,” I murmur. “Guess we’re doing this together.”
The phone buzzes again. This time, I force myself to step away from the windows and take a look. A message from my mother.
MOTHER: Did you review the Smokey’s Bar proposal? They’re waiting for your decision.
I type back.
I’m working on it.
Almost immediately, she replies.
MOTHER: Trust your instincts. If you need anything, your father and I are here.
I stare at her words with a small smile on my face.
Everyone believes I’m built for this and to trust my instincts, but I’m not a natural.
I wasn’t born for this, no matter who my parents are.
I’m not the heir with a sharp mind and a steady hand.
The one that never cracks, never hesitates, never lets emotion cloud my judgment.
I’m none of those things.
“I hate saying no,” I admit to the empty room. “But I have to. I have to protect my family.”
I sit down with a deep sigh of exhaustion.
I want to seem strong, the person carrying this empire with a child under my ribs.
But as I settle into the chair, the tiredness is overwhelming, and the loneliness creeps in so strongly that it makes me feel sick to my stomach.
The effort to hold everything together suddenly feels heavier than ever.
I close my eyes tightly, whispering, “But who’s going to protect me?”
The silence answers.
I pick up my pen, trying to get back to work.
My focus is shot to shit, holding on by a thread.
Ink pools on the page as I press the pen down without signing.
I wait for my brain to kick in, to point me in the right direction, but my mind won't settle.
My office is too quiet. The silence makes ticking clocks sound like hammers inside your skull.
At that moment, there’s a knock at the door. Three sharp knocks.
I look up. Perfect timing.
I lean back in my chair, allowing the leather to sigh underneath me. “Come in.”
The door cracks. It’s just enough for my secretary to slip her head inside.
Her hair hangs to the side in a curtain of golden silk.
It’s slightly mussed, like she rushed here.
She gives me the small smile that she uses when she knows I’m not going to like what she’s about to say.
She’s used that quite a bit in the last three months I’ve been running Carmichael Enterprises.
“I have some ... potential clients. They need to see you urgently.”
I return the smile with one of my own, though mine is more of a grimace. “They need to make an appointment.”
She shifts uneasily, easing half her body through the door as if it might shield her from my wrath.
Her voice drops to a whisper. “Well, you see ... that’s the thing.
Your parents approved this appointment. They have been waiting to see you for weeks over a proposal, and they’re only just now getting through. ”
A heavy sigh escapes me. I drop my pen, and it clatters onto the desk. “Send them in, I guess.”
Relief flashes across her face, then another emotion I can’t place. She brightens, slipping into the hall. The door swings open. Before the clients even arrive, I’m on my feet. My gaze is sharp, but the clients are wrong, wrong, wrong.
“What are you all doing here?” Blood instantly starts bubbling in my veins with violence. I stand up, crossing my arms.
They spill into my office like they own the place—footsteps loud, scents familiar, and the kind of chaotic energy that doesn’t belong anywhere near me.
My mates.
The only people in the world that fate designed to accept me wholeheartedly. Their expressions range from sheepish to guilty, and every single one of them looks like they’ve been waiting for this moment.
My stomach drops, and I feel a wave of anxiety. My initial surprise at seeing them quickly gives way to worry about what their visit means.
My pulse skyrockets.
I can feel my skin heating, and I just know my cheeks are brilliant red with anger.
Of all the people I expected to walk through the door, they were not on the list of suspects. And judging by the way they’re looking at me, like they’re trouble wrapped up in a bow, I know this is a social call and not a business proposition.
“We really need to talk to you,” Wolf exclaims, stepping further into the room. His eyes never once leave me, but they do lower and widen when he spies my pregnant belly. “You were telling the truth.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I grind out, not taking their shit. It’s way past me even caring anymore, and I’ll be damned if I even worry about these three in front of me.
“I ... I ... thought ...” His eyes are still locked—absolutely glued—to my stomach.
I feel the familiar heat crawl up my neck.
It’s getting harder to hide the bump. Nothing I wear drapes over me the way it used to.
This blouse was supposed to be loose, forgiving, but it’s none of those things.
Instead, it clings in all the wrong places, outlining the curve of my belly like it’s trying to announce its presence to the world.
“I know what you think. Everyone knows what you think. It’s not like you raked me over hot coals or anything.” He has the nerve to visibly flinch at my words.
Silence extends between us. It’s thick, heavy, and suffocating.
Amos moves.
He walks toward me, slowly and deliberately, until he’s standing on the opposite side of my desk.
He doesn’t look at my stomach, even though I know he wants to.
He looks me in the eye. Really looks, as if he’s looking into my soul.
His eyes are soft, open, and unbearably sad, like he’s carrying three months' worth of unsaid words behind them.
“I've missed you,” he whispers, his voice filled with emotion. He swallows hard. His throat works like the words are painful to get out. “Your family has been railroading us for months. Until now, they didn’t let us get within a hundred feet of you.”
My mouth falls open. The room tilts. “What?"
He nods, leaning forward and planting his hands on my desk. “You are a pretty hard woman to get to talk to, especially with all of those bodyguards your parents hired.”
“Bodyguards?”
He studies me closely. After a few seconds of silence, a tired laugh leaves him. “Yeah. Bodyguards. You are more protected than the President.”
Holy. Shit.
“No, that ...”
He gives me a meaningful look, and his voice dips low when he asks, “Can we please fix this between us?”
I look at him like he’s crazy. I look at all of them. Then, I burst out laughing until I have tears in my eyes. “Oh, you ... are ... good.”
He frowns. “What?”
I shift forward, allowing all the anger I feel inside of me to buzz around and be unleashed. “Remember, that's what you all said to me when I tried to tell you I was pregnant. You made it a joke. You all made me feel about two inches tall. Now, you can do the same thing I did.”
“What’s that?” he asks.
“Fuck all the way off."