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“No, the payment went through fine,” I say quickly. “I just need to speak with him.”
Charles shakes his head regretfully.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but he isn’t available. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
I shake my head miserably.
“No, it’s not that. I just have to see Mr. Moore because it’s very important. And I couldn’t reach him when I called.”
Charles’s face grows shuttered.
“Of course,” he says in a neutral manner, though he’s already beginning to close the door. “I’m afraid he’s been occupied with business. If you’d like, I’ll tell Mr. Moore that you stopped by. Good day now.”
And with that, the door is shut, and I’m left staring at solid wood again. What is it with his staff? It’s like they’re practiced at fending off young women who are desperate to speak with Trent. But the thing is, I’m really desperate and have a pressing issue that can’t wait. I get that he’s an important businessman, but if they just told him who was looking for him, I’m sure he would speak with me…wouldn’t he? I hope so, given the gravity of the situation.
But how do I get a hold of Trent? He’s surrounded by a coterie of people whose job is to keep women like me away. Oh God. What do I do next?
Frankly, I have no idea, so with wobbly legs, I get back into my hatchback and drive home, although I can barely see the road ahead with all my muddled thoughts. I’m overwhelmed by the questions I asked myself earlier. What if I’m never able to reach Trent? What am I going to do with the baby? I can barely support myself with my shaky party planning business. Can I support this child as a single parent?
Knowing I’d just get into an accident from the spiral of thoughts distracting me, I pull over to the side of the road and rest my head against the steering wheel with a groan. My hands move of their own accord to hold my stomach once more. The baby is still so small and helpless, and despite the fact that I know my child is nothing more than a tiny pea right now, love already swells in my heart. I could never terminate or give up the baby for adoption. Even though money’s tight, I have enough to start off, and I’ll just have to work hard the next six months to save as much as possible.
So I take a vow. This isn’t going to be easy, but it’s what’s necessary. I’m going to keep the baby, come hell or high water, and he or she will blossom and be happy … with or without knowing his father.
Chapter Six
Trent
I dial the number for the thousandth time, but once again all I get is voicemail. I’ve left more messages than I can count, and Katie hasn’t returned a single one of my calls. What the hell? Usually it’s the other way around. Generally, women are the ones that come looking for me, hoping for more, but it’s me who avoids their calls.
But something about Katie is special. I can’t stop thinking about her, and ever since that night two months ago, I’ve been trying to reach her with no luck.
“Amanda,” I bark into the intercom. In a moment, she pops her head into the doorway to my office. “Has Katie called for me?”
“Katie?” she asks, brows scrunching with puzzlement. “Who’s that?”
“The woman who put together the party,” I clarify impatiently. I don’t know how she’s forgotten Katie given that she was her contact.
Amanda’s face becomes unreadable. “Oh right,” she says in a smooth tone. “No, she hasn’t tried to reach you that I know of.”
I rub my hand over my face. Of course she hasn’t. Why would she? The brunette made it very clear when she ran off that morning that what we had was a one-night thing. It didn’t matter that our sexual attraction was electric. She left as quickly as she came, clearly believing that the whole night was no big deal.
A small part of me says I should be grateful that she’s gone radio silent because this is what I want, isn’t it? After all, some of the women I’ve been with are totally indiscreet. They try and sell their stories to the tabloids. One woman even leaked pictures, believe it or not, taken from a secret camera attached to her purse strap. The damage control that Amanda had to do was fucking unbelievable on that one. I won’t deny my image as a playboy, but that doesn’t mean my personal business should be splattered all over magazines for people to see. I may flaunt my wealth at times, but I still deserve privacy.
Dread fills my stomach, making it heavy and nauseous. What if Katie’s just like the rest of them? What if she only came upstairs with me because she wanted to make a few extra bucks by selling a story to some magazine?
