The Trouble With Him: A Secret Pregnancy Romance (The Forbidden Love 3)

“Right,” I mutter, no longer in a forgiving mood. The last thing I feel like doing is being social. “Do I have to go? I’m not paid for this, just pulling in a favor for you.”

Eric tilts his head, appearing rather offended by my comment.

“I’ll call in that favor since I’ve been working hard to get your titties removed off every site possible!” He raises his voice, then straightens his shoulders. “Okay, rant over.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Whatever. I’ll see you tonight.”

Eric waves his hand, dressed head-to-toe in a white suit with a blush pink-colored silk shirt beneath it. Under the lights, he literally stands out like a pink elephant in the room.

“Ava, darling! You made it and gorgeous as usual.” Eric kisses both my cheeks before grabbing my hands. “How amazing is this place?”

My eyes scan the area, admiring the leafy atmosphere under the night sky. The outdoor space is designed well, geared at entertaining with tables and chairs positioned to cater to larger groups. The décor itself is quite modest, but the bar is the showcase of the entire rooftop. The long countertop is lit from beneath in neon lights, as are the shelves housing glass bottles of every liquor you can think of. The bartenders are all cute, perhaps young, but still attractive in their uniforms.

And then, there’s the masterpiece on the wall, a signature of the bar’s name—Luna. I raise my phone, take a photo, and send it to my cousin Luna, only to remember she’s in South America with her parents and most likely doesn’t have the best phone reception.

“It’s a pretty nice place,” I say while still admiring the surroundings. “I mean, how can you go wrong with a rooftop bar?”

“Exactly,” Eric echoes my thoughts. “It is Manhattan, after all.”

Eric’s expression soon falters when his gaze falls upon a man across the room laughing. “Great, look who’s here.”

Turning in the opposite direction, I note the man in a flamboyant lavender suit, laughing way too hard to the point it comes across as so fake. “That guy?”

“Yes, it’s only George Maurice. Look at him, acting like a starving whore.”

“And he is?”

“My competition, darling. The Ava to the Amelia.”

I touch the base of my neck, then tilt my head to the side while pursuing my lips.

“Um, excuse me? I’m not in competition with my sister,” I question Eric with annoyance.

“Oh, right,” Eric mumbles, uninterested, then coughs. “I must have my wires crossed with someone else.”

Slowly, my skin tingles as the temperature rises. I watch him furtively, wondering whether he knows about my night with Austin. Of course, I haven’t told a soul, and I highly doubt Austin would broadcast it to anyone either. But then, we are talking about Eric Kennedy. He can read people’s minds like a gifted vampire, only dressed in designer clothes with perfectly shaped brows.

“You know what?” I huff, annoyed at his comment. “I’m going to get a drink.”

I walk toward the bar and call out for a drink, not in the mood for the champagne being

served. An uneasy feeling washes over me, leaving my stomach unsettled. I narrow it down to not having eaten since the morning after trying these new diet pills a company is pushing me to promote. It’s been two days, and if anything, I’ve been feeling less like my usual self.

The bar staff is busy but stop quickly to take my order of a martini. Suddenly, a scent lingers in the air, intoxicating with its masculinity, or maybe I’ve been single for too long.

“Josh,” a man calls beside me, the tone unforgiving and more of a demand. “Get the girls to move faster.”

The Australian accent is the focal point of my attention, standing out amongst locals attending this launch party. I try to get a better glimpse with one eye of the man beside me, but all I can catch is the frustrated stare of the tall stature. Slowly, I revert my eyes to the glass served in front of me, then take a sip without seeming too obvious I tried to check him out.

“Is the champagne not good enough for you?”

“Excuse me?” I glance sideways, then lift my head to stare into the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. His comment comes across as rude and arrogant, not matching the handsome face watching me while waiting for an answer. “I felt like a martini. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Of course not. You are Ava Edwards, are you not?”

Annoyed by his dismissive glance when mouthing my name, I take it he has a problem with me, and after this week, I have no issue starting a fight. So what’s the worst that can happen, anyway? Everyone thinks they know me, and I’m sick of people assuming they know it all.

“And you are?”