Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I was staring again, but I couldn’t help it. I felt like I was in a dream and I was going to wake up cold and cramped in my car with nothing but my next paycheck to look forward to. “Why are you doing this?” I asked.
I probably shouldn’t have. Asking that question was just begging to burst the bubble that we had been so safely cocooned in. Maybe he would come to his senses and everything would be gone.
But… that couldn’t happen, right? We signed an agreement and everything. Could my future really be that secure?
It seemed impossible. But everything about the weekend had seemed impossible.
“Because, even if this child wasn’t planned, I don’t think I could ever give them anything less than my best. I may not be the warmest man, I may prefer to party and jet-set around the world, but like my parents, I realize that what I want is second to this child. Even if it’s conceptions wasn’t exactly… ideal.”
I didn’t know what to say, and I felt my throat starting to prickle like it did every time before I cried. I hoped I wasn’t going to cry, I couldn’t think of anything more awkward.
“Whoa, hey, are you okay there?”
Damn. I was crying. Way to ruin the day.
“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just the hormones.” Why was I trying to lie to him? “I mean, no, it’s not just the hormones. How is it that you’re the kindest person I ever met? I’ve made your life so needlessly complicated, but you’ve been nothing but generous and I don’t deserve it!”
By the end of my little rant my voice was little more than a high-pitched whine, but instead of telling me to shut up or get a grip, he just leaned over and took my face in his hands.
“Hey there, it’s okay,” he assured, his thumbs rubbing away my tears. “You had a human reaction and I can’t blame you for it. Sure, it would have been a whole lot more convenient to handle this from the start, but you didn’t know who I was. I was some guy you got drunk with and made some very stupid decisions in a Vegas chapel. You had no way of knowing if I was mafia, or a megalomaniac, or a serial killer. You did what you had to do.
“As long as you take care of the child, don’t try to keep me from him, and keep to your side of the arrangement, I will never have a problem with you.”
I breathed out through my nose, trying to get a grip on myself. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“No welcome needed,” he said, hand going to the wheel. “Let’s go back to the hotel, shall we? I’ll order in. The two of us could use some rest.”
“That sounds amazing,”: I said, sitting back.
And I wasn’t exaggerated. At the moment, nothing sounded better than kicking my shoes off, and getting to know this strange man I was divorcing a little better.
Chapter Nineteen
~Nicole~
I woke up in the dark, my stomach rolling, and I stumbled to the bathroom. For being something that was supposed to stick to the first trimester, my morning sickness was certainly still kicking my ass.
I knelt there for several moments, completely tossing the contents of my stomach, before slumping to the floor. At least the carpet smelled fresh and-
Wait, there wasn’t carpet in my car. Where the hell was I?
I sat up with a star, my mind supplying everything from alien abduction to kidnapping, before the rest of my brain woke up and filled in what really happened.
Holy crap. Had all of that really happened?
I looked around and the fancy bathroom I was in confirmed it. It hadn’t been a dream! Scrambling to my feet -as much as a pregnant woman could scramble- I stepped out into the main room.
James was sleeping on the couch, his mouth slightly open as he breathed deeply. How was it he still looked so handsome when I always looked like a slack jawed slob whenever I was passed out?
The very first tendrils of morning light were just beginning to shine across his chiseled features, highlighting his strong nose and killer cheekbones. His hair was mussed, but in the perfect, bed-head sort of way that a lot of models in magazines tried to affect but didn’t get quite right.
Huh, even with him laying there, looking like Prince Charming, I still had a hard time believing he was real. Surely, he had to be an alcoholic. Or a woman beater. Or a drug lord. There was no way someone could be so nice, rich and attractive. There were only so many good traits a single person could have before I had to get suspicious.
Well, even if I was suspicious, I had his promises certified in a legal contract. Which was crazy.