Page 36 of Power Play with My Brother's Irish Friends

19

MIRANDA

“I’m so sorry.” I breathed away from the phone, hoping my newest client wouldn’t hear me struggling not to hurl onto the sidewalk. My condo building behind me shaded me from the sunlight, but the smell of exhaust fumes instigated another series of deep gags. I’d already vomited enough to empty my stomach, leaving me dry heaving so hard my stomach cramped. I waited for the episode to pass before I straightened.

The doorman watched me warily as I passed. “Are you all right, Miss Lake?”

“I’ll be fine.” I tried to give him a comforting smile but stopped when the nausea gripped me again. “Mr. Connor, you have my complete assurances that I will be back on the job as soon as I’m over this bout of food poisoning.”

“You’re sure it’s not something you ate at the restaurant?” Mr. Connor’s abject horror at me fleeing the table with stomach upset had set him down a long spiral of hand washing and even deeper into his neurotic tendencies that had put him on the social media avoidance train. His company and his team needed a quick turnaround to get him back in the good graces of the news outlets. I wasn’t hired to work on his neuroses but to help him learn how to circumnavigate the complexities that came with talking with the crowd in a smooth, functional manner. “I’ve been feeling a bit ill myself.”

“It wasn’t the restaurant.” I rushed to reassure him. “It was something I ate here at home.” The soup. Had to be the soup. I’d flown back to New York for this meeting, and I’d ruined it by sprinting to the bathroom before we made it through the appetizer.

“You looked quite unwell.” Mr. Connor inhaled through the phone. “It was rather unprofessional for you to show up already sick. What if you’ve infected me.” His breath stuttered. “Oh, dear God. I’m definitely sick. I should go to the hospital.”

“You can’t catch food poisoning.” I worked to reassure him further, but he’d already tipped too far down the rabbit hole, rattling off symptoms that had nothing to do with food poisoning. I sighed inside the elevator and pinched the bridge of my nose. When that didn’t help, I rubbed my stomach and bent slightly at the waist. The increase in pressure alleviated the nausea enough to get me up to my floor, down the hall, and into my condo.

“What if it’s not food poisoning? You were recently in another city. You might have picked up something there and brought it back with you.” He continued, going on and on about fungus and potential diseases.

I kicked off my black heels, leaving them in a pile beside the door. “Mr. Connor, I’m sorry to cut this short. If you feel you must get checked out, please do so. I promise I have not brought any illness to you, but it’s perfectly acceptable if you need to reassure yourself through professional means.” There. I didn’t take any responsibility for his sudden onset of symptoms, I’d tried to reassure him, and I’d given him a choice. It was the best I could do under the circumstances.

I ended the call with another apology and tossed my phone onto the island. The nausea disappeared with a suddenness that left me lightheaded. It had done the same thing yesterday, making me feel good enough to keep my meeting for today.

“What is going on with you?” I addressed my stomach like it could answer me back and shook my head. “Loneliness is getting to me.” Sunlight filtered in through the curtains along the living room wall. I crossed to them and flung them all back, illuminating the room with golden light that immediately made me feel ten times better. “I better not have missed the Washington game for no reason.” Crossing to the couch, I clicked the TV remote and set the channel. I had the schedule memorized, and a glance at the clock in the kitchen proved I’d gotten home just in time. I’d never believed in serendipity, but being able to watch the game from the comfort of my own home helped ease the ache of leaving everyone behind.

Duncan and Patrick sped out onto the ice. I knew the instant their skates touched down that they were off, their coordination sketchy and slow to respond to their team. “Come on, guys.” I groaned along with the crowd when Patrick missed the slapshot and cheered when Austin made the first goal.

My stomach grumbled with a surge of hunger so profound it drove me into the kitchen. The thought of more soup made me gag, so I grabbed fresh ingredients from the refrigerator and split my time between cooking a quick but nutritious meal that wouldn’t instigate the food poisoning to return and watching the game.

Plain grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and a few soft rolls satiated my hunger well enough and I managed to keep it down all the way through the game and the press interview. Seeing Duncan stand proud and strong in the onslaught of questions had me bursting with pride. He’d come a long way in a short time. “You look good, Duncan.” I traced my fingernail around the edge of my phone. Was it tacky to call and congratulate him? Probably. I could call Austin, but he’d have too many questions if I asked to talk to anyone else or if I asked him to pass along a message. I could text them. I should text them. A professional PR manager would be able to do that without incurring any questions. I’d left behind professional the night I arrived in Washington and succumbed to a kissing game.

Groaning, I pushed up from the couch where I’d enjoyed my meal and dropped my dishes into the dishwasher. “Might as well unpack. And quit talking to myself. Maybe I should get a pet.” I’d thought about it on several occasions. A cat fit in with my lifestyle and gave me someone to talk to in the afternoons. But what would I do with them when I left for long business trips?

My suitcases stood beside my heels, the stack untouched since I’d dropped them there. Unpacking and taking care of putting everything away offered a quick and easy distraction from the desire to break my silence and call Duncan, Patrick, and Charlie. Pride quickened my steps to keep me from backtracking to my phone. Duncan handled the interview with grace and style. And they’d all ended up performing admirably after that disastrous first quarter. I grinned at the memory of Duncan making the winning shot and threw my smallest suitcase on the bed, unzipping it with one hand and opening the dresser drawer with the other. The smell of freshly washed clothes soothed my senses as it brought a rush of familiarity. My bedroom still brought back memories of Luther. I saw him in the empty space in my closet, the drawer where he’d kept his clothes beside mine. My jaw sawed back and forth, the threat of tears burning my nose. I sniffed and shoved my pajamas in the drawer, then slammed it shut with my palm before throwing the empty suitcase into the closet. Something thumped and crumpled. I frowned and dragged it back to the bed, unzipping the side pocket. A box of tampons tumbled out and landed on the mattress with a crinkle as tampons spilled out of the crushed box.

My heart nosedived to my toes. I’d packed the tampons before leaving for Washington. “Oh god.” A trembling hand covered my mouth. I turned and bolted to the counter where I kept my calendar and flipped through the dates. I already knew them by heart, but needed the confirmation. I’d been in Washington over a month, and I’d skipped my period. How had I missed that? The stress of the job, maybe, but I’d been in more stressful situations and never had a problem.

I was too young for menopause and my birth control didn’t affect my periods. Which meant…

Pregnancy was on the table. As though to send another warning sign, the nausea returned. It crept up slow this time and faded when I swallowed. Nausea. Vomiting. Missed period. It all added up to a very significant positive that had nothing to do with food poisoning.

I ran from the bedroom, grabbed my keys, and yanked on my comfortable shoes. The trip to the convenience store at the end of the block, followed by running all the way back home left my legs trembling and my lungs aching for air. I gasped my way into the bathroom and scrubbed a towel over my face to get rid of the sweat stinging my eyes. I read the directions, then set them aside, knowing I’d want to read them again to confirm.

The two boxes shook in my hands. “Always double check.” I told my clients that my entire career. Never assume. Never leave things to chance. Check, then check again. So, I’d take two tests. Same brand. Same everything. I’d had to hold myself back from buying one of every kind on the rack, hoping one might tell me what I wanted instead of what I knew.

The process was simple enough, and I set both sticks on the counter and set my phone timer before pacing back and forth across the bathroom. I eyed the shower where I’d found Luther and chewed on the side of my thumb. I’d not slept with anyone else since Luther. But that was almost eight months ago. No way I was pregnant with his child. Thank god.

Each minute dragged on, the seconds ticking down slower and slower. I rested my hands on the rim of the sink and took several cleansing breaths. My alarm rang, and I almost knocked the sticks off the counter reaching for them. My vision swam in and out of focus, but even that didn’t stop me from seeing the matching pluses on both tests. Pregnant. My free hand dropped to my stomach. Until this moment, I’d been uncertain how far we went that night at the pool. Apparently we’d taken things all the way. I hated that I didn’t remember. An experience like that should be remembered, treasured, even. Who was the father? I racked my brain for anything that would tell me the truth. Had they all come inside me?

Was Charlie the father? Or was it Duncan or Patrick?

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