Chapter Seven
Mila
What Happens in Oz, Follows Me Home
The whirring of brewing machines and milk steamers and the comforting smells of aromatic beans greet me as I step inside Lump & Grind, the upscale coffee boutique that is Church & Strait’s newest client. Though I’ve already presented my design comps to the owner for review, I thought it was only fair I should patronize the company and sample their product in the meantime.
Problem is, I shouldn’t be drinking coffee. Not in my... condition.
I decide to order something decaf; at least this kind of decision is an easy one. Not so much everything else in my life. I’m six weeks pregnant. Meaning I have a four-week window to decide what to do about it. As awful as the option is, my doctor says a termination can be done prior to ten weeks, but I can’t bring myself to make that kind of choice—not yet.
The alternative, of course, is to continue with the pregnancy. It certainly wasn’t part of my plan. My dream of opening a design studio in the heart of New York has become a reality. It’s been my passion and my life’s ambition. Having a baby would throw a major wrench in the machine; everything I’d worked for would have to take a back seat, and it wouldn’t be fair to dump all that extra responsibility on Claire. We’d have to hire extra staff, a nanny at least, and I’m not certain our budget could withstand all of that right now.
But there’s one fact I can’t ignore. I miss having a family. I was only ten years old when I lost my dad to a workplace accident. Mom never really recovered from it. No amount of insurance money could compensate for him not being there, to be a husband and father. She put on the bravest face she could for my sake, but a deep depression gripped her after his death. The most crushing blow of all came with the diagnosis of a brain tumor twelve years later. Mom fought a brave two-year battle but ultimately lost the war.
Tears burn the back of my eyeballs as I think of how thrilled Mom would’ve been to have a grandchild. I could have a family again. My own family. Suddenly all the doubts and weighty problems seem to lift from my shoulders. I know what my choice will be.
I’m going to have this baby.
The line-up for coffee is moving slowly. I grab a newspaper from a nearby rack to pass the time. In a twist of evil serendipity, a photo practically leaps off the page at me. It’s Derric again, smiling for the cameras, and my heart accelerates as I hurriedly read the accompanying story.
The arrivals level at JFK swarmed with spectators and camera crews earlier this week for a glimpse of FOX network’s new Australian affiliate station executive producer, Derric Faris, son of venerable Sydney media mogul, Steven Faris. The younger Mr. Faris is in New York for the next several months to oversee the network launch of ROO-TV, the first Australian-based live streaming channel, scheduled to premiere September 1.”
No freaking way! He said he came to the States sometimes, but... I had no idea it would be this soon. September is six months away. He’ll be here all that time? My mind cycles through the ramifications of this; if I contact him and tell him about the baby, I don’t know how he’ll react. It might negatively affect his work and compromise the network launch. Worse, he might turn right around and catch the next plane back to Oz. On the other hand, if I don’t tell him, my baby bump will be very visible by September. There’s no way he won’t notice.
The third option settles over me like a dark cloud. Stay away. Make no contact at all. Can I trust myself to do that? With a pang of horror, I recall the rumors about Derric and Belle Luna. Is that part of why he’s here—to reunite with her, make a big media splash with an engagement announcement? That would boost the network ratings... and rip my heart out at the same time. I wouldn’t put it past him; he’s been born and raised in the entertainment business, after all. I close my eyes as all these unpalatable possibilities flood my brain, stalling it like a car engine, unable to move forward or back.
“Yes, ma’am?” The clerk’s voice startles me, and I realize I’ve reached the front of the line. I place my order for a decaf low-fat milk latte and force myself to read the rest of the article.
When questioned about his relationship with popular music star Belle Luna, and a rumored wedding engagement, Mr. Faris was elusive and quoted as stating he was “just here to get a new network off the ground.”
His clever dodge of a direct question confirms my hunch. He’s just dangling the carrot; practicing his ingrained craft of misdirection, suspense and leaving the audience guessing. Well, there is no guessing about my situation. I wonder how the media would respond if they knew that Derric Faris, Australian media golden boy, was about to become the father of an illegitimate child? Not with a pop star, but with a nobody American girl he had a random fling with to top it off. Ha. If it’s headlines he wants, that one would take first prize.
I fold the paper into my handbag as I grab my coffee order and leave the shop. In my heart, I know I couldn’t do that; potentially ruin Derric’s career with that kind of scandal. But what about my career? Just because I’m not famous or a billionaire doesn’t mean I should sacrifice my hopes and dreams, either.
I trudge the few blocks to the studios of Church & Strait, no closer to solving my dilemma. I wish Claire were in the office today. Maybe talking with my best friend and partner will help me get some clarity… but she has appointments all morning. At any rate, I know what she will say. Tell him. Make him man up and take responsibility.
***
My stomach growls irritably as I sit hunched over my computer. Glancing at the clock I see it’s almost noon, and I’ve barely moved from my ergonomic office chair all morning. Typical me; diving into my work to block out things I don’t want to think about. Things that are unpleasant or painful. Like the death of my parents. It’s more than a coping mechanism; it’s almost become therapy for me. But my current situation won’t change no matter how much or how hard I work.
My gut rumbles again, reminding me I need to eat. Whether I want to eat or not is a different issue. My appetite swings between ravenous one day and unable to even look at food the next. Today feels somewhere in between. As I reach for my purse inside a desk drawer, a soft knock sounds on my office door.
“Come in,” I say, knowing the only other person in the office is mine and Claire’s shared assistant, Terri Thompson.
Terri’s brunette head pops through the partially open door, her Harry-Potter-esque eyeglasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose. “Mila? Sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment. Did you want to meet with him or should I tell him to come back later?”
Huh? This is odd. We don’t get much walk-in traffic in our type of business. “What does he want? It’s not a salesman, is it?” I ask, wincing.
“I don’t think so. He doesn’t talk like any salesman I’ve ever heard. He says he needs ‘creative inspiration’.” Terri air-quotes. “For a business venture. And that he’s an old acquaintance.”
My eyebrows raise in suspicion. An acquaintance? I have no idea who it could be, but I’m not about to turn away potential business. Especially when it just walks through our door unsolicited. We’re going to need all we can get. “Um, okay. Send him in.”
“Sure thing.”
So much for lunch. Hopefully, this meeting won’t take long and that my wonky stomach will stay quiet for the duration. I close my desk drawer and stand to greet this unexpected visitor, smoothing out any wrinkles in my jacket and skirt. I look up as the door opens wider, and nearly fall back into my padded chair at what I see. I touch my fingertips to the desktop to steady myself. I can’t tell if I’m dizzy from standing so quickly or from the sight that greets my eyes.
Heaven in a suit.
It’s Derric.
“Surprise,” he says, and the sound of his saucy accent and the sexy grin on his handsome face are enough to melt my panties. His once bed-head surfer-dude blond locks are expertly trimmed and styled, and he looks hotter in his designer suit than any human male has a right to. The fit and color are perfect, accentuating his broad shoulders and slim hips. He looks as though he’s stepped right off the cover of GQ and into my office. I blink to make sure he’s not some kind of optical illusion or holographic projection.
His expression turns curious, and he tilts his head slightly. “Hello?”
“Hi,” I say, realizing I’ve been silent and rigid as a stone statue. I’m dumbstruck in his presence. I can’t believe he’s really here, in person. “C-can I help you?” I stammer.
Derric’s brows knot in an expression of amused confusion. “I certainly hope so. May I come in?”
“Oh... yes... yes of course,” I reply, color rising to my cheeks. I shake myself out of my temporary stupor. He’s a customer, after all. “Won’t you sit down?” I gesture at the guest chair facing my desk. I grip the edge of my desk as I take my seat, watching him swing into the chair opposite with easy, athletic grace. Images of the gorgeous, ripped body I know is beneath the tailored suit flash in my mind, and my knees go weak. Dammit.
“You look wonderful, Mila. How’ve you been?” His searing blue gaze scours me up and down. I feel naked in spite of the clothing that covers me. Does he still want me that way? Or is this strictly a business call? I don’t trust the emotions that are coursing through me—joy, fear, jealousy, desire—all converging at once. I struggle to be professional and keep my expression calm.
“I’m well, thank you. And you?”
I curse silently at my inane, trite response. I’m speaking like a robot, as though he’s a complete stranger. Nothing could be farther from the truth. He’s the father of my child, and I want so badly to tell him everything. But I can’t, not until I know what he’s feeling, and why he’s really here.
He smiles, and I come undone as a faulty zipper. Why does he have to be so goddamn good-looking?
“At the moment, disappointed,” he says. “I really hoped I’d hear from you. But since I didn’t, the only thing I could do was come to you.”