Pursued(11)

"Oh, right. Of course. I keep mine in my desk." Desi turned to open the  drawer where she kept her personal stuff and pulled out the box of  tampons she'd put in there weeks ago. But as she opened the box, it hit  her that it was unopened. As in it had never been opened.

But that was impossible. She'd brought the box to work eight or nine  weeks ago, when she'd used up the last of the old one. How could she  have not had a period in the past nine weeks? And, more important, how  could she not have noticed? She'd never had the most regular periods,  despite being on the pill, but she'd never gone this long without one  before, either. Alarm bells should have sounded at one point or another.  They were definitely sounding now.

"Are you okay?" Stephanie asked as she reached out a hand to steady Desi's suddenly shaky form. "You've gone pale."                       
       
           



       

Desi didn't answer. She was too busy doing the math in her head. And  then redoing it. And then redoing it again. But no matter how she looked  at it, no matter how she counted, she should have had a period before  now. Even worse, if she'd been close to her regular schedule last month,  she would have been ovulating right about the time she and Nic had met.

Her knees gave way at the realization, and she probably would have  fallen if Stephanie hadn't shoved the desk chair under Desi at the last  second.

"Are you okay?" her friend asked again.

"I don't know." The words sounded hoarse as she forced them out of her  too-tight throat. It wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible. She had  been on the pill for years. And except for that first time on the  balcony, she and Nic had used condoms. Which shouldn't have mattered in  terms of pregnancy because she was on. The. Pill.

Except … except, she hadn't had a period. And-she took stock of her body,  which felt totally normal except for the low-grade dizziness she'd been  fighting for a few days-she had none of the signs that she would soon  be getting a period. No cramps. No aching. No spotting. Nothing.

Nothing but dizziness. Nothing but a missed period. Nothing but-oh,  God. Ohgodohgodohgod. For a second she thought she was actually going to  have to put her head between her legs.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" Stephanie asked, crouching down beside her. "Are you sick?"

Desi laughed a little hysterically then. "No, I'm not sick." And she  wasn't, though she was very afraid that she was going to get sick if she  didn't stave off this dizziness. And since the last thing she wanted to  do was throw up in the middle of her office, she started breathing in  through her nose and out through her mouth in the same steady rhythm  she'd once seen a pregnant professor use.

It actually worked and in less than a minute she was feeling a lot  steadier. At least physically. "Um, maybe you should go to lunch without  me," she told Stephanie as she thrust the whole box of tampons at her.  All she could think of was getting to the nearest drugstore and buying a  pregnancy test. It would come back negative-of course it would come  back negative because she was on the pill-but she needed to see the  minus sign. Or the blank box. Or whatever the hell it was she was  supposed to see, or not see, to prove to herself that she wasn't  pregnant with Nic Durand's baby.

Except something in her wildly erratic behavior must have given her  away-could it have been her death grip on the box of unopened  tampons?-because Stephanie hauled her gently to her feet. Then whispered  softly, "The convenience store on the corner should have a pregnancy  test. If you'd like, I can run and get it for you."

Desi should have said she was fine, that she appreciated the offer but  she could get the pregnancy test herself. Or better yet, she should have  pretended that she had no idea what Stephanie was talking about. But  the truth was, she was suddenly exhausted and shaky and terrified. So  terrified. The last thing she wanted to do at that moment was to walk  down the street and buy a damn pregnancy test that might change the  course of the rest of her life.

And so she said yes to Stephanie's very kind offer. And then, after  fumbling a twenty out of her wallet, she sat at her desk as her friend  took off for the street as fast as her four-inch heels could carry her.

Desi didn't know how long Stephanie was gone, but she knew she didn't  move, didn't think, barely even breathed in the time between when her  friend left and when she returned, a small brown paper bag in her hand.  How could Desi move when it felt as if her whole life hung in the  balance?

"Go do it now," Stephanie urged as she handed over the bag. "It's better to know than not know."

Desi agreed, which was how she found herself alone in a bathroom stall,  peeing on a small white stick. According to the directions, there'd be  one line no matter what-pregnant or not pregnant. But if she was  pregnant …

Except, she didn't have to wait five minutes. She didn't even have to  wait one. By the time she had pulled her pants back up, there were two  purple lines. Two very distinct purple lines.

She was pregnant with Nic Durand's baby, and she didn't have a clue what she was supposed to do about it.





Six

"Nic, there's a reporter on line two for you," his secretary said from  where she was standing in the doorway to his office. "A Darlene  Bloomburg from the Los Angeles Times."

He didn't bother glancing up from his laptop, where he was reviewing  his marketing team's suggestions for Bijoux's winter ad campaigns. It  was only July, but he wanted to ensure they made a huge splash with the  holiday crowd. It was the next step in his plan to make Bijoux diamonds a  household name. "Pass her over to Ollie," he suggested, referring to  the head of Bijoux's public relations department. "She can get whatever  she needs from him."                       
       
           



       

"I tried that," Katrina told him. "But she's determined to talk to you."

Something about the urgency in her voice snagged his attention, had him  looking up from the proposed ad campaign and trying to figure out what  he was missing. His secretary was a thirty-year veteran in her field,  and totally unflappable most days, so the fact that she was standing in  front of him, wringing her hands and biting her lip, didn't bode well  for any of them.

"Is there something going on that I should know about?" he asked.

"I don't know. But I looked her up when she was so insistent, and she's  the managing editor for the Times. Not the typical reporter we get  calling us for a quote or some information on the diamond business."

"You think she's fact-checking an article about Bijoux?"

She nodded nervously. "I think she might be, yes."

"How come I didn't know the West Coast's largest paper was writing an article about us?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I'm going to find out. Tell the reporter-what's her name?"

"Darlene Bloomburg, sir."

"Tell Bloomburg that I'll be with her in a couple minutes. In the meantime, get Ollie in here, will you, please?"

"Right away, Nic."

Less than two minutes later, his PR director walked through the door,  looking calm and collected despite the fact that he'd hightailed it over  here from the other end of the floor.

"You know anything about this story?" Nic asked the other man.

Ollie shook his head. "No, nothing. But I'm sure it's nothing to worry  about. Probably just a puff piece. We are in the middle of wedding  season, after all."

"Maybe." But something felt off to Nic about that answer. Managing  editors didn't usually need to fact-check fluff pieces. They had copy  editors for stuff like that. "Let's just find out, shall we?" He reached  for the phone and put it on speaker.

"This is Nic Durand."

"Hello, Mr. Durand. My name is Darlene Bloomburg and I'm managing editor of the Los Angeles Times."

"Please, call me Nic. It's nice to meet you, Darlene. What can I do for you?"

"I'm calling because we'll be running an article about Bijoux on the  front page of Friday's edition and I wanted to check some facts as well  as give you a chance to make a statement about the article's claims."

An alarm bell went off in his head and his eyes shot to Ollie, who  looked as clueless as Nic felt. "You want me to make a statement."

"If you'd like to, yes."

"About what, may I ask?"

"About the fact that the Times has uncovered some credible information  that proves Bijoux has been passing off conflict diamonds as  conflict-free ones for several years."

The single alarm bell turned into a full-fledged five-alarm brigade.  "That's impossible," he said. "What's your source?" Beside him, Ollie  started turning red and making a stop gesture with his hands. Nic  ignored him as the top of his own head threatened to blow off.