Page 70 of The Mysterious Billionaire
Eventually we decide to go to bed. We strip and get under the covers, and he rolls me onto my side away from him and cuddles up behind me. Outside, I can hear a morepork calling, and the stars are glittering on the dark velvet sky.
I want to say so much, but he’s quiet, and I know it’s pointless. I can’t convince him I haven’t lied. And I can’t tell him about the baby. So I don’t say anything, and eventually we both fall asleep.
*
The next morning, we pack up and leave early so we can make our ten a.m. flight. Caesar is quiet, and I find myself tongue-tied as we sit next to each other on the plane. I want to ask him if he’d like to meet again. I’m close to begging him. But I’m too shy, too afraid of rejection, and too worried about being pregnant.
Even though he’s the father, I know I need to sort out what I’m going to do about the baby before I factor Caesar into the equation. The only thing I have control over is my own actions, and even then, not always. But I definitely can’t influence what he says or does. I think he likes being with me, but I have no idea what his reaction would be if I told him. Once again, his countenance is carefully blank, and his motives, responses, andfeelings toward me remain a mystery. So all I can do is think about myself.
I look out of the window, at the puffy clouds as we rise above them, draw up my legs, and wrap my arms around them. They—whoever ‘they’ are—say that your gut is always right. That you always know deep down what you really want. But I’m completely torn in two. I plunge a metaphorical hand deep down inside me as if I’m rummaging around in a lucky dip, and search for my instinct, but I can’t find it.
Maybe it’s because I’m a Libra, but the scales are completely in balance. On one hand, the reasons for keeping this baby are clear. Morally, it feels like the right thing to do. It’s not the baby’s fault that it exists. And it deserves to experience the wonder that is life. It’s not as if I’m struggling for money, or that I don’t have family and friends around me to help and support. I’m not a coward. I don’t fear being a single mother. So I should just face up to the mistake I’ve made and deal with it.
But the other side of the scale is just as stacked with reasons not to keep it. Personally, I think children do better with a mother and a father. That’s not to say I believe single mums or dads or same-sex couples can’t bring up children. I’m talking about myself. I think a baby would benefit from having a father around. Added to this is the fact that I’m only twenty-six. It’s not super young, when girls all over the world have had babies in their teens all the way through history. But I’m only just getting going in my career. Plenty of mums work. But I can’t mathematically devote a hundred percent of my energy to both my career and a child. At best, it’ll be fifty-fifty, and both of them deserve more.
It’s not a baby yet, I remind myself for the umpteenth time, just a collection of cells.
But that’s not true, is it? I’m ten weeks pregnant now. Its heart is beating. It has tiny tooth buds forming in its gums. Itcan bend its elbows. It’s now a fetus, not an embryo, the size of a strawberry, even though I’ll always think of it as Little Raspberry.
Little Raspberry in its yellow onesie with a duck on the front.
“Are you feeling okay?” Caesar’s deep voice tugs me out of my musings, and I turn and look at him. He’s so handsome. His eyes are concerned. But the deep, raw heat that engulfed us both has gone.
“I’m fine,” I say, even though I’m a little queasy.
“Time to go back to reality,” he says, lips twisting. “It’s going to be an interesting week.”
I guess he’s thinking about his board meeting, and the pressure Gramps has put on him to make a decision. I swallow hard. “Yep. Back to the real world. Can I ask what the plan is?” I know Gramps is going to want a debrief, and I’d like to at least be able to say whether Caesar is open to the partnership, or if what’s happened has set him completely against it.
He studies me for a moment, his expression inscrutable. I hold his gaze, though, refusing to look away. Before Blackridge, I felt like a young girl who was dating her favorite movie star, but we’re equals now. I’m not going to let him make me feel as if I’m his inferior.
In the end, it’s he who looks back at his coffee cup. “I need time to think,” he says.
“I understand.” I hesitate. “I just hope that you won’t let what happened between us influence your decision.”
He gives me a puzzled, amused look. “I thought that was the whole point of taking me to Blackridge.”
It crushes me that he still thinks I’ve purposely tried to influence him. Not for the first time, I feel a swell of irritation at my grandfather for using me like that. If he’d left Caesar to me, I could have… what? Softened him up more?
It comes as a shock to realize I’m guilty of doing exactly what Caesar is accusing me of. Or at least, I can easily see how it could be perceived that way.
“It wasn’t a conscious act,” I insist. “I didn’t go to Blackridge planning to sleep with you and make you like me so you’d agree to Gramps’s offer. I went to try to sell Brielle’s AI optimization model. I didn’t even plan to tell you about the soil restoration program, and I had no idea you’d be so excited about it. What happened between us was…” I try to think of the word.
“A mistake?” He supplies it for me. His tone is flat, but it’s a question, not a statement.
“Not for me,” I say softly. “I don’t regret it. But I will if it ruins our chances of working together. We had a lot of fun, but it was me who said what happens in the South Island stays in the South Island, right? The business has to come first.”
He doesn’t say anything. His gaze remains impenetrable.
“Do you regret it?” My voice is barely audible above the noise of the engines.
He picks at the lid of his cup and still doesn’t answer.
My heart slowly sinks. He’ll never believe I didn’t try to seduce him. And that’s why I can never tell him about the baby.
“Well,” I say, settling back in my seat, “we’ll be landing soon. I hope we can stay professional about it and make this work, that’s all. I’d hate to think the time we spent together ruined the chance of a partnership, because I really think we’d be great together.” He looks at me, and I add hastily, “professionally, I mean.”
“Right.” He finishes off his coffee, then pushes his cup away, and he doesn’t speak again.
