The minibar is cleaned out. Broken glass everywhere. Numerous green and brown stains of dubious origin cover the pale ivory carpet. The woman also left a message on one of the walls with what looks like bright red lipstick.
F U! assole
I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s either that or cry, and I’d rather not waste any tears on a person who can’t even spell “asshole.” I’ve already shed plenty over my worthless ex, Shaun.
I take a few deep breaths. How did I get on Shaun? I’m better off without him. He only wanted me for my connection to Ryder. I’m not going to let him know about the baby either since he would only use it against me to get me to help his “career transition” into acting.
Can’t you see how you helping me can benefit both of us? I’ll be a star, and you can be a star’s girlfriend. And you’ll have all the time in the world to diet and exercise. You’ll be smokin’ hot, like you always wanted.
Like I always wanted. Right. Not a word about love, commitment or respect. Just his stardom, his career, and how I’d be so thrilled to be his arm candy.
A man like that won’t stick around long anyway. I’m not trophy girlfriend material. My dress size is a double digit, I like food and I’ve come to accept that I’ll never be size zero. In addition, I’d be homicidally bored if all that was on my daily agenda was looking pretty for my successful boyfriend who’s out there doing something. I want to do something too, and mean something to someone. And I won’t lose weight to please anyone, especially not some shallow jerk like Shaun. If I ever decide to do it, it’ll be for me.
My hand covers my belly. Five weeks. My doctor said I probably won’t show for the first few months since it’s my first pregnancy, despite all the internal changes. My hormones will fluctuate, nausea may come and I’ll start to have odd cravings.
The baby is an accident, but I want it. I’ve always wanted a family of my own.
At the same time, every time I think about motherhood, terror clenches around my heart. What do I know about being a parent? I have a little over two thousand dollars in savings and twenty-five thousand in college loans. I can’t afford to rent a place of my own, but how many roommates are okay with living with a newborn baby?
And that assumes that I’ll be able to keep working. Most jobs require being sharp and presentable and on top of things. Most importantly, I have to show up. What if the baby’s sick and I miss one too many days? Or I show up bleary-eyed or my clothes have stains? Who’s going to take care of my child the next time I get a call from a hotel or club or wherever at one a.m.?
Even if Ryder doesn’t fire me, his agent will. Mira demands nothing but perfection from everyone who works for him.
Then there are my parents to consider. Mom will be crushed to hear that I’m gonna be a single mother, and my stepdad, Simon, will be disappointed as well. The idea weighs down on me like a giant boulder. Of all the people in the world, they’re the last ones I want to let down.
Don’t be negative! Things will work out.
Or not.
I know the price children pay when their parents are financially strapped. Mom was like that—too poor to be choosy about anything, including the men we lived with. But it was that or homelessness, and she was determined to provide at least a roof over my head even as she juggled bills, often throwing them away when she thought I wasn’t looking so she could pretend that we weren’t in danger of having our utilities cut.
There were whispers about us, none of them kind. It wasn’t until we moved to Sweet Hope that she met Simon. And that’s when we finally had some normalcy, the kind of thing that most people take for granted, but was unfamiliar to me. A year later they were married, and I had a family with two parents and a stepsister.
It changed everything for me.
“Good morning.”
The cheery greeting pulls me away from my gloomy thoughts. In front of me stands Ryder.
He’s in a deep blue shirt that brings out his eyes, framed by long lashes that look like he’s put on a coat of mascara—except he hasn’t—and a pair of denim shorts that hugs the narrow hips and tight, round ass that has women drooling all over the world.
At the moment he’s grinning at me, a dimple popping on his cheek. It is one of numerous features that women swoon over. Some have even posted YouTube videos of them licking it—not the real dimple but off magazine covers.
I run my index finger along the slightly convex surface of my pendant as honeyed warmth travels over my skin.
“What you looking at, babe?”
“The evidence of your latest H&D’s intellect,” I say.
He leans closer to the picture I’m holding. “She send something?”
“No. The hotel did.” I push it toward him, making sure we don’t touch. “You should’ve been pickier.”
And he should be. He can get any woman he wants! Why settle for dumb and dumber?
He glances at the photo, then starts laughing. “I’ve never met anyone who couldn’t spell asshole.”
“Actually, you have.” My voice is dryer than a box of sandpaper. “In fact, you slept with someone who can’t spell asshole.”
He tosses the stiff sheet on my desk and takes a seat in the plushy armchair across from me. One ankle rests on the opposite knee. “So what? It was just sex, not a spelling bee. I don’t even remember most of it.”
The date on the invoice catches my attention. It has to be a mistake because it is the day of his cousin’s rehearsal dinner. A typo. Or…
“You did go to the rehearsal dinner, right?”
“You saw the pictures of me at the wedding.”
An evasive answer. So easy to recognize, especially after four years. “Dinner. The dinner. There were no paparazzi at the dinner. Tell me you went.”
“Yeah, sure. But I might have been a little late.” He shrugs.
Riiiiiiiight. “How late?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t wearing my watch.”
“Did you eat even one course there?”
“Well, I would’ve…if it hadn’t ended early.”
I sigh, resisting the urge to bury my face in my hands. Ryder is a generous boss. He pays well and often gives big bonuses to his staff.
But he is also impossible.
I usually need to accompany him to places since he doesn’t always keep his appointments unless they’re work-related, and he doesn’t pick up his phone. He also does everything in his power to avoid his family, especially his parents. He often “humps and dumps” women, who leave incredible messes behind. Trashing hotel suites is the least of what they do. They also join the Facebook support group—yes, there’s actually a Facebook freakin’ support group—to complain and commiserate and post YouTube videos describing what they did with Ryder in graphic detail.
One of them even uploaded a sex tape, which thankfully turned out to be of someone other than Ryder. But the incident required tons of extra work by not just me, but Mira and a team of publicists. Unlike me, she was mainly interested in capitalizing on the moment and twisting it into an opportunity to raise Ryder’s “hot factor”.
“When a woman has sex, she’s a slut. When a man has sex, he’s a stud.” Mira didn’t even look perturbed when she told me that. “It’s unfair, but that’s life. I’m not going to let this shit mess up all the good we’ve done for Ryder.”