The Negotiator (Harbor City 1)

Fuck. That was the core of it, wasn’t it? He could lie and say yes, but she’d see through him in an instant. And in that moment, he hated himself for it. This wasn’t how his world worked. It wasn’t how this was supposed to go. But the thing was, for the first time in his life since his dad died, he had no fucking clue what happened next and it ate away at him right down to the bone.

“If you are pregnant,” he said, pressing the gas pedal down because he needed to do something—anything—at that moment. “I won’t be a missing part of my child’s life.”

Clover let out a weary sigh and rested her temple against the passenger window. “I’d never want you to be. If I’m pregnant—and that’s a big if—we’ll figure it out from there.”

“Fine,” he ground out as he passed a minivan. “But until we know one way or another we go ahead with the engagement as if it was real.”

“Why?”

He grabbed ahold of the first reason that came to mind. “Because I have you under contract for another two weeks, and I’m not agreeing to early separation. That’s not up for negotiation.”

“The contract, of course.” Maybe she was just tired, but her voice sounded thicker than before. “So we go on pretending to be engaged until we know one way or another in a week or two. But no matter how it turns out, remember that I’m not a white picket fence kind of girl and you sure aren’t the kind of guy to clock out of the office at five every day to go home to your wife and kids.”

Was she wrong? No. They were who they were. Those differences were no big deal when it was all about hot sex and fun, but twenty years down the line? He had no plan for that. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from pushing.

“Look, I’m not saying it would be a perfect marriage, but…” The words died out as some emotion he couldn’t—didn’t want—to identify jacked up his thinking. “Just consider it.”

God knew he would. As Harbor City’s skyline, dotted with Carlyle Enterprises buildings, took shape in the near distance, the idea was already taking root in his head in ways that all of his mother’s schemes to find him the perfect Harbor City socialite wife never had.

Chapter Twenty-One

Two awkward, silence-filled days later, Clover shuffled through the front door of the apartment she shared with Daphne, her shoulders aching and her body weary. The setting sun streamed through the living room windows, landing on the bowl of popcorn, open bottle of wine, and two plastic glasses sitting in the middle of the reclaimed steamer trunk they’d converted into a coffee table. Judging from the amount of noise coming from the kitchen, though, Daphne was in there singing and putting the finishing touches on the double plate of cookies they always had on movie night.

Standing in the open doorway, she hesitated, not sure whether to move forward or slink back and text her that something had come up. Being around people—especially someone who knew her well—didn’t seem like a great plan right now. The dense emotional fog that had been swirling around her since that night by the lake thickened, making it hard to breathe, to think, to do just about anything. She never should have said yes to movie night this week.

“Lupakan ia,” she said and turned toward the door.

But before she could make tracks, Daphne walked out of the kitchen carrying a plate of cookies.

“Clover!” she hollered in a singsong voice. “When you didn’t answer my text, I was afraid you were ditching me to keep no-strings-attached banging your fake fiancé before time ran out and you had to leave for Australia.”

That one teasing statement cut through the haze around Clover. No strings. Banging. Sawyer. Maybe baby. Australia. Too late. All of it came at her in a rush like a cold, stinging burst of wind that cut right through her, bone deep and breath stealing. Her throat tightened, her lungs pinched, and the hot tears that had been lurking behind that numbing fog spilled down her cheeks.

Daphne squawked in concern, put down the plate she was holding, and rushed over to her, wrapping her arms around her in a hug and squeezing tight. It didn’t stop the tears, but it relieved the pressure of the ache that had built up over the last few days. She wasn’t alone in this whatever it was. It took several deep breaths, but she finally managed to stop crying and Daphne let her go.

Daphne took Clover by the shoulders and gave her a long, hard look. “Oh, honey, what happened?” Then she handed Clover a double chocolate cookie and a glass of red wine that was twice the size of a normal pour.

The wine was tempting—so fucking tempting—but she set it down on the entry table and took a bite of the cookie instead. It didn’t taste like much but if she couldn’t have wine, the magical and medicinal properties of chocolate were going to have to do all the work.

Daphne herded her into the living room. “I can call my cousin to kick his ass.”

Looking at her best friend so ready to go to bat for her without even knowing why, she almost started crying again. Chin trembling, she sat down on the couch and took in a long breath through her nose and braced herself for saying the words that had been screaming inside her head out loud.

“The condom broke.”

Daphne stilled, her brown eyes wide.

“What did he say?”

“He asked me to marry him.” There, that sounded almost neutral and not at all like she was about to start bawling again.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. What could I say?” The memory of the resigned look in Sawyer’s eyes when he’d asked her to think about it was like picking at a scab right over her heart. “Oh yeah, so I may or may not be pregnant but we have phenomenal sex. Let’s see how the whole tying yourself to one person forever works out because you know the one thing I’ve dreamed about since I

was a little girl was being barefoot, pregnant, and handcuffed to a vacuum cleaner.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “I don’t think that’s really how marriages work these days.” Then she draped an arm around Clover’s shoulders and gave her a solid squeeze. “What can I do?”