Page 89 of My Million Dollar Secret

I disconnect the call and let out a long breath as I set the phone down on my desk. Holding my hand against my stomach, I feel it churning. It makes me wonder about the child growing inside of me. What kind of a life do I possibly think I can give him? Or her? I’m working a menial job – for now – and am not making a fortune. I’m going to be hard pressed to raise a child on what I’m making.

More than that, though, what kind of example will I be setting for my child? A single mom working as somebody’s personal assistant – no career or education to speak of. What will they learn from me? To not set their sights higher? I certainly won’t be able to provide for my child or give them the same advantages I had growing up. And while my child won’t need to live as extravagantly as I did, I would at least like to provide something of a comfortable life for them.

As I sit there pondering, I hear voices in the hallway outside. My stomach lurches and my heart flutters when I hear Aaron’s voice. I’m not going to lie – there’s part of me that wants to rush right out there and throw myself into his arms. The rest of me knows I can’t. I need to remain strong. I need to stand resolute.

I, unfortunately, also need him to sign some papers – which will obviously necessitate me seeing him. And after we’d done such a good job of avoiding each other for the past few days too.

Grabbing the clipboard from my desk, I get to my feet and trudge to the doorway, each step harder to take than the last. I have to force myself to walk down the hall to his office. When I get there, I see the door is still propped open.

Voices are coming from the office – Aaron’s and it sounds like Pete’s. I step forward and peer through the crack in the door, confirming that it’s indeed his attorney in with him. It doesn’t sound like anything too official, so I push open the door and freeze when I hear Aaron’s voice. The words I hear fall from his lips send my heart spiraling into my stomach – and my stomach spiraling into a bottomless abyss.

“… it’s my problem, I’m going to have to deal with it,” I overhear Aaron stating to Pete. “One way or another.”

The door swings inward. I feel my eyes grow wide as I stare at him, the pain surging through me like a white-hot flood, searing my veins. I’m his problem? He’s going to have to ‘deal with me one way or the other’? Is that how he really thinks of me? Or how he thinks about our unborn child? Or maybe it’s how he sees us both.

“Emily.”

Pete turns around in his seat to see me, but I look up and meet Aaron’s eyes. Despite my best efforts to rein in my emotion, I feel the tears welling in my eyes. To know that’s the way he sees me now is like a kick to the gut by somebody wearing a steel-toed boot. There’s a searing pain spreading through my body. If I don’t get out of here soon, I may not be able to keep my emotions in check.

Clearing my throat, I raise the clipboard. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were in a meeting.”

“No, it’s fine –”

“There’s just a few forms for you to fill out and sign,” I interrupt him. “I’ll just leave the clipboard on my desk. I’m going to take off for the day, if that’s okay. I have a – thing.”

“That’s fine,” Aaron responds slowly, an expression of confusion on his face.

“Great, thanks.”

I turn and flee back down the hall to my office. I quickly grab my things and get the hell out of the office. The bodyguard picks me up coming through the lobby and falls into step behind me. I hear him on his phone – undoubtedly calling the driver. I wish like hell I was driving my own car. I have no choice but to stand at the curb and wait.

The driver takes me back to the corporate condo. It’s only when I’m safe behind the locked doors of the place that I allow my emotional dam to rupture, a torrent of body-shaking sobs quickly pouring out. I lay down on the bed, curl up, and keep crying until I feel like I can’t cry anymore.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Aaron

I've been avoiding Emily for the last couple of days because I'm just so confused as to what to do. I haven't known what to say to her, so I've been doing a lot of work off-site and I haven't gone by the condo where I have her stashed. I've just had a lot to think about. Too much to think about. And although thinking is my strong suit, I'm still having trouble getting my head wrapped around everything. It all still seems so surreal. I mean me, a father – really?

Pete tracked me down today and demanded to have lunch, so we got together for a burger and a couple of beers. He wanted to know what in the hell was going on, and also wanted to remind me that with the government deal coming through, there is a lot that needs to be done. And to tell me that since I like to have my hands in the pie and be intimately involved with the initial program design process, that I should probably be around a little more.

He's not wrong, I've just been avoiding going into the office because I'm busy hiding out like a baby.

We head through the underground garage and toward the elevators. I can't avoid going into the office forever, so I might as well bite the bullet and go in. The entire time, Pete keeps talking to me. I knew that talking to him about what happened out in Vegas – not to mention everything afterward – was going to be a mistake.

That little voice inside my head told me he'd nag me worse than an old lady and goddammit, I sometimes hate always being right.

I know Pete means well. He's one of my best friends, but he's also my lawyer. And sometimes, it's tough for him to differentiate one from the other. He feels that he has to protect me from everything – including myself. Maybe especially from myself.

I appreciate it, but sometimes it would be nice to just sit down with a drink and talk without having legal opinion and theory shoved down my throat.

“It's going to be fine, Pete,” I tell him for about the ten thousandth time.

“You've got a pretty messed-up definition of fine,” he shoots back. “I mean, she is now legally entitled to half of your things – including Frontline.”

Although I feel my stomach lurch when he says it, my brain kicks in immediately and quashes any lingering fear. Emily isn't like that. She's not the type who'd demand half of my things just to be petty and punitive. Not that it's even going to be an issue.

“I can't believe you'd be that stupid,” he barks at me. “I mean, who in the hell gets drunk enough to think that getting married is a good idea?”

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