Page 75 of Boss's Baby: A Fake Fiance Romance

OK, there goes that idea. “So the only thing I can do is to wait a week and hear back?”

“Looking that way. Maybe in New York you’d be able to find a clinic with their own lab, get some same-day results. But we’re a small operation around here, as you know.”

I was frustrated as hell on top of being nervous. “OK, how about this. What’s your best guess as a medical professional? You have to have seen these symptoms before and be pretty sure one way or another.”

“Now, I don’t like to speculate with matters like this. And it really could go one way or another. You’ve been having sickness spells, you’re late in your cycle, and—”

“What about alcohol?”

He smiled. “Definitely avoid that for the time being.”

“No, I mean it’s been totally gross to me over the last few weeks. What if that’s my body’s way of telling me I shouldn’t have it because it’d be bad for a baby?”

He chuckled. “It’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. The body has a way of sending messages. But I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that it’s hardly the most certain way to tell.”

“But definitely avoid alcohol.”

“Definitely. And unless you’ve got any more questions, let’s take care of the bloodwork.”

I had many, many questions. But they were all ones that Dr. Shaw wouldn’t be able to answer. The nurse returned, and she took some blood. Dr. Shaw gave me the information for the clinic and confirmed that I’d hear back from them as soon as possible.

And then I was back behind the wheel of my car, having had Josh’s driver take me back to my parent’s place earlier to pick it up. My hands shook as I drove, and the moment I pulled onto the main road of downtown, I knew there wasn’t a chance that I’d be able to wait five flipping days to know whether or not there was a kid inside of me.

I pulled into the parking lot of the nearest drugstore and damn near sprinted to the entrance. Seconds later I was in the pregnancy test aisle. Dr. Shaw was right, sure—these things were far less accurate than the bloodwork.

But what if I got a bunch of them? Five tests, say. Maybe overkill, but if they all came up the same way, it had to tell me one way or another. No chance it could be wrong if they all said the same thing.

So, that’s what I did. After a little recon around the store to make sure there was no one there I wouldn’t want to see me buying a test—or tests—I paid and drove back to the house as quickly as I could.

Mom and Dad were in the living room—Mom reading, Dad watching TV. I blurted out a quick “Hi” before rushing into the bathroom and laying out the five tests. Seeing them all in front of me reminded me of how you perform them, and I realized I was going to need a lot of pee for this particular project.

I went to it, periodically popping back into the living room so Mom and Dad could see me and know that I wasn’t, well, in the bathroom doing pregnancy tests. I did one after the other, setting a separate timer on my phone for each.

And then I waited. I wanted to simply pace around, but I realized that would make me look like a crazy person. So I dropped onto the couch next to Mom, who was in the middle of Dallas reruns—her favorite show. It was a Christmas special, so at least somewhat appropriate.

After several minutes of total silence, Dad looked up at me from his paperback thriller. “You all right over there, kid?”

“Huh? What?’

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind. I know when my girl’s upset.”

I had to think of something, and fast. Luckily my lying muscle had been getting a hell of a workout over the last few days.

“Um, thinking about the wedding and all that. It’s all happening so fast, and Josh doesn’t want to waste any time getting it taken care of. I mean, neither do I—I’m crazy excited about it.” Perfect—a nice, clean lie, twisting the truth like Josh had said.

Mom clasped her hands together. “Oh, you’re going to have such a wonderful wedding. I bet a guy like him will let you have whatever wedding you want.”

“Now, I’m the father of the bride, and I’m going to cover the wedding. Not a chance I’m letting those rich types throw their money around.”

Mom scrunched her face. “Mark, think about it—she can have the wedding of her dreams if you just step back and let her do it.”

“No way. Father of the bride pays for the wedding, and that’s what’s going to happen.”

An argument like that was the last thing I wanted to deal with—there was going to be enough of that tomorrow at the party. I excused myself and headed to the kitchen, where I right away went into the pacing I’d been holding back, hoping that no one would come in and see that there was clearly something going on with me that wasn’t simply wedding jitters.

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