after the call disconnected, replaying the conversation over in my head, trying to find comfort in it. I hadn’t anticipated any level of scrutiny accepting this job, much less having my very own security detail. That could make keeping my big secret a little bit harder than I had planned. Finally, I turned to my side and curled into a ball and wondered just what the hell I was going to do now.
Chapter Five
I stayed in the fetal position pretty much all weekend, going back and forth over those bright shiny choices I now had available to me thanks to an unplanned pregnancy, where the biological father was a ginormous dickhead. This meant he would either forsake me and my unborn child or be all up in it.
Neither option was acceptable. Sure, I would be tickled pink if Christopher dealer-clapped his way out of it and refused to accept responsibility, because that meant he’d be gone out of my life. That, really, was priority one as far as I was concerned. But a child didn’t deserve to live their whole life wondering why they weren’t good enough for their parent to stick around. One day my son (or daughter) would look me in the eye and ask me why they didn’t have a daddy.
“Well, Peanut,” I would say lovingly, “it’s because we don’t live in a perfect world. And in that imperfect world, people hook up for all the wrong reasons (alcohol) and what you thought might cover your ass only has an 82 protective rate and voila… life changes. Unless you’re a dude because apparently you can simply choose whether or not to accept half the responsibility for doing an eighth of the work.”
For Mr. Three Minutes, it was probably more like 1/16th.
This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with a child.
“You could tell him the father died in the war,” Fern had offered.
“What war?” I had asked. “You kind of need facts to back that stuff up, Fern.”
She shrugged. “Fine, then. Kidnapped by aliens?” Just as I started to roll my eyes, the solution came to her in a flash. “I know! In vitro fertilization. You could say you decided you wanted to be a mom by age thirty and you didn’t know any acceptable men to marry, which is so the truth. Instead you handpicked the dad who donated anonymously at a sperm bank.”
I mulled that one over. “Not bad,” I admitted. “It still comes with the complication of trying to hide it all from the Duke, who just ponied up a lot of dough for me to write this interview for him. How can I hide going to prenatal appointments if I’ve got a guard on me, reporting every move I make back to the Duke?”
She pursed her lips as she thought about it. “Tell him it’s for another story. He can’t honestly think you’re putting all your eggs in his basket, right?”
“He might,” I clipped, thinking about all his rules and that big fat check. “Besides. What story could that possibly be for? I write pop culture and entertainment.”
“Say you’re doing research for another story for another big-time celebrity who wants to keep their name private. He should understand that.”
She had a point, but it still seemed flimsy as hell.
“So, tell him you don’t need a security detail. I mean, you get to make that call, don’t you?”
“I don’t think I do,” I admitted, just going by my gut. He made the rules. It was up to the world around him to conform. “He’s damn near a king.”
She sighed. “You could always tell him the truth.”
I shook my head. If I wasn’t going to tell my child the truth, I sure wasn’t going to let my biggest secret to some dude who’d be out of the picture in a few months, king or no.
Besides which, what if he tossed me aside entirely for somebody else who came with fewer complications? That paycheck was the main reason I could even entertain the thought of having a baby. If I couldn’t keep the money, I’d have to stay at my job. But I couldn’t keep my job, otherwise I’d have to come clean to Christopher, who was likely second in line to get the gig with the Duke anyway. So, he’d get the money, the gig and know he was the reason I didn’t. There was no way in hell I could keep going to the office and see his smug face every day. And if