“I need to go talk to Mr. Sadler,” I tell him. “Look, here comes Vicky. If there’s anyone who has found the hot guys, it’ll be her.”
“Okay, so here’s the lowdown. A bunch of guys near the bar who belong to that party over there are single. The guy with the black slicked-back hair is gay,” Vicky informs us.
“Vicky, your gaydar has been off so many times,” Clive complains.
“Well, this time I straight-up asked him if he wanted to come home with me. He said he likes playing with snakes, not beavers and pussies.”
I snort out my club soda, laughing at Vicky. C
live disappears into thin air, then reappears at the bar trying to make conversation with the animal lover.
“Is that true?” I ask, still unable to contain my laughter.
“Of course not! As if I’d ask him to come home with me. You know my rule… minimum two drinks first, then always at his place.”
“Oh, that’s right, your rules,” I mock.
“Maybe if you stuck to your seven-week rule, you wouldn’t be in this predicament,” she points out in jest.
I poke my tongue out at her, juvenile but called for. Leaving her to complete her man mission, I wander around until I find Mr. Sadler standing near the small stage.
“You look beautiful, Presley. And I guess congratulations are in order. When are you due?” Mr. Sadler smiles, asking in a fatherly and concerned way.
During the week, news broke about the pregnancy. It was the biggest scandal to rock the office. With Vicky busy on an assignment, Clive was my informer. Dee wasn’t talking to me, backstabbing and calling me every name she could think of. Trina had joined forces with her, calling me a traitor and a homewrecker. Not sure how, since they weren’t a couple, but that’s her warped imagination for you.
“Five months. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you myself. It’s been… overwhelming, and I was waiting for the right time,” I admit.
“Understandable, my dear. If you need anything, my wife and I are only a phone call away,” he pats my arms, reassuring me.
Something about the way he looks at me mirrors the look my dad gives me. You know when your dad has that my-baby-girl-is-all-grown-up speech followed by a heartfelt smile and glassy eyes? It was a nice gesture. He is—and has always been—a great boss to everyone in the office, always attentive and making sure his employees are happy. I had met Mrs. Sadler at the event last year and could tell she was of a similar nature.
I give him my thanks and kindly excuse myself to mingle with the authors and other guests. The night itself is a success, and just when I think about pulling out the I’m-pregnant-and-need-to-call-it- an-early-night card, Haden is standing at the doorway dressed in a fitted navy suit and looking exceptionally handsome. His hair is brushed toward the side, and his tan looks fresh from the Hawaiian sun. And those glasses, what the hell is it about those damn reading glasses?
I have to pull up my jaw from the floor, ignoring the throb between my legs because he is completely off-limits. I blamed the pregnancy hormones, again, especially after Vicky called me out for thinking the pretzel guy on the corner of Fifth looked sexy in his stained shirt.
Haden is pulled to a group and shakes hands with each person while scanning the room. When his eyes find me, something changes. His face softens yet stills, staring at me deeply as if he is lost in a trance. I beg my eyes to turn away, but the way he is looking at me—something in the way his eyes pierce through me—sends the butterflies into overdrive, much to my discontent. My butterflies can’t fly for him. They need to be saved for the one I will spend the rest of my life with, not the ass standing at the opposite side of the room with a rocking tan from his pre-honeymoon in Maui with the evil witch.
Whoa, calm down already!
He appears to be excusing himself, and moments later, he is walking toward me. Something in his stride exudes way too much confidence. God, he does have a good stride, though.
“Can we go somewhere quiet to talk?”
I nod, and he leads the way to a secluded part of the terrace. There are a few scattered tables and chairs unattended, so I take a seat and wait for him to begin the conversation. He doesn’t say anything, and I’m expecting the worst. Just don’t cry.
“I’m sorry for the way I reacted. This was a shock,” he says in a cemented tone, not sounding like an apology whatsoever.
I remain tightlipped, waiting for the whole I’m-not-ready-to-be-a-dad speech.
“I took some time off to consider this, and I just don’t know how this is going to work,” he concedes.
“You think you were in shock. I almost had a coronary,” I confess. “It’s probably best we come up with a plan and expectations. That way neither of us is disappointed. So, let me set the record straight to avoid any confusion. I’m not looking for a husband, boyfriend, whatever. I’m not here to tie you down.”
He appears taken aback by my forwardness and perhaps slightly offended by my quick stance on not getting romantically involved. He is engaged—what the hell did he expect to happen?
“I’m getting married. Eloise… she knows…” he trails off, staring into the night’s dark sky.
“And she still wants to get married?” I ask, annoyed at myself that a hint of jealousy accompanied my question.