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My mouth snapped shut.
“I’m sorry?”
Helena nodded airily again.
“That’s right, you’re not their first groupie cum personal assistant. They’ve got girls coming out of their ears, all desperate for a job with Hard Fought. Trust me honey, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last.”
That made me stare then, the air disappearing from my lungs. No. It couldn’t be true, but cold reality smacked me in the face like a baseball bat full on the cheek.
“I see,” was my slow reply. “I understand.”
“Do you?” asked Helena searchingly. “Do you really get it? Because every girl I’ve recruited thinks that she’s the one, but that’s nowhere near reality. There’s no such thing as “The One” when it comes to men like Hard Fought. So leave it okay? And don’t call me again. Your severance will be deposited shortly.”
And with that, the phone dropped from my fingertips, Helena’s face disappearing with a snap. Because oh god, but my worst nightmare had come true. Hudson, Brody and Gunner had done this dozens of times before. They hired personal assistants to act as their toys, enjoying the women’s bodies to the fullest extent. And then when it was all over, the women were tossed to the side, a nice check as a goodbye gift.
Oh god, oh god. I was that girl. The dreamer, the lover, the ultimate fan, giving my heart to them truly and deeply. And what was even worse was that there was another woman behind me. Another female, ready and eager to do their bidding, desperately in love with the men. Giving them her all sincerely all the while believing in the future.
Remembering that harsh conversation, tears overflowed and ran down my cheeks as I stared out the window of my tiny studio. Rain was pelting down, the entire world gray.
Behind me, the TV blared mindlessly. My favorite cooking show was on, filled with contestants who desperately wanted to impress the judges, just like I wanted to impress Hard Fought.
Tears rushed again, but I blinked them back and forced myself to take a deep breath. Because things could be worse. Maybe my place was nothing but three hundred square feet, but I was able to afford it because of the money that I had saved working with Hard Fought. That was something. Of course, eventually, my savings would disappear if I didn’t get a job, but that was the future. Right now, I had a home, solitude to do what I wanted.
Unfortunately, most of my days were spent crying. I’d told Mom and Dad that I was working on my novel, but the opposite was true. My laptop remained untouched, the lid tightly shut on my tiny desk. In fact, I hadn’t even plugged it in, morose thoughts of Hard Fought constantly with me every minute of every day.
And shamefully, after the guys abandoned me, I tried everything I could think of to reach them, but it had been all for naught. They’d changed their numbers, and Helena had disconnected my small work phone. It sat in the corner of my little studio, a dead reminder of everything that I lost when they left me.
Suddenly, a chime interrupted my thoughts.
Ding!
Oh right. The sound of the timer on my phone jolted me from my daze. With slow steps, I stumbled into the bathroom, my feet like wooden posts.
Time to see for sure instead of just wondering.
And there it was. On the counter, the white stick beckoned to me, the packaging laid out on the counter. I had never taken a pregnancy test before, but there was a first time for everything.
Because it’d taken me a while to realize. After months of eating my way through the sorrow—cupcakes and lasagna and ice cream—I finally realized I’d skipped a few periods. It wasn’t just one or two, either. Missing menstrual cycles due to stress wasn’t uncommon, but a significant period had gone by. I had gained a visible amount of weight, too, but I’d chalked that up to the constant snacking.
Plus, my cycle had never been regular. Yet it had been too long for my period not to come, at least five months this time. And curiously, the weight that I had put on wasn’t distributed evenly like it usually did when I gained. Instead of heavier arms, thighs, and abdomen, this time it all went to my stomach.
And tellingly, there’d been the morning sickness.
One morning at my parents’ house, I’d rushed out of the kitchen, the vomit rising up quickly from the smell of whisked eggs. The vomiting had been going on for a while, but Ethel didn’t know about it. When I came back, my mother looked down at my expanded belly and put a hand on my arm.
“You might want to take a pregnancy test, sweetheart,” she said gently. “I think your rock stars left you with more than a broken heart.”
