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“I don’t need—” she started with her usual I’m-an-independent-woman-hear-me-roar spiel. I turned toward her abruptly, placing a finger over her lips.
“Help. I know. I don’t doubt that for one second, or I wouldn’t have put a baby inside you. I find neediness quite off-putting, to be honest. But you are also the mother of my future child, and I’m not going to see you work yourself to death. Understood?”
She glared.
“Am. I. Understood?”
“Yes,” she glowered, taken aback.
For the next hour and a half, I served fruity cocktails, refilled wasabi peas bowls, overcharged people for cans of organic soda, and even got tipped an amount akin to what I make the first fifteen seconds of a consultation meeting.
Afterward, when things calmed down, I grabbed Belle by the arm and dragged her into her office. When she was safely inside, I closed the door, walked over to a mini fridge, took out two bottles of water, and unscrewed one, handing it to her.
I hated her office. It was small and confined enough to make my head swim, bringing back bad memories.
“I’m not thirsty,” she sassed.
“Drink this water,” I said through gritted teeth, “or I will tell your sister how little you’re doing to protect this pregnancy.”
“You’ll rat me out?” Her eyes narrowed.
“In a heartbeat, darling.”
Hesitantly, she began sipping the water.
“Why’re you here, Devon?” She leaned against her desk, which, incredibly, was even messier than I remembered.
Did she need an intervention? Was this a treatable condition?
“I had an interesting conversation with the lads tonight. After which I came to the decision that I want to be present during your pregnancy, not just after the delivery. The first trimester is the most crucial one, yes? I can’t have you running around doing five people’s jobs. I want to help take care of you, and the first thing I intend to do is hire two or three more bartenders. You’re awfully short on staff.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she asked, chugging down the rest of her water and wiping her brow.
I was surprised she didn’t fight me on that point. Then again, she looked particularly greenish and not at all her usual nymph self.
“The problem is, I have insane standards and no one Ross and I have interviewed so far seems good enough. I have to make sure I hire people who would be good with my dancers and with the other bartenders.”
“You can’t work yourself to the bone.”
“Can’t I?” Her head lolled from side to side, like it wasn’t entirely connected to her neck. I was becoming increasingly worried this woman was going to kill herself just to prove a point. “I’ve done a good job so far, haven’t I?”
“At what price?” I stepped in her direction, using every ounce of my self-control not to touch her. It seemed unnatural not to put my hands on her when we were together, but it was something I had to get used to. I needed to respect our agreement. “And why would you want to anyway? Hasn’t this experience taught you anything? There’s more to life than work.”
A mocking laugh rolled out of her. “Easy for you to say, you’re a damn royal, bruh. You were born into money.”
There was no point telling her that I hadn’t had access to a penny of my family’s fortune since the age of twenty-one, or that bruh was not, in fact, a word, but rather a spit in the face to the English language.
“You’re not fooling me or yourself, Sweven. We all make decisions emotionally then tag rational reasoning to them. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying. You must concentrate on what’s important. Let me deal with finding you new employees. I will speak to this Ross bloke. I already feel quite close to him, seeing as I sniffed his bullocks a few weeks ago.”
She let out a faint laugh, slumping into herself like a collapsed blanket fort, looking tired and young. Too young all of a sudden.
“All right?” I tilted my chin down.
She nodded. “Whatever. But that doesn’t mean you get to act like you’re running this show. It’s a one-off, okay?”
“A one-off,” I agreed, when in my heart I knew it was going to be one of many.
And that I was not done screwing her either.
The next morning, I ran to the toilet and threw up whatever little was in my stomach.
I’d been having issues with morning sickness since the beginning of the week.
The problem was that I could only keep down three things without getting up close and intimate with the toilet bowl: rice cakes, ginger candy, and diet coke.
Now, I was no nutritionist, but I was pretty sure those three things did not make for a balanced diet rich in vitamins and minerals for me or my baby.
They did, however, make for a lovely dieting plan that would result in my losing the extra five pounds I’d been struggling with for three years.
