Outer Core (8 page)

I narrow my eyes at the vile device.
Later
 . . .

“Oh no, so help me, my little glutton for punishment.” He shakes his finger at me. “If you even get close to a damn browser.” Ian's stare is even sharper than the one I'm deflecting. “
Now
, I need a drink.”

I slide my glass his way to be rewarded with a semi-shocked, wide-eyed glare. “What?” I say.

“Take this germ-populated thing away from me.” He waves his hand at the glass.

“Oh, I almost forgot about Mr. sterile and his drinking from other people's cups phobia.” I throw my eyes up.

“Oh, right,” Tasha's nostrils flare. She gives Ian the evil eye. “Drinking from someone's cup is a big no-no, but jumping from one erect penis to another is A-okay!”

Ian, being Ian, answers with, “I only wish I could actually be actively pollinating.”

Tasha opens her mouth, ready to speak, but shuts right back as I barge in. “You know what,
you just stop
. Just stop it right now. It's not funny anymore. If you don't want to be in a relationship, and you miss sleeping around so much, break it off with Josh. Otherwise, just stop with these tactless comments.”

Silence.

A silence charged with surprise dawns on us. Both Tasha and Ian's heads slowly pivot my way. I wince, being on the receiving side of their stares. I swallow hard witnessing their troublesome stare exchange.

“Okaaay,” Ian says, widening his stare. In succession, Tasha pulls her purse up over her shoulder, and Ian shoves his wallet into his back pocket. Their next words collide as they finally speak.

“We're going for drinks,” Tasha.

“Shopping, now!” Ian.

Not a beat passes before each of my friends grabs one of my arms and together lead me toward the front door.

“I meant what I said,” Ian says, squeezing my hand. “Before, about obsessing over this shit you're going through.” His expression mellows. I bring the thin straw of my drink to my lips and take a sip.

When Tasha left us earlier with so many shopping bags in her hands, I thought she'd topple over, Ian and I spontaneously decided to grab a drink together before parting ways for the night.

“It's just,” I huff. “Not only that I have to relive this . . .” I wave my hand in the air. “Thing. This time, it's with the rest of humanity. The tabloids can't get enough of this story.”

Ian's eyes run over my fallen face. “Worst-case scenario, what would you do?” he says.

“What are you asking exactly?”

“What if she's indeed pregnant with Daniel's child?” This question, especially coming from Ian's lips, guts me. “Would you leave him?”

“No. It would probably kill me a hundred times, but I don't think I'll ever leave him voluntarily.”

Ian bobs his head, excepting my answer. “Then you should, just like I said before, keep yourself away from anything that will hurt you. Stay under the radar till it's sorted out.”

“God Ian, I can't even. I just wish it would all go away.”

Ian threads his fingers with mine and leans in to press a kiss to my cheek. “Whatever it is, I'm always here for you.”

“Same here. And
I
meant what
I
said earlier.” I search his eyes. “If you have any doubts, break it off with Josh.”

His shoulders collapse as he turns to take another taste of his drink. “I don't have any doubts about Josh. It's the timing that sucks.”

“Really?” I say. “So when you're happy and fulfilling your dream it's not the right time to be with him?”

He grimaces. “That's not what I meant, Hales.”

“I'm just saying; he's crazy about you, so don't hurt him or yourself.”

The patriotic tune coming from my phone breaks our tense moment. “It's Tash,” I tell Ian, looking at the screen.

“Let me,” Ian says, taking the device from my hand. “What up, Barbie?” He listens and winces. “Oh shit.” I study him as he listens to Tasha, my brows almost meeting. “Hang on, Tash, let me check with Hales.” He faces me. “Um, did you talk to your parents?”

My parents?
My head jerks back in surprise. “What about?”

“Gorgeous, the shit's all over the internet.”

Oh.
Oh, crap
. I flinch. I'm sure the dread expanding inside me is written all over my face.

“Precisely,” Ian says, confirming his assumption.

I can't help but wonder if my beloved father had already put out a hit on my beloved fiancé. Yes, he probably has. Or worse, he's decided to go the DIY route.
Note to self: remind dad of the importance of the Ten Commandments, especially the “thou shalt not kill” one.

Daniel
:
Jeans and comfortable shoes. Pick you up at seven.

I tilt my head, rereading the odd text on my phone.
What the what?

Should I be standing at attention while waiting?

Daniel: Seven.

How Daniel of you. Why yes, Sir, go ahead and give out your orders. After all, we're all here at your beck and call
. This is ridiculous. It might have worked for him in the past. Not anymore. I speed dial his number.
My number one.

“Hales, anything urgent? I'm in a meeting.” Authoritative and curt.

I sigh. “Just wanted to ask about that weird message of yours. Never mind.”

There's a moment of silence on the line. “Roy, I need to take this one.”

“No, Daniel, it's not . . .”
Important.
I sigh again, listening to Daniel telling whoever this Roy person is that he'll call for him in five.

“Hales.” He's back.

“You didn't have to –”

“What's up?”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere I want to take you.”

Now that helped, a lot. My gratitude, Sir.

“What are you up to?” he asks next, glaringly disregarding my initial question.

“I think I should call my parents.” I hate bringing this up, but it's out there and should be dealt with, the sooner the better. Unfortunately, there are things that we can't just scrub off. “I hope I'm not too late. I think it's better they hear about Rob . . . her, from me.”

“I'll call your dad.” Gruff and determined.

“No!” I practically bark the simple word. “Let me. Better I make the call. Daniel, believe me, he'll be less than pleased to hear about it.” And by that, I mean he'll probably have your head on a butcher block. Or another part of your body that I'm quite fond of.

“Mr. Stark.” It's Anne's voice, Daniel's PA.

“Hales?” Daniel says.

“Go ahead; we'll talk later.”

I stare at the phone in my hand. It's time I called my parents. I might as well get it over with already. What could be a better way to spend my lunch break than disappointing my parents? I look around to make sure the cubicles around me are vacant, and just as I'm about to dial, my phone comes to life with “home” flickering on the screen. Home can be either of my parents or both. In this specific moment, I'm opting for my mom.

“Lelly!” I release a trapped breath hearing my mom's comforting voice.

Just as my stiffened psyche mellows down a little, it straightens right back to my dad's voice. “Hayley.”

“I was just about to call you guys.” I go for casual.

“How are you, sweetheart?” my mom asks.

“I'm fine, Ma. How are you guys? Steven?”

My mom's answer dissipates into my dad's question. “Hayley, is it true?”

It's as if a lead weight just landed on my chest. I feel like I'm twelve again, trapped in my father's solemn gaze as he waits for my answer after asking me whether I've shaved half of Steven's head while he was sleeping. The extenuating circumstances didn't help back then – “but he read my diary, Daddy” – and wouldn't probably in the present case either with “there's a high chance it's not his child, Daddy.” I inwardly compose myself and say, “You know how the media is; they always manipulate the truth and take things out of context.”

“Hayley, has the man you're engaged to got another woman pregnant?”

I squirm in my chair. A normal person should not be having this conversation with their parents. This is reality show material. “Probably not.” Yeah, not much thought behind this quick reply. “It's not what it looks like. This woman is probably after money or publicity.”

“Let me get this straight, it's not a complete farce then?” The anger and disappointment in my father's voice is depressing, making my self-conscious grow.

I squirm in my chair once more. “Um . . .” I hesitate, trying to figure out what would be the correct way to make this debacle a tad more palatable.

“Oh Lordy me,” my mom breathes in the background.

“Hayley, what can I tell you, I might be old-fashioned, but as I see it, in a healthy relationship, you shouldn't have to worry whether your significant other has allegedly impregnated someone. You don't need to be in such a relationship. For heaven's sake, you need to be with someone who respects you and cherishes everything that you are. Now would be as good a time as ever to get out of this relationship.”

Oh, please, Dad, why don't you rip that open wound a little wider? Rub some salt in while you're at it.
“Dad, I'm not going to . . .” I'm stopped by the chime of a cell phone coming from the other end.

“The nerve,” my father seethes. “I need to answer this one; it's your fiancé.” So much disdain in so few words.

Shit!

“No, Dad, don't –” But it's too late.

“You called my dad?” is how I greet Daniel as he steps into the house. He looks at me from above the two paper bags from some organic store in his hands. My head jerks back in surprise at the odd domestic vision before me. My brows pull in.
D, you went grocery shopping?

“What did you think?” he asks, bringing me back to my question. “That I'll sit this one out and let you get all the fire?”

“He's not exactly in your favor at the moment,” I say, following him to the kitchen.

Daniel sets the bags on the counter and turns to kiss my lips. “He never was.” Turning back, he starts getting stuff out of the brown paper bags.

“So what did you talk about?”
Besides the obvious
. My eyes bounce from Daniel to the items he takes out of the bags.

“I tried to explain the situation.” He puts a few avocados, some bizarre bags of seeds, and a container of pomegranate juice on the counter. “And then I basically let him bust my balls.”

I'm not sure what jars me more, what Daniel just told me, or the odd produce that has assembled on the counter. “You didn't have to do that,” I say, taking a step toward him. I send my hand to his waist, pulling at it so he'll turn to face me. Daniel turns and leans his lower back to the counter. I take another step to plant myself between his legs. “Really, you didn't have to do that but thank you.” I kiss his jaw.

“It's a fucked-up situation.” He sighs and buries his face in my hair. I hug him tight, kissing his chest through his shirt. Taking a lungful of comfort that is his Daniel scent.

“I took the paternity test today.”

I slowly trail my eyes up to his. “I didn't know you could have it done before the child was born. She agreed to cooperate?”

“Yes, you can. My lawyer promised her money regardless of the results.” Daniel jaw is working under his tanned skin.

“Why?”

“Because I want to leave it behind us as soon as possible.”

I hug him tighter. “So do I.” Easing off, my eyes land on the peculiar products I almost forgot about. “What have you got here? What's this?” I lift the brown seeds packet, closely inspecting it.
Flaxseed
?

“Things you should be eating while trying to conceive,” Daniel says like it's the most natural thing for him to talk about.

My eyes shoot up to his. “How did you even know what one should be eating while . . . ? Daniel Stark, you just up and went to the store?”

His brows furrow. “Yeah.”

My lips stretch into a grin. “So you took some time off from running the cyber security world, did some research, and skippity skipped to the nearest organic store?” His confused air turns my grin into a full-blown smile.
Love you so much, D.

“Where are we going?” I say, feasting my eyes on Daniel in a gray thermal and jeans as he steers the car onto a dirt road leading to a forest. I watch him under the light coming from the Veyron's console, waiting.

He rolls the car to a stop and turns to me with a hint of a smile, his right hand resting on the wheel. “Camping.”

My eyes grow wider to his response. I run them over his face that has taken an amused air. “Okaaay.” I linger the word doubtfully. “I'm actually a big fan of our bed,” I say. “Just for the record,” I add in a murmur.

“Our bed is one of my favorite places on the planet, believe me.” His grin morphs wicked. “But I thought a change of scenery would be good for us. Somewhere it could be just you and me, somewhere away from everything . . .” He doesn't complete the sentence, and to be honest, I'm glad he doesn't. Daniel gets out of the car and turns to the backseat to get a couple of backpacks and a bundle of wood logs tied together that I didn't even notice he'd put in the car.

“Wow, you really planned this all out, didn't you?” I say, looking at the gear Daniel has piled on his shoulders. He shrugs and offers me his hand. We walk hand in hand through the woods in pleasant silence till I break it. “I sure hope you got some decent camping food and not that flax-whatever, healthy stuff. I'm starving.”