My Accidental Sugar Daddy Page 8

  “Laurie?” Rachel knocks gently on the door. “You okay, buddy?”

  I nod, and then realize she can’t see me. “Yeah, I think so,” I say.

  “Can I come in?” When I don’t respond, she pushes the door open and leans into the room, looking at me with concern. I flush the toilet so that she doesn’t have to see anything gross, but I still don’t have energy to do much else. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, and my stomach churns again uncomfortably.

  “Laurie…” Rachel whispers, and I burst into tears.

  “I know!” I cry. “I know. But, oh, God, what am I going to do if I’m pregnant?”

  I weep in silence for a while, still flung dramatically over the toilet, like a Disney princess who’s made one too many bad decisions.

  “Laurie,” Rachel says after a while, “you have to tell him. You haven’t spoken to Tate in months, and I know you didn’t part on the best of terms, but he deserves to know.”

  “But I lied to him about so many things!” I cry. “I don’t think he’s going to forgive me just because I’m pregnant.”

  “He deserves to know, no matter what,” Rach reiterates in a gentle tone. “It might not be the dramatic make-up that you’re hoping for, but maybe he’ll still want to be involved with your child. His child. You haven’t slept with anyone else, right?”

  I snort, despite myself. I’ve barely been able to pull myself out of bed, let alone invite someone else into it.

  “Well, there you go,” Rachel says gently. “Then it has to be his. And you’re obviously in love with him, and it’s not like what you did was that bad. Yes, you lied to him, but it’s for a good reason: you didn’t want to be treated like a rich girl for once. Is that so bad? You wanted the chance for someone to get to know the real you, and not as Miss Moneybags. It just happened to be in a very unusual way. Right?”

  I nod silently.

  “Come on, Laurie,” Rachel says, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. “Go talk to him. Who knows what will happen?”

  My shoulders slump.

  “He’ll reject me, that’s what. He’ll tell me to go away and never come back, not to mention throw in a few epithets. I’m sure of it.”

  “Laurie,” Rach says in a reasonable tone. “You know that’s not going to happen. This is his child. Plus, the alternative is that your baby never knows its father. You don’t want that, do you?”

  Pain stabs my heart and tears spring to my eyes once more. But my friend is right, and I take a deep, shuddering breath before raising my head from the toilet.

  “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll talk to him then.”

  10

  Laurelin

  * * *

  Standing at Tate’s door, I feel like I’m caught in a dream--or a nightmare, come to think of it.

  It’s a cold, blustery day, and I’m bundled up in my winter coat, the hood up against the swirling snow. After two positive pregnancy tests, I immediately checked in the mirror for a bump, but there’s nothing yet. My winter coat still fits, albeit a little more snugly than usual. Everything on my body seems the tiniest bit swollen and bloated.

  I stamp my boots against the steps, trying to keep myself warm. I imagine that it’s much warmer inside my lover’s house, but I’m still prepared for the worst: that he’ll close the door in my face, or not open it at all. After everything I did, I’ll be shocked if he gives me the time of day. But I’m holding out hope--if not for me, then for my unborn child.

  I take a deep breath, then watch as it exits my mouth in a pale white cloud. I don’t know if it’s fully hit me yet that I’m pregnant. I’ve always daydreamed about being a mother, but at twenty-nine, I’d begun to wonder if my time was running out. I’d seriously considered getting my eggs frozen, but now that’s clearly unnecessary because I’m going to be a mom in about eight months. My heart is simultaneously alight with joy, as well as trembling with fear that my baby might not have a father.

  We don’t know anything yet, I remind myself. Ring the doorbell, Laurelin. Just ring the doorbell. Who knows what’ll happen?

  With one more deep breath, I summon all the courage that I have, and ring the bell.

  The door opens almost immediately and my fear only intensifies because standing in the frame is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Her hair is long and dark, framing a high-cheekboned face with tan skin and sparkling green eyes. Oh god, this definitely isn’t a new housekeeper given her emerald-green sheath dress. Has Tate already moved on? Does he have a new paramour? I never even considered that during my depressive period, and my heart drops to my feet.

  But the woman merely smiles at me politely. “Can I help you?” she asks.

  All the wind has been knocked out of me. I shoot out my hand and clutch the railing to keep myself from falling down the steps. “N-no,” I stammer, my eyes huge and as round as saucers. “No, I don’t think you can.”

  As I start to run down the stairs as fast as I can, I hear Tate’s voice somewhere in the house ask, “Who is it, Esmerelda?” Somehow, that makes things even worse, and I do my best to swallow down a sob. Unfortunately, I don’t move quickly enough, and before I realize it, Tate’s big form is standing in the doorway before I’m even at the bottom step.

  “Laurelin?” comes that low growl.

  I stiffen, and turn fully around. There he is. My former lover is as gorgeous as always, although his hair is a little longer and more tousled than I remember, and the bags under his eyes are a little darker. I swallow, hard. Has he been struggling to sleep, too?

  I’m not sure what to say despite having prepared an entire speech. Finally, I manage to croak, “Um, hi.”

  His dark brows lower and suddenly his expression turns ominous. “What are you doing here, Laurelin? It’s cold. Do you want to come in?”

  “No, that’s okay,” I stammer, waving my hand dismissively. “I see that you’re busy. It’s totally fine! You have fun.”

  He raises a brow. “You mean, have fun with my interior designer?”

  Oh. All of my anxiety and jealousy deflates like a balloon. Suddenly, there seems to be a possibility that things will be okay--not much of one, admittedly, but at least it exists. I swallow. “I guess I could come in.”

  Is that a smile ghosting his lips? “Try to sound more excited, will you?” he asks in a dry tone.

  Then, the handsome man ushers me inside, and true to Tate’s word, Esmerelda, the criminally beautiful interior designer, seems to be taking measurements and furiously making notes in a little notepad. She gives me a dazzling smile and a little wave as I enter, and I return the gesture feebly, feeling dumb.

  “I think I’m good for today,” Esmerelda says with finality, putting on her coat and sticking the notepad in her pocket. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Mr. Connor.”

  “Thanks. Great work and have a good night, Esmerelda,” Tate says as she leaves. “We’ll talk later.”

  The interior designer throws me another smile, and then click-clacks to the door before exiting. Suddenly, the townhouse feels very still and quiet, and I can’t move. I just stare at Tate, my lips trembling. Oh god, what do I do now?

  But I know I have to speak because I’m here on a mission, and time is of the essence. Unfortunately, before I can start on my prepared speech, the words just tumble out. “I’m pregnant,” I whisper without preamble. Oh god. Did I just do that?

  Tate’s dark brows lower, and a harsh flush comes over those bronzed cheekbones. My heart drops because this is not the expression of a man alight with joy. Honestly, in this moment, he could say anything, or he could say nothing at all, and I’m not sure which would be worse: anger or apathy. Both would haunt me forever.

  But then he seems to collect himself, and stands up straighter. I’d forgotten how huge he is, and how he seems to take up all the space in the room.

  “I have something to show you,” he growls before starting to walk upstairs. I’m caught completely off guard. I’m reminded suddenly of the first day I met Ta
te, when he nonchalantly grabbed my bags from the ground and strolled out of the park, confident that I would follow him. Of course I followed him then, and of course I’m going to follow him again now.

  We take the stairs quietly to the second landing, past the spare room, even past the master bedroom where we spent so many hours making love. I keep my eyes locked on the hardwood floor, trying not to watch the muscles shift in his back as we walk, trying not to look at his hands, wishing I could hold them. What does he have to show me?

  Finally, we stop outside of a door at the end of the hall. It’s one of the guest bedrooms, if I’m not mistaken. There are several of them, seeing that this townhouse is so huge. I frown, feeling suddenly foolish and apprehensive. Maybe I forgot something here, and Tate stored my stuff in this space because it was convenient? My heart drops.

  But then he opens the door, nodding for me to look, and I gasp at the sight because this is no lonely guest room with my missing belongings piled in a heap. Instead, it’s a nursery, and a new one at that. The room is painted pale yellow, and a white crib sits under the huge bay window. Several paintings of dancing animals are already on the walls, and some others sit on the floor, not yet hung. It’s obvious that the room’s not finished, but the rocking chair, huge toy chest, and stuffed giraffe in the corner leave no doubt about this space’s purpose. This is a nursery.

  I look at him, bewildered. “What…? How…?”

  He smiles grimly, as if unable or unwilling to show his emotions to me just yet.

  “I know I’m coming off like a crazy man, but I knew you’d come back, Laurelin,” he growls fiercely. “I knew you’d return, and this time, things are going to be different. After all, we didn’t always use protection, and I’m glad.” He takes my hand in his, his eyes blazing into mine. “I should have called you,” he rasps. “I should have apologized for the heinous way I acted, and for the awful things I said, but I was too proud, and I know that now. I’m sorry, Laurelin. I’m sorry I let you walk out of my life and for not giving you a chance to explain.”

  Out of every scenario I rehearsed in my head, none of them even come close to the incredible reality I’m experiencing right now. My head is spinning, and my vision is blurry, thanks to the tears springing up in my eyes.

  “Am I dreaming? Are you serious?” I whisper.

  Finally, Tate laughs, although it sounds more like a bark.

  “Definitely not,” he says. “This is real life. This is our life, and I’m not letting you go again.”

  I shake my head, completely overwhelmed and still disbelieving at the sight before us. “So this is what you were working with the interior designer on?”

  “Not just this,” Tate says, gesturing at the nursery. “I’m redoing the whole house because I want you to like it, and I want our future child to be safe. I want to childproof everything so that it’s a good place for our babies to grow up in.” He presses his lips to my knuckles. “I want this to be our home, sweetheart. I want you to live here with me, and for you to grow round again and again with my children.”

  I stare at him, still shocked.

  “But are you sure, Tate? You were pretty pissed with me when I left.”

  He sighs and looks at the ground, suddenly appearing tired.

  “I was angry,” he admits. “Who wouldn’t be? The girl whom I’d fallen in love with – the homeless waif eating a free sandwich in the park, is actually one of the wealthiest women in New York City. Not only that, but you’re my best friend’s little sister, and we’ve met before. Why didn’t you tell me, Laurelin? Why the charade?”

  I take a deep breath and try to keep my voice steady.

  “I guess it’s because of my name,” I begin in a slow tone. “Saint. The name haunts me everywhere I go.”

  He cocks his head at me, blue eyes intense.

  “But why?”

  I shrug, a little sadly.

  “Because everyone knows who I am immediately. Everyone knows that I’m a Saint of Saint Productions, with a billionaire brother and a hefty trust fund. Everyone knows that I host the Black and White Ball each year, where women swan around in thousand dollar gowns. Everyone knows that I’ve never had a real job in my life, and that I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Crammed down my throat is more like it. I guess I just wanted to get away from that, and to be the real me for a change.”

  Tate looks at me thoughtfully.

  “But your life wasn’t necessarily bad,” he says in a judicious tone. “You’re just rich.”

  I snort in the most unladylike way.

  “I worked in an art gallery and it was absolutely meaningless,” are my words. “I was selling overpriced art to new-money Chinese billionaires who just wanted to flaunt their wealth. Not to mention the tycoons from the former USSR,” I shiver. “I’m pretty sure some of them were using us to launder money. But you’re right,” I continue. “These aren’t ‘bad’ things per se, but it’s just not what I want. I got more out of working with the homeless than hobnobbing with the allegedly wealthy and powerful. My old life was a meaningless situation, and you, with your assumption that I was a homeless waif, gave me a peek into a new way of being.”

  Tate is still thoughtful.

  “But I’m a rich man, Laurelin. I want to be with you, but I can’t just give up this home, and my company and my job, because you want to live in poverty. Is that what you’re looking for, honey?”

  I shake my head, and suddenly my lip trembles. Maybe it’s the situation, or maybe it’s because I’m pregnant and have hormones rushing through me at light speed, but suddenly, my defenses crumble and tears spring to my eyes.

  “I don’t want to live in poverty,” I say in a wretched voice. “It’s not that. I just needed an escape and I found that with you, Tate. I loved being with you, and you help me feel the things that I want to feel. I am in love with you, and I’m so happy I’m having your baby. I guess that’s what love does – it casts everything in a new light, and now, I want to live here, in this beautiful house you’re redesigning for us, and I want us to be together.”

  The last part ends with a break in my voice, and suddenly, the sobs begin in earnest. Fortunately, my man’s strong arms are around me as he pulls my form against that hard chest. Tate gently places a big hand beneath my chin and tilts my face to his. “Thank you for coming back,” he whispers hoarsely. “That’s what I want too, and I love you, Laurelin. In all of your incarnations, rich and poor.”

  I swallow hard, still struggling to speak. “Thank you for forgiving me.”

  He nods. “How could I not? You’re the mother of my child, and the woman whom I adore. But no more lies,” he growls, “or I’ll tan your pretty little hide and you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

  I swat at his arm then, and he laughs.

  “I didn’t know tanning a girl’s hide was a thing,” I manage in half-tears and half-laughter. “What does that entail, pray tell?”

  He chuckles too and then suddenly, we’re kissing ravenously while holding each other in the new nursery. Soon, our hands are everywhere, and he’s tearing at my clothes with the hunger of a man reclaiming his woman once more. Tate growls and roars at the moment of climax, even as those blue eyes glow into mine.

  “Always,” he promises. “Never leave me again, Laurelin. I love you.”

  I smile tearily even as I begin to climax myself.

  “Yes, I love you too, Tate Connor” is my vow. “Always.” And with those words, our life together begins.

  Epilogue

  Tate

  * * *

  Eight months later.

  “Okay, Daddy,” Rachel says, looking at me seriously. “I’m going to need you to stay calm.”

  “I am calm,” I lie.

  The spare room on the first floor has been transformed into a home birther’s dream. The light is low and dreamy; soft, twinkling music plays on the surround-sound speakers; and white curtains float at the windows. Lavender essential oils, which I’ve told are s
oothing, waft throughout the air. The only thing out of place is the huge inflatable pool in the middle of the room, and in it, screaming bloody murder, is my gorgeous girlfriend Laurelin.

  “This hurts so bad!” Laurelin shrieks. “Oh my god!”

  Her friend Rachel nods encouragingly. “I bet,” she says, her voice level. “But that’s okay, Laurie. As your midwife, I can say with 100% certainty that you’re going to get through this, and that you’re going to have a beautiful baby!”

  “It’s true,” I growl, my voice shaking only slightly. “With how hot you are, and how hot I am, how could it not be a gorgeous baby?”

  “I don’t care how hot my baby is!” Laurelin bellows. “I just want this thing out!”

  At the shout, Channing pops his head inside the door. His wife Jolene is home with their own baby girl, but he decided to come by to check on his sister. Cradled inside his arms is Toodles, my girlfriend’s tabby, who came to live with us six months ago. I’ve never been a cat person, but I’ve made an exception for this mischievous ball of fluff.

  “Everything okay in here?” Channing asks as Toodles meows his own concern.

  “Does everything look okay?” Laurelin booms. “I’m about to push an entire human baby out of my vagina!”

  To his credit, Channing quickly shuts the door and disappears.

  Laurelin was blessed--and, okay, I was blessed, too--with a relatively smooth pregnancy. The past eight months have been nothing short of blissful. Watching her belly, her breasts, and her ankles get bigger was a joy, and I reveled in the knowledge that I put the baby in her. Even better, pregnant women are horny, and Laurie had me doing my duty twice, if not three times a day.

  But at the moment, my girlfriend seems possessed.

  “I hate you!” Laurelin screams in my direction, her face beet-red and screwed up in exertion. “This is all your fault!”