Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“It’s good to see you,” I tell him, “despite everything.”
He sighs. “I still don’t know what you think we’re going to do.”
“I’ve already done it,” I reply. “All we need to do is attend the meeting. It’s at your office, right?”
He tilts his head at me, his eyes curious. “Yeah, but we’ve got some time.”
“Good. I’ve got the correct details, then.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Do you think I came all this way to half-ass this, Michel?” I snap, thinking of what he told me. Some people think they can do any damn thing they want. Some people think they can treat people like dirt. “If you’re going to do something, do it right.”
“But what can we do? Believe me. I appreciate you coming. I didn’t think you would. I’m ashamed, honestly. You’re the only wealthy person I know, but you said money can’t fix this on the phone last night.”
“I said paying them can’t,” I reply. “Money can fix many things, and I just happen to have a metric ton of it.” I clench my fists, thinking of my future baby. This is their grandfather—an honest, loyal, kind man who doesn’t deserve this. “Let’s go. We don’t want to keep the bastards waiting.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Emma
I stand in the shower, letting the water sluice down my body, trying not to replay the conversation I overheard—okay, eavesdropped on—last night. My thoughts whir as I try to figure out what they were talking about. Dad was gone early this morning. It’s a Saturday. Usually, we eat breakfast together, but Dad vanished.
“Must be work,” Mom said, gesturing to the table, the TV-show-like spread she’d laid out.
I sat and ate, thinking of the baby, but my heart was pounding hard the whole time. Where was Dad? Should I call Logan? I know he had training this morning. I don’t know what to do. I promised Chrissy I would tell Dad. So that’s something else I’ve failed at.
Leaving the shower, I walk to my room, a towel around my head and one wrapped around my body. I almost scream when I see him—Eric, lying on my bed, looking at my phone. He’s scrolling. “Eric,” I yell, causing him to jump off the bed and drop my phone. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Uh, uh, uh,” he says, shaking his head, looking so young, so scared. I feel bad for yelling, but this is not okay. “I’m sorry.”
“I asked you a question,” I snap. “Why were you on my phone?”
“I swear, I was looking for Dad’s cell phone number.”
“You know his cell phone number.”
“No, somebody changed it on my phone. It’s this prank the other kids play. Change the number so you accidentally call someone. It doesn’t hurt anyone. It makes you feel awkward, but I needed his number, so…”
“Let’s say I believe you,” I snap. “That doesn’t explain why you were scrolling through my…” I flip my phone over, my mouth dropping open. Holy heck. This isn’t good. “My texts.”
He’s one week into my thread with Logan. Or Stylist, as I stupidly named him. I wonder if I can claim pregnant brain already because I didn’t change my phone password. That’s the most essential thing I should’ve done when we started regularly texting.
“It’s Logan Ice, right?” Eric says quietly, his wide eyes flitting to my belly. “He’s…” Eric swallows, a flush creeping up his neck. Logan says I’ve got the same flush, letting him read my nerves, my sassiness. “He’s your baby’s dad, right, Emma?”
I spin, go to the door, and shut it.
“Mom’s out,” Eric says, raising his hands when I return to him.
“What are you doing? I’m not going to hit you. I’ve never hit you before.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve never been pregnant before, either.”
I sit on the bed. Eric sits beside me.
“Did you read all the texts, Eric?” I ask.
“I swear to God, no. I swear. I skipped the ones when you started getting, you know, how people get. I skipped those. I probably missed some because I scrolled through any second it started to get like that.”
“Okay.” I let out a breath. “That’s good, but you shouldn’t have been reading it at all.”
“I know. A text came through. I just clicked it. I’m an idiot, sis. Seriously.”
I scroll to the bottom of the thread. He’s right. There’s a text from Logan. Good morning, beautiful x
I rest my hand on my belly, feeling that warm glow that always pulses when I read a message from him, hear his voice, or think about him sometimes. “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”
“No way,” Eric says. “Not unless you want me to.”
That would really be the coward’s way out, letting my little brother take the reaction for me. That would be the lowest of the freaking low. “No, I can’t do that. I have to do it, but he was in a terrible mood last night.”