“Oh! Mr. Moorehead! I was about to stop by your office!”

I take a deep breath and grit my teeth. Marjorie has no idea how stressed I am, and I don’t want to take it out on her simply because she’s had the misfortune of running into me right now.

I plaster on what I’m sure is a horribly disingenuous smile and turn to face her. “I’m on my way out, Marjorie. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“There’s a call from Wentworth Williams.”

Dammit. Wentworth likes to talk. A lot. Whenever I have a call from him, I budget an hour and make sure I have another meeting lined up afterwards—real or fake. Unfortunately, since he’s the reason I didn’t have to fire twenty employees, I should probably field the call. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

“He’s on line two.”

Despite telling him I have a meeting in ten minutes, he keeps me on the phone for fifteen. On the upside, the merger seems to be going well so far. By the time I finally leave, I should almost be at my place, so I text Wren and let her know I got held up by a call and to make herself comfortable.

Of course, the trip back to my place can’t be smooth. There are two fender benders clogging up traffic on the way to the penthouse, and it’s everything I can do to keep from rolling down the windows and screaming bloody murder at the idiots who are blocking two lanes.

During the exceptionally long trip back to my place, I roll around a million different possible scenarios. I can hear Wren in my head, telling me I’m being a drama queen and asking if I need my crown, but any conversation that can’t be had over the phone is a serious one. And serious conversations are rarely good.

Even the elevator seems to take forever, and when I open the door to my penthouse—my cousin’s penthouse—and finally lay eyes on Wren, I should feel some form of relief, but I don’t.

I find her sitting on the couch in the living room, a glass of water in front of her. She’s wearing one of her pretty dresses with a full skirt. But her eyes are red-rimmed, and she looks exhausted. She pushes to a stand and gives me a weak, tremulous smile. A lone tear glides down her cheek, and she smooths a hand over her stomach.

I track the movement, and all of a sudden, that heavy feeling in my gut, the one that’s been weighing me down since last night, finally lifts.

“Oh fuck.” I drop my messenger bag on the floor with a loud clunk, which probably isn’t good for the laptop inside, but I don’t give a shit. I rush over and pull Wren into me, wrapping her up in a hug that I try to keep as gentle as possible. “It’s okay, babe. There’s no reason to be upset. We’ll figure it out.” I release her and tuck stray hairs behind her ear. “I’ll take the penthouse down the hall as soon as it comes available. You can move in here with me, or I can stay with you if that’s better. Whatever you want, we’ll do this together.” I place a hand over her stomach. “The three of us.” Jesus. I never thought I’d be excited about the prospect of having a kid, especially a surprise kid, but after the last twenty-four hours of speculation, this is definitely better than any of the alternatives.

Wren’s brows pull together, and she makes this pouty face. It’s so fucking cute. “The three of us?”

“Yeah.” I press a gentle kiss to her lips. They taste salty. She must’ve been worried about how I’d react to the news. “You, me, and our baby.”

“What?” She looks down at my hand covering her stomach, and her eyebrows shoot up along with her hands. She gives her head a vehement shake. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I’m not pregnant, Linc.”

I drop my hand and step back. “You’re not?” Despite only having been together a couple of months, I’m irrationally disappointed.

“Why would you think I’m pregnant?” She runs her hands self-consciously over her stomach. “Am I bloated or something?”

“What? No. Not at all. I just … It made the most sense? You not feeling good, taking the morning off, not being able to tell me over the phone, all the tears. I just thought … you being pregnant was logical.”

“We use a condom every time.”

I shrug. “Maybe my sperm are bionic, and they can blast through a condom.”

Wren drops to the couch and barks out a humorless laugh. “The last thing I need right now is to be pregnant.”

“Would it be so bad?” I’m not sure why I’m offended. Maybe because she sounds so incredulous.

And now she looks incredulous too. “Is that a serious question? Lincoln, we’ve been together for all of two months, and it’s not even public. Do you realize the kind of field day the media would have with that? You knock your personal handler up?”

Tags: Helena Hunting Shacking Up Erotic
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