Love Me Like That (30 page)

I’m not even sure what I’d tell her if I saw her again. What kind of promises can I make to her? I regret canceling the appointment with the therapist. I could use the fact that London left as the reason, but I’m not certain I was going to keep it to begin with, so it’s not fair to place any of the blame on her.

I have nothing to offer her if she would’ve stayed. Financial support is about all I can manage right now. I’m disgusted with myself when I realize that her leaving may be the best thing to happen. I’m in no position to be a father. I can hardly deal with my own life much less the responsibility of raising a baby.

She’s better off alone than even further wrapped up in my shit. I lose the battle I’ve been fighting furiously since she left as the thought that she may choose not to have the baby creeps into my mind. She never put off vibes that she was purposely trying to get pregnant, so it had to of been a big surprise to her as well. Raising a child on her own could be daunting enough that she’d choose not to. I slam my hands on the steering wheel.

It’s at that exact moment that I realize I want the baby. As unexpected and horribly timed as it is I can’t even stomach the idea of her aborting our child. I drive through the city as the first sign of the dawn is peeking in my rearview mirror with renewed determination to be a better man on the off chance that she comes back and gives me the opportunity to be a father.

I’ve been at Bland & Platt for a couple of weeks now, and I can say that I actually love this job. I found out on the first day of work that the bulky man I’d seen standing in the doorway on my way to Ms. Gilson’s office was my new boss Justin Bland. He and his best friend Hawthorne Platt, Hawke as he preferred to be called, started this firm right out of law school and have turned it into one of the most lucrative corporate law firms in the city.

My last personal assistant job required me to fetch coffee and dry cleaning and such, which is what I thought I’d be doing here as well. I think I’d only used the skills I’d learned in college a handful of times at that job. Gladly I was wrong. I’m not running errands and being bossed around the office like a slave; rather I’m managing Justin’s day, planning his trips, and serving a purpose as more than just a glorified hood ornament. I record minutes in important meetings and make sure accommodations for clients are up to the standard the firm has set.

I’ve somehow managed to find a job I can take pride in; one I actually enjoy and can look forward to each day rather than being bitter and angry. That doesn’t mean that my hormones aren’t all over the place because they are.

Along with the emotional roller coaster I ride every day without choice is the sheer exhaustion. I’ve spoken with Justin about the baby, and he’s given me no indication that he has an issue with it. If anything he’s supportive and attentive to my needs, that and he’s an awful flirt.

I can admit that Justin Bland is an incredibly handsome man and whatever woman finally lands him will be incredibly lucky. He’s caring, intelligent, and sex appeal drips off of him by the gallons. Unfortunately, he’s not Kadin. It’s almost like my heart has instructed my brain and body not to respond to anyone but him.

“You look lovely today, London,” Justin says I set his weekly schedule on his desk.

I smile at him. Most people would be offended or find his compliments offensive, but I don’t; I look forward to them honestly. He’s always respectful in what he says and never crosses the line into creeper territory.

“I don’t feel like I look lovely, but thank you, Justin.”

“Sick again?” he asks as he scrunches up his nose.

“Every day this week,” I admit sitting in the chair across from his desk so we can go over his schedule and make the appropriate changes if need be.

He opens the desk drawer to his right and pulls out a large bag of cookies, setting them on the desk in front of me. “I grabbed these for you this weekend. My sister swore by ginger snap cookies when she was pregnant with my nephew. I figured they might work for you as well.”

“That’s incredibly sweet.” I say and reach for the bag. “Why is it a woman hasn’t been able to snag you up yet?” I say it as a joke, but I can tell by the look on his face that he’s taken me seriously.

“I have incredibly high standards, London. Not many women can meet them.” He smiles brightly at me as if he’s just realized something and can’t wait to share it. “Go to dinner with me.”

I open my planner to the week’s schedule. “Which client will we be meeting? Would you know of cuisine preferences?”

When he doesn’t answer I look back up at him, his penetrating eyes are holding mine hostage.

“Not to woo a client, London. Dinner. Just you and me.” He looks uncharacteristically nervous.

“We can’t do that, Justin,” I answer.

“You’re seeing someone.” It’s a statement, not a question.

I smile weakly without a clue how to even avoid the topic of not dating and why. “I’m not available.” Sadness clutches me, and I furrow my brows at the knowledge that I’m pining over a guy who isn’t even in the equation anymore. Furthermore, I question his sanity for wanting to get involved with a pregnant woman when he’s just expressed how high his standards are. No man in this day and age should want a ready-made family.

“Is he in prison?” Justin offers like it’s the only other possibly explanation for my dinner refusal.

I laugh uncontrollably for several long moments before I can respond to him. Finally managing to look up at him I see the confusion he had on his face when he asked the ridiculous question has transformed into amusement at my response, indicative by the smirk he’s giving me.

“
He
is
not
in prison, and we’re not together either. I just have too much emotional stuff going on to get involved with anyone right now.” Admitting that out loud is sobering to my previously cheerful mood.

“It’s just dinner, London,” he says quietly without losing the smile from his face.

I study him and after a while I decide just to lay everything on the table. “Just dinner?” I emphasize. “So you’re saying you have no other interests in me than feeding me a meal?”

His face falls. “I’m not saying that at all.” That’s what I thought.

“I’m not dating right now,” I say as I stand and scoop the bag of cookies off of the desk.

“But when you start?” He prods.

“You’ll be the first to know.” I wink at him and leave his office.

“I won’t stop asking,” he says to my retreating back.

“What do you mean you turned him down,” Jillian scoffs even though she has a mouth full of food.

Jillian is Hawthorne Pratt’s personal assistant and we made fast friends the first time we met after I started working at the firm. She’s bubbly and always in a good mood and exactly what I need most days to pull me out of the self-pity that always seems to want to consume me.

I take a sip of water to help wash my last bite down before responding. “He asked me to dinner, and I told him I couldn’t.”

“Yes, London. I heard that part. What confuses me is why in the hell did you do it?” I shrug my shoulders in response, unwilling to go too far in-depth about my past.

Suffice it to say I have major trust issues. I had them long before the whole Trent and Keira situation, and now they’ve grown exponentially after Kadin. I see keeping at a distance emotionally from people as a means of mandatory self-preservation, knowing my heart couldn’t take any more disappointment.

“You realize he’s perfect boyfriend material right?” She’s put her fork down, and I have her now undivided attention.

“I guess. I don’t know him that well.” I continue to eat even though my stomach is in knots. I don’t know if it’s the direction the conversation is heading or if my morning sickness is going to ruin another meal.

“Well, I’ve been working here for past six years, and I’ve only seen him with one girlfriend and that woman did something that pretty much ruined his view on all other women.”

I lean forward in my chair. “What did she do?” I hate knowing someone hurt him but haven’t we all been hurt? I see this as the perfect opportunity to turn the spotlight off of myself and put it on someone else even though I hate gossip. Unfortunately, Jillian is not easily distracted.

“That’s not the point I’m trying to make. Besides, no one really knows what happened. All I know is it didn’t end well, and he hasn’t really dated since. That was five years ago, London.”

I keep my eyes focused on her but don’t say anything to encourage the conversation. “Ugh,” she huffs in frustration. “My point is, for the first time that I know of in forever he’s interested in someone. He’s interested in
you
.”

She picks her fork up and begins to eat again like she just solved the hardest problem in physics and should be rewarded for her observations.

“Okay? He’s interested in me, but I’m not dating. It’s not just him. I have no desire to get involved with anyone. Sadly, that includes Justin,” I answer and continue to eat as well.

“I wish I had your willpower,” she mutters before taking another bite of her salad.

I’d ask her what she meant by that, but I know digging into her past opens the door for her to attempt to do the same with mine. Not that it’s stopped her in the past, but it’s a can of worms I’d rather not open right now.

“What are your plans this weekend?” She asks thankfully switching gears into safer territory.

Certain ‘crying myself to sleep and feeling sorry for myself while missing a man I love but can’t have’ wouldn’t be the best thing to say, I shrug my shoulders. “Probably going to hit a few estate sales if I can find them. I’m looking for a few more things for the cottage.”

“How old are you, London? Sixty?” She laughs. “You should go to the club with us this weekend.”

I don’t even want to know who
us
is. “I’m twenty-six, but I’m also pregnant. So going to the club isn’t the best idea.”

She gives me a strange look. “You can go to the club while you’re pregnant. You’re not even showing, and I’m not saying go on a bender. Drink water and have a good time dancing. You need to get out of that tiny house you live in and have some fun.”

The idea still isn’t appealing to me even though I know now she won’t judge me for still having some sort of life even though in eight months I’ll be responsible for two instead of one.

“I’ll think about it,” I placate her and finish eating my lunch.

I can’t decide if I want to get my mind on something else by going out and forgetting about my troubles if even for a short time; or if I want to continue to bathe in the heartache that engulfs me every time I don’t have something else to distract me.