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ChapterOne
Mindy
“Jeanette’s pregnant.” Blake’s voice is a deep rumble, a timbre that’s launched five platinum albums and over a dozen top-10 singles.
At first, the words don’t register. Once they do, they sink into my skin, reverberating through my bones.
But the logic still doesn’t quickly click.
“But you haven’t been together in—”
My mouth snaps shut.
Of course they’ve been together.
I’m an idiot.
He winces, his eyes darting away from mine.
The sun is rising over Turtle Pond, spread out in front of us. The stillness of the water and the quiet tranquility of the park are a stark contrast to the storm taking place inside my mind.
The park bench is cold underneath me. Even though it’s midsummer, the morning air is cool and damp. I take a slow breath, trying to calm my pounding heart.
My hands clench into fists in my lap, tightening so hard my nails dig sharp points into my palms.
“I wanted to tell you before it leaks to the press. I wanted you to hear it from me, because I care about you, Mindy. I am torn up about all of this.” His soft hand covers mine where it’s clenched in my lap.
His fingers are icy.
I wrench away. “Wow. Thanks.” Sarcasm drips from the words.
“I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”
He doesn’t reply.
A sharp pain lances through my chest, but it’s over in a second, the slender thread becoming encased in a much larger, thicker pipe of steely anger. I wrap my arms around my middle like the action might contain the fury burning a scorching path through my veins.
“How far along is she?” I angle my head to stare at his profile.
His head dips, his throat bobbing as he swallows.
Blake is not conventionally attractive.
His nose is slightly too large for his face, his dark hair flirts with his chin, his eyes are a touch too small, and his mouth a little too wide. None of it should fit together, and yet he commands attention. He’s tall, over six feet, and as broad as a tank. On top of that, he plays the guitar like the instrument is part of his body. When he sings, he can bring a stadium full of people to their knees. He’s the reason that his band, Vacation Mustache, is Rebel Records’ largest client. My client.
I dismissed his flirting and ignored his flattery for years. Until I didn’t. Then I fell. Hard. But I didn’t fall alone . . . at least, I didn’t think I did.
We’ve lived in our little bubble of sex and romance for nearly a month. It was like no one else existed. He overwhelmed me with his sheer presence. With his relentless persistence. With the way he would simply watch me like I was everything.
Maybe he looks at everyone that way. Maybe I saw what I wanted to see.
The past two weeks have been hell. I’ve barely slept. Giant gray bags have taken up residence under my eyes. Airlines would charge me extra to fly with these things. I’ve lost 5 pounds.
Blake looks fine. Great, even. He ran here, under the pretense of taking a jog, apparently, sporting a fashionable athletic tracksuit and the most expensive Nikes money can buy.
He’s bright, alert, and well rested.
