Page 25 of The Billionaire's Second Chance
“Don’t tell me you’re going to quit writing now that you and James are married.” She grimaced, and the oxygen left my lungs in a rush. Edie was a writer, through and through–it was in her blood. She would never quit. Unless… “No–don’t tell me thathewants you to quit. Jamesknows–”
“I’m pregnant,” she said.
I froze.
“Oh,” I said.Even worse,I thought, and immediately hated myself for it. “I mean, congratulations, Edie. You must be so happy.” I gave her the most sincere smile I could manage given the circumstances.
She laughed. “I can see thatyouaren’t.”
“No, no,” I protested. “I am, really. Truly. I’m–congratulations. To you and to James. Is he thrilled?”
“Yes,” she said, doing a poor job of hiding an excited smile. “He’s dying to tell everyone. He’s very proud of himself, I think.” She rolled her eyes.She’s the same Edie, I reminded myself.Your writer. Your friend.She had been my friend before she married James, and she would still be my friend after she had his baby.Their baby,I corrected myself. James wasn’t my father.
Neither is Charlie.
The thought materialized, unbidden, lingering in the back of my skull, where I couldn’t quite grasp it. Why should that matter? There was nothing between Charlie and me but a pair of one-night stands. A decade and a half of distasteful acquaintance.
And an invitation.
I was sure of it.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about today. We’re having some people over in a few weeks for a little cocktail party. Just at our place,” she said. “Nothing fancy,” she added with a smile. “Just drinks with friends–mocktails for me–to announce it before the tabloids get a hold of it. I’d love for you to come…”
“Of course,” I said instantly. “I’ll be there.”
“...and I’d like you there as a friend, not as an agent. If we get everything figured out on the professional side today,” she said, crossing her legs demurely under her chair, “then you won’t spend the entire party thinking about work.”
I gave her a look.
“Okay, fine, it might be a bit unrealistic to ask you to forget all your work, but at least don’t think aboutmywork,” she corrected.
“Therewe go,” I said. “So. What are you thinking, in terms of schedule adjustments?”
Edie nodded, pulling out a planner. “So, I have about seven months yet…”
It was easy, while Edie and I went over her writing plans, her leave, the details of her contract, to forget the uncomfortable, reflexive bitterness I felt upon hearing her good news.
Congratulations, Edie. You’re married now, you’re having a baby.All the things I’d promised myself I would never do. I wouldn’thaveto do.
It was easy.
It was what I’d always done.
But then she’d gone, and I was left in my office, and all I could think about was the cold bed I’d be returning to, tonight and every other night. I sighed, looking at the stacks of manuscripts that surrounded me, thinking of the hundred unread queries in my emails. My bed would be cold, but I wouldn’t be alone.
I have just the kind of romance that Edie does, I thought with a wry smile as I packed up my bag. Dozens of them, in fact, every night. The only difference was that she was living it.
CHAPTER13
Samantha
I arrived earlyat the venue, my leather work bag weighted down with tonight’s manuscripts, only to find that Charlie had beaten me there. He stood on the steps of the historic New York Public Library, wearing a gray tee-shirt with his company logo on it. Veritech, it read in a simple white font. I didn’t think his brother’s company, Verity Publishing, made swag. Certainly not tee shirts. Definitely not tee shirts that pulled around strong biceps, a broad chest. Not likethat.
“Hey,” he said. I climbed the stairs purposefully, stopping a step above him. We were the same height.
“Don’t you ever work?” I asked, and he grinned for a second, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Nah, I spend my days reading romance novels.” His eyes twinkled irritatingly. “Oh, wait, no, that’s you. Cush gig, Sam.”
