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A wave of nausea hit me as did another memory.
I was alone at home as usual. Julian had texted me that he was going to meet some investors for dinner to smooth things over and that I did not need to wait up for him. I wanted to blurt out that I was pregnant, but it was not the right time.
My phone was ringing but I did not recognize the number. I answered it anyways. The guy Bart had found for me had results. Why couldn’t Julian’s guy find anything, I wondered seething. I told the man I would be at his office within the hour and hung up.
As I walked into the bathroom to get ready, another wave hit me, and I barely made it to the toilet before my stomach started heaving again. I guess it was better Julian was gone all the time so I could vomit in peace without questions.
I splashed cold water on my face for the fourth time that day and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My heart started beating rapidly and a cold sweat trickled down my spine. I suddenly realized the box I was opening. What if it was someone close to me, someone watching my every move? What if it was someone who worked in our house? My mind raced through all possible people; even poor Juanita did not escape my scrutiny. In that moment I wished it was someone I did not know.
Turning away from my image that echoed the doubts that had taken root in my heart, I knew they would not go away until I had the answers to my many unanswered questions. If it was something I did not need to worry about, or…something that would shatter all that was left. I hated feeling vulnerable.
I had poured my blood, sweat, and tears into those new models and Julian was just going to throw it all away. If I told Julian I was pregnant before I had my answers, I would end up exactly where I dreaded, barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen.
The drive to the investigator’s office was torture. My mind kept running away with plenty of worst-case scenarios. I was both anxious and eager to know what he had found out. Hopefully it meant I did not have to hide my pregnancy anymore and I could finally get the recognition I deserved.
I pulled into the parking lot, turned off my car, and looked at myself in the rearview mirror. I sighed and begged my hormones not to get the better of me. The last thing I wanted was to be a blubbering mess in front of someone. I picked up the baseball hat from the passenger seat and worked it over my head pulling out my messy ponytail. I stepped out of the car and pulled the cap down further over my eyes.
I breathed in deeply then exhaled.
“Rylie there is nothing to worry about. Straighten your back, go in there and get to the bottom of this. You can do hard things,” I muttered a pep talk to myself.
As I walked towards the building, the new familiar taste of bile rose in my throat. I willed myself to keep it down. It was hard to tell if it was truly morning sickness or merely just my nerves.
I huffed, pushed my shoulders back, and marched to the woman sitting behind the reception desk.
“Hello,” my dry lips smacked.
Subconsciously I touched my stomach and imagined the baby tapping against the walls of my belly in solidarity. At least someone was on my side.
“Hello. What can I do for you today?” the receptionist asked.
“I’m um here to see Mr. McLaren…um, Sivan,” I stuttered losing all resolve at confidence. “Rylie,” I said hoping she did not recognize me.
I clenched and unclenched my fists as she searched her computer for my appointment.
“Ah, I see you right here dear. Give me just a minute to let him know you’re here.”
I nodded as she picked up the phone. After a few brief words with someone on the other end, she looked back up.
“You can go in now. Take a right then a quick left.”
I made my way down the short hallway and stopped in front of a closed door that had his name on it. I lightly knocked, heard some ruffling, then footsteps before the door opened.
“Hello Rylie. Nice to see you.”
I nodded and forced a smile on my face as I felt my lips quiver. My heart was beating like a stampede of horses, and I wondered if he could hear it too.
“Come in,” he said.
I quickly glanced around his office before taking a seat in front of his desk. There papers scattered everywhere, and I wondered if his secretary was ever allowed to come in and organize it for him.
He rounded his desk and took a seat. Sivan reached into a drawer, pulled out a folder and slapped it on his desk.
He leaned forward, “I was able to figure out who was responsible for those articles. I uh. Are you okay? Do you need to call someone to come be with you?”
I waved my hand in the air, “no, please go on. I have to know.”
“Are you aware of a Dylan Ricci and his association with Bryant Holding?”
