Making His Baby(75)

“Who says I’m interested in you?” I stand and lean over her. She smells sweet, tinged with something dark. It’s my favorite smell. “Who says I’ll take your whiskey and then let you touch my dick?”

“I think you hate David as much as I do. Wouldn’t it be worth it, then? Fuck him over by sleeping with me?”

I don’t like where this is going. I grab her chair and spin her around to face me. I hook a finger under her chin and pull her up to look at me.

“What are you trying to pull? I’m smarter than you, Kate. Don’t cross me.”

“You don’t scare me.” She breathes.

“I should.”

She pulls something out of her tiny purse and sets it on the counter. She shoots the rest of her glass and stands so we’re almost humping already. I can feel every inch of her pressed against me and my pants run tight.

“I’m in room 1275.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you, Kate.”

“I never said anything about sleeping, Eric.”

I palm the key and stick it in my shirt pocket. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”





CHAPTER SEVEN



KATE



Making good decisions is one of those things I always grappled with: what, exactly, made something a “good” decision or a “bad” one? Everything is so subjective and someone’s moral tailspin doesn’t always jive with mine.

Consequences aren’t always bad things, either. Maybe going to jail for a weekend keeps someone from getting into a car wreck or hides them from a serial killer. Maybe a house fire frees a family from financial burden. Maybe getting caught in a compromising situation means a jackass named David can finally abandon the wife he kept for publicity more than anything, and paying out millions is just a means to an end.

You know. Whatever.

I stare at myself in the soft hotel bathroom lighting and take a deep breath. What I’m planning could sit on either side of the moral decision spectrum. Legally, I’m still a married woman. Legally, this could be considered adultery. Legally, my lawyer would probably kill me.

But David has already broken our bed. We are already separate, independent entities. We are only tied together in name and tree scrapings, nothing else. There is no more weight to this marriage that ended over a year ago.

“Shut up. Stop thinking so much. Put on the goddamn lipstick.” Lily yells at me over speakerphone. “God help me, woman, if I need to come up there and do it for you, I will.”

“He might get off to that.”

“Probably. But no.” Lily makes a gagging noise. “I’m not getting involved in your mess, Kate. I’m just the instigator, the enabler. You put that nightie on, swipe on some lipstick, and sex-kitten your hair. Fuck that man like you’ve been fucking him in your daydreams.”

“Aren’t you supposed to talk me out of this?” I sigh and line my lips. I almost feel cheap, like I’m selling myself. But wouldn’t that mean I’m in charge of my own agency? That’s almost empowering. “You aren’t supposed to coerce me into it.”

“Shut up. How much alcohol have you had?”

“Enough.”

“Clearly not. I’ll have them send up another bottle.”

“Pinot Grigio, please. I don’t want to stain this thing.” I gesture pointlessly to the white lacy nightie I’m wearing. “My dry cleaner would hate me then too.”

“Everyone’s dry cleaner hates them. It’s a fact of life. Jamie will be up there in three minutes. Chug it and do the deed, girl. If you can pull this off, you’ll have the best revenge possible. We can watch David’s head explode together.”

“Chilled, please.”

“You’re lucky I love you. Three minutes.” Lily hangs up.

My best friend managing one of the swankiest hotels in Los Angeles comes with a lot of perks. Like private doors and free rooms and wine. I need a lot more wine.

A steward, nametag Jamie, shows up in exactly three minutes with a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio. Not top shelf, but nothing to sniff at, either. I fill up a wine glass to the top and gulp it down while watching the clock.

Almost thirty minutes passed. What if he doesn’t show? That’d make for an even more awkward event in the courtroom.

“Oh, hello David. Hello lawyer I propositioned but was turned down by. Hello judge who now thinks I’m a whore.”

Like Goodnight Moon, but so much worse.

I’m halfway through the bottle, lounging on a lush chaise and envisioning my demise, when the door makes a clicking sound and swings open. Framed in the hallway lighting stands the man who has made me crazy for a dozen different reasons for the last several weeks.