Page 8 of Worthy: Cassius and Faith

“Yes? What about it?”

“It may contain a false positive,” the Madam said. “To be certain it’s accurate, we need to test her again next week.”

I nodded. “How accurate are these early results?”

“Very,” Gina said, not missing a beat. “But like I said, a false positive is always possible.”

“I don’t want to share the results with anyone yet,” I said. “I haven’t told my brothers. I haven’t had time to process the news. If the employees find out too soon, they might be unnecessarily worried that the contraceptive shot was faulty.”

Gina nodded. “Does Faith agree about keeping it private?”

I took a deep breath. “We haven’t discussed it yet. But if she wants to tell her friends, that’s her business.”

Gina looked surprised but quickly smoothed her expression into a mask of professionalism. “I respect that, Mr. Blackwood.”

“Good,” I said and rose to leave. “Because I’ve broken every rule in the club book, it’s important to have your respect still. I’ll see you later, Gina.”

She smiled at me. “See you, Mr. Blackwood.”

When I finished my meetings for the day, I ran—not walked—back to my house.

I had an important guest, one I couldn’t wait to be alone with.

CHAPTER FIVE

inevitable

Faith

The chef sent over a breakfast of blueberry pancakes and fresh fruit. I devoured it, grateful I had some privacy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, and I was exhausted and famished. Once I finished, I loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, which opened stiffly and appeared to have never been used. I glanced around the kitchen again. There was neither a speck of dust anywhere nor a crumb.

Who lives like this? Fascinated, I opened the refrigerator. It was stocked top to bottom with organized and color-coded containers of fresh fruit, vegetables, exotic-looking salads, bottles of hydrogen water—whatever the heck that was—and protein shakes. I wondered, not for the first time, who Cassius Blackwood was. Who had kept food color-coded in their refrigerator?

Sighing, I helped myself to water and a container of grapes, color code purple, then strode out to the pool.

I gasped when I saw the grounds. Cassius didn’t just have a pool—he had a resort in his private backyard. The pool was almost as large as the mansion’s and stretched as far as the eye could see. There was a hot tub, pool house, and a patio equipped with an outdoor kitchen, bar, and flatscreen television. Artfully arranged chaise loungers completed the space. A privacy fence surrounded the area; Cassius could do whatever he wanted out here, far from the prying eyes of the other guests.

I shivered. Would he want to do anything with me back here? Or were those days gone for good?

I padded to the pool house. A lounge area was inside, complete with a couch, a bed, another bar, and a full bathroom stocked with designer makeup and toiletries. I found the enormous walk-in closet filled with brand-new swimsuits for men and women, robes, coverups, flip-flops in all colors and sizes, sunglasses, and sun hats. The contents of the bathroom and closet alone must cost a small fortune. Either Cassius was expecting company, or he had so much money he didn’t know what to do with it. Or both.

I selected a tiny black bikini with a thong bottom—something much more daring than I’d usually wear. But I was alone in Cassius’s private paradise and didn’t have to be self-conscious. And if the billionaire saw me with my ass brazenly on display? So much the better. If he refused to touch me, at least he’d be forced to see what he was missing…

I settled onto a shaded lounger next to the pool. Mindful of my fair skin, I meticulously applied sunscreen. I drank some hydrogen water, which, for the record, tasted exactly like regular water. I ate a grape.

I sat there.

Usually, I was fine on my own. I needed alone time to process my thoughts and feelings. Because I’d been taking care of Lucas for so long, I’d learned that the sooner I processed my complicated emotions, the better. Once I’d dealt with my thoughts, I was able to be cheerful for him, to stay upbeat even when things were tough. But now, in the silence of Cassius’s private oasis, I longed for a distraction from my inner turmoil.

Because I was pregnant, and it fucking petrified me.

Long ago, my own mother had soured me on the idea of young motherhood. She’d constantly complained about how easily she’d become pregnant and how having me had “ruined her life”—a direct quote. I couldn’t argue with her. Mothers were supposed to be loving, caring, and compassionate. The woman who gave birth to me was none of those things. Instead, she was cold, disinterested, and selfish. She always came first, and my brother and I came last.

Maybe it was because she had addiction problems. For as long as I could remember, wine and cigarettes were first on our grocery list. No matter how tight things were, and they were always tight, my mom found a way to keep herself in booze. We might not eat dinner, but she was getting drunk no matter what.

Maybe I judged her too harshly. Probably, I did. But her indifference to my brother pushed me over the edge. Despite all odds, Lucas was kind, loving, and endlessly upbeat. He loved my mother no matter what. He cleaned up after her. He went to the store for her when she was sick and hungover. He made her Cup of Noodles and always kept himself and his things neat so as never to bother her in any way. I didn’t hate my mother because of how she failed me—I could take care of myself, and I had long ago lost any hope that we might have a loving relationship. But I wept for how she continued to break Lucas’s heart. Our recent visit to the hospital was a perfect example. He craved her attention, a kind word, or a hug. And all she did was run away.

Deep down, I think my mother believed she was never good enough. She didn’t deserve the sunshine that Lucas brought. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t tolerate it when he got sick—perhaps she thought it was her fault for not loving him enough, for not being sober enough, for neglecting him.

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