Page 49 of The Playboy's Most Unexpected Baby

OLIVIA

Having Charlie in Boston did make it easier to complete the work Olivia needed to get done, she reflected as she carried paint cans from the car to the house.

The most difficult factor was that it had been all but impossible to get in contact with him. He had left for the Boston office two days after their night on the boat, and Olivia hadn’t heard from him in the two weeks since. She’d messaged him a couple of times to check on things like paint colors, but when he hadn’t answered her third message, she had decided to use her best judgment and not worry about what he might say. She’d given him plenty of opportunities to weigh in.

For some reason, she felt more tired than usual today. By the time she made it up to the spare bedroom — today’s project — with the paint cans, she found herself needing to lean up against the wall and rest. She supposed it made sense. After all, she hadn’t been sleeping very well for the past few nights. Even though the idea of it bothered her, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Charlie.

If she could have taken a drug to get him off her mind, she would have done it in a heartbeat.

At least working on this painting would tire her out, and hopefully that would allow her to get a full night’s sleep tonight. She grabbed the paint can opener and wedged it under the lip of the lid, then forced it down with the palm of her hand to pry the lid off.

Immediately, she was hit with a powerful wave of paint fumes.

She closed her eyes, gagging. Had the paint been mixed improperly? It was the only thing she could think of that made sense of how terrible it smelled. She had been painting for weeks now, and had used this same brand every time — she was used to the strong smell of wet paint. It had never smelled like this before.

Something is wrong with this paint.

Pulling her shirt up over her nose to protect herself from the worst of the aroma, she pulled the lid the rest of the way off. She fully expected to see something unpleasant — unmixed paint, oily at the top and thickened at the bottom. Maybe even something worse. She wasn’t sure what bad paint would look like, but she was sure she would understand this smell when she saw it.

But much to her surprise, everything looked just fine inside the paint can. The paint was the rich, even texture she was used to. The color was the perfect pale yellow that she had ordered. Frowning, she picked up a paint stick and dipped it in to see if something was wrong at the very bottom of the can.

The stick came up looking normal — but as she pulled it out of the can, the scent of the paint hit Olivia so powerfully that her stomach lurched. She jumped to her feet and sprinted for the bathroom, her curiosity momentarily forgotten in the face of a more pressing need.

She barely made it in time. Falling to her knees on the bathroom tile, she whipped the toilet seat up and bent over the bowl. Sweat poured down her face as she vomited, and it was several minutes before she was able to sit back, propped up against the wall and gasping for breath.

What the hell?

There hadn’t been anything wrong with that paint, so what was it that had made her so unexpectedly sick? She didn’t know what to think. She closed her eyes and tried to process what had just happened.

Did she have a fever? Maybe she had come down with something? She didn’t think so. Now that her stomach had settled, she felt perfectly fine — better than ever, in fact. She felt as if she could have gone and painted the whole bedroom without any trouble — except that the thought of that paint smell made her stomach lurch again.

Did I just develop a sudden sensitivity to the smell of paint?

That really didn't make sense. She’d painted dozens of rooms in her life, and the smell had never given her a problem before. What could account for something like this?

The idea that came into her head was more a joke than a serious consideration. It was the kind of punch line she and Izzy might have exchanged with one another. And it actually brought a smile to her face at first.

Maybe I’m pregnant.

She felt herself begin to laugh at the idea, as she ordinarily would have — of course it wasn’t true — but now the laugh died in her throat.

It could be true. It’s possible.

She began counting backward, trying to remember the date of her last period. She couldn’t come up with it. She would have marked it on her calendar, but she didn’t have her phone in the room with her, so she couldn’t check on that.

But it had been too long. She knew that without having to look it up. It should have happened by now, and it hadn’t.

Oh, God.

This couldn’t be. She couldn’t be pregnant. The only person she had been with in months was Charlie, and that had only been that one time.

Of course, once was all it took…

She drew a deep breath and released it slowly. There was no sense in freaking out. Her course of action was clear. She had to get to the drugstore and get her hands on a pregnancy test. She couldn’t panic about this until she was sure, one way or the other. And once she was, then she would figure out what she needed to do next.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Olivia sat on the edge of the bathtub staring at the pregnancy test in her hands and wondering if she had forgotten which result meantpositive.

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