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“Today is practice for tomorrow.” He kisses my neck. “I love the hell out of you, woman. You know that, right?” He doesn’t give me time to respond. He moves and in a blink he’s carrying me to the shower with him.
Half an hour later, Reese is dressed in a gray suit with a blue pinstripe and a blue shirt to match, looking all tall, dark, and handsome, while my hair is still wet and I’m just finishing my make up. He approaches from behind and I turn to face him. “I hate to tell you this,” I say, “but you’re living up to the Mr. Hotness blogs right now.”
He groans and pulls me to him. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just taunt me with that. Every fucking time I go to trial it starts again.”
“It’s the burden of being so hot.”
“Stop, woman, or I will find a way to punish you.”
I laugh, but he’s moved on, focused on his case. I see it in his eyes even before his jaw clenches and his fingers flex on my hips. “Come to the office today. I need you to work with me on my opening statement.”
“It’s brilliant. You know that.”
“It’ll be better with practice. Write your ‘Cat Does Crime’ column and come to the office when you’re done.”
My hand settles on his chest. “I will,” I promise. “Of course I will, but not because you really need practice. My column is going to take a while though. Everyone will be watching it for shades of you and this trial. A young, beautiful woman accused of killing her wealthy father to inherit his money plays like a movie and you’re the leading man.”
“And my client is the innocent victim made out to be a villain. Are you going to go for it and write about her?”
“Yes. I am. Though I can’t tell you what will end up on the paper. I’m just going to wing it.”
“That makes for some of your most compelling work.” His cellphone rings and he snakes it from his pocket, and answers it, without letting go of me completely.
“Yeah Royce,” he says, Royce being the owner of the security firm he uses often for his cases and for the firm’s activities. “Right. Thanks for the head’s up.” He disconnects and sticks his phone back in his pocket. “Picketers at the office and I don’t want you to have to deal with that mess. I’ll bring the team here to you late this afternoon.”
“I don’t mind. You know that.”
“I know, but I want to be home.” He kisses me. “I’m going to take off. I’ll see you back here as soon as possible.” He heads for the door, all loose-legged swagger and perfection and I sigh. He’s mine. “I’m going to keep you!” I call out.
He leans back inside the doorway. “Did you just decide this now, or almost two years ago when you married me?”
“Just re-affirming my vows.”
“Well then, I’m going to keep you, too, and naked as often as possible” He winks and disappears.
I’m still smiling when I’ve finished dressing in dark jeans and a pink sweater worthy of the later October season. I head downstairs to the kitchen, power my computer up on the island where it sits, and start a cup of coffee brewing. As usual, I grab a bottle of water and open the drawer by the coffee pot to pull out my birth control pill. That’s when I realize that I’m on day three of the blank sugar pills and I haven’t started my period. And my breasts are sore. I grab the cabinet. Oh God. The flu. I had the flu and nothing stayed down for days and yet Reese and I managed to have sex the morning I got sick and on the heels of me getting better, because well, he’s Reese, and sex with him, always feels good.
I’m pregnant. This isn’t like when my friend Lori thought she was pregnant. I am. I feel it. Thinking back to the last few days, I felt different. I feel different. I inhale and let it out. This is okay. We have talked about this. We want kids. We said next year, but now is fine. I just don’t want to freak Reese out during this trial. I’m not going to do that to him. Pregnant. A baby. Reese’s baby. Our baby. I feel so many things that I don’t even know how to name those emotions. I want to take a test. I press my hand to my head. I have to write my column first in case Reese shows up earlier than expected and needs help prepping for his case.
I grab my coffee, doctor it up and sit down at the island. I can do this. I’ll get the test afterward. I pull up a blank document and start typing. Two hours later, I’m finally at the end and I read my conclusion: Tomorrow Dana Warren’s trial will begin, but as you follow it on the television and in the news, I ask you to play a game with me. Pretend you are a juror like I do with every case I cover. Wipe the slate clean and assume Dana’s innocence the way you would want to be assumed innocent. Then pull out a pad of paper or your computer and take notes right along with me. In the end, the prosecution must prove guilt without reasonable doubt. At the end of the trial when the jury deliberates, write down on a sheet of paper what your verdict is. I’ll share mine, even if it’s not the one my husband wants to hear. I’m calling this the Honest Jury Challenge. So—challenge on. Who’s taking it with me? I’ll be in court tomorrow, and back here every day to share my views. You can email me with yours, and I plan to share random tidbits from my readers. Until then, —Cat.
Happy with the final product, I email it to my editor and rush upstairs. I grab my purse and I’m out of the door and headed to the store in about three minutes. Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the bathroom, peeing on a stick which I sit on a towel on the sink and watch. And watch for what feels forever but is really only about two minutes. I suck in air at the results. I’m right. I have to sit down on the tub to process the words and then say them in my mind. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant right before Reese’s trial. I don’t know if he can hear this now.
I need to go to the doctor. I need confirmation first and what if I miscarry in the middle of his trial? My God. Why am I thinking about miscarriages? I’m not going to miscarry. I just don’t want to worry or rattle Reese during his trial and he has a responsibility to his client as well. I pull up the address book on my phone. I’ll talk to the doctor and decide when to tell Reese. I make the appointment and I’m dying. I want to call Reese. We tell each other everything and this is huge. I want to tell him that we’re having a baby, but this isn’t like other times. I can’t be selfish. I can’t do this now. Not the night before his opening statements. Doctor first. Reese later.
Chapter forty-two
Cat
My doctor appointment is not for a week. The more I think about my doctor putting me off that long, the more uneasy I am. I call the office back and beg for an earlier appointment but it appears my doctor is on vacation. The nurse, however, can do a test. I schedule that appointment for two days from now but keep my doctor’s appointment with the real doctor, too.
Next, I call my close friend Lauren, who’s the mother of a toddler, and the wife of Royce Walker, who heads Walker Security. I choose Lauren because she’s a trial attorney like Reese and a good friend. Also because Royce doesn’t just do a lot of investigative work for Reese’s firm, he’s ex-FBI and his team is compiled of FBI, CIA, SEALs, Special Forces and more, meaning they have stressful jobs. They have been on and continue to take dangerous missions. It’s not the same as a court case, but it’s high pressure. Lauren will know how those men deal with baby news in the middle of something big.
I get her voicemail. “Lauren, I have a crisis. Or not a crisis. But I need someone to talk to. Call me.” I hang up and text her the same message.
My cellphone rings and when it’s Reese’s number nerves overcome me. Why am I nervous? This is my husband. This is my soul mate. This is the man who is the father of my child. I answer the call. “Hey,” I say.
“Hey, sweetheart. How’s your column coming?”
