Page 1 of Shameless
Chapter One
Britney
* * *
In Mexico, I’d thought I’d sipped some untreated water without meaning to. Nausea hit me every time I touched my cosmopolitans, but when we returned, I realized my period never had.
I held my head up, avoided the test for another week, and just assumed I was late from travel or recent sex. Every time the fear hit me, I reminded myself that condoms worked, and I stayed late in the office.
However, I stayed home one day to confirm that my questions were unfounded, and my life was staying exactly the same. My heart was racing as I waited for the results after peeing on the stick. Pregnant wasn’t good or planned if the test was positive. Michael wasn’t into me.
No one knew the real me.
No one wanted to know the real me. I glanced at my phone as the minute passed. Michael’s cute British accent had gotten to me as he was my opposite. He was reserved, polite… and the picture-perfect guy I would never really have.
We were fun.
The minute was over. I paced to my bedroom window as waiting had never been my strong suit, and soon, my alarm went off. I squared my shoulders and marched in to my bathroom sink to read the news. Everything was going to be fine.
Fuck. The plus sign meant I was positive.
I froze, unsure whether to believe the results. I headed back to my bedroom and curled my hands at my sides.
The test had to be wrong.
Mistakes happen. We were always safe.
However, I needed to be sure. My entire body grew cold, but I called my doctor’s office and made an appointment for the next day.
Minutes continued to tick forward. Staying at home was tantamount to driving myself crazy, so I dressed and headed to work.
For a few hours, I was focused and not thinking about myself. After lunch, my friends texted about happy hour, but I claimed I was still sick. They were going to come the following day to drag me out if I continued to skip our after-work cocktail hours.
I would've gone to find them too.
As work was almost over, Michael texted, Can I come over?
No, I wrote as I rushed out of the office. From then on, I wasn’t a booty call anymore. I needed to be smart.
If I was pregnant, my life wasn’t good except for my portfolio. I had saved enough if I left Manhattan and settled somewhere safe, somewhere no one knew me. I headed to my laptop and looked up real estate. If I went home to North Carolina, I could have a brand-new home with every modern convenience, and maybe my parents had forgiven me for not protecting my older sister.
They’d not been that horrible, but at this point, with my drinking, swearing and desire for money, I was probably a lost cause.
Fuck. If a baby was coming, then I had a chance to do everything right.
* * *
The next day, I met with my doctor before heading into the financial company where I was managing director. A meeting was planned for that day, so I was wearing my black Prada business suit with high heels.
If I was fine, I was going to slay at the meeting. And I would move up to vice president.
For the time being, I couldn’t think about that. I checked in, nodded at the nurse, and waited in my seat. She sent me to blood work right away, and I was in a daze.
Chitchat with the phlebotomist wasn’t going to happen. I stared at the wall as they did their test and thought my life in Manhattan was pretty fucking great. My mind was racing with how I spent hours proving I was better than the Ivy League graduates at making money for the company.
The truth was I loved showing those slack-jawed men in suits how a girl from the country with no real background was smarter and faster at everything.
I was directed into a back room and waited. The air was icy, but the door soon opened—time for answers.
