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Well, second-best, anyway. First being her voice husky with desire and moaning softly as he did sinful things to her body. Yeah, that was his favorite.
He gave her a half grin, unable to imagine living in those kinds of close quarters. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not by much. The entire place is five hundred square feet, with a kitchenette, a very small bathroom, and a Murphy bed that folds up during the day so I have somewhat of a living area if I want or need it.” She shrugged, as if she’d gotten used to the small space. “Three years ago, when I moved from LA and started working for Roth Owens, I couldn’t afford much, so it was the most logical and practical choice.”
That was Daisy . . . logical and practical, he thought with a smile as he brought down two plates from the cupboard. “And now that you’re doing pretty well with the company? Have you thought about moving into something that will give you more room?”
She glanced away, breaking eye contact with him, suddenly looking hesitant. “Not until recently,” she murmured.
He wasn’t sure what to make of her sudden odd behavior, but he grabbed the bottle of Cabernet he’d put in the refrigerator earlier to chill. “Glass of wine with dinner?” he offered, automatically taking two glasses from the wine rack.
She shook her head. “I think I’ll have water. Thank you.”
Okay. So she obviously wanted to keep a clear head. He put away her glass and filled his, then made her an ice water as requested. The garlic bread was finally nice and crispy around the edges, so he served up both of their plates and carried them to the dining table. She followed, and they sat down next to one another to eat.
And still she seemed to avoid talking about whatever it was she’d come here to say, because she brought up the Darlington campaign, and they ended up discussing how to implement a few new marketing strategies that were geared toward the retail storefront that would gradually steer their customers toward online buying, as well.
It was an easy, comfortable, and familiar exchange, because that’s what they did all day at work—brainstormed, asked opinions, and shared concepts. But most telling, it was a conversation they easily could have had at the office on Monday, which told Aiden it was purely a stall tactic.
As he ate his dinner, she took occasional bites and pushed her food around on her plate. When there was a lull between them, she seemed to become distracted and fidgety, and by the time they were done with their meal, her anxiety was nearly palpable. Which made his own worry just as acute because those worst-case medical scenarios were rolling through his mind again.
He stood up to clear their plates from the tab
le so he could return and they could get to the real reason she was here, but she stood, as well, to pick up her own dish and followed him to the sink. When she turned the water on to rinse them—another diversion tactic, he knew—he reached out and deliberately shut the faucet.
She stiffened and turned around, but belatedly realized it put her in a position where her back was to the counter and he was now standing in front of her, leaving her no easy way to escape.
“The dishes can wait, Daisy,” he said, hating the trepidation in her big green eyes. “I need to know whatever it is you came here to tell me.”
She swallowed hard, and he knew she was struggling to get the words out.
He gently caressed his warm palms down her arms until he was holding her hands in his, feeling a lump growing in his own throat because, Jesus Christ, he was beginning to think she’d gotten bad news at the doctor’s.
“Sweetheart, you have to know that whatever is going on, I’ve got your back. We’re friends. Good friends, and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. Tell me what it is.”
Her bottom lip trembled, as did the soft, slender hands he held in his, but she bravely met his gaze. “God, there is no easy way to tell you this . . . I’m pregnant,” she blurted out.
He frowned in confusion, certain he had to have heard her wrong, because that was the last thing he would have expected to come out of her mouth. “What?”
“I’m pregnant, Aiden,” she said, a vulnerable quiver in her voice. “I’m having a baby. Your baby.”
His entire body tensed at that unexpected bombshell, and he dropped her hands as if they were hot coals as her words really sank in. “Oh, fuck,” he said, panic-stricken.
She crossed her arms over her chest, almost protectively, and he belatedly realized what an asshole he’d just been. She’d taken his reaction as a rejection, when it had been spurred by pure shock. Hell, he was still stunned, but he rushed to try and fix the damage he’d already done.
“Shit,” he said as he jammed his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean it that way, Daisy.” In the moment, his response had been entirely knee-jerk, because holy fuck, she was pregnant and he was reeling from that unexpected and life-changing revelation.
“It’s okay. I get it,” she said softly. “It’s a lot to take in considering we used condoms, but clearly one of them must have broken. I’m about ten to twelve weeks pregnant. I’ll know more next week at my first ob-gyn appointment.”
He stared at her, trying to find the words, the right words, to speak but he was still trying to find his way out of the shock paralyzing him.
“Don’t worry. I don’t expect anything from you,” she rushed to assure him, her voice raspy. “I just wanted to let you know.”
Wait, what? His brain finally screeched to a halt at her first comment, and he frowned at her. “What do you mean, you don’t expect anything from me?”
She bit her bottom lip anxiously. “I just meant I don’t want you to feel responsible or obligated in any way, and I’m not going to demand anything from you, financially or otherwise. You didn’t ask for this—”
“Neither did you, if I’m not mistaken,” he interrupted her, his initial surprise dissolving into the beginnings of irritation, that she’d assume he wouldn’t want any part of a baby they both were responsible for.
