CHAPTER 2
Rachel
Adjusting the rearview mirror, I take another look at myself. My face is back to a normal color, but my eyes are still a little red. I pull some Visine out, give a few drops to each eye, and blink. The stuff is amazing, and the irritated little veins brought on by my unexpected crying jag ten minutes ago are erased like magic.
I take another look in the mirror, deciding I’m presentable enough to pass Kynan’s muster.
I’d called him this morning to ask if I could come to his place to talk. As expected, his response was classic Kynan. “Bring donuts.”
I grab the box of donuts from the passenger seat of my Maserati. Since I make fucking awesome money, I have all the toys. But I put my life in danger all the time, so I don’t mind the splurge. Besides, I grew up with two doctors as parents, so I’m just continuing the same lifestyle I once knew—minus those few bohemian years I had living out of a suitcase in my early twenties.
After locking my car up, which is probably stupid as Kynan lives in a luxury gated community, I trudge across his sidewalk, lined with flowering cacti, to the front portico of his large Spanish colonial-style home. I ring the doorbell, and it takes him only moments to answer the door.
“Good morning,” I say, trying to put on my brightest, most carefree face.
“Morning,” he grunts, grabbing the donuts from me.
I follow him into his kitchen. He plops down on a counter island stool and pulls a chocolate-covered donut out. Dropping my purse and keys to the counter, I move around it to the Keurig and make a cup of coffee. I know Kynan’s house well as he’s about my closest friend in the world, and I’ve spent a lot of time here over the years.
As I grab half and half from his fridge, he asks, “Why have you been crying?”
Jolting, I whip my head around to look at him in disbelief. I know damn well my complexion and eyes give nothing away. “What makes you ask that?”
Kynan smirks and waves the donut. “You forget… I’m a former British commando. Reconnaissance is my middle name.”
“Your middle name is Lee,” I say dryly. I turn back to the fridge, hoping he doesn’t see guilt on my face since I was, in fact, crying out in the car.
“I fucking watched you sit in the car for ten minutes with your head bowed,” he says with obvious delight, and my shoulders sag in defeat. “Then I saw you wipe your snotty nose and pop some Visine.”
It’s almost comical how his British accent make the words “snotty nose” sound almost refined, but I’m not in the mood to laugh.
With a sigh, I let the fridge door swing shut. I keep my back to him while I doctor up my coffee, using the rote actions to let me collect my thoughts. I came here intending to get advice, because I know that I can’t be rational about my current predicament.
When I finally turn toward Kynan, he’s halfway through his second donut. That he can eat unlimited carbs and sugars and maintain the chiseled body of a Greek god kind of makes me hate him. He just patiently stares at me, chewing on the sugary goodness.
“I’m pregnant,” I say, dropping the bomb because there’s no easing into something this monumental.
Kynan’s eyes round with surprise. His jaw locks and he swallows, setting the rest of the donut on top of the box from which it came. Pushing the box aside, he rests his forearms on the counter, leaning slightly toward me to show I have his undivided attention.
“It happened in Paphos,” I continue, dropping my gaze into my coffee. It’s easier to look at right now. “With Wright.”
“Wright?” Kynan blurts.
My eyes rise to meet his, and I lift my chin a little defiantly. “Don’t judge. It happened, okay?”
“Are you two… like together?” he asks hesitantly.
I shake my head before taking a quick sip of coffee. “No. It just happened. Emotions were high. Bourbon was involved. And we were fucking stupid for not using protection.”
“Jesus.” Kynan rubs his hand over the top of his head while he stares at the donut for a moment. When he looks back to me, he asks, “Does he know?”
“Yeah.” I pace to the kitchen island, opposite of Kynan, and put my cup down. Mimicking him with my forearms to the granite, I lean toward him. “I told him last night.”
“And what does he think?”
“I note you don’t ask what I think,” I say pointedly.
“Because I know what you think,” Kynan replies blandly. “I’ve known you for almost thirteen years. Know you better than anyone probably. And you, love, don’t want to have a baby. You don’t want to involve your heart, nor impede your career, because your career is all you have in life.”
Fuck… he nailed it.
“Wright wants me to keep it,” I say morosely. “He wants to raise it.”
“Not surprised,” Kynan says dismissively. “He’s a family man through and through.”
“He’s only twenty-six and has the rest of his life in front of him.” My voice sounds so bitter, and I hate it. “Why would he possibly want to ruin it?”
“Rachel,” Kynan chastises, and I cringe over how guilty his tone makes me feel. “You know fucking well babies don’t ruin anything.”
I don’t respond because there’s no need to even voice it. Kynan knows the true source of my fear, and he’s not going to let me pretend otherwise.
Thankfully, he doesn’t pick at the scabs, but comes at me a different way. “You need to be careful, Rachel. It’s not just your life that’s being affected by this. I know the choices you face, and one path will end up devastating one of your teammates. Can you do that?”
I really don’t think I can, but I was sort of hoping Kynan might give me permission to do so anyway. “So I have to give up a part of my life to carry this baby for him?”
“It’s a few months. Big deal.”
“Childbirth is painful,” I say, completely offended that he’d try to diminish this.
“You’ve been through worse,” he counters.
“Yes,” I bite out angrily. “You do know I’ve been through worse.”
Kynan winces slightly, and then has the grace to look semi-chagrined. He knows my worst is really, really bad. “I’m sorry. I know this is scary and the last thing in the world you wanted. But you’re strong, healthy, and even if you don’t want this child, Bodie does. You both made a mistake by not using protection, and he’s apparently stepping up to the plate. Are you going to do the same?”
My entire being deflates when I realize I didn’t even need to come over to Kynan’s to talk this out. I knew what I was going to do, and he just helped me confirm it.
“You know I am,” I say softly.
“That’s my girl,” he praises.
“What does this mean for me with The Jameson Group?” I ask hesitantly. When Kynan’s eyes drop to look at my stomach, I realize I’d been subconsciously rubbing my belly.
Kynan’s eyes drift back to mine. “I don’t know exactly. We’ve never had a pregnant member on staff before. I’ll have Doc McCullough refer you to a good OB/GYN, and you’ll need to see what that doctor says.”
I nod, my mood completely glum over the fact that at some point, I’m going to be out of commission. There’s one thing Kynan is right about. My career is everything to me. It’s what sustains and fulfills me. I have no clue what I’m going to do if I can’t go on operations.
“Don’t even ask me to do secretarial work,” I mutter as I pick my cup back up. I take a sip as Kynan laughs at me.
“The minute you go on inactive status, I’ll have you work on strategic planning with me. I know it’s not getting your hands dirty, but you’ll still be actively involved. Your brain and cunning are probably your best tools to be honest.”
“Damn right I will,” I snap, but I’m secretly relieved to hear him say that. Kynan doesn’t dole out a ton of praise or affirmation, so it’s nice to hear it right now.
Kynan chuckles and shakes his head. “Wow… our first Jameson baby. If it’s a boy, you should name him Jameson. Or Kynan. That would be nice.”
“That’s up to Wright,” I say with a pointed look over the rim of my cup. It’s not going to be something I even need to wrap my head around.
I get a return grin, and it chafes he’s amused at me.
“So,” he says slyly, with a little wink. “You and Wright, huh? Can’t say I saw that one coming.”
“I didn’t see it coming either.” The petulance in my voice makes his chuckle go to a belly laugh. I roll my eyes. “Just stop. I was upset over Joram, had way too much liquor, and well… he was all hot looking and I needed the distraction.”
“Was it good?” he asks. In normal circumstances, I should be offended. Yes, this man is my friend, but he’s also my boss. And he’s asking about a personal intimacy.
But I’m not, because Kynan and I used to be lovers before we settled into a good friendship without benefits. That was long ago, but there was a time I laid in bed with him and spilled secrets. He was by my side during some of my darkest days. While we haven’t been carnal with each other in almost a decade—since I started work at Jameson as a matter of fact—he still has firsthand knowledge of my sex life. We can’t exactly frequent the same sex club without seeing a few things.
“It was good,” I admit, but that’s not the full truth. It was spectacular, and that’s surprising to me. I was totally buzzed from the alcohol and full of seething anger at myself. It should have been hard as hell for anyone to get me off, but damn if Wright didn’t do it in just a few short minutes.
He’d thrown me on the bed and because I’d already been naked, his first move had been to shove his face between my legs. The first touch of his tongue on me and my back arched so high I thought I’d broken it.
Just minutes.
Minutes and a very talented mouth, and I was screaming out the first of three orgasms.
“Your face tells me all I need to know,” Kynan says knowingly.
My face flushes red, and I wonder how long I’d zoned out thinking about that night with Bodie.
Wright.
I need to think of him as Wright.
Just a coworker and a teammate.
“Whatever,” I growl under my breath, but then give Kynan a very bland look. “Like I said, it just happened. It was a onetime thing.”
“If you say so,” he intones in such a way that I know he doesn’t believe me.
“I do say so,” I say firmly.
“I believe you,” he says soberly, but then his lips break into a grin. “No, I don’t. I just saw that look on your face. Whatever Wright gave you that night in addition to a baby blew your fucking mind. You’re going back for more.”
“Am not,” I insist.
“Are too,” he says like a five-year-old.
“He’s too young for me,” I argue.
“You dig that hole deeper, Hart. Keep telling me all the reasons you’re not going to fuck Bodie Wright again, and I’m going to laugh in your face when it happens.”
It won’t, I think stubbornly. No way.
“Just drop it, McGrath,” I tell him. “I’ve got more important things to worry about.”
His expression sobers, and he nods. “Yeah, I know. And I’ve got your back. But just remember… nothing wrong with you and Wright hitting it together.”
I really wish he hadn’t said that.