Page 51 of Royal Beast (Royals of the Underworld #1)

Clary

M y phone buzzes for the third time in an hour, dragging me out of the endless stream of emails I’m tackling. I sigh, setting my laptop aside. Working for Rory Brannagan is like running on a hamster wheel, as in no matter how much I do, there’s always more.

I answer the phone, lifting it to my ear. “Yes, Mr. Brannagan?”

“Clary. My office.”

That’s it. No greeting, no explanation. Just his usual clipped tone, colder than the weather outside.

I grab my notepad and head to his office, smoothing down my skirt as I walk. Rory Brannagan doesn’t take kindly to lateness, sloppiness, or any sign of weakness. Working for a Mob boss isn’t for the faint of heart, and some days I question how I ended up here.

If it wasn’t for the paycheck, I wouldn’t still be here. Rory pays well, really well, actually, and I need the money. It’s the only way I’ll ever be able to escape the stranglehold my stepmother has on my life.

Kate’s always been the bane of my existence–controlling and demanding for as long as I can remember.

Even after my father died, she made sure I was financially tethered to her, despite how much she seemed to hate me.

It’s always about what I owe her, how I should be grateful she kept me after my dad died.

But her generosity comes at a price, namely, my time, my freedom, and my life.

Every dollar I save brings me one step closer to being free of her once and for all. That is the only reason I put up with Rory’s constant orders and ice-cold glares.

I knock lightly before stepping into his office. He’s standing by the window, his back to me, broad shoulders framed by the sunlight streaming through the glass. His tailored suit is perfect, as always, looking immaculate.

“You called?” I ask, keeping my tone professional.

He turns, his piercing hazel eyes meeting mine. I hate that my heart skips a little, even now. There was a time when that look made my knees weak. Now it just makes me mad.

“I need you to plan a baby shower for Darcy,” he says, his tone clipped.

I blink. “A baby shower?”

“Yes,” he says impatiently, as though I’m the one being ridiculous. “For Darcy. Rose’s mother. Kellan’s wife. Your friend. Is that a problem?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s just a little unexpected.” Especially coming from Rory.

“You’re organized, and she trusts you. It’s logical.” He waves a hand dismissively and turns back to the window.

I grit my teeth, biting back a retort. Organized ? Sure. But being his assistant is like trying to roll a boulder up a hill. Impossibly hard. He never thanks me, barely acknowledges my existence

“Anything else?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he says, already focused on something else.

I turn to leave, but his voice stops me. “Clary.”

I glance over my shoulder. “Yes?”

He hesitates, his jaw tensing up like he’s struggling with whatever he wants to say. But then he shakes his head. “Never mind.”

I roll my eyes the second I’m out of his office. That’s just like him, refusing to let anyone in, tell anyone anything more than what’s absolutely necessary.

Back at my desk, I try to focus on the daily tasks in front of me, but my mind keeps drifting to the bigger task on my list. Planning a baby shower for Darcy will be fun.

She’s sweet and easy to work with, unlike her bossy, brooding brother-in-law.

But the thought of Rory asking me to do it—no, ordering me to do it—grates on my nerves.

It wasn’t always this way. When I first started working for Rory, I had the biggest crush on him.

How could I not? He’s tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome, with that magnetic energy that makes everyone sit up and pay attention.

It’s no wonder he runs the city. Everyone who ever meets him falls over themselves to do his bidding.

But it didn’t take long for reality to set in. Rory Brannagan is as cold as the suits he wears, as demanding as he is infuriating.

Still, he wasn’t always like that. Not entirely.

The memory sneaks in before I can stop it—the car accident.

I was driving Rose home from the hospital after we went there to visit Darcy’s father.

It was cold out, a little icy, and I’d tried to be extra cautious, knowing I had precious cargo onboard.

But then that big, black SUV appeared out of nowhere, tailing me so closely I could feel its headlights glaring in my mirrors.

I tried to stay calm, to keep driving, but they pushed me, forcing me through the intersection. I didn’t see the other car until it was too late. The impact was like a bomb going off. My car spun out, glass shattering, metal crunching. I remember screaming, then nothing.

When I woke up under the watchful eyes of the first responders, Rory had been there.

He’d stormed in like a man on a mission, barking orders, demanding I be taken to the hospital immediately, even though the police needed my statement to try to locate Rose.

He stayed by my side, his usual cold expression replaced with something I couldn’t quite place. Worry? Guilt?

That night, I’d seen a side of him I didn’t think existed. I was shocked at how different he’d been, how much nicer, more tender.

And at Kellan and Darcy’s vow renewal, when we danced together, I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d been wrong about him. That there was more to Rory than meets the eye and I was finally starting to see beyond his cold shell.

But since that night, he’s been colder than ever.

I groan, letting my head fall onto my desk. “Why do I even care?”

Because for better or worse, I still do. And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.

I lean back in my chair, tapping my pen against my notepad. I should focus on the baby shower. Darcy deserves something special, but coming up with ideas that fit her low-key personality is harder than I expected.

An idea strikes me, and I pick up my phone to call her boss, Miranda Voss. We met at Darcy’s book launch party for Henry and Emma .

“Clary!” Miranda’s cheerful voice comes through the line. “What a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”

“Hi, Miranda,” I say, forcing a smile she can’t see. “I’m calling about Darcy’s baby shower. Rory asked me to plan it, and I thought you might want to come. I know you’re close to her.”

“Of course, I’d love to,” she says instantly. There’s a pause before she adds, “Actually, how would you feel about me helping you plan it?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I say quickly, but Miranda cuts me off.

“Nonsense! Darcy is like a daughter to me, and this sounds like fun. Besides, two heads are better than one, right?”

I hesitate for a moment before giving in. “All right. I could use the help.”

“Perfect! It’s all set, then.”

The next few days are an absolute whirlwind of planning, shopping, and endless lists. Miranda proves to be a lifesaver, her enthusiasm contagious and her ideas solid as we work together.

One afternoon, we’re at a small event planning boutique downtown, searching for decorations. Miranda holds up a string of pastel-colored bunting. “What do you think? Too much?”

“It’s cute,” I say, holding up a matching tablecloth. “Maybe these together?”

She grins. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

I smile back, bending down to reach for a sign, but the motion makes my head swim. My stomach twists uncomfortably, and I reach out to steady myself against a nearby shelf.

“Oh, dear, are you alright?” Miranda asks, her smile fading.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, straightening up. “Just dizzy for a second.”

Her sharp gaze studies me, and she sets the bunting down. “You’ve been looking a little off all day. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” I insist, brushing it off. “I’ve just been busy with work and everything else on my plate. It’s nothing.”

Miranda doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it slide. “Don’t push yourself too hard, dear. Darcy’s shower will be lovely, but not if you keel over before the big day.”

I let out a laugh that comes out weaker than I’d like. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

But as we head to the checkout counter, the dizziness lingers, and I catch Miranda shooting me a concerned glance.

The day of the baby shower arrives, pastel decorations and floral arrangements decorating the rented ballroom. Everything looks perfect, exactly how Darcy deserves it to be.

I’m making my way toward the catering setup to check on the appetizers when a wave of nausea hits me like a Ford F-550. My stomach lurches violently, and before I can stop myself, I clap a hand over my mouth and bolt for the nearest trash can.

“Oh, my goodness, Clary!” Miranda’s voice calls out behind me. She rushes over, her hand patting gently on my back as I try to regain some of my composure. “Are you okay?”

I straighten up, wiping my mouth with a napkin I grab from a nearby table. “Yeah,” I say, smiling weakly. “Just something I ate, I think.”

Miranda gives me a look that says she doesn’t buy it for a second. “Mmhmm,” she says, crossing her arms. “You’ve been feeling off for days, and now you’re throwing up. Call me crazy, but are you sure you’re not… pregnant?”

I freeze, every muscle in my body locking up as my brain screeches to a halt. “What? No!” I practically shout, my voice too high-pitched to sound convincing.

Miranda arches a brow, her lips twitching as though she’s trying not to laugh. “Don’t worry, it was just a thought,” she says with a shrug. “But maybe you should take a test or something. You know, just in case.”

My stomach, already queasy, twists into tighter knots as I mutter a quick excuse and rush to the nearest bathroom.

The second the door clicks shut behind me, I lean against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My heart pounds in my chest, and my breathing comes in shallow gasps.

“No,” I whisper fiercely to myself, gripping the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. “Nope, no way. This isn’t happening. There’s no way.”

But as the nausea churns in my gut, another memory rises unbidden to the surface—one I’ve been trying to forget.

The night of Kellan and Darcy’s vow renewal.

Rory and I both had a little too much champagne. Okay, a lot too much. I remember us slipping away from the crowd, laughing at something stupid. Then we were in the coat closet, pressed together in the dark, his lips on mine, his hands on my waist.

My breath catches as the realization dawns.

If I’m pregnant… Rory Brannagan is the father.

I squeeze my eyes shut, a groan escaping me. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be him?

I grip the edge of the sink tighter, trying to calm the rising tide of panic. “This can’t be real,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “It’s probably just stress. Or a bug. Or…”

But I trail off. Even as I try to convince myself, the knot in my stomach tightens, and a tiny voice in the back of my head whispers, What if ?

What if I am pregnant?

What if the baby is Rory’s child?

TO BE CONTINUED.