Page 55 of Love to Hate You

“Charlie?” I hear Nash move into the doorway behind me. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head and feel the sting of tears. My entire body starts shaking and suddenly Nash is there with a towel and wiping my face.

“Aww, baby, it’s okay,” he coos in a low voice.

Humiliation pours through me as he pulls me over to the sink and turns the faucet on. As I lean forward to rinse my mouth out, Nash gathers my hair and holds it back. I’ve been wearing it down nearly every day since our trip to California.

He’s rubbing my back, murmuring soft, comforting words, and I stand up and grab my toothbrush. After I’m minty fresh, I sigh and lean against the sink, feeling exhausted.

“C’mon, I’m driving you home.”

“No, you don’t have-”

“Don’t argue with me,” he says, cobalt eyes shooting me a warning.

I let out another sigh and follow him back into my office. He helps me slide my jacket on and grabs my purse.

When we arrive at my apartment, all I want is for him to drop me off and leave. But Nash is so damn stubborn, maybe even more than me, and he makes sure I change into my pajamas. While I’m doing that, he sneaks off into the kitchen and finds a packet of chicken noodle soup. I walk in to see him pouring hot water into the cup of noodles and stirring.

“Sit,” he says and nods to the table where there’s a package of crackers and a ginger ale already waiting for me.

“I’m really not hungry,” I tell him.

Nash pretends not to hear and sets the mug of soup in front of me. “Careful. It’s really hot,” he says and hands me a spoon.

I reluctantly take the spoon and stir the steaming soup.He really can be sweet, I think, and look up into his serious gaze. But all I want is for him to go because I’m dying to run down to the nearby pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test.

“If you want to change the meeting, I’ll call Square.”

“No!” I set the spoon down with a clink. “I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe, maybe not. We can always reschedule if you don’t feel well.”

For a moment, I think about what it would be like if we were presenting together. Kind of like when we were in California. We work so incredibly well together that it’s almost a shame that we have to compete for this stupid client.

A part of me doesn’t even care anymore. Me– the workaholic who never had a life until Nash Beckett swept in like a whirlwind and made me care about something other than 12–15-hour work days.

I realize that if I’m carrying his baby then he’s given me another thing to care about besides work.

“Please, Charlie,” he says in a low, coaxing voice. “Just a few bites. I know you haven’t been eating enough lately.”

To appease him, I take a few small sips and eat a cracker. My stomach seems to have finally settled down and I think the bland food helps.

“Do you want me to spend the night?”

“No,” I say, too quickly, and he arches a brow. “I mean, I’m just going to go to bed. I’ve been burning the wick at both ends, that's all.”

Nash studies me closely for a moment too long. The man is far too perceptive for his own good. Finally, he nods, leans in and kisses my temple. “If you need anything, call me.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“And that includes changing tomorrow’s meeting.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him.

He gives me a slow, accessing look. “If you say so. Good luck tomorrow, baby,” he says, grabs his coat and walks out.

The moment he leaves, I hop up and grab my coat. I don’t care that I’m in plaid pajama bottoms and I slip on shoes, grab my purse and keys, and practically run all the way down to the pharmacy on the corner.

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