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Everyone nods, a shared sense of accomplishment filling the room.
Brando turns to me. “I didn't want to get your hopes up until I had concrete news. But now that we know the city is on board, I want you to be closely involved in this project. I know how much it means to you.”
I might melt into a puddle right here in his office. “I’m beyond excited,” I manage to say, my cheeks starting to burn from how wide I’m grinning.
Brando smiles, his gaze locking with mine. “I know you'll bring great insight and passion to this effort.”
We discuss a few more details about the immediate next steps, and as the meeting draws to a close, the men gather their laptops and folders. One by one, they bid us farewell and exit the office.
Brando’s gaze lingers on me. “This is the direction I want Sanders International to move toward,” he says. “Let's make it happen.”
* * *
At the endof a long day at the office, I’m finally heading out. Brando has a few more calls to make and then he’ll pick me up from my place for dinner. As I step on the street into a humid New York evening, a tall, beautiful woman approaches me.
“Ana Layne?” she asks, her voice terse.
“That's me,” I stammer, taken aback by her hostile demeanor. “Have we met?”
“Not yet,” the woman sneers. “I'm Veronica, Brando’s girlfriend.”
I remember her sultry voice now. She used to call him every so often, and only now do I realize that she hasn’t called the office recently.
“Ex-girlfriend, you mean?”
“I’m pregnant with Brando’s baby, so I think it will be future wife, in fact,” she says triumphantly, holding a hand over her slightly protruding belly. “Stay away from him, or I will make your life a living hell,” she warns and walks away. I am left standing in the middle of the street, my mouth gaping in shock.
I make it to my apartment in a confused haze and storm through the front door, tears streaming down my face. The heartbreak bears down on me like a suffocating blanket. How could I have been so stupid? Even if he broke up with her when he started to pursue me, she is now pregnant. The realization cuts through me like a knife.
“What’s wrong, Ana?” Race approaches me with concern, sitting next to me on the couch.
Tears spill down my cheeks as I sink onto the couch, wrapping my arms around myself. “It's Brando . . . he's going to have a baby with someone else,” I manage to choke out, my voice trembling.
“Come again?”
“You heard it right. His ex confronted me on the street earlier. She’s carrying his baby,” I sniffle, wiping away my tears.
Race sits beside me, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry,” he says softly, his eyes full of compassion.
Unable to contain my anguish, I collapse onto the couch and pull out my phone. Why didn’t I do this earlier? It's time to face the truth. With trembling fingers, I open the browser and type in Brando's name. The search results appear, and my heart sinks as I see images of Brando and Veronica splashed across the New York society pages.
“Look here,” I turn the phone to Race, sobbing. “Just look at them!”
There they are, smiling and radiant at the Met Gala, just weeks before I started working at Sanders International. The evidence is undeniable. Veronica and Brando have had a relationship, and I was completely oblivious.
But so what? I’ve had previous relationships, too. He obviously broke up with her after we started seeing each other. Only now, she’s expecting his baby, which changes everything. I can’t be the one standing in the way of a child and its father. That would be monstrous, and I won’t do it, no matter what it costs me.
I look up at Race. “What do I do now? I can't just pretend like there is no baby in the picture. A child needs their father.”
My mind races with a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, hurt, and confusion entangle within me, leaving me feeling lost and devastated.
A knock at the door interrupts my turbulent thoughts. It’s Brando, coming to pick me up for dinner. But I have no desire to face him.
“Ana, maybe you should talk to him. It's not like you to shut people out like this,” Race says softly.
“I can't do this right now,” I reply, my voice weak.
I ignore my ringing phone and the text messages that start coming in. I want to shut the world out, to wallow in my pain and confusion.
