Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

Not only was that the most awkward pregnancy test ever taken on the entire planet—how many people pee on a stick while a bodyguard stands outside the stall door to make sure you're not faking it? I stood there with him beside me while we counted down the three minutes.

It didn't even take that long.

By the time two minutes had gone by, the two blue lines were crystal clear. Clear as day. So clear, there's no mistaking it.

I'm pregnant.

This wasn't the plan. The plan was to get to know Matthew as much as I needed to in order to convince his dad that I'm the real deal, and then we'd go our separate ways.

I signed a contract. There is paperwork.

And none of the paperwork says anything about what to do if I actually become pregnant. It only describes, in excruciating detail, how much money I'll receive when the trust is released, how I'm guaranteed housing for the next ten years, and how I can't be kicked off the Hunter Housing insurance policy even if things go south.

“Things going south” isn't a technical term.

The moment the three minutes was over—he insisted on waiting out the full time—I snatched the test off the marble countertop. “I can't believe—” I'd stopped myself just in time. “I can't believe Mr. Hunter called me a liar.”

“I'm sure he didn't, miss,” the bodyguard—Alan? Alex?—said, his eyes wide. Clearly none of them had believed the story we were trying to sell.

Well, now it's not a story. It’s true.

He'd jumped ahead of me right before we arrived at the door to Matthew’s father’s office, leading me inside.

I might have enough of a poker face to fool Alan or Alex or whatever his name is, but the moment Matthew sees my face, an expression of pure shock flies across his features. He tries his damndest to hide it, but I see it. I look at him across the room, a little smile lifting at the corners of my lips trying to communicate how holy hell shocked I am, while at the same time assuring him that things are going to be okay.

Things are going to be okay, right? My stomach plummets toward the floor. I don't feel pregnant. Or maybe I do. I've never been pregnant before. How am I supposed to know? Maybe this is so far outside the scope of what we had planned that Matthew is going to call the whole thing off.

Which would be disastrous. Robin and I have already moved in to Matthew's building—it’s made it more convenient for dating, and it’s what any reasonable man would do if he had Matthew's money and had gotten a girl pregnant.

I don't miss a beat. I march straight up to the senior Mr. Hunter and place the test on the desk directly beside where he’s standing. He still leans against his rich, expensive-looking wood desk, implying an attitude of skepticism, his eyes pointedly staring across the space at Matthew. It wouldn't surprise me if they hadn't spoken a word since I left.

“There's your proof,” I say simply, and then step back to let him have a good, long look at the thick blue lines.

He looks down at the test, scanning it carefully. I don't know why they didn't choose one that displayed words—I would kill for one of those right now—but there’s no doubt the test results are positive. I hold my breath. Is his next move going to be to ask me to submit to a second test? Haul me off to a doctor's office? I don't dare say a single word. We have no plan for this. We planned out everything but this.

Mr. Hunter swallows hard, his hard eyes still glued to the test, and then he looks up at me.

I drop my hand to my stomach. There's not a bump yet—it's far, far too early for that—but that's all it takes to break him out of the spell he's under. 

The older man turns away from me, and my eyes fly to Matthew's face. His shoulders are tensed. The bodyguard who followed me into the bathroom is visibly on edge, creeping forward from where he took a spot next to the wall. Are they going to fight each other? Jesus, wouldn't that be just on par with this day?

But the older Mr. Hunter just crosses the three steps separating him from his son and extends his hand.

For a long moment, Matthew just looks down at the extended hand like he's never shaken someone’s hand before. 

Then he reaches out and takes his father's hand. He gives it a confident shake.

“Good for you, son,” the elder Mr. Hunter says, and Matthew nods sharply, a gesture without the slightest hint of softness.

My heart melts a little, seeing this tender exchange, and I wonder if it's because of the pregnancy hormones that have to be flooding my body already. I also wonder when the last time was that Matthew hugged his father. Then it dawns on me—maybe they never have. It's like I'm seeing him for the first time, and I like what I see—the way he leans his body toward me—toward us—and the way his eyes sparkled when it hit him that I was pregnant.

Though they're not sparkling now.

“I don't think there's much else to be said,” Matthew says finally, dropping his father's hand.

Mr. Hunter laughs. “Oh, I think there's much more to be said.” His eyes flick back over to me and drop down to my flat stomach. “What we have here is a pregnancy. That deserves congratulations, by the way, Miss—”

“Dawson,” I supply, but out of the corner of my eye I see Matthew roll his eyes, an expression that's gone as soon as it arrives.

“He already knows your last name,” Matthew says to me, a new tone of tension rising in his voice. “He's probably had someone watching us for weeks.”

His father doesn't deny it. He smiles. “Miss Dawson, I'm very happy that you and my son have happened upon this great blessing.” His smile starts to seem sinister as hell. “But what Matthew needs is an heir. Not a pregnancy. Whether you carry to term and bring a live child into this world remains to be seen.”

The phone on his desk rings then, cutting into the thickness, and he twists to reach for it. He raises the handset to his ear. “Hello?” I can't hear anything from the other end, but he hangs up after a moment, turning back to Matthew. “My next appointment has arrived. Keep me updated on the pregnancy, will you?”