“I would question her if he didn’t.” Haden is standing behind an embarrassed Clive.
Haden moves into the circle and my eyes move up his body and land on his torso. He’s wearing a navy, fitted business shirt with a thin black tie and he has rolled the sleeves up like he always does. Fucking kill me now. . . . Kitty just wants to dry hump his arms. His face has broken out into his trademark smile, and his glasses . . . argh! Why the hell does he look so irresistible today?!
Because you made a promise to not touch him while he was still engaged to Eloise.
“Motherhood agrees with you, Pres.” Clive raises his eyebrows and cups his chest, motioning to my huge breasts. “So, Masen drinks breast milk only?”
I nod. “Haven’t had the need to start the formula yet.”
“Have you tasted it?” Clive attempts to whisper.
“Clive!” Vicky scolds, followed with, “Yeah, have you?”
I shake my head at the both of them, trying to hold in my laughter. “No. But I heard it’s supposed to taste like—”
“Cantaloupe juice,” Haden interjects. “It was on an episode of Friends.”
Mortified, because he must have tasted it the other night, I lower my head so as not to reveal my flushed face. Vicky and Clive snicker as Haden continues to stand there with a wide smirk on his face, rubbing his chin with his stare fixated on me.
“Well, there you go,” I say. “Cantaloupe juice. Not that I know what that tastes like, but I imagine it’s sweet. Anyways, look at the time!”
Haden kisses Masen before telling me he has a meeting that is expected to turn into a dinner since it’s one of our stakeholders from London. I say goodbye to him before he disappears.
“Okay, so let me know about tonight?” Vicky reminds me.
“Thanks, Vicky, I will. I probably won’t go ahead with it, but I’ll let you know either way.”
Vicky and Clive head back to their cubicles as I make my way to the elevator. It opens and Eloise exits.
Shit.
Stepping out of the elevator, looking like a supermodel, she spots me and plasters on a fake smile. As usual, she is dressed to the nines in a perfectly pressed pantsuit with nine-inch pumps. Her blonde hair is styled (yes, straight out of the salon) and her skin looks nicely tanned and extremely clear. She makes it impossible to hate anything about her. At least if she had a giant mole on her nose and a long chin, I could refer to her as a witch.
“I didn’t expect to see you here . . . with the baby.”
She peeks her head into the stroller and finally gets a glimpse of her soon-to-be stepson. There, I said it. Pulling back instantly, her fake smile makes another appearance. “He’s pretty.”
Pretty? She called my son “pretty”? No one calls my son pretty and gets away with it. I may have been polite to her before, but this time she has something I want, and I’m not in the mood to play nice.
“Masen is a boy, so I’m not sure ‘pretty’ is the correct word.”
“Oh, you know what I mean.” She shrugs it off. “My mind is all over the place. Since Haden postponed the wedding and all. The caterer is booked for the next six months so I’ve been running around trying to find a new one. It’s just been a mess.”
“I’m sure you’ll find one.” This time it’s my turn to bring the fake smile to the table.
“We’d better. The wedding is next Saturday.”
“You’re getting married next Saturday?” I almost choke.
“Uh huh. This is it. I told Haden no more postponing and he agreed,” she squeals. “I hope you’re free?”
“I . . . uh . . . Masen will probably cry and stuff.”
Did I just say that? Excuse me while my heart throws itself onto the ground so it can continue to be stomped on, along with any self-respect and dignity I have left.
“Well, that’s another thing. We’d really like it if Haden’s mom pushed the baby down the aisle. Actually, I bought this little outfit for him and my mom decorated my old carriage with lace and flowers.”
She pulls out her cell and flicks through photos while I continue to stand here, shell-shocked. The wedding is still going to happen and everything Haden said was nothing but empty promises. Lies, to be exact.