His Pretend Baby Read online

  He takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his entire fist as he says, “He’s dead, and all they have left of him are their memories of how good he was and the baby you’re carrying. I can’t let you take this baby away from them, even if Marco went off-plan…”

  He stops then, his fist spreading across his face. If not for the way his shoulders start quaking, I might not have realized he’s crying. Silently sobbing for the brother he’s lost.

  There’s no time for awkwardness in that moment. As insulting as his words are, as much as I don’t necessarily believe he only said them because he’s hurting, the fact is: he is hurting. Hurting because his only brother is gone. And God, didn’t I know about having unbearable pain and nowhere to put it? Instinct kicks in, and I step forward, gently wrapping my thin arms around his tall, lean body.

  “Don’t,” he says, shaking me off. He lowers his hand, his tears giving way to a grumpy scowl. “I don’t like being hugged like that.”

  Sensory processing issues, I remember, taking a quick step back. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s just that I’ve been where you are, and I wanted to offer you some comfort.”

  He crosses his arms and tucks his hands under his pits. “I believe you, but you can’t touch me like that. Especially without warning. That’s not how it works with me.”

  “Okay,” I say, raising both my hands and keeping them up so he can see I have no plans to touch him again. “This is me, standing over here and not touching you.”

  He frowns at me, as if trying to decide if I’m serious or making fun of him.

  “I get it,” I tell him, reassuring him it’s the former. “Sensory issues.”

  He gives me a quick nod, before saying, “Can we go back to the original thread?”

  “Sure,” I answer, even though this conversation is making my head tired.

  “A promise isn’t good enough. My parents deserve some guarantees. My father’s name will go on. So here’s what going to happen.”

  He looks down at me, his brown eyes now glittering with determination instead of tears. If not for their redness, I would never have been able to guess he’d been sobbing for his dead brother just a few moments before.

  “I’m going to go back to Portland where I’ll devise a full plan, which I’ll then present to you in four weeks time. You will use that time to get your affairs here in order, then you’ll join me. Soon after, we’ll get married, at which time we’ll make an announcement that you’re pregnant with my child since you’ll be safely into your second trimester by then.”

  “Okay, I’m going to have to stop you right there,” I say, lowering my hands. “Obviously, I’m not going to marry you. I could never marry you.”

  “Why not?” he asks, as if I’m the crazy one in this conversation and not him.

  “Because I barely know you, and because I don’t really like you—”

  My words are extremely sincere, but they’re abruptly cut off when Go suddenly pulls me into a tight hold and, without any warning whatsoever, kisses the hell out of me, crushing his mouth to mine.

  Maybe it’s because it’s so unexpected. Or maybe it’s because I’m so shocked by the length and thickness of the erection that’s pressing into my stomach. Maybe it’s because I did not in my wildest dreams expect a guy as cold as Go Gutierrez to lay a kiss on me this insanely hot.

  But I don’t push him away. In fact, I do little more than mew softly as his lips devour mine, his tongue pulling at my tongue with insistent tugs. Not only do I not stop him, I don’t come back to my senses until Go ends the kiss himself.

  Upon letting me go, a slow smirk spreads across his bearded face, and he says, “Yes, I think you can marry me, Nyla. And I think you’ll figure out how to come to like me just fine.”

  I hadn’t had anything to smoke since finding out about the pregnancy, but I feel exactly like a pot head coming out of a stupor as I say, “No! What?!?! No!”

  I look toward the closed door then back at him, before whispering loudly, “This is your brother’s funeral. And that’s not how life works. I’m not going to…to…” I can’t even bring myself to say it out loud, even as a hypothetical.

  So I just tell him, “You know what, I’m leaving now. And I’ll be in contact with your parents later on when everyone’s...” I search for the appropriate words and can only come up with, “…calmed down.”

  Then I back out of the room, wary that he’ll try to keep me here if I let him out of my sights. Or worse, kiss me again.

  But he stays where he is, regarding me with that same cold smirk. Like he knows everything, and I don’t even have a clue. “I’ll need you to keep your pregnancy under wraps for four weeks, Nyla, at which time I’ll be in contact. Until then…”

  I rush out of there as fast as I can thinking, In four weeks, nothing.

  I definitely won’t be marrying him just because he wants to make sure this baby has his family’s name.

  But it takes me a good twenty minutes of sitting in my car outside the house before I’m able to drive away. My hands are shaking. No, scratch that: my whole body is shaking. I’ve never been kissed like that before. By anyone, human or robot. And I might be determined not to go along with Go’s plan when I finally stop shaking and start up my car.

  But I know it’s going to take me a while to forget his explosive kiss.

  4

  Four weeks to the day of Marco’s funeral, I feel like an idiot. For whatever reason, I decided to keep my pregnant status under wraps, just like Go asked me to. I told myself I was waiting to get through the first trimester, but it’s February now. I’m officially in the second trimester, yet I haven’t heard word one from Go.

  Seriously, thank goodness for that—but our conversation keeps playing on a loop in my head. His last “Until then…” sending shivers down my spine.

  Along with the memory of that kiss.

  And it’s affecting my work.

  Unlike my poor boss, Sam, my first trimester hasn’t been plagued by morning sickness. But I haven’t been sleeping well. And I’ve been scattered at work. Mainly because whenever I start to do something that doesn’t engage all of my mind, like a supply count, I’m assailed with the memory of the kiss. Then minutes later, I come out of the memory. All hot and bothered, with no idea what number I was at or what I was doing or why I’m doing anything at all other than getting kissed by Go Gutierrez.

  The memory of that kiss is not only driving me crazy, but also rendering me seriously unproductive. Which is why I’m not at all surprised when Sam comes into the supply closet where I’m doing our monthly count, closes the door behind her, and quietly says, “We need to talk.”

  “I know, I know…” I say, putting down my clipboard. “I’ve been in here an hour, doing a count that should only have taken fifteen minutes. And my job performance has sucked lately, but I actually have a pretty good excuse for that…”

  “I know you do,” Sam says with a sympathetic look. But her heart-shaped face, usually so cute and happy, is laced with consternation now. It’s a look I recognize all too well, because it’s the same one she wears when she has to deal with anything upsetting.

  My kind boss hates any aspect of shelter business that doesn’t involve helping our residents, and she looks truly distressed when she says to me, “That’s why I wanted to talk with you, before I took any further action.”

  “I’m pregnant,” I rush out before she can go any further with what probably is going to be a warning about my poor work performance. “And I know you still gave it your all when you were pregnant, but I’m having a hard time. Please don’t fire me, I love this job…”

  Sam’s head jerks back in surprise. “You think I’m firing you? No, I’m not firing you! I’ve been grooming you to take over the next Ruth’s House for years. There’s no way I’d fire you just because you’ve been a little off your game lately. No, Nyla, you’ve been nothing but an amazing employee! Frankly, I don’t know what we’re going to do without you.�
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  “Do without me?” I repeat. “Wait? What? Are we talking about maternity leave, because—”

  “No, we’re talking about the conversation I just had with Marco’s brother.”

  I must look as confused as I feel, because she adds, “About this top secret project he wants you to consult on? He told me it would revolutionize the restraining order, but it doesn’t sound like you know anything about it.”

  “I don’t,” I admit, not knowing how else to answer without lying to her.

  “See, that’s what I thought!” Sam said, snapping her fingers. “He made it sound like it he was making it easier for you to move to Portland, since apparently you’re pregnant with his baby. But you know I have a good nose for manipulation, and his offer, as good as it sounded, just stinks of it. That’s why I came straight to you when I got off the phone. I mean, what he’s offering is the chance of the lifetime, but it’s not worth it if he’s trying to manipulate you into doing something you don’t want to do.”

  I am so confused about so many things, that I’m not quite sure where to start. But I’m also intrigued. Really intrigued.

  So even though there’s no way I’m moving across country for what’s obviously a thinly disguised plot orchestrated by Go Gutierrez to try to get me on board with his crazy marriage plan, I have to ask Sam, “What exactly did he offer you?”

  5

  Ten shelters! Ten freaking Ruth’s House shelters! That’s what Go’s offering for Sam to give me up without two weeks notice and if I agree to come “consult” on his fake project.

  Two days later, I’m seriously wishing I hadn’t asked Sam for the details.

  One Ruth’s House, I could have turned down. Maybe even two. But ten Ruth’s House’s in ten different states, all operating under the same guiding principle of counseling, mindfulness, and prevention as the original shelter? Dude, that would bring her so much closer to making her fifty state dream come true! Not to mention bring services to so many more women.

  Well played, rich asshole, I think as a black car drives me through the gates of the GoBotics Portland campus. Well played.

  It starts raining as we pull up to the front of the ten-story glass building. I wonder if it’s a sign of what a bad idea it was to come here.

  But the driver simply holds an umbrella over me as I get out of the car and says, “Welcome to Portland!”

  “Thanks!” I answer. “I just need to get my bag out the back.”

  The driver’s smile goes all confused. “Jason didn’t send you a copy of the plan?”

  “Um…” I say, but then remember an email I didn’t open, labeled “Portland Day 1 Plan.”

  I tell the driver the truth, “I got it, but I didn’t read it.”

  “You didn’t read it,” the driver repeats, like I’m speaking another language. “And today is your first day?”

  “Not exactly,” I answer, having no idea how to explain this situation. “It’s more like an interview.”

  He hands me the umbrella. “Word of advice: if you want to get the job, make sure you never let anyone hear you didn’t read over one of the plans.”

  That advice imparted, he gives me a friendly smile and says, “Meanwhile, I’ll deliver your bags straight to the Gillmor. They’ll be waiting for you when you get there.”

  “The Gillmor? Is that like a hotel?”

  “More like an apartment building. Temporary housing. See you later!”

  Before I can ask when later is or how I can get a hold of him to pick me up if I’m done sooner than later, he’s running back into the rain and hopping in the car.

  I should probably read that email, I think as I walk into the glass fortress.

  “Hey, what’s up, Nyla!” a clean-cut guy in a fleece and jeans says as soon as I enter the lobby. He pushes off the long front desk and comes right over to me. “I’m Jason.”

  “The guy who sent me the plan in the email,” I say, glad I at least read that much.

  “Exactly,” he says. “We’re about ten minutes off plan, so I’ll talk fast while we head down to the SocietyLab.”

  “The SocietyLab?” I ask.

  “Yeah, the SocietyLab,” he repeats. “Remember it was mentioned in the plan email.”

  I’m so tempted to lie, but I never lie, so I wince and confess, “Um, no, not exactly, because I didn’t actually read that email.”

  “You didn’t read the plan?!?!” Jason’s eyes go wide, then he lowers his voice. “Okay, I’m a nice guy and this is your first day, so I’ll just say: always read the plan. Know it forwards and backwards. Not reading the plan is a good way to get fired on day one. I’ve seen it happen!”

  He’s being so dramatic about this, I say, “Okay, fine, I’ll read the plan now.”

  “There’s no time to read it now!” he whisper-screeches like I’m a complete idiot. “You’re supposed to be in the SocietyLab! No, we’ll have to do it during the snack break in two hours. I’ll just brief you as we go…”

  By the time Jason introduces me to Harris, the SocietyLab’s lead developer, I know this particular workshop is under the charitable wing of GoBotics. It was created a little over a year ago, and Harris was hired to oversee Go’s vision of a place where his engineers can come together to work on ideas that improve society.

  Harris gives me a little rundown of Go’s goals for the lab as we cross the concrete floor. But I barely listen. There are so many fascinating robotics projects scattered about, including what looks like a dog with soccer balls on its feet.

  Seeing the direction of my gaze, Harris proudly explains, “We’re using some of the same tech other companies are using in driverless cars for our Seeing-Eye Bot initiative.”

  He escorts me into a small conference room right off the shop floor and points me to a chair at the table. “We just need you to sign a few non-disclosure forms and then we’ll show you the project you’ll be consulting on.”

  “Seriously?” I ask, squinting at the tablet he sets in front of me. “The project Go wants me to consult on is for real?”

  Now Harris squints at me, looking way more confused than I am. “Of course it’s for real. Why would you think it wasn’t? Didn’t you read the Day 1 plan?”

  Behind Harris, Jason shakes his head frantically at me, like, “Don’t say it!”

  More than okay with not hearing another lecture about reading over plans, I avoid the question by ducking my head and finger-signing the NDA. Though I do have to admit, I’m now more than a little curious about this project Go said would revolutionize the restraining order. The one that apparently actually exists.

  I’m imagining a terminator like robot. Who maybe blasts guys with lasers whenever they get too close to the woman who filed a restraining order.

  But as it turns out, the robot isn’t a terminator, but a simple bracelet.

  Except it’s not simple at all, as I soon find out when Harris brings “The Restraining Order” beta into the small conference room. Actually, it’s really quite complicated, with an estimated millions in venture capital already lined up for it.

  In a nutshell, Go’s trying to develop a bracelet that would not only alert the police when the restrainee gets too close to his would-be victim, but also measure things like alcohol, drug, and heart rate levels. Most importantly, the bracelet would employ the same emotion-gauging software GoBotics uses in its artificial intelligence devices to judge when the restrainee was a true danger to others, and it would remotely incapacitate him if needed.

  “But we’re at a point where we need a human touch,” Harris explains to me.

  What he pitches is a ten-year to market plan, involving legislation, grant work, cutting edge counseling, and a ton of vision. If The Restraining Order works in conjunction with cooperation from law enforcement, it could truly save millions of lives.

  I’ve never seen anything like it, and I can hardly believe Go came up with the idea on his own over a year ago. But one thing’s for certain…as a person who’s spent most of
her working life trying to help the victims of domestic abuse get the protection they need to recover and thrive, I’m all the way in.

  By the time Harris is done with his presentation, I not only want to know more, but…

  “I want in,” I tell Jason as we leave the SocietyLab. “Where’s Go’s office?”

  “It’s right over there,” Jason answers, pointing toward a long red reception desk to the left of us. It sits in front of a curved, black glass half-wall that probably has a hallway hidden behind it.

  “But before you meet with him, you’ve got to read the plan while we break for snack. After that, I’ll give you a tour of the entire facility. Then he wants you to have lunch with Priscilla from PR, and then he’s blocked out an hour to meet with you later this afternoon—Nyla? Nyla? Where are you going…?!”

  Jason breaks off from his rundown of today’s itinerary when I make a sharp left and head toward the red reception area. “Right over here, you say?”

  “Yes, but you’re not scheduled to meet with him until later! And you still haven’t read over today’s plan!”

  Wow, Go’s got this whole office twisted up in his need to plan everything out, I think as I continue toward the desk.

  A rotund guy, who I assume is a second assistant, pops up from behind the reception desk like a groundhog: “Hi, I’m Nyla,” I tell him.

  “I know who you are,” he answers. “But you’re not scheduled to meet with Go until two. Unless there was a new plan sent out. Was there a new plan sent out? Did I miss it?”

  The new guy comes around the desk to where Jason and I are standing, seemingly terrified at the prospect.

  “No,” Jason answers, and he doesn’t bother to keep the irritation out of his voice as he informs him, “She just wants to see Go. Like, right now see him.”

  “But the plan is—”

  “I know, Chris. I told her that! But she’s going off plan anyway.”

  “So it’s just down this hallway, right?” I ask, continuing on without them.