Page 10

Chapter 10

Private Jet to a Non-Extradition Country

Carter

I stared at my phone, feeling my pulse spike with the notification of Nora’s text. Six weeks of sending messages into the void, and suddenly she’d responded. Not just responded but actually wanted to see me.

I scrolled back through our one-sided conversation, cringing at some of my texts.

Me: In case you’re wondering, yes, I’m still dangerously handsome and emotionally available.

Me: Hey Coach, I stretched today. Thought you’d want photographic proof. *Image: a very unnecessary shirtless selfie*

Me: Fun fact: My camera lens still fogs up when I think about that dress you wore.

Me: I’ve been good. Extremely good. Disgustingly well-behaved. Honestly, it’s getting weird.

Me: I’m hungry. Let’s go to Paris for dinner tonight. Pick you up at three?

Me: Just passed a woman who kind of looked like you. I almost proposed.

Me: Still waiting on that feedback from my stick-handling performance from that night. Felt like I nailed it, but I’m open to notes.

Me: You ghosting me or playing hard to get? Because either way, it’s working.

Me: Tell your silence it’s rude. And also kind of hot.

Me: If ignoring me is your version of foreplay… damn, I’m into it.

Me: You haven’t blocked me yet or told me to stop…

I ran a hand through my hair. My boundaries had completely gone out the window with this woman. Her silence should have been a big enough sign to give up, but something told me not to.

And now she was coming over.

The afternoon sun filtered through my loft, casting long shadows across the polished concrete floors. It was the perfect lighting for a session, and I wondered if Nora would let me photograph her.

Pull yourself together, Campbell. I straightened a stack of photography books on my coffee table for the third time.

The truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Something about Nora had burrowed under my skin and set up permanent residence. It wasn’t just the sex, though holy hell, that had been mind-blowing. It was her sharp wit, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, and her fierce intelligence.

I checked my phone, and according to the car service tracker, it would be dropping her off in approximately seven minutes, assuming normal traffic patterns. Not stalker-ish at all to watch the car move; just wanted to be prepared for her arrival.

My palms were sweating. When was the last time a woman had made me nervous? Probably never.

I stood and paced in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows as I watched boats drift along the river. But for once, I couldn’t focus on the artistry of it. My reflection kept catching my eye, and I straightened my shirt as if Nora would care. This woman had me acting like an anxious teenager before prom.

My phone pinged with an alert that the car was approaching, and I practically skipped to the stairs that led down into my main art and photography space.

When I first bought my warehouse several years ago, I never imagined I’d love it so much. Downstairs was my office, photography studio, and art space. Upstairs was my open-concept loft with unobstructed views of the river and city. Could I have afforded a penthouse in a high-rise? Absolutely, but that was boring.

I unlocked the metal door and pulled it open to find Nora looking like she’d been through an emotional hurricane. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, her face slightly pale, and her eyes had a wild, unfocused quality that immediately set off alarm bells.

“Hey, you okay?” I wanted to pull her into a hug but also didn’t want to scare her away.

“Great.” She gave me the fakest smile known to man and moved past me as I stepped aside. “I didn’t think you’d been serious when you said you lived in a converted warehouse. It’s very… artsy.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly nervous for some unknown reason. Women didn’t make me so uncertain, but this one did, and that was both exhilarating and scary as fuck. “Wait until you see my living space upstairs.”

Taking a chance, I grabbed her hand and led her upstairs.

She glanced around my space with wide eyes. “Wow. This is very you but also unexpected.”

I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing and followed her gaze as she took in the exposed brick walls covered in my photography, the high industrial ceilings, and the expensive but comfortable furniture.

“Thanks, I think?” I gestured toward the living area. “Come in, sit. Can I get you something to drink? Water, wine, coffee, tea, imported fruit juice from a small Portuguese village?”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Water would be great.”

I led her to the couch, fighting the urge to kiss her. Something was clearly wrong, and the last thing she needed was me misreading signals. “Make yourself comfortable.”

In the kitchen, I filled a glass with ice and water, then hesitated. She looked like she could use more than water. I glanced at the sandwich on my counter I’d been enjoying before she texted me. It was prosciutto, burrata, arugula, and fig jam on fresh sourdough from the bakery down the block. I grabbed a clean plate and transferred it over from the wrapper.

“I noticed you look a little pale.” I returned with the water and sandwich. “Thought you might need this. I promise I only took one bite from the other side.”

She took the water first, drinking deeply, then set it down and stared at the sandwich like it was simultaneously the most appealing and revolting thing she’d ever seen. She took a tentative bite, chewed carefully, and seemed to decide it was safe to continue.

“This is really good. Thank you.” She took another bite.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” I perched on the coffee table across from her, our knees almost touching. “Because if you need anything—money, a place to stay, a private jet to a non-extradition country—just say the word.”

She let out a startled laugh that transformed into something closer to a hiccup. “You’d help me flee the country?”

My attempt at humor faded as I noticed her hands trembling slightly. “Seriously, Nora. Whatever it is, I want to help.”

She set down the sandwich, took another sip of water, and met my eyes with a determination that sent a chill down my spine.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air between us. My brain short-circuited, rebooted, and then promptly froze again.

“Oh, congratulations?” I managed, eloquently.

“No, Carter.” She shook her head, a frantic energy suddenly animating her features. “You don’t understand. I have an IUD. Or I had one, apparently, because according to my doctor, it’s no longer where it’s supposed to be. It either fell out or my body absorbed it like some kind of sci-fi movie, or it grew legs and walked away to start a new life somewhere else, who knows?” Her words tumbled out faster and faster. “The point is, it was supposed to be preventing exactly this scenario, and now there’s a gestational sac on an ultrasound screen, and it’s about six to seven weeks along, which means it happened around the end of September, which means?—”

The memories of that night on the yacht flooded back with crystal clarity. “But that was only like four and a half weeks ago…”

“Yes, but they count from when I started my period, which, if I had still had one, would have been about two weeks or so before that. I know it’s confusing as fuck.” She took a deep breath. “There’s a fifty-fifty chance you’re going to be a father. Surprise!” She made a weak jazz hands gesture, then immediately dropped her hands to her lap.

My mind was racing a million miles a minute, trying to process what she was saying. A baby. My baby. Possibly my baby? A tiny human that might be half me.

And then, to my complete surprise, a laugh bubbled up from deep in my chest. Not a nervous laugh, or a hysterical one, but a genuine sound of joy that I couldn’t contain or explain.

“A baby,” I repeated, a grin spreading across my face. “Our baby.”

Nora’s eyes widened in horror. “Why are you smiling? This isn’t good news! This is a disaster! A catastrophe! A fertility bomb dropped right in the middle of my life!” Her voice cracked on the last word, and to my absolute shock, her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, shit, no, don’t cry.” I moved to sit beside her on the couch, hesitantly placing an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to?—”

“No, it’s fine.” She swiped angrily at her eyes. “It’s just hormones. I don’t cry. I’m not a crier. This is not me. I don’t break down over…over…” A sob escaped her, and she turned and pressed her face into my chest.

I held her, stroking her back in what I hoped was a comforting manner. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed. I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but I’m here for you no matter what you decide.”

I could barely make out her words through the fabric of my shirt, where she’d practically tunneled into my chest like a distressed gopher. “You don’t even know if it’s yours.”

“I know. But if it is... or even if it isn’t.” With infinite care, I cupped her chin in my hand, guiding her face up to meet mine. I needed her to see the sincerity in my expression, to understand that this wasn’t some knee-jerk reaction. The idea of being a father filled me with an unexpected lightness, like discovering a gift I hadn’t known I wanted until that exact moment. “Nora, I would be honored to be this baby’s father.”

She stared up at me, tears sparkling on her lashes like tiny diamonds, her mascara slightly smudged beneath her eyes in a way that somehow made her even more beautiful. “You’re unbelievable. Do you know that? Absolutely ridiculous.” The words were accusatory, but there was a hint of wonder in her voice, as if she couldn’t quite believe anyone could react this way.

I grinned, feeling oddly proud of her assessment of my mental state. “So I’ve been told. Usually right before someone agrees with one of my more brilliant ideas.”

“We had a threesome. We barely know each other. I’ve been ignoring your texts for weeks.” She ticked off each point on her fingers like she was presenting evidence in court, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the fact that she was still nestled against my chest.

“All true. Though I did send some pretty creative messages, and it was only a matter of time before you cracked.”

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips, and I watched in fascination as she fought against it, that stubborn chin of hers wobbling slightly before she gave in. “I did read them all. They were...” She hesitated, and I waited for her verdict. “Nice.”

“Nice?” I pressed a hand to my heart in offense. “I poured my soul into those texts. I compared you to sunsets. I offered to fly you to Paris for dinner.”

“That’s exactly my point. You’re completely over-the-top. And now you’re acting like having a baby with a virtual stranger is the best news you’ve ever received… even if it isn’t yours.”

I considered her words, recognizing the truth in them. I was being ridiculous. But the strange thing was, underneath the shock, I really was excited. But if it wasn’t mine, then what? I probably wouldn’t want another man involved if I was the father.

“Have you told Dominic yet?”

She winced. “No. I wanted to tell you first. It makes it less complicated to do your paternity test first. Also, I want to make it absolutely clear that I’m fully prepared to handle all of this on my own.”

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal, but regardless of whether the baby is mine, I’m serious about wanting to be involved.”

Nora pulled back, studying my face with suspicion. “Why? Why would you want any part of this mess?”

“Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” I admitted. “Because something about you feels important, even if I can’t explain why.”

Her expression softened slightly. “It’s a baby, not a marriage proposal.”

“True. Though if you are open to proposals, I do have a jet on standby that could take us to Vegas?—”

She punched my arm, but there was no force behind it. “Stop. This is serious.”

“I know.” I caught her hand, bringing it to my lips. “When can we test if it’s mine?”

“There’s a non-invasive paternity test they can do. I’ve already scheduled it for next week, and I’ll give you the number to make an appointment. I think it takes about a week to get the results.”

That wait was going to be torture for both of us. I squeezed her hand. “So we have about two weeks… what now?”

She sighed, some of the tension finally leaving her shoulders. “Now I go home, try not to throw up, and figure out how to tell my bosses that I’m pregnant. I really hope it’s yours because if it’s Dominic’s, I’ll probably need to find another job... and probably another career.”

My fingers tightened reflexively around hers before I forced myself to let go. So that was the only reason she wanted me to be the father? Because it would be more convenient than dealing with Dominic and the career fallout?

For a guy who was pretty damn confident, the revelation hit harder than any rejection I’d faced before. What was I supposed to say now? Let’s hope it’s me so you can keep your career?

That stung in places I didn’t even know could hurt.

I’d been that guy before; the easy yes that women brought home to impress the family or to post on social media. Glossy on the outside, easy to walk away from when the lighting changed.

But this wasn’t about some business deal or social climbing attempt. This was Nora. Brilliant, fierce, completely independent Nora, who’d somehow gotten under my skin in ways no other woman had managed. And there was a chance that we’d created something together that night.

I wasn’t going to be the convenient option this time. For once in my life, I was going to fight to be someone’s first choice.