Talking Dirty With the Boss(26)

Shit. And damn. And hell. And all the other bloody swear words in the history of creation.

First peeing on a stick, then pregnancy. There were no words to encompass how awesome this evening was. None at all.

And she couldn’t even combat the shock with a healthy glass of wine. Or escape to a club. Shopping for pretty dresses was now way off the agenda, and going to late-night parties would soon become the stuff of legend.

Not that she’d been doing so much of that lately since she’d been in good-girl mode. Saving her butt off in preparation for clearing her credit card debt and bank loans. She hadn’t gone shopping or out partying. She’d been staying home and scouring the web for art classes instead. Planning her new, long-put-off career as an artist…

A career that she would have to put on hold yet again.

WTG, girl. So much for seizing the day.

A buzz came from the vanity where she’d left her little red silk evening purse. Pushing back the wall of panic hell-bent on crashing down over the top her, Marisa got up and took her phone out of the purse. There was a text from Christie on the screen.

Dude, we’re outside. Get your butt down here.

Oh crap. Now she was going to have go out and see people. Interact as though nothing had happened. Because she couldn’t tell anyone. What would she say, anyway?

“Hey, did you know I banged the boss and the condom broke and now I’m pregnant? Funny, huh?”

Marisa put a hand over her eyes, overwhelmed for a second.

You stupid idiot. You can’t tell anyone. Not yet, at least.

But she’d have to tell Luke, wouldn’t she? And she’d have to tell him tonight.

The cold grip of fear tightened long fingers around her heart as her phone buzzed again. Probably another text from Christie wondering where she was.

Her hand dropped. No, she couldn’t give in to the panic or the fear. She had to pull herself together and deal with this….somehow.

Like telling Luke?

Marisa let out a breath, then picked up the pregnancy test stick and put it in her purse.

Yeah. Like telling Luke.

Half an hour later, Christie glanced at the full glass of wine in front of Marisa, and gave her a concerned frown. “Are you okay, Mar?”

Marisa stopped fiddling with her napkin and glanced at Christie, who was sitting beside her. “Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

The old art deco cinema was buzzing with the noise of the crowd, all here for Caleb’s fund-raising auction. Lots of couture and tuxes, famous faces and diamonds, the hum of conversation almost overwhelming the background music that was playing.

The first lot of people and their skills had been auctioned off already—Joseph and his six-month mentorship included—and now they were all waiting for the second half to start.

The second half that included Caleb.

And Luke.

Marisa made a reflexive grab toward her wineglass as panic threatened again, only stopping herself at the last second. She’d tried to find him to talk to him about the pregnancy as soon as she’d gotten to the theater, but by the time they’d arrived, all the bachelors and bachelorettes being auctioned had already been taken backstage. She was going to have to find him after the auction had finished.

Christie noticed the move and gave the wineglass a meaningful glance. “Hmmm. Well, your glass is full for a start. Which isn’t like you.”

“I don’t feel like wine tonight.”

Her best friend’s brows lowered. “Hey, you’re not okay, are you?”

“Why? Because I don’t want some wine?”

“It’s not just the wine. You seem a little pale, too.”

Marisa bit back the snappish words that threatened to spill out. Because it wasn’t Christie’s fault that this had happened. Oh no, it was all hers. Hers and Luke’s. Instead she said, “I’m fine, St. John. Really.” Purposefully using Christie’s maiden name—Marisa’s old nickname for her friend—to show her how fine she was.

“Mar.”

“I thought we’d agreed you’d always be St. John to me?” They’d both decided, after Christie had married Joseph and dropped the St. John, that “Ashton” didn’t quite have the same ring to it.

“Sure. When you tell me the truth about what’s going on with you.”

Marisa fiddled with her napkin again. “Y’know, I’m not liking this more assertive side to you.”

“Hey, I learned from a master.” Christie grinned. “Aka you.”

Kind of made sense now why Christie had always been so peeved at her whenever Marisa had tried to extract Joseph gossip, back when her friend and the tech billionaire had first hooked up. Now Marisa knew what it was like to be poked and prodded like a shellfish being opened with a knife. Hideous.