Page 3 of Save Me
“Peaceful one. I’m looking forward to early morning rounds,” Henry says, playing it off. “Happy to see our problem has been dealt with.”
I wish I’d never convinced Sloane to take down those signs.
“Yes, your director worked his magic.” Belinda’s sharp blue eyes dissect me, reminding me of her not-so-subtle proposition not even an hour ago. We’ve been working well together lately. Too well, I guess. “Dorian is looking for you, Ronan.”
“Again?” Dealing with that guy and his mustache more than once a day is too much. “The sprinklers still?”
“I have no idea and no interest in knowing until it’s resolved. Henry? We’ll have our meeting outside, at Seraphina’s.” She gestures toward the revolving door, leaving little room for negotiation.
With a secretive smirk, like he could remind Belinda who’s boss but finds this role reversal “cute,” Henry slides out of his seat. “Keep up the good work, Ronan.”
“Yup.”
They stroll into the hotel without a backward glance.
“Fuck you,” I mutter under my breath as soon as they’re gone. And fuck me. I squeeze the bridge of my nose as I weigh the impossible position he’s put me in. Do I warn Sloane about his plans for decimating her life? I don’t even know when it’s happening, but if he’s presenting models on Friday, I imagine someone official will be knocking on her door sooner rather than later.
I wouldn’t be in this position had I listened to him in the first place and stayed the hell away from her. Had Inot gotten to know and like her. Now what? How can I look Sloane in the eye and pretend everything’s fine?
But maybe it’s a nonissue. The way we left things yesterday at the end of our little tiki booze cruise, it’s likely she’s already written me off. She all but called me a man whore, and it’s been radio silence since.
I dig out my phone to confirm: still no response to my update about Katie’s twisted ankle, which is surprising. I would have thought Sloane more considerate than that, as a business owner. I guess that solves the problem of her hating me once the local government forces her out with a fat check because I don’t see how my association with Henry won’t be another black mark on my name.
And yet, the idea of giving up on whatever this is between us stirs a feeling harsher than disappointment. Sloane’s different, and the way my pulse spikes when her jade-green eyes are on me, the intoxicating smell of her hair, her soft skin beneath my fingertips, the sound of her laugh, her playful smile … I can’t pinpoint what it is, except to say that I can’t get her out of my head.
My phone rings in my grip, startling me from my daydreaming.
Chester’s name appears, and I groan. He wouldn’t be calling me if there wasn’t a problem with my name written on it.
2.Sloane
“You aresoincredibly stupid.” I cradle my forehead in my palm as I stare at the two pink lines on the stick. They match the lines from the first test I took. There’s no doubt about it.
I am pregnant.
How could I have let this happen? I’m thirty-one years old. I’ve been on birth control for almost half my life. I’m smarter than this! And way too responsible. Then again, the last few months have been chaotic and stressful. Sure, I was late taking a pill. Or a few. I didn’t think it would matter.
I didn’t think, period.
And now, I am pregnant by some guy I barely know, who I swore off just yesterday because we are not a good match in any world. It’s clear Ronan sleeps with every female who crosses his path. Am I the first he’s managed to knock up? Does Ronan have children with other women?
I have no idea because…
I don’t know him!
I let out a strangled sound, my anger and frustration impossible to contain. All we had to do was put on a condom. One stupid condom that was surely sitting in his wallet. That’s it, and that day would have been nothing more than a lapse in judgment that we can both move on from. Now, though?
A clattering sound carries from the kitchen, announcing that I’m not alone in my house. Not surprising. During the summer season, there’s a constant stream of people parading in and out of the kitchen, bringing groceries, grabbing a snack, starting a meal. Everyone has the door code—even Ron, the wannabe traitor.
Stuffing the test and its packaging deep into the wastebasket, I pull myself to my feet.
On impulse, I lift my Sea Witch T-shirt to study my flat stomach. Is this really happening to me? Is there truly the spark of a human being growing inside there? It seems impossible.
There were fleeting moments in the past where I wondered what it would be like to be pregnant. I thought I was heading that way once Cody proposed.
What the hell am I going to do?
Not hide out in the bathroom until people get suspicious, that’s for sure.
