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I gulp and collapse into Olivia’s hug once more, my eyes not leaving the positive pregnancy test on the counter.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
ChapterFifteen
DARE
I’m at Herbsaint again, sitting at the best booth in the bar. I snap my fingers at a waiter walking by, grabbing his attention. He glares at me but stops, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Can I bring you something, sir?"
I point across the table to the blonde beauty sitting across from me. She tosses her hair and flicks her hazel gaze out at the room, turning her nose up and powdering her incredibly full lower lip.
"Elsa?" I prompt my date.
"Just vodka," she replies.
Her accent is Scandinavian, perhaps Norwegian, but she speaks English fluently. She levels me with a glare. Her perky breasts look mouthwatering as she adjusts the tiny straps of her black minidress and crosses her legs.
"What is it that you businessmen like this say?" She tosses her long hair and considers me. "Time is money. I got out of bed and came all the way here from New York City just to hear whatever you have to say. I am expecting an apology for the fact that you left in the middle of the night the last time you stayed at my apartment."
She folds her arms around herself as I give her a tight smile. I look at the waiter, who is impatiently tapping his foot.
"One whiskey for me. Something expensive, served on the rocks."
He bows his head and vanishes without a word. I tilt my head to the side and consider Elsa. "I can offer you an apology, or I can also offer you five hundred thousand dollars. Does that sound more amenable to you?"
She gives me a pouty look—her signature look that she uses in all the runways and cover shoots that she is so well known for. "I’m listening."
She doesn’t seem very happy about it, though. I would expect a little bit of gratitude.
Spreading my fingers across the table, figuring that, as a businesswoman herself, Elsa will appreciate it if I am just blunt with her about what I need. "I want to get married right away, maybe this month even. And then I also need to..."
The waiter interrupts, putting the two glasses down on the table a little harder than is necessary. He straightens his back and gives me a cold smile. "Anything else?"
"That will be all. We would like to be left alone now."
Without another word, he turns on his heel and walks away from our table. My eyes narrow on his back as I watch him go. Elsa reaches out and wraps her knuckles on the table, drawing my attention back to her.
"And what? You are explaining how I can earn a lot of money."
"Yes." In an effort to relax, I crack my neck, eliciting a loud popping sound. Elsa flinches, and her perfect nose wrinkles.
"I was saying that I need to have a kid right away. We would have to start trying immediately. Tonight, if possible."
Elsa picks up the glass of vodka and brings it to her lips. She takes a large swig and then tosses the remainder in my face. I blink as the vodka drips down my face, soaking my shirt.
Elsa stands up, her temper flaming. "What the fuck, Dare? How could you bring me here for this ridiculous offer? Not only do I not want to marry you, but I also wouldn’t dream of having your baby. You would be a terrible husband and a terrible father. Frankly, I am surprised that you would even ask me after ghosting me for the last five months!"
She holds up a finger, grabbing my attention. "I am a supermodel, damn you. I’m not a breeding cow. I’ve made millions of dollars by having a perfect figure, and I will go on to make millions more. And just so you know, I have my own expectations when it comes to a romantic relationship. I want the perfect man, an elaborate wedding, and maybe, eventually, a family. But did you even ask me what I wanted?" She laughs. "No! Of course not. You’re so self-involved. It’s not even funny."
I roll my eyes. "Elsa, if you would just listen to the deal that I’m presenting…"
She shakes her head vehemently.
"No. No way." Her lips curl, and she turns to the door. "Goodbye, Dare. Do not contact me ever again."
She storms out, leaving me in the booth. I grab the cloth napkin nearest to me to wipe off my vodka-soaked face.
