The Billion Dollar Pact. Sheri WhiteFeather

break. “But it’ll be okay.”

      She wished that she could believe him. But what if she was pregnant? He was the last man on earth she should be having a baby with. “You can’t know it’s going to be okay.”

      “I’m just trying to comfort you. To say what I’m supposed to say.” Clearly, he was struggling with his role in this. “Would you rather be alone now? Do you want me to leave?”

      She looked into the vastness of his eyes. “Do you want to go?”

      He gazed back at her. “I asked you first.”

      They sounded like kids, debating a silly subject. But that wasn’t the case. This was a serious discussion between two anxiety-ridden adults.

      She took the undecided road. “It’s up to you.”

      “Please, Carol. Either ask me to stay or tell me to leave. Don’t make me choose.”

      “Then maybe you should go.” If he stayed, she might fall prey to the temptation of those big broad shoulders and put her head on one of them. She might even cry in his arms, and that wouldn’t do either of them any good.

      “All right.” He wiped his hands on his pants, as if his palms had turned clammy. “We’ll just keep in touch by phone.”

      She walked him to the door, where they both stood outside. The air felt good, so she breathed in as much of it as she could.

      “Take care of yourself,” he said.

      “I will.” She hadn’t been sleeping. She’d barely even been eating. “Thanks again for the soup.”

      “If you need anything else, just let me know.”

      What she needed was to not be pregnant. “Hopefully you’ll get good news from me tomorrow.”

      “I’ll be waiting.” He gazed empathetically at her. “I’m sorry our weekend together is messing up your life.”

      “Nothing is messed up yet.” It was only on the verge of disaster.

      His breathing turned choppy. “God, Carol. How are we going to handle this if it’s true?”

      “I don’t know. But you need to go.” She couldn’t cope with his panic. She had enough of her own.

      “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be leaving.”

      Thankfully, he didn’t embrace her or do anything to stir up more emotion. There was nothing but a softly spoken goodbye before he turned and left.

      She noticed that he was driving his Corvette, a ragtop convertible that he favored on warmer days. She could see the shiny red sports car from where she stood. She watched him climb behind the wheel and fire up the high-powered engine.

      Carol tried to picture him in a minivan with a baby carrier strapped in the backseat, but it was a ludicrous image.

      She shook her head, afraid, so damned afraid, that if tomorrow didn’t bring an end to this, her wild-spirited boss could actually be the father of her unborn child.

      * * *

      Nearly a week later, Jake was at home stressing about the predicament he’d gotten himself into. Carol hadn’t returned to work yet, but by now a doctor had confirmed what the home test had also revealed. She was pregnant. With his kid, Jake thought. His flesh and blood. He was going to be someone’s dad.

      Carol had already told him over the phone that she was keeping it, but he’d figured as much. He couldn’t see her terminating her pregnancy under any circumstances, not with how badly she wanted a family.

      But how did Jake fit into all of this? He didn’t know how to be part of a family, not since he’d lost his own. Nor did he want to be part of one, either.

      Carol was coming over later so they could try to figure things out. But even now, as he looked at himself in the mirrored wall of his gym, he wanted to ram his head against it.

      He’d worked out like mad, making his muscles ache, making his body sweat. He’d pushed himself harder than he ever had before, trying to block the truth from his mind.

      But it hadn’t been the least bit effective.

      What the hell was he going to do? How was he going to cope with being a father? Jake didn’t even have a dog. Or a cat. Or a fish. He’d never been responsible for anyone or anything except himself.

      He entered the bathroom that was attached to the gym and climbed into the shower. He turned on the spigot and let the icy cold water pummel him. But it didn’t help. Nothing did. Still, he remained under the freezing spray for as long as he could stand it.

      After he toweled off, he dragged a T-shirt over his head and zipped into a pair of holey jeans. He liked wearing old clothes around the house. For him, it took the pretentious edge off living in a mansion. Not that he was complaining. His place was amazingly cool, an ultramodern estate perched in the Hollywood Hills, with the kinds of amenities only high-dollar real estate could offer.

      At least Jake could buy his son or daughter everything the child needed. That was his only comfort, the only part of this that made him feel grounded.

      Over the years, he’d learned to hide behind his money. But if he hadn’t gotten rich, he would be hiding behind something else. There would be a barrier either way. On the day Jake’s family had burned to death in that car, he’d put up his defenses, using his grief as a shield. There was no going back, no changing it. He was what he was.

      He went into the living room to wait for Carol, anxiety building with each second that passed. He couldn’t marry her; he couldn’t be the nice normal guy she dreamed about. But she wouldn’t expect him to. Would she?

      He scrubbed his hand across his jaw, feeling trapped within the walls of his big glass house.

      Finally, Carol arrived. He invited her inside, and they sat across from each other in his sunken living room, decorated with red leather furniture and sleek gray tables. The floors were high-glossed wood, the artwork bold and masculine. The windows offered panoramic views, with Hollywood and all its glorious sins stretched out before them. This wasn’t a home designed for a wife and child. He’d bought it as a place to party, to entertain, to live and let live.

      “Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Water? Iced tea? Wine?” He stalled, made a face. Had he just offered a pregnant woman a drink? “Sorry. Scratch the wine.”

      “That’s okay. I don’t want anything, anyway.”

      Carol looked prim and pretty, with her oxford blouse all buttoned up. But she seemed tired, too. As fatigued as before.

      “Has the nausea started?” he asked.

      She shook her head. “No. My symptoms are the same.”

      “Maybe you won’t get sick like that.”

      She smiled a little. “I probably will, but it would be nice to bypass that part.”

      “I don’t know anything about having kids, Carol.”

      “I’m not an expert, either.”

      “Yeah, but it’s in your DNA. You’re going to make a great mom.”

      “Thank you. This wasn’t how I envisioned becoming a parent, but I’m not going to let that stop me from loving this baby with all of my heart.”

      At that moment, Jake’s heart was beating uncomfortably in his chest, crushing down on his lungs. “I’ll give you both whatever you need. Neither of you will go without. But I can’t marry you, Carol. I hope you understand that.”

      “Of course I do. I didn’t come over here hoping for a proposal. I could never marry you, either.”

      He should have been satisfied with her response. It was what he wanted to hear, after all. But instead, it made him hurt for the child they’d created.