I was in my office at the Holbrook Property Corporation in downtown, trying to get through at least two inches of paperwork and growing increasingly frustrated by the minute when my phone rang. I was going to ignore it but then decided against it. I'd been on the phone at least a dozen times already this morning, trying to finalize details in a number of projects, put out fires where needed, and of course, the usual approvals, questions, and demands to see documentation. It was never-ending.

I snatched the phone, turned it over, and glanced at the screen. Shit. Kristin. Again. In the three weeks since my drunken stupidity that had enticed me to go a round in the sack with Kristin, she had made her intentions known, to the point where I was starting to call her, in my mind at least, The Barnacle.

I couldn't remember much of what happened that night. I hadn't thought I was that drunk, but obviously, I had been. Oh, I remembered her come-hither look, the open invitation, and intermittent memories of having sex with her. Unfortunately, that sex was pretty much forgotten, so as far as I was concerned, it was more hum-drum than earth-shattering. It'd been a mistake, though I hadn't said as much to Kristin. After I called her a cab to take her back to her car at the club, she had asked for my number. Stupidly, and feeling un-customarily guilty for doing whatever it was that I had, I had given it to her.

I didn't typically feel guilty after sleeping with a woman. After all, I never forced myself on them. Still, she was my dad's business partner's daughter. For that I did feel guilty. And stupid. I shouldn't have done it, plain and simple.

I had tried to be polite, to gently disengage, giving her more than enough what I considered reasonable clues that I wasn't interested in a relationship, but she was either determined or dense. Now she was calling me again. If I answered, I knew there was a fifty-fifty chance that she would gripe that I hadn't called her in the last few days. If I didn't answer, she'd keep trying. She was always the one calling me, and she never let me forget it.

Why didn't I just tell her to go fly a kite? Jump off a cliff? Leave me alone? I wasn’t sure. But man, she was getting annoying. I sighed and killed the call, not interested in trying to explain myself to her, or listening to her complaints. What the hell had happened that night to give her the idea that we were a couple, or that she had a right to call me without an invitation, or to have any expectations from me?

Had I done something to lead her on? Had I said something inadvertently that had given her that idea? I resolved then and there that at the end of my workday, I would call her. I would tell her to stop calling me, that I wasn't interested in dating or anything else. We had fucked once—I thought—but that was it. It was a one-night stand. No strings, no promises.

I had just returned my attention back to the paperwork when I heard a commotion from outside my office. I glanced up at my closed office door and frowned, and then groaned when I recognized the voice. It was Kristin, her voice raised just outside, demanding to see me. My receptionist, Melanie, was doing her best to calm Kristin down and have her wait, but the next instant my office door opened and there she stood, framed in the doorway.

Three years younger than me, she was good-looking and had a great figure, no doubt about it, but what the hell? This was like stalking behavior, and I wasn't—

"Scott, I tried to explain to your secretary that it's urgent that I see you."

I stared for several seconds, startled. Then again, she had always been spoiled, pampered, and catered to by her family. I should've known that the more I tried to ignore her, the more determined she would be, but this was beyond acceptable. I frowned and gestured for her to shut the door. She did so, and rather loudly, standing in front of it, arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows pulled down, her mouth tight with anger.

"You hung up on me."

I glanced at the phone beside my desk blotter and looked back at her. "I didn't hang up on you, Kristin. I killed the call. I'm very busy, and can't—"

"You and I need to talk."

She strode toward the set of chairs in front of my desk, her knee-length navy blue skirt and cream silk blouse swaying gently with her movements. She plopped down into one of the chairs and knees together, feet off to one side, stared at me. I might as well get it over with. "Kristin, I've tried to tell you, gently and more than once, that I'm not interested in developing a relationship. It's not that you're—"

"Too late for all that," she snapped.

I frowned. "What?"

"I'm pregnant."

At first, I didn't understand. I mean, I understood the word, I just didn't understand how it applied to me. Don't get me wrong, I knew how it works, but I always wore a cover. I felt a cold sensation rush through me. Hadn't I? I tossed my pen to the blotter and leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. Trying to remember. Drunk or not, I always used protection. It was habit. Not just against pregnancy, but against possible STDs. So, what happened? I frowned, uncertain.

"I'm two weeks pregnant, Scott, and I'm sure it's yours."

I lifted an eyebrow, eyeing her. "What makes you so sure of that?" I wasn't going to admit to a damn thing until I got more information.

"I haven't been with anyone else for months," she said simply, her right shoulder lifting with a slight shrug.

As if her comment wouldn't turn my world upside down. What did this mean? What did she want? I narrowed my eyes. Could this be true? "You sure you're pregnant?" I asked, my mouth dry. "After all, you could just be late."

She reached into her purse and retrieved one of those pee pregnancy sticks and tossed it onto my desk. I glanced down at it, thankful that had it landed right side up because no way in hell was I going to touch it. I saw the blue plus sign with the word Positive emblazoned in the viewer space. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not one who usually shirks from responsibility, but this was a first for me, and I wasn't going to jump in feet first.

"That could be anybody's pee stick, Kristin, and you know it.”

"You need to do the right thing, Scott."

Did she expect me to pay for an abortion? Pay her off? "And what do you mean by that?" I finally asked.

"You need to marry me."

Her reply stunned me, and that's an understatement. I was stupefied, speechless, shocked to the core. I sat forward in my chair, elbows on the blotter, and leaned toward her, anger burgeoning. "Kristin, you can't be serious. We don't even know each other—"

"You knew me enough to fuck my brains out three weeks ago, didn't you?"

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. So many emotions racing through my mind prevented me from landing on more than one thought for a millisecond before jumping to something else. My heart pounded. My mouth felt dry. I tried to cover my shock as best as possible, tried to keep emotion from my voice, but it was difficult.

"Before I do anything, Kristin, I want official documentation, from an obstetrician."

She made a pouty face as I stared at her. She met my gaze, but I sure as hell wasn't going to marry anybody, and especially not her. Based on what? Not only that, but I needed some time to think this over, to process. What I really needed was a stiff drink.

"I knew you were going to say that." She reached into her purse again and pulled out a sheet of paper.

She handed it to me and I took it, albeit reluctantly. Slowly, I opened the letter, scanned it, and felt my stomach somersault. It looked official. Confirming a positive pregnancy test.

"What about a paternity test?"

Her mouth dropped open, eyes wide with surprise. "Are you calling me a liar, Scott?" Her eyes filled with tears. "You're the only guy I've been with in months! You have to believe me!"

I tried to keep my emotions in check. Tears? Really? And why did I have to believe her? As I remembered it, she came on to me, although I guess it didn't really matter the outcome. I mentally kicked myself, acknowledging that I had used extremely poor judgment.

"I'm not interested in marriage, Kristin," I said. "If you take a paternity test and it is determined that the baby is mine, I will help provide for its care, but that's it. You know very well that we were both drunk—"

"I wasn't drunk, Scott. And I'm not going to go through this alone. I mean it."

I sighed. "This is a lot to take in," I said, speaking softly so she couldn't hear the desperation in my voice. "Give me a couple of days, all right? Let me figure this out. We can discuss options—"

"Options? If you're even considering asking me to have an abortion, the answer is no. This is my baby! Our baby, and I'm going to keep it.”

I couldn't believe this was happening. Kristin, at just over twenty-two years of age, shouldn't be having a baby. She could barely take care of herself on her own. If it wasn't for her parents’ money, she probably couldn't. Still, if the baby proved to be mine, I would do the right thing—up to a point. But marriage was off the table.

"I have a meeting to get to in about five minutes," I lied. "I need to process this. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

She softened, only slightly. "You promise?"

I nodded. "Yes." I stood and walked toward the door, opening it. She sat in the chair for several more moments, then reached forward and grabbed the pee stick and the letter, shoving them both back into her purse as she stood. Then, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, she strode past me, casting a dark glare at my receptionist as she did so. Moments later, I heard the ding of the elevator, the doors swish open, and then she was gone.

I turned to my receptionist. "Melanie, I need to take an hour or so. Reschedule my three o'clock and come up with the appropriate excuse, will you?"

She nodded and returned her attention to her computer. I didn't even bother going back into my office. I took the stairs down to the lobby and at the bottom, before I exited the stairwell, called Craig. After several rings, he answered.

"Hey, Scott, how's it hanging?"

"Not too good," I sighed. "I know it's only two-thirty in the afternoon, but can you meet me for a drink at Flanagan's? It's kind of an emergency."

Craig was a freelance writer, so pretty much worked on his own schedule. I usually didn't bother him during normal workday hours, but like I said, this was an emergency. After only a brief hesitation, he answered.

"Give me about twenty minutes and I'll meet you there, okay?"

"Thanks, Craig."

* * *

“Are you fuckin’ serious?"

The first words to leave Craig's mouth after I told him. I nodded. He let out a low whistle and then lifted his hand, gesturing for the bartender to come over to our table with another set of shots. "That's not the worst part." Craig stared at me as if I'd lost my mind.

"What's worse than learning that you knocked her up?"

I cringed and then shook my head as the bartender set the two shot glasses down in front of us. We each grabbed one and downed it in one gulp. I focused on the sensation of heat burning its way down my throat, down to the pit of my stomach, which once again did an uncertain flip-flop. "She mentioned the m word."

"Oh God," Craig said, dropping his head into his hands. He stayed that way for several moments.

I think I was still in shock too. Finally, he lifted his head, eyes wide, disbelieving.

"You do, it will be your funeral. You do remember how high maintenance she is—"

"Believe me, it's all coming back to me in vivid technicolor."

"Stand up to her, Scott. If you don't, you'll be in for a lifetime of pain."

"I know, Craig. But at the same time, I do have to take responsibility if the kid is mine."

"I get that," he nodded. "And you should. But marriage? A little extreme, don't you think?"

I nodded, my head pounding and my stomach churning. As if things couldn't get more difficult. I already felt that I'd sold out by accepting the job as CEO for my dad's company, but all along I'd convinced myself that it was a sacrifice I had to make in order to establish myself in property management. It was only temporary. A necessary evil. One of these days, with enough experience under my belt, I was going to strike out on my own, leave my dad and his company behind to start my life, my business.

"I'm sorry, Scott, but I have to get back to work. Deadlines, you know." Craig fingered the empty shot glass and twirled it. "Want to get together later, maybe around eight o'clock? Talk some more?"

"I should be getting back to work too," I sighed. "And yes, that sounds like a plan. I just can't believe this."

Craig nodded, no more words to say, and left. I sat in the booth in a dark corner of Flanagan's, one of my favorite spots to come and relax, but relaxation eluded me. So did peace of mind. I was pissed off. Mostly at myself, but at Kristin too. Both of us should’ve been using protection. Should have... famous last words. I was certain I had used a condom. Why wouldn't I? I always carried two of them in my wallet. At all times, just in case. I hissed, trying to force myself to remember, but I couldn't. Dammit!

I left money on the table, waved goodbye to Kevin, the bartender, and exited from the cool darkness of the bar and into the harsh late afternoon sun. The property company was only a few blocks away, and I walked back to my office in a daze, my headache growing worse with every step.

By the time I got back to my office, Melanie was gone. I used the key to let myself into my office and shut the door quietly behind me, staring at the richly appointed space, my usual haven; a place where I usually found some sense of solitude and comfort. Before she had left, Melanie had drawn the blinds, curving them upward so the setting sun didn't shine directly onto my desk. I sat down in my chair, staring at the paperwork that I had abandoned, my heart thudding dully in my chest. The landline phone on the corner of my desk rang, a low, subdued ring, and I groaned as I reached for it. I knew it was my dad. He was the only one who used landlines anymore, at least in this building. Or it seemed like that to me. In so many ways he was a dinosaur, sticking to traditions of the past. Whatever.

I picked it up. "Hello, Dad, what can I do for—"

"I need to see you in my office. Two minutes ago."

The call disconnected. I swore. What now? I wanted to scream my outrage, to throw a temper tantrum of my own, my hands balled into fists as I rose, trying to calm my pounding heart, my frustration, and my anger. It had started out as such an ordinary day…

I left my office, waited in front of the elevator for a car, and then took it up to the top floor. My dad's office took up nearly a quarter of the top floor, corner of course, with views to the west and south. As I rapped once on the door and entered, I saw him standing in front of the south-facing window.

My dad was an imposing guy. Mike Holbrook was Irish, through and through. My hair was a dirty, dull blond, while my dad's was dark brown, almost black, with a hint of red when sunlight hit it directly. He had a large, round face, ruddy cheeks, and heavy, dark eyebrows that were typically pulled down in a frown. Always clean-shaven, always dressed impeccably. He was several inches shorter than me, but had a stocky build. If you didn't know him, you'd think he'd been a boxer. He looked like one.

I saw his hands clasped behind his back, his fingers clenching and unclenching. Great. I knew that gesture, one of intense aggravation. What the hell did I do now? Before he could even say a word, barely before the door shut behind me, he turned around.

"Is it true? You got Kristin pregnant?"

My heart skipped a beat. How the hell—

Dammit! Kristin had called my dad, tattled on me? Told him that I was the father of her—I thought about that, tilted my head and thought she was a conniving bitch, and then fought back a surge of reluctant admiration. She was smarter than I gave her credit for. Calling my dad, she knew, would force my hand. She had always liked me, had always chased me, but I hadn't realized until this afternoon how desperate she was to latch onto me, and apparently she was willing to do just about anything to achieve that.

"That's what she says," I replied, striving for nonchalance.

"Don't you get flippant with me, boy!"

I was familiar with my dad's temper. His face red now, he stared at me with an expression I couldn't quite define. Shock? Disgust? I couldn't—

"My business partner's daughter? You've known her since you were both teenagers! What the hell, Scott? What the hell were you thinking?”

Before I could answer, he spoke again, dropping the second bombshell of the day.

“You have a choice to make, Scott."

He didn't even hesitate.

"One is that you take her in and marry her before that baby is born.”

My mouth dropped open. Fuck that. I wasn’t going to marry Kristin Bruno if my life depended on it. “Or else?” My question triggered a black scowl.

“Or else you forfeit your fucking inheritance and give up your position as CEO of this company!”