Tangled Innocence

Chapter 4 Episode 4

“Just because some of my DNA has inadvertently found its way into yourwomb, Ms. Turner, doesn’t make you any less my employee. It doesn’tmake me any less your boss.”

My jaw clenches. “I’m off the clock.”

“I told you when I hired you: this job is twenty-four-seven. Much like thissecond job you’ve decided to take on.” He tilts his chin toward my bellyjust in case I was unclear on what this “second job” might consist of.

My heart is thrumming hard against my chest. I’m so sick of playing it cool.I’ve got a breakdown percolating in the center of my chest and the pressureto release is building. His presence is not helping matters whatsoever.

Of all the men in the world, why did it have to be him?

“What are we going to do?”

I want to cry, but those sterling silver eyes of his leave zero room forvulnerability. “Let me make one thing clear, Ms. Turner: there is no we.There is you. There is me. And then there’s the fetus.”

The word makes me flinch. Fetus. It’s cold and clinical; it doesn’t captureeven a fraction of all the emotions bound up in this little bundle inside ofme. “Let me make one thing clear, Mr. Egorov: I’m keeping this baby.”

“‘Why’? Is that a real question?”

He presses forward, sending a fresh wave of his scent wafting toward me.“That sorry excuse for a doctor made a stupid mistake. This is not the routethat either one of us was planning into parenthood. So why continue withit?”

For the first time since my pregnancy was confirmed, my hand lands on mystomach. “Because, mistake or not, this baby is mine.”

My forearms erupt in goosebumps. Mine: it’s not a thought I had at all inthe months preceding Rose and Jared’s deaths. It was always their baby,

never mine. There was never a moment when I felt any sense of possessionover the child I’d agreed to carry for my sister and brother-in-law.

Then again—back in those days, I wasn’t pregnant yet.

And they were still alive.

“Wren.” My eyes snap to Dmitri’s. It throws me for a loop any time he saysmy first name, and now, it’s happened twice in one day. “Be reasonable.You can have another baby under better circumstances. I’d pay for theprocedure myself, if that’s what it takes.”

Hot color rushes to my cheeks. I’m undecided on if I’m more shocked orinsulted by the offer. “I presume that, since you were using the samefertility clinic as me, you wanted to have a baby, too.” He says nothingapart from flattening his lips into a thin line. I take that as a yes but withcaveats. “And yet you seem intent on trying to convince me to get rid ofthis baby. Am I to assume that this is not about the baby at all? This is aboutme?”

He reclines in his chair and starts tapping the table with one finger. In thequiet of the cafe, it feels unnerving. I can only assume that’s intentional.

“I’m not good enough to carry your baby?” I press. “Is that it?”

His eyebrows cave inwards in a deep scowl. “If it were solely a biologicalquestion of carrying my baby, I’d tolerate—” Tolerate, jeez, what agentleman. “—having you as my surrogate. But I’m guessing you’re notwilling to relinquish your maternal rights.”

“No,” I snap forcefully. “I’m not.”

He nods. “Which is precisely why I’m suggesting that it might be simpler tojust end things here. So that we don’t have to resort to the hassle ofcoparenting.”

That’s the stuff of nightmares.

“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath. “Where’s the waitress? I need anotherdrink.”

Ironically, the moment Dmitri glances towards the bar, a waitressmaterializes not even five seconds later.

“Vodka for me,” he orders with a smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes.“And for the lady —”

“Rum and Coke. Hold the rum.”

The waitress doesn’t look amused by my lame joke, but Dmitri does, if onlyfor a moment. If his mouth relaxes any more, he might be in danger ofsmiling. And that’s saying something, because a smile from Dmitri Egorovis like sighting f*****g Bigfoot.

The waitress throws some seriously suggestive side-eye at Dmitri as sheleaves. But I’m pretty sure he doesn’t notice because he’s focused solely onme.

His attention doesn’t feel like the flattering variety, though. It feels more ofthe how-am-I-gonna-handle-this-inconvenient-little-problem variety.

“Listen… I’m not looking for a co-parent,” I say haltingly. “If that’s whyyou thought I wanted to meet, it’s not. I guess I… I just wanted to knowwho the father of my baby was.”

He’s staring intently at me through half-lidded eyes. “I’d like to reiterate: Iam not a sperm donor; I am the father. You don’t get to meet me and walkaway and never have to think about me again.”

I snort quietly. Fat chance of that. Even if he weren’t the baby daddy Inever wanted, Dmitri is still the bosshole from hell. And somehow, fate hasseen fit to tie us together in one of the most intimate ways possible.

The most ironic thing about all of this? Fate has me knocked up with DmitriEgorov’s baby and we skipped right over what would have been the funpart. Which is what I’m sure would have been hot, sweaty, passionate s*x.

The kind of s*x that involved his teeth marks on parts of my body. My clawmarks on parts of his.

I meet that severe scowl of his with an unblinking gaze of my own. “Yeah,well, ditto.”

In Egorov Industries, he’s my boss and I’m his subordinate. But right here,right now? We’re on equal footing. I’m not about to let him intimidate ormanipulate me into letting him have all the control.

I guess coparenting has already begun.

I want to vomit at the sheer thought of it.

His lips press together in a hard line and he glances at his Patek Philippe asthough this meeting has been a gigantic waste of his time.

“So we find ourselves at an impasse.”

“First thing’s first: we need to make sure.”

Frowning, I start tapping at the table with my nails just like Dmitri wasdoing a moment ago. “Sure of what? Dr. Saeder confirmed it this morning.”

Dmitri’s lower lip curls with contempt. “You mean the same inept, ancientreptile who mixed up our samples? Forgive me if I’d prefer a secondopinion.”

I bite back a laugh. “Point taken. It’s just that they ran several tests —”

“The tests wouldn’t be for you; they would be to prove paternity. I need tomake sure the child you’re carrying is actually mine.”

Mine. It’s weird enough when I say it; it’s ten times weirder when he does.

There’s a whole lot of possessiveness there already. I can feel it skitteringalong my spine and, weirdly enough, it doesn’t feel totally paternal. Nor isit affectionate. More like… business-minded. Like we’re discussing hisintellectual property, not his possible child.

I suppose that’s the last hope I can cling to. If it turns out he’s not the father,then I can continue with this pregnancy without the burden of an arrogant,demanding, billionaire baby daddy strapped to my hip for the next eighteenyears.

If it turns out he is the father… well, then surely that entitles me to a fewextra months of maternity leave, right?

The waitress comes back with our drinks. My Coke on the rocks is offeredwithout so much as a glance in my direction. But Dmitri’s vodka is setdown with a smile that makes me want to roll my eyes until they nevercome back down.

“There you go, sir. Anything else I can get you?”

Those silver eyes slide to me. “Are you hungry, Wren?”

“N-no,” I stutter out of pure panic. I was mentally prepared for drinks witha stranger, not a whole meal with my boss. My survival instincts havealready kicked into flight mode. Run far away and never return, they’rescreaming. I just want to get back home to solidify my butt imprint on thesofa and finish up the half-eaten tub of Häagen-Dazs that’s calling out to mefrom the freezer.

I might have to take it easy on the fancy ice cream now that I’m with child,though. Babies are expensive.

“I’m good,” I add so as not to be rude. Then, reluctantly, “… Thanks.”

His face ripples with what I can only assume is relief. I try not to take thatpersonally. Just because he handles curveballs with an immaculate pokerface doesn’t mean he isn’t just as worried and uncomfortable as I am.

“This is why you seemed off this morning.” There it is again: that softnessin his face, same as I saw earlier today.

Just like then, it makes me terrifyingly uncomfortable.

My stomach twists. “Yes… I had just found out.”

For a moment, I consider telling him about everything that brought us here.About how this pregnancy was never meant to be about me. It was all for

them: the last two people in the world that I could call family.

But I clamp my mouth shut at the final moment and reach for my Cokeinstead. There’s no point in sharing the personal shitshow that is my lifewith Dmitri Egorov.

For one, he definitely doesn’t care.