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I try to pass the time by dozing, but my thoughts are too anxious and scattered to have any chance at true relaxation. There’s also the fact that I’m constantly aware of Bruce mere feet away, tension and anger radiating off him as if he’s an inferno. I just want things to end, and I close my eyes in a futile effort to get some rest.
But it’s hopeless. The man I love looks so much like Riley, even in this aggravated state. They have the same way of frowning, and even the same dimple in their left cheek that comes out when they’re angry. Yet, my son may never know his father if I don’t make an attempt to repair this relationship somehow.
“Bruce,” I say in a low voice, begging him to listen to me, “please. You have to realize, I never meant for this to happen.” The billionaire continues staring out the window, his expression ominous. I forge ahead. “I wanted to tell you about Riley so badly,” I continue. “And yes, I had plenty of chances. Every time, I came so close to telling you the truth, but every time, I just couldn’t get the words out.” I take a shuddering breath. “I don’t know why either, and it kills me that I did this.” That much is true. I thought keeping my baby hidden made so much sense back then, but now, I’m wondering what the hell I was thinking.
Bruce still doesn’t say anything, but there’s the faintest flicker of something on his face. Hope grows in the pit of my stomach, and I rush to continue. “I think, maybe, it’s because I always thought of you as a bachelor. I mean, you’re forty years old, and have enjoyed a certain lifestyle for decades now. Plus, think about your reputation: Bruce Crown, billionaire playboy. You know that’s what all the magazines call you. So where does that leave me? Where does it leave your son, come to think of it? Especially with all the traveling you do.”
But even though I’m pouring my heart out to him, the CEO remains completely impenetrable, like I’m talking to a brick wall. That, surprisingly, only makes me angry, and I can feel my sadness taking a backseat to a sudden wave of frustration.
“Or maybe that was my mistake,” I mutter in a low voice, bunching my hands into fists in my lap. “Thinking you ever considered me girlfriend material. I’m a paid companion, for god’s sake. An escort, prostitute, whatever you want to call it, and that’s what you wanted wasn’t it? Sexual satisfaction? Even though it was inconvenient that I had your baby along the way.”
I know I’m in dangerous territory, and that at any moment he might blow up again, but I don’t care. Part of me wants to make the powerful CEO angry, just to get some kind of a reaction out of him. “Or don’t you remember that part?” I go on, my voice accusing. “You literally bought my time. My body, too, as much as you try to deny it. You could have stopped paying me at any time, but you didn’t. Why did you keep me on your payroll, Bruce? Why am I on your payroll even now?” I demand, my voice rising a little. “Is it because I’m an employee? A girl who rents her body out to you by the hour?”
I’m shaking as I speak, all wound up with anger, confusion, and devastation. Meanwhile, I watch him, searching for any sign that he’s even listening, but he remains immobile. I want to attack him, yell, and cry all at the same time, but I can’t because despite of my tirade, Bruce just continues to stare out the window, his expression like stone. His non-response devastates me, and suddenly tears spring to my eyes once more. Whatever power I felt vanishes as a new rush of grief takes over, and the next thing I know, I’m standing up and striding down the aisle without looking back. The flight attendant, who’s sitting by the emergency exit, looks up, alarmed. “I’m sorry, Miss,” she starts to say, “but until we’re past this turbulence, I’m afraid you can’t-”
“I’m not feeling well,” I interrupt, brushing past despite her protests. At the back of the private jet is the doorway I saw earlier, and sure enough, when I open it, there’s a small bedroom. It’s lavishly decorated with a double bed, a small desk bolted to the wall, and an adjoining bathroom.
I lock the door behind me securely, pulling the window shade closed, and then dash to the bathroom. There, chunks of brown and green vomit fill the porcelain bowl as I cry silently. My forehead feels hot and my face is flushed as my stomach churns. Without a doubt I know what’s happening because I’ve been to this rodeo before. I’m pregnant. For the second time. With Bruce’s baby. What do I do now?
