Pregnant By My Boss

“Sure, Amanda.”

She nods once and heads off for the kitchen. I find my seat at the head table and sit down. Within minutes, there are appetizers being served by waiters with green ties and waitresses in black dresses with green belts. They’re classy leprechauns, unlike some of my business associates, who apparently thought they were dressing for a parade rather than a formal dinner.

The appetizers are delicious, but now knowing that Katie’s in charge of this event, I expect no less from her and her crew. The food served at my masquerade ball was some of the best I’d ever tasted. I suddenly feel an appreciation for Laura, who happened to select not only a great event planning company, but the company of the girl I’ve been thinking about on and off for the past year.

Speaking of Katie, I spot her again, near the bar. My scotch glass is suspiciously empty, so I excuse myself from the table and head for the bar.

Katie sees me and scurries off before I can close the distance between us. Calling out to her would cause a scene that neither of us can afford right now, so I decide against it. Instead, I ask the bartender to fill my glass.

“Another?” he asks.

I smile mirthlessly. “You know it.”

He pulls out the same bottle I’d borrowed earlier and pours me a couple fingers on ice. Instead of downing it in one shot, like I did earlier when there weren’t as many guests around, I settle for sipping the bitter tasting liquid.

Back at my table, the first course has arrived. I pick at my salad, eating the good parts and pretending to enjoy the rest. Salads are expected at things like this, but I don’t like anything about them. If it were up to me, we’d skip the whole multiple course thing and go straight to the main dish. Steak’s my thing, not nibbling on greens like a rabbit.

When I’ve finished my salad, I spot Katie once again. Her back is to me, and she’s having a discussion with a woman about the same age as her. They laugh together, and the woman shows Katie something on her phone.

I decide to take the opportunity to attempt a sneak attack. She can’t run away from me if she doesn’t see me coming. I excuse myself from the table under the guise of finding the restroom and stroll over to where Katie is standing. I’m halfway across the room when she laughs heartily, pats her employee’s arm, and then steps into the kitchen.

I can’t very well follow her into the kitchen. It would be highly inappropriate for me to be in there anyways, especially if we have the confrontation I’m expecting. I sigh. She didn’t even mean to dodge me this time, but she managed to do it anyway.

Figuring my table companions will notice if I come back without ever leaving the dining hall, I follow through on my lie about using the bathroom. Inside, I relieve myself and splash water on my face. Seeing Katie has me all out of sorts. If I want to talk to her, I will find a way to talk to her. She can’t play hide and seek with me forever.

It’ll be hard to confront her with the party in full swing. My best chance of getting her to talk to me is to wait until things wind down before cornering her and getting the answers I deserve. I hate waiting. I’m not a patient man, but I know that the only way I’ll get to talk to her is to wait until we’re almost completely alone. She won’t have a choice, and I won’t risk an embarrassing argument in front of a few hundred of my friends and colleagues.

As I walk back to my table, I feel more confused than I have in a long time. If she were any other woman, I’d have written her off long ago. I would be happy, even, that she left without any huge hoopla about it. But Katie is different, and I don’t know why. Something about her makes me want to keep trying, to never stop. To be near her. To hold her. To love her.

I shake my head as I take my seat, realizing how stupid that sounds. I love the sex. I couldn’t possibly love the woman. Guys like me don’t fall in love, we only fall into lust. Just ask any of the tabloids that regularly feature me as their playboy of the week.

The second course arrives while I’m in the restroom. Before me is a Guinness stew, which I wolf down in record time. Not for the first time, I find that the whole multiple course thing with miniscule portions ridiculous and bougie.

We take a small break between the second course and the main course to allow everyone to digest their food. Since I’m the host, it’s expected that I get up and give a speech. Another worthless and tiresome aspect about these kinds of events.