Page 49 of Beauty and her Billionaire Beast
My hands start to shake, and I scroll all the way up to re-read the messages that came in at the start of the day, as well as the back and forth ones that Fosterwrote.
Isabelle: Hey. Dickhead.This is Bethany. Remember me? I still think you’re an asshole. Anyhow. My sister doesn’t know I’m sending this to you. Pay attention, now. I won’t say this shittwice.
Isabelle: Here’s what I have to say. Isabelle is pregnant. It’syours.
Isabelle: You’re welcome. Don’t ever say I didn’t do anything foryou.
I get to my feet and start pacing. This is not happening. She’s pregnant? We had sex one time, with a condom, and I knocked her up? Shit. I think back to the last two weeks. Her weight loss, the tiredness, lack of appetite, and feeling sick all the time. Jesus. She’s pregnant. And it’smine?
“What’s going on, son?” Pops asks, pulling my attention away. “You look likeyou’ve seen aghost.”
“I’m just…never mind, I can handle this,” I tell him and look at the screenagain.
The texts that Foster wrote are immediately below, showing up as though I sent it. I’m not just floored by this news. I’m fucking pissed about Foster’sreplies.
Me: Hey Bethany. How are things out in the sticks? By the way, this is notDickhead. It’s Foster. I’m on Dickhead’sphone.
Me: Thanks for the news that I’m gonna be a godfather! I’ll pass the messageon.
Me: Also, I’m just gonna suggest this. Knox hasn’t seen your news yet. He’ll be surprised about knocking her up, but once the news sinks in, he’ll be more excited about it than his baby momma. Also, ifhe was reading this, he’d tell you and Isabelle to fly back here right now or we’ll spank both your asses until they’re red asfuck.
Me: I’ll take care of your fine ass, Bethany. Not toworry.
Isabelle: Foster, you perv. Bethany again. You wouldn’t know what to do with my fine ass if it came with directions. Justsaying.
Me: Hey! Bethany! You wanna bet? Anyway, I doubt Knox will check these messages, so I’m sending my private jet to Denver today. Make sure you’re both onit.
Isabelle: I’ll take Isabelle to the airport when your plane is ready. She and Knox need to work this out. Text me at 720-555-9202.
Me: All right. Textingyou from my phonenow.
“That idiot,” I shout, forgetting where I amagain.
“Knox. What’s this about?” Pops is insistent thistime.
“It’snothing.”
“Like hell it is. What isit?”
“Okay it’s something. I…I just got some news,” I say, not wanting to worry him. “I need to talk to Isabelle about it, isall.”
“Okay, so what theheck are you doing here? Go talk to her. I’m fine. This is minor stuff. They’re just taking precautions, observing me for twenty-fourhours.”
“I don’t want to leave you. Nothere.”
He sits up straight in his hospital bed and drags the oxygen tubes down from his nose. “I swear to God, if you use my illness as an excuse not to deal with your problems, when I die, I’ll come back withyour mom and dad, and we’ll tag team haunting your sorry ass until you have the fear of God in you! Get going. Go get yourgirl.”
I don’t know why Pops is making light of his illness and bringing my parents into it, but I can tell by that tone that he’s not playing withme.
“Fine. I’ll go call hernow.”
“Youbetter.”
I leave the room and call Isabelle’s number frommy contact list. She doesn’t answer, so I find Foster’s contact information and phone himnext.
“Hey,” he answers on the second ring. “What’sup?”
“I’ll deal with the shit you pulled later, but for now just tell me what’s the status on Isabelle’s ETA. I tried to call her. Is she and the babyokay?”
