I rinsed my mouth and splashed some cold water on my face, taking a deep breath before I opened the door and made my way to the living room. A small, hopeful part of me hoped that Ryan had been grossed out and left while I was in the bathroom. But I knew he would be there, somewhere. Waiting with his endless questions.
And there he was, arms folded over his chest, a brow arched in my direction. His expression was expectant, like I owed him an explanation for my sickness.
You do, my conscience niggled, but I shoved that silly, reckless voice down deep. Ryan didn’t need to know anything, not yet. I glared right back at him, and for extra measure, pointed at him in accusation. “How did you get into my house?”
He sat there, as cool as you please, and nodded. “You left the door open. You shouldn’t really do that Pip, anybody could just walk right in.”
“Newsflash, Ryan. Anybody did.”
He let out a low, amused chuckle at my words.
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the way the deep, rich sound rolled over me like a warm blanket. “Thanks for breakfast, but I’m not in the mood. You can go now, I’m fine and I need to get ready for work.” I needed even more time to look healthy enough that my coworkers wouldn’t pepper me with unnecessary questions.
“Pippa,” he growled. “Listen to me. You can’t go into work like this.”
“Why not? I’m not contagious.”
He got up from the sofa with a frown. “So you know what’s wrong with you?”
“Of course I do, dammit. I am a grown woman.”
His shoulders fell in relief, but Ryan wasn’t done. Not yet. “And?”
“And what, Ryan?”
“Just tell me, Pippa.”
His pleading nearly got to me, but I wasn’t ready to confide in him what had become of our reckless, ill-advised nights together. Not yet, not until I had a clear plan for how I would handle single motherhood on my own. “I told you that it’s just a bug and if you don’t get out of here, I’m going to be late for work.”
“Dammit woman, just tell me what the hell is wrong with you! Are you dying?”
Some days I felt like I was, but the feeling usually passed. Eventually. “No, I am not dying. I’m generally healthy, just a little under the weather.” And according to the doctor I would continue to feel under the weather for another few weeks. Or the next seven months. “Just leave Ryan. Please.”
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong with you.” Under different circumstances I might have found his pushiness endearing. I might have even confused his desire to know with a sincere desire to know. But I knew better.
“It’s none of your damn business, Ryan!”
“I have a right to know, Pippa. If you’re too sick to work, I might have to find a replacement manager until you’re well again.”
I sucked in a breath, careful not to take in any of the smells that still lingered in the air. “Are you threatening my job?”
“No, I just think that as your boss, I should know if you have a major illness.”
Pregnancy wasn’t a major illness, was it? But his question made me laugh bitterly. “Being my boss is exactly why you have no right to ask about my health. Just because we had sex a few times doesn’t entitle you to the intimate details of my life.” At least not until I decided to share those details with him.
Ryan shrugged nonchalantly. “I could just hire a PI to find out if you won’t tell me.”
Oh, that was it. He’d really pissed me off now. “The real Ryan Gregory has finally entered the room,” I sneered at him. “Using your money to threaten me? Low.” But it made it much easier to keep my news to myself. I marched towards the front door and yanked the door open, Ryan followed on my heels. “Go.”
“In a minute.” Arms folded, he stared down at me as if that slightly intimidating look would get me to reveal something I hadn’t fully come to terms with yet. “Tell me what’s wrong with you.”
He didn’t want to know and I knew that, but his highhandedness really got under my skin. “You want to know what’s wrong with me, Ryan?”
“Yeah, I do. I need to know.”
“Fine.” I flashed a slightly wicked smile and pushed at his chest until he was on the other side of the doorway. “I’m pregnant, Ryan. That’s what’s wrong with me. So you see it’s not contagious or anything to worry about. I can still do my job and I’m not dying. Happy now?”
I could tell my words had shocked him, in large part due to the perfect imitation he was doing of a guppy fish, mouth opening and closing, a dumbfounded expression on his face. Ryan’s hands moved from hanging at his sides to hooking his thumbs through his beltloops, but his expression never changed. It wasn’t happy and it wasn’t sad or angry.