Rebel Soul Final, page 10
The lobby is so quiet that I damn near throw my phone across the room when the sound of raised voices penetrates silence. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Colton barks, sounding angrier than I’ve ever heard.
“It’s a good idea and you know it!” West shouts back.
I have a feeling neither of them realize they have an audience.
“It’s a train wreck waiting to happen!”
Something slams in the distance. “It’s perfect. She meets nearly every box on my list—”
“You need to think about this! If things go south—”
“They won’t!” West roars. “If she agrees, this is the perfect solution. I’ll meet the provisions of my trust and she—”
“She what?” Colton asks. “What’s in it for her?”
Silence follows, and I can’t help but wonder if they’re talking about me.
West speaks again, and though this time his voice is softer, it still carries. “If she agrees, we can skip the auditions. If I can convince her to say yes, to help me…” He trails off, leaving the thought unfinished. “We already know there’s chemistry there, which makes everything easier. I…I asked her to come by.”
“When?” Colton barks just as the receptionist returns, coffee in hand.
“Oh my,” she murmurs. “Let me go deal with them. I’ll let them know you’re here, too.”
She scampers around the wall behind the desk, down a hallway I didn’t even know existed. “Your nine o’clock is here,” she says primly, “and you two idiots have given her quite the show.”
Two masculine groans trickle into the space, and I chuckle.
Blondie returns. “Mr. Larson will see you now.” I stand. “Oh, I’m Margaret, by the way; it’s nice to meet you.” We shake hands, and she guides me back to West’s office.
If I thought the lobby was grand, it has nothing on this space. An oversized desk takes up most of the far wall, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves making up another. There’s a gold bar cart in the corner and a stunning navy blue velvet sofa dead center, and tying it all together is a massive sheepskin rug.
West is at the bar cart, decanter in hand, while Colton is on the couch, rubbing his temples.
“Have fun,” Margaret whispers before heading back out to her post.
When neither man says anything, I do. “So, what’s this about?”
“Nothing, it’s a mistake,” Colton barks.
“It’s not a mistake. She’s perfect.”
“It’s a goddamn travesty,” Colton replies, his tone all vinegar.
“Um, excuse me. I am right fucking here, and one of you better start talking.”
The two men exchange a meaningful look. “Okay,” West starts. Colton shakes his head, but West pays him no mind. “My grandfather passed away recently—”
“I’m so sorry,” I interrupt.
He waves a dismissive hand. “He was a miserable, manipulative old bastard who makes Brock’s dad look almost saintly.” I recoil, because Everett Larson is a monster. “As I was saying, he passed away and left my Mimi Jean’s estate to me, along with some accounts.”
A beat of silence passes, and I just know whatever he’s about to say will be huge.
“In order to gain access to these things, there are conditions that must be met, and I only have a year to do so.”
Ohhh. I’ve read books like this. “What? You need a wife? I’ll do it.”
Both men stare at me like I’ve lost my marbles, and maybe I have. I mean, I’m about to start doing porn and just offered myself to marry my roommate. I think I need a drink.
West drains his glass and pours himself another. “Actually, I don’t need a wife.”
“What do you need then?” I ask, shifting on my feet.
Colton mutters something under his breath.
“A womb. I need a womb.”
I reel back. “You need a what now?”
“The trust says he must produce an heir before he turns twenty-five.”
I’m still not computing. “What?”
“A baby. I have to have a baby.”
My gears start spinning again—in overtime. “You goddamn asshole! You…you did this on purpose! You knew!” Tears fill my eyes and panic claws at my chest. “You knew!”
West approaches me, drink in hand. “I swear, it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“And what is she thinking, West?” Colton asks, rising from the couch.
My vision swims as the men close in on me. I snatch West’s drink from his hand, gulp it down, and shove the glass back into his hands. “I…I thought. You. We…I thought.” I can’t seem to string together a coherent sentence for the life of me, but that’s probably because it currently feels like everything I know is crumbling around me and I’m trapped in the ruins.
“Stacia.” West says my name softly, but I’m not falling for it.
“Answer me this: did you intentionally not use a condom?”
“No!” West shouts simultaneously to Colton yelling, “What?”
My heart is racing and I feel faint. I need to get out of here. My gut says to trust him and to listen, but my brain says there’s too much evidence stacked against him.
The murderous look in Colton’s eyes isn’t helping either. So, I do the only thing I can think of.
I run.
Chapter Nineteen
West
“I hate to say I—”
“I swear to fucking God, Colton, if you say I told you so, I’ll lose my shit.”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying; this thing had train wreck written all over it.”
“No. It doesn’t,” I state petulantly. I know I’m right. I know Stacia is the perfect baby mama. She is the definition of low-key. She’s fucking gorgeous. She’s smart, driven, talented, tenacious. I know she doesn’t have any health issues and that she isn’t crazy. Sure, what’s happening with her dad is unfortunate, but she is adamant he’s innocent. Maybe it makes me a fool, but I believe her. “She’s perfect.”
Colton pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly through clenched teeth. “You’re chasing a pipe dream. I get that she’s hot and you apparently fucked her already—without a condom, I might add. But she’s not it, man. You saw how badly she just reacted.”
“Yeah, because she thinks I fucking played her. She thinks I tried knocking her up intentionally without consent. Any woman in their right mind would react badly to that, dumbass.”
“Only dumbass here is you. In what universe is arranging a pregnancy with your roommate and friend a good plan?”
I stare at him blankly. “In all of them. Think about it; she already lives with me—check. She is someone I trust. And I know having her be a part of the rest of my life won’t be a hardship.”
Colton sighs. “Fine. Maybe you’re right. But, she’s probably on her way home to pack her shit and leave. So.” He shrugs. “You might wanna go after her.”
Shit. He’s right. I grab my keys from my desk. “Close up for me,” I call over my shoulder, never giving him a chance to argue.
I probably break about every traffic law on the way home, and by the looks of it, I somehow managed to beat her. How, I don’t know, but I’m not going to complain.
Inside, I park myself on the couch so that when she comes in, I can catch her.
Minutes pass, and she doesn’t show. So, I call her; she sends me straight to voice mail. Fuck—I’m well and truly in the doghouse. Desperate, I text her.
Me: Stacia, it’s not what you think. Where are you?
Twice.
Me: Let’s just talk. Please give me the chance to explain.
But still, she doesn’t answer. And she’s had plenty of time to come home, so my guess is she’s not coming back, at least not today.
Anxiety and guilt churn in my gut as I dial one last time. Still, nothing. I feel like a crazy-ass stalker, but the thought of her being alone and upset, especially because of something I did…it fucking rattles me all the way down to my soul.
Unable to sit and wait, I head back out to my car, dialing Brock on the way. “You done fucked up, man,” he answers, confirming my suspicions as to where Stacia is.
“It’s a misunderstanding.”
“I’m sure it—” There’s a scuffle before a new voice comes through the line.
“Listen here, you little dick weasel.” Abby Jane is in full-on guard dog mode, and while I love that Stacia has such a fiercely loyal friend, I really hate being on the receiving end of her anger. “Stacia doesn’t want to talk to you. She doesn’t want to see you. She doesn’t even want to hear your name. I mean, really! I thought I knew you—but you’re a no good, heartless prick, and you can fuck. Right. Off. Oh, and in case you were wondering, you’re no longer welcome here.”
She hangs up before I can reply, and when I call back, it goes straight to voice mail. However, a grin fights its way free, because now I know for sure where she is, and there’s nothing—not even a feisty, blue-haired pixie—that’s going to stand in my way.
The entire drive to Brock and AJ’s place, I hype myself up. With every turn, I tell myself she’ll listen. At each stop sign, I convince myself that she has to see things my way. And at the stoplights? There I fool myself into believing that maybe she’s already over it and laughing it up with AJ. Yeah, no, I know that’s a load of shit. I’m not completely delusional.
A stream of doubt begins to trickle down from my subconscious on the elevator ride up. And as I knock on the door, I worry I’m making a mistake.
“Jockstrap, grab your wallet!” The door opens. “The pizza—what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Don’t slam the door!” I yell, wedging my foot between the door and frame.
“I told you—you’re not welcome here.”
“Please.” My shoulders slump. “Just…let me talk to her. If she tells me to leave, I will. I’m begging you, Abby Jane. Please.”
She must hear the truth in my words, because instead of telling me off or stomping on my foot, AJ opens the door, allowing me to enter. “If she doesn’t want to see you or asks you to leave, you’re out of here, got it?” I nod. “Good. Wait here.”
I hover near the door, nerves blasting through my system like a rocket launching into space, as I wait to see what Stacia decides. Finally, after what feels like three lifetimes, both she and AJ emerge from the hallway.
“Stacia—”
“You have fifteen minutes.” AJ nods to the couch. “Use them wisely.”
We each grab an opposite end of the couch. Stacia’s eyes are watery, and her cheeks splotchy. “Are you okay?” I ask lamely.
She huffs. “What do you think?”
“I…I swear this is a massive misunderstanding. Will you hear me out? Please?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
I take a deep breath. “Stacia, what happened between us last night was not planned or premeditated at all. I didn’t seek you out with the intention of fucking you. I would never—and I mean never—disrespect you or any other woman by trying to trap them with a pregnancy.
“And yes, I realize that sounds like a load of shit, given the circumstances. I swear on my life—my health, my business, my Mimi Jean’s grave—what happened between us was legit. I was so caught up in the moment—in you—that protection didn’t even cross my mind. All I could think about was how you’d sound with me inside you.
“I know you feel deceived, but that was never my intention. I respect the hell out of you and wouldn’t lie to you like that. Please. Please believe me.”
Stacia releases a shuddery breath. “I—I have some questions.”
I scoot a little closer. “Anything.”
“Ten women…why were you and Colton…?”
She leaves her sentence unfinished, but I know what she’s asking. “We were interviewing potential baby mamas.”
Stacia sucks in a sharp breath. “You really didn’t plan it? Or at least plan to ask me?”
“Honestly, no. The thought didn’t even occur to me until after we’d already fucked.”
“You’re…clean, right?” she asks, ducking her head before rushing to add, “I totally am. I was checked at my last gyno appointment. It was four months ago, but I haven’t been with anyone except you since.”
“Clean as a whistle.”
She looks relieved, and honestly, I am, too.
Stacia shifts uncomfortably, and I know the big question is coming. “Explain why you…need…to have a baby?”
“You already know, from everything Brock and AJ went through, the Larson clan aren’t exactly…sane. Or cuddly. Or kind. Except my Mimi Jean. She was the best part of my childhood. If it weren’t for her, I probably wouldn’t be here.”
Stacia’s face softens a fraction. “What do you mean?”
“My parents liked the idea of having a kid. All of their friends were doing it, so they did, too. But the actuality of it was not for them. They had a nanny until my mother caught Dad fucking her; after that, she refused to hire another and I was left to fend for myself. If I wanted food, I found it; I lived off of Goldfish crackers and Cheerios. I drank water from the bathtub faucet. I literally never left the house unless it was for a special occasion. I was a prop. Brought out and put on display when needed, then tucked away and forgotten.”
Stacia’s eyes are wide and glassy, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“Eventually, I lost so much weight that my Mimi Jean started asking questions—ones my parents couldn’t answer. She demanded right there on the spot for them to let me live with her—and they agreed, as long as I still was present when needed, to play the part of a loving son. Isn’t that some shit?” My voice breaks a little as the tidal wave of their abandonment crashes over me. Even still, it hurts. The fact that they could just give me away so easily—even if it was for the best—fucking hurts.
“Anyway, Mimi Jean took me in, no questions asked. Her husband—my dad’s Dad—wasn’t happy about it, but he loved her and tolerated me. Well, at least until I was around sixteen. She passed away the day after my birthday, and he didn’t waste a second shipping me back home. He couldn’t stand being in their house without her, but couldn’t bear to get rid of it either, so he sealed it up and moved. Those eleven years were the best of my life. Every single childhood toy, photograph, and memory is tied up in my Mimi Jean’s estate.
“When he died, he left the estate to me in a trust. But the only way I can access it is if I have a baby before my next birthday. So yes, while I desperately need an heir, I would never force it onto anyone—especially you.”
In an unexpected but oh-so-needed move, Stacia reaches over and takes my hand. Her thumb brushes over the top, soothing the storm raging inside of me. “I…I don’t know what to say, West.”
I look up from our joined hands, locking my stare onto hers. “Say you believe me. That you forgive me. That you’ll come home.”
“I do believe you,” she whispers, her voice shaky. “And there’s nothing to forgive.”
As corny as it sounds, my heart soars. “Really?”
She squeezes my hand. “Yeah, really.”
“So, you’ll come home?”
“Yeah, West, I will. But I won’t have your baby.”
“You sure?” I ask, laying on the charm.
Her newly found grin falters for a second. “Yeah, like seventy-six percent positive.”
My first genuine smile of the day peeks. I answer her now the same way I did last night. “I’ll take those odds.”
Chapter Twenty
Stacia
It’s been two weeks since the whole baby mama debacle went down and life with West ever since has been…interesting. He ended up not going forward with any of his interviews. Turns out he’s pretty much dead set on cajoling me into agreeing to be more than just his roommate—he wants me as his wombmate.
On my first night back, he treated us to a catered five-star dinner, which was a definite step up from our usual diet of takeout and college-esque type cuisine—aka Ramen and Uncrustables.
The following morning, he brought me coffee in bed with a note reading: if you were my baby mama, this would be your daily wake-up call. I thanked him and sent him on his way, and despite my refusal, he still brings me a piping mug of goodness every morning.
The past two Wednesdays, he’s had flowers sent to Beauty Box. Oh, and not just for me, but a bouquet for each of my coworkers as well. Apparently Joy is a little traitor who’s easily swayed by a sexy voice and veiny forearms. The truth is, I can’t even blame her, because West’s muscular, ropey arms are a freaking drool-worthy work of art.
Oh, and he even had dinner delivered to the studio one night when we were there late working on a group of ladies who came in to get prettied up for their friend’s fiftieth birthday.
Last night, we did our usual dinner and a movie, and the conniving bastard snuck in a foot rub toward the end. At first, I was like, jackpot! But then he started shooting me sly glances that said I’d do this nightly if you let me knock you up. Once I caught on, I yanked both of my feet out of his lap and moved to the far end of the couch. He pouted like a scolded puppy for the rest of the movie, which kind of made me smile.
Now, the weekend is upon us, and I’m shockingly off. Which is actually a blessing, as I have super important plans at noon. Fingers crossed. For obvious reasons, things with Virtual Kitty didn’t pan out. West tried offering me a corporate job with them, but I know it was out of some sort of misplaced guilt because the only thing I’d be qualified to do in that office is fetch coffee.
“Knock, knock,” West calls out before stepping into my bedroom. Clad in only his boxers with my coffee in hand, he looks as though he was sent by the fertility goddess herself to test my steadfastness.
Judging from the way my ovaries are screaming, it’s working. Luckily, my brain is stronger and far more sensible.
“Got any plans today?” he asks, taking a seat on the edge of my bed.
“I have a job interview,” I murmur, inhaling the delicious aroma of my espresso mingling with West’s spicy scent. The two combined are basically an aphrodisiac; clearly the universe is testing me.
