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Possibly still murder him, but not sure how I’d explain to my baby that I killed its daddy.
My baby.
The thought settles heavily in my chest. I pause, my mind coming to an odd sort of stillness as my hand moves to my lower abdomen of its own accord.
If Iampregnant…
I’m not prepared for the whirl of soft emotions that follows that thought. Images flash through my brain of Christmases not spent all alone watching holiday movies, but with a little one discovering the magic of the holidays for the first time.
And Adam, his stern features softened with love as we both help our baby open their first Christmas present.
What the hell is wrong with you, woman?
I mentally slap myself to stop getting derailed by my clearly uterus-driven fantasies. There is absolutelynoroom for gushy emotions right now. Either it’s anger at my boyfriend for locking me in his damn apartment, or it’s panic at possibly being impregnated by said boyfriend. Those are the only two options I’m willing to accept, and until I pee on a stick, it’s both. End of story.
After eighteen minutes of pacing,there’s a knock. When I make it to the front door, there’s a paper bag on the floor next to it. Inside I find three pregnancy tests, the saltines I asked for, as well as some nausea meds. I try not to feel too grateful to whoever was sent to pick up my supplies and rush off to the bathroom.
Five minutes later, I’m staring at the little plastic display on the first test.
The word "pregnant" is emblazoned across it.
NINETEEN
GILDED CAGE
HIM
There is only one number in my phone I’ve set to allow through during board meetings.
When it goes off in the middle of Roald’s presentation of our record-breaking holiday sales, my heart spikes with adrenaline, and I answer immediately. “Eve? Is something wrong?”
“Come home right now!”she half-screeches into the phone.“Right fucking now, Adam!”
I’m out of my seat and rushing toward the door in two seconds flat. “I’m coming, baby girl. Tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“Mr. McCain—“ Jim protests behind me. I ignore him—I ignore all of them, my heart slamming into my throat as horrific images of my beloved mate injured and bleeding fill my mind. I set off toward the elevator in a full sprint. “Eve! Tell me if you’re hurt!”
“Just get home!” she all but snarls. Then she hangs up.
What the actual—?
I hit redial as I step into the executives elevator and smash the button for the ground floor. The doors close much too slowly, and a growl works its way out my throat as I wait for Eve to pick up. She doesn’t.
I call Pete, the bodyguard I’ve stationed outside the front door to my penthouse, whose job it is to ensure Eve is safe while I’m not there. He answers on the first ring.
“Sir?”
“Is she hurt?” I snap into the phone.
A half-second’s pause, then,“No, sir. She’s well.”
“Go check on her and make sure.” Despite his reassurance, my heart’s still pounding in my throat.
“Yes, sir.”I hear a faint knock, then the sound of a door opening and closing. Footsteps, then a faint murmur of voices. One of them is distinctly female, and distinctly angry.
“She’s not injured, sir,”Pete says into the phone.“Just upset.”
“Why is she upset?” I press, frowning as my pulse finally begins to slow.
