Chapter 113 113
She’d spent nights wide awake, wondering why it had all gone so wrong. Why was the perfect guy also the one who most hated her family? Why was he the man who had so easily betrayed her? It felt like some cruel joke, a tragic twist of fate.
And Justin? He apparently wasn’t quite so torn up by what had happened, moving ahead with the Sunny Side deal. Nope. He’d gone right back to work, making his millions. Perfect. Her eyes drifted to the picture accompanying the headline. Justin had that smile on his face, the one he wasn’t quick to share, the one you had to coax out of him because he played everything so close to the vest. She missed that smile so much that it made her ache. And it was a longing for more than just him, it was a longing for the way she’d been with him—happy. It was also a longing for the possibilities of “us.” Between her dad’s illness, death and the company’s troubles, the future had seemed bleak and uncertain for over a year. The notion of “us” had lifted her out of that state, but it hadn’t lasted long.
Rachel rapped on her office door. “Carrie said you have a minute.”
Sherry shoved the laptop aside and collected herself. “Yes. Of course. What’s up?”
“I wanted to ask if you can sit in on my meeting tomorrow morning. Everybody seems to react more favorably to bad news when you’re in the room, and there’s a lot of bad news.” Rachel sidled in and plopped a muffin down on Sherry's desk. “Here. I brought you some breakfast so you can’t say no.”
“Is that blueberry?” Sherry scrunched her nose. The aroma had overtaken her office with an artificial, off-putting smell.
“Yes. Isn’t it your favorite?”
Sherry shook her head. “Usually. I guess I’m not very hungry this morning. Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”
“Let me get this out of your way then.” Rachel reached for the offending pastry and marched it out of Sherry's office. She returned seconds later. “Are you feeling okay today? You look a bit pale.”
Sherry hadn’t been feeling well at all—tired and blah. Probably a bug of some sort. December was right about time for the first cold of the season.
“I’m okay. Just a little run-down.”
“Yeah, I hear that. I have the worst PMS right now.”
PMS. A thought flashed through Sherry's mind—when was the last time she’d had her period? That was two months ago. “I know how that goes.”
“So you’re in on this meeting? Please say yes.” Rachel smiled and batted her lashes.
“Sure thing,” Sherry agreed, now distracted by the new direction in which her malaise seemed to be pointing.
Rachel left and Sherry immediately pulled up the period tracker app on her phone. The notification was right in front of her seconds later. Forty-two days late.
“I’m never late,” she muttered to herself, her brain slowly catching up.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. No. There’s no way. She shook her head and dismissed it as silly. She couldn’t be that. She couldn’t be pregnant. It had to be stress. She hadn’t just been under a lot of it, she’d been buried in it. Sucking in a deep breath, she ushered foolish thoughts out of her head and got to work.
A half hour later, her stomach rumbled and growled. The muffin might have been disgusting smelling, but she probably should’ve eaten it. She rolled her chair over to the office credenza where Carrie had stashed some snacks. A protein bar seemed like a good idea, but the moment she tore open the package and got a whiff of chocolate and peanut butter, her stomach lurched again. It has to be the stomach flu. I should go home.
She packed up her laptop, put on her coat, and stepped out of her office.
“You know, Carrie, I think I’m coming down with something. I’m going to work from home for the rest of the day, but it’d be great if you could run interference for me, at least a little. Just tell people to send me an email if they need me.”
“And Mr. Bennet? What do you want me to tell him if he asks?” Carrie cringed. Adam had bitten her head off last week. It was hard to blame him at this point.
“You’re welcome to tell him I’m sick.”
No use sugarcoating it. One of the company drivers took Sherry back to her apartment, but she asked him to stop by the pharmacy on the way there. She dashed in, grabbed some pain reliever and seltzer. The line at the register was long, which only gave her more time to think about the improbable. She turned back for a pregnancy test, admonishing herself for giving in to these ridiculous thoughts. As if she could be pregnant by her brother’s biggest enemy, the man who’d started the war on her family’s corporation.
The entire idea was ludicrous. When she got home, she whipped off her coat. Sitting in the car thinking about it had only made her that much more eager to put the idea to rest so she could curl up on the couch, turn on an old movie and slip into a vegetative state. The instructions seemed simple enough—pee on the stick and wait. She did exactly that, studying the clock on her phone until the five minutes were up. Time to check.
Two blue lines.
She scrambled for the instructions, taking several moments before it sank in that she was reading the Spanish directions. She ruffled the paper to the other side. “Two blue lines, two blue lines,” she mumbled, scanning the page. Two blue lines. Pregnant.
Oh, no no no.
The room felt like it was spinning, while her head traveled in the opposite direction and twice as fast. Pregnant? I can’t be. She stared at the lines, but they only darkened the longer she looked at them, as if they were defying her to question the results. She consulted the directions again. A false negative is far more likely than a false positive.
What do I do? Who do I tell? She couldn’t call Nina. She loved Nina, but she would blab to Adam and that would be bad. Very, very bad. The only answer was Rachel.