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I poke my tongue out at her, juvenile, but called for. Leaving her to complete her man mission, I wander around till I find Mr. Sadler standing near the small stage.
“You look beautiful, Presley. And I guess a congratulations is in order. When are you due?” Mr. Sadler smiles, asking in a fatherly and concerned way.
So during the week, news broke about the pregnancy. It was the biggest scandal to rock the office. With Vicky busy on an assignment, Clive was my informer. Dee wasn’t talking to me, backstabbing and calling me every name under the sun. Trina had joined forces with her, calling me a traitor and a home wrecker. Not sure how, since they weren’t a couple, but that’s her warped imagination for you.
“Four months. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you myself. It’s been . . . overwhelming, and I was waiting for the right time,” I admit.
“Understandable, my dear. If you need anything, my wife and I are only a phone call away,” he pats my arms, reassuring me.
Something about the way he looks at me mirrors the look my dad gives me. You know when your dad has that ‘my baby girl is all grown up’ speech followed by a heartfelt smile and glassy eyes? It was a nice gesture. He is—and has always been—a great boss to everyone in the office. Always attentive and making sure his employees are happy. I had met Mrs. Sadler at the event last year, and could tell she was of a similar nature.
I give him my thanks and kindly excuse myself to mingle with the authors and other guests. The night itself is a success and just when I think about pulling out the ‘I’m pregnant and need to call it an early night’ card, the Jerk is standing at the doorway dressed in a navy fitted suit and looking exceptionally handsome. His hair is brushed towards the side and his tan looks fresh from the Hawaiian sun. And those glasses . . . what the hell is it about those damn reading glasses?!
I have to pull my jaw up from the ground because Kitty is line dancing towards him as I continue to stand here mentally slapping myself awake from the pornographic fantasy conjuring up in my head.
Stop fucking swooning.
He is pulled to a group and shakes hands with each person while scanning the room. When his eyes find me, something changes. His face softens yet stills, staring at me deeply as if he is lost in some sort of trance. I beg my eyes to turn away, but the way he is looking at me, something in the way his eyes pierce through me, sends the butterflies into overdrive, much to my discontent. My butterflies can’t fly for him. They need to be saved for the one I should spend the rest of my life with. Not the jerk standing at the opposite side of the room with a rocking tan from his pre-honeymoon in Maui with the evil witch.
Whoa, calm down already!
He appears to be excusing himself, and moments later he is walking towards me. Something in his stride exudes way too much confidence. God, he did have a good stride, though.
“Can we go somewhere quiet to talk?”
I nod and he leads the way to a secluded part of the terrace. There are a few scattered tables and chairs unattended, so I take a seat and wait for him to begin the conversation. He doesn’t say anything and I’m expecting the worst. Just don’t cry.
“I’m sorry for the way I reacted. This was a shock,” he says in a cemented tone, not sounding like an apology whatsoever.
I remain tightlipped, waiting for the whole ‘I’m not ready to be a dad’ speech.
“I took some time off to think about this and I just don’t know how this is going to work,” he concedes.
“You think you were in shock. I almost had a coronary,” I confess. “It’s probably best we come up with a plan and expectations. That way neither of us is disappointed. So let me set the record straight to avoid any confusion. I’m not looking for a husband, boyfriend, whatever. I’m not here to tie you down.”
He appears taken aback by my forwardness, and perhaps slightly offended by my quick stance on not getting romantically involved. He is engaged—what the hell did he expect to happen?
“I’m getting married. Eloise . . . she knows,” he trails off, staring into the dark night’s sky.
“And she still wants to get married?” I ask, annoyed at myself that a hint of jealousy accompanied my question.
“Yes. She wants to be involved.”
“But . . . but how can I allow someone else to be involved in my child’s life? I don’t know her,” I tell him, trying to calm myself down. I hadn’t even thought about that being a possibility, and now the reality of it frightens me
to the core.
“You don’t know me either,” he reminds me.
“No I don’t, but you’re the father.”
“And that’s another thing.” He hesitates, avoiding further eye contact until he has no choice but to look me straight in the eyes. “I’d like you to do a paternity test.”
Sitting in front of me with the deepest stare, his facial expressions remain stagnant as he waits for me to rationally respond to his request. Fat fucking chance. He basically outright called me a whore, again. The anger is bubbling at the surface, and under the table I am gripping my clutch so tight I expect the contents to explode. Emotions are difficult to disguise at the best of times, and this moment is far from the best of times.
I stand up, and with shaky hands, give him the reality check he needs. “You know what, Haden? I don’t get you. One minute I think you’re not such a bad guy and may actually have a heart beating somewhere, then the next, you act like the biggest jerk to walk this earth.”
My pride, dignity, and lack of self-control are the reasons I have to walk away. “I’m leaving. You can have your test. In fact, I’ll be booking it as soon as possible so maybe then you’ll get it through your thick skull that you’re the father.”
