Plan B (Best Laid Plans #2) - Jana Aston Page 0,65

on his little orange face. He's great at picking up moods, I've noticed. Unlike me. I suck at it because I feel blindsided.

Another text.

Perfect! XO!

I breathe heavily through my mouth, trying to calm myself. This doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense. I don't have his side. Calm down. This cannot be right. Don't freaking cry, Daisy.

I feel sick. It's not nausea, it's what I call the icky feeling. You know the one? When your body is flooded with an overwhelming feeling that something isn't right, or you're anxious or worried and you can't quite explain it but you can feel that coat of icky hanging on your shoulders as surely as if it was a heavy winter parka.

Tubbs-McGee meows again and headbutts my calf, then paws at my leg. I slide off the bed until my butt hits the floor and let him crawl into my lap to comfort me. I wonder if Kyle and I break up, can I take his cat? It's probably outlined somewhere in that stupid pre-nup I skimmed through. No wonder he offered me three million dollars a year to stay married to him. He must think that's my price to put up with his shit.

The thing is, I don't care that much about money. I'm a terrible rich person as it turns out, because I don't really want anything. I haven't used Kyle's stupid credit card for anything. Mostly out of principle, but also, I don't need anything. So honestly, he can fuck off with his money and his public image and—

Am I overreacting? Remember the ring, Daisy. The one sitting on your finger that Margo claimed was hers. That was a big fat lie, whatever she's up to now might be as well. Remember the way he makes you feel. Remember how invested he is in this pregnancy. I scoot Tubbs-McGee off my lap and stand up. I'll text Kyle myself. Or call him. Or what the hell, maybe I'll just walk down to his office and pop in for a visit. I mean really, his office is only seven blocks away, might as well. I take a look at what I'm wearing—yoga pants and a sweatshirt of Kyle's—and decide a quick change is in order. I slip into a pair of jeans—a size larger than normal that I bought last week because a size larger seemed like a better idea than maternity pants—and then pull on one of my own shirts. I'm not showing that much yet, I decide as I examine myself in the mirror. For example, if you have vision problems you'd definitely have no idea I was pregnant. If you don't have vision problems you might assume I had a really large burrito for lunch. Which I might, because it's almost lunch time. Maybe Kyle will even have time to join me, after he talks me down from this rising hysteria.

Yup. That's probably what's going to happen.

I grab my camera and my bag and head out. Just a girl snapping some pictures for her Instagram and accidentally on purpose popping into her husband’s office.

23

Daisy

I swear I walked, at a totally normal and reasonable pace. Nonetheless, I find myself outside of Kingston Enterprises in less than ten minutes.

Okay, yeah, I hustled my pregnant ass those seven blocks. I stop when I get to the corner of 18th and JFK. By stop, I don’t mean that I come to my senses and turn around. I mean that I stop to catch my breath so I won’t look like a deranged panting lunatic when I enter the lobby.

I’m chilling as inconspicuously as possible while I calm myself and run everything that’s happened in the last half-hour through my mind one more time. Then I see him. Kyle. The double doors swish and he exits the front entrance and strides towards a town car waiting at the curb. Then I see her. Margo. She beams at him as he opens the door for her and she slides inside the car. He follows and the door snaps shut.

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God.

18th is a one-way street traveling in the opposite direction that I’m facing, so there’s no need for me to dramatically jump out of the way in case Kyle were to look up long enough to spot me. Not that he would.

So I stand on the street corner and watch the car pull forward and, blinker on, take a left at the corner.

Things are so good between Kyle and me. This doesn’t