Chapter 13

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Anya

T o say I'm apprehensive when I walk into the ob-gyn's office on Monday is an understatement. She wouldn't have insisted to see me in person if something wasn't wrong. On top of that, I had to call Ms. Price on Saturday and not only ask if I could come in to work late but also for an advance on my salary so that I could pay for the doctor's visit. She didn't like either, and that only adds to my anxiety.

The doctor stands from behind her desk when the secretary shows me into her office. She extends a hand and gives me a friendly smile. "Ms. Brennan, thank you for coming."

I clear my throat and shake her hand. "Thanks for making time to see me."

She points at the visitor's chair as she rounds her desk and takes her seat again. "Please, sit."

Settling on the edge of the chair, I clutch my handbag in my lap and wait for her to get settled. The calendar on the corner of the desk draws my attention. I add together the days of the months and multiply the total by the value of each day to calm me while she shifts papers around and pushes files aside.

After she pulls up something on her computer, she fits a pair of glasses and peers intently at the screen. "Are you still experiencing the dizzy spells?"

"Yes," I say, swallowing. "Is it serious?"

"Not if we manage the condition with a treatment."

My throat closes up. "What's wrong?"

"Your red blood cell count is on the low side." She looks at me, her warm smile intact. "Are you normally anemic?"

I frown. "No."

"It often happens with pregnancy. Either your diet is insufficient in iron, or your body isn't absorbing enough minerals." She glances at her screen again. "You said you suffered from nausea and vomiting. How's that going? Are you still sick?"

"Yes."

"Just in the morning?"

"All times of the day."

"Mm. That can also be a cause of not getting the nutrients you and your baby need to be healthy. Are you taking the vitamins I recommended?"

"I took the folic acid until my twelfth week." I couldn't afford the rest. "I thought eating a healthy diet would be enough."

Pulling a prescription pad closer, she scribbles something on the page. "You need to take an iron supplement. I'm going to prolong the folic acid vitamins until the end of your term as well." She tears off the page and hands it to me. "These are good brands. Take one of each every morning. We should do another blood test in two weeks to see if your red blood cell level has improved." Standing, she adds, "Call me if the dizziness persists."

The blood test I did on Friday cost a whopping five hundred dollars. With the consultation fee, the bill amounted to little less than seven hundred.

I stare at the sheet in my hands. I can barely afford to buy food. "What will happen if I don't take the supplements?"

A baffled look comes over her features. "If you don't get enough iron, the consequences can be serious for both you and the baby. When you have anemia, your body doesn't have enough healthy red blood cells to carry oxygen to your tissues and your baby. If untreated in severe cases like yours, it could increase the risk of complications such as preterm delivery."

"Thank you," I say through numb lips, getting to my feet. "I appreciate your time."

"You're welcome," she says, going to the door and opening it for me.

When I walk outside, I pause on the sidewalk. The morning is sunny and fresh, but I hardly notice the cooler weather or the pretty blue sky. Worry consumes me as I do a quick search for the supplements on my phone. The price of the vitamins makes me gasp. A hundred dollars may not seem like a lot to most people, but I'm broke. And I'll need another seven hundred for the follow-up visit and to repeat the tests. A grand should cut it.

Where am I going to get that kind of money? Livy already sacrificed too much of her own income for me. I can't take more charity from her. I feel guilty enough as it is about living in her apartment without paying a penny for rent.

The direness of the whole situation weighs me down. If I don't get employed permanently after my probation period, I won't even be able to pay the hospital fees for the delivery of my baby. I need the medical insurance and other fringe benefits that come with the job. In the meantime, I only have one choice, and I'm not looking forward to it. My pride is going to take a knock, but my baby's health is more important.

In the subway on the way to Manhattan, I replay that fateful event that changed the course of my life over in my head. The night the police found my mom drunk and beaten to a pulp on a park bench was the straw that broke the camel's back. She nearly died of alcohol poisoning. Of course, she had no recollection of what happened or who attacked her. When she finally came to with a drip in her arm in the hospital, the only thing she was worried about was her stash of alcohol the assailants had stolen, a stash that she'd bought with money she'd stolen from my purse.

That was the night I walked into a bar and ordered a drink. It wasn't something I usually did, not when I was living with an alcoholic mother and when the little money I had left would've been better spent on food. Everything just felt so hopeless. I'd hit rock bottom.

When the attractive blond man asked if I wanted another, I didn't say no. He was attentive and kind, offering me a shoulder to cry on. When he suggested we get a room, I didn't think twice. He wasn't wearing a ring, and I wasn't seeing anyone. I'd had a few dates but never a steady boyfriend. Sex up to then was mundane and predictable.

Not with him.

He was skilled and focused on my pleasure. We were both a little tipsy, but not so much that I didn't insist on using protection. He said he was unprepared because he was only there for a business meeting, and he didn't expect to meet anyone. He told me he didn't have a condom, but he promised to pull out. I should've refused, but it felt so good to lose myself in his arms, to simply forget for a while.

Afterward, he told me he wanted to see me again. My heart did a little jolt in my chest. He was older, more experienced, and clearly out of my league. That he was interested in me almost seemed too good to be true. He was charming, drop- dead handsome, wealthy, and kinky. I was broke, hopeless, and physically as well as emotionally drained. Meeting him was like a ray of sunshine in the darkness of my life.

He took my number and promised to call me.

Only, he never did.

For days, I searched the internet for Steven Clark. A few faces popped up, but none of them matched the man I'd met. Finally, I had to admit that I hadn't been ghosted. I'd been deceived.

The Steven Clark who took me to bed didn't exist.

At first, I was furious. I went back to the bar every night in the hope that he'd show up and I'd be able to confront him, but weeks went by, and he never returned. The barman I questioned said he wasn't a regular.

While my mom recovered in hospital, Livy did what she always did by standing in for the family I never had. One of her tenants moved upstate, and an apartment became available. She insisted I move into her building so that I could use the money I was paying for rent to admit my mom to the center the psychologist recommended. She told me I could stay for as long as I wanted, until I was back on my feet.

Out of options, I gave up the lease of the apartment in Brooklyn and moved into Livy's building in the Meat Packing District. The psychologist secured a place for my mom at the center through her contacts. My mom's stay isn't cheap, and the money I earned working as a cashier during the day and a waitress at night wasn't enough to cover the bill.

Livy came to my aid again, organizing me a better paying job with solid prospects at Mr. Lewis's firm. From my swollen breasts and queasy morning spells, I already had a suspicion that I was pregnant, but I didn't want to believe it. My luck simply couldn't be that bad, could it? I took the pregnancy test on the same day I saw his face in a newspaper article. Steven Clark turned out to be Evan Kearney, and he was married.

I tracked him down and called on him at his office. The man who received me was a far cry from the one I'd met in the bar. At first, he was surprised and apologetic, but when I told him I was pregnant, he bluntly told me to get rid of it before telling me he never wanted to see me again.

I regret many things about that warm summer evening, but I don't regret my baby. No matter how hard raising a child alone will be, I don't wish her away, not even for a second. I'll never hurt her like that. Whatever happens, I'm not going to turn into my mom.

At my stop in the Civic Center neighborhood, I get off and walk to the Supreme Court Building in a trance, lost in my memories and my worries. It's only when I enter the posh foyer that my insides twist.

Swallowing my pride, I lift my chin and barrel toward the reception desk before I can change my mind.

A pretty woman with a polished smile looks up from her computer. "Can I help you?"

It's not the receptionist who received me the first time I came here. She must be new, or maybe they work shifts.

"I'm here to see Evan Kearney."

"Justice Kearney?" She raises a brow, dragging a gaze over my simple white sundress. "Do you have an appointment?"

Compared to her power suit and the impeccable French roll of her hair, my no-name brand clothes and untamed curls come across as unrefined—inadequate even—but I don't let that deter me.

"No," I say in my best assertive voice. "But he'll see me."

Her smug smile says she doubts that as she picks up the phone and mentions my name. To be honest, I'm not so sure either. He may decide to have me thrown out.

As the receptionist listens to a reply, her eyebrows snap together. She purses her lips and points toward a bench next to the pillars. "You can wait over there."

I don't bother to thank her. A sense of déjà vu washes over me as I make my way across the floor.

I'm barely seated before an attractive blonde in a pale blue dress comes toward me. I recognize Evan's secretary from my first visit. Her gaze rests curiously on me just like it did on that day when I broke the news to Evan. My cheeks heat a little under her undisguised stare.

"Ms. Brennan," she says in a professional tone. "Please follow me."

She escorts me through security where a full-body scan is done and my bag is searched. When the security guard has handed me a visitor's badge to hang around my neck, she leads me to the big office on the second floor.

After rapping on the door, she opens it and sticks her head around the frame. "Your visitor is here."

She steps aside with an impersonal smile and lets me pass before closing the door.

Evan stands in front of his desk, his hands shoved in his pockets. Silence stretches as I battle to formulate the favor I came to ask. I don't miss how his gaze dips to my stomach for a fraction of a second before he fixes it with evident resolve on my face.

The uncomfortable quietness continues for another beat, and then we speak simultaneously.

"Anya."

"Thanks for seeing me."

A deep line runs between his eyebrows. "What are you doing here? I thought we agreed you wouldn't come to my office."

My hackles rise. "I can't go to your house, and as you never gave me your number?—"

He holds up a hand. Impatience infuses his tone. "We've been through this."

I take a deep, calming breath. "I wouldn't have bothered you at work if it wasn't necessary."

Tilting his head, he studies me with an expression that's not entirely unfriendly. "What's so important?" His brown eyes softens. "Do you want to grab a drink somewhere?" The seductive tone he takes is unmistakable. "We can talk about whatever is bothering you over lunch."

Right. "At a hotel?"

He flashes me a charming, boyish smile. "Anywhere you want. We can drive to the countryside and get some fresh air. I know a cozy retreat in the mountains."

"So you can get a room?" My smile is wry. "No thanks. Been there, done that. I'm not making the same mistake twice."

"Then why did you come?"

Licking my dry lips, I push down my pride and blurt out, "There's a small complication with the pregnancy."

All traces of amiability vanish from his face. He drops the charming act, his manner turning hostile and curt. "I told you to get rid of it."

"So you did." I cross my arms. "Even though you were well aware I didn't have medical insurance or money for an abortion."

He utters a disbelieving laugh. "That's what you want? Money for an abortion?"

"I explained why I could never do that. I haven't changed my mind."

"Then it's not my problem."

Dropping my arms at my sides, I ball my hands into fists. "This is very much your problem too."

"You were only too eager to open your legs, honey."

"It takes two to tango."

He perches on the edge of his desk and says with indifference, "I made my position clear. I told you I didn't want it."

I shouldn't let him get to me, but his nonchalance only irks me more. "After you came inside me."

"I don't recall you complaining." He smirks. "On the contrary, you begged me not to stop."

Anger surges inside me to burn hot with humiliation in my stomach. I didn't want to play dirty, knowing how something like this could destroy his family, and I never wanted to be the cause of that much pain, especially not for his children who are innocent. Yet a part of me argued his wife deserved to know who her husband truly is. After debating it for hours, I decided that wrecking five people's lives wasn't worth my justification. However, his refusal to own up to his actions infuriates me to the point that I can't stop myself from striking back.

"I could sue you for child support," I say, being that person I never wanted to be. "When I tell the court how you told me you were single and gave me a false name, your perfect reputation will be ruined."

He chuckles. "You could try. Who will the jury believe? A respectable justice or a little gold digger like you? After all, catching men by seducing them to fall pregnant runs in your family. Your mama taught you well."

My mouth drops open. I can't believe he used the most vulnerable part of myself that I shared with him against me. Then again, why am I surprised? He pretended to be someone he wasn't right from the start. Behind his caring, compassionate fa?ade hides a selfish, narcissistic man.

Shaking my head, I look at him with pity. "How do you even live with yourself?"

He checks his watch. "If there was nothing else, I have a busy schedule."

It's not the way in which he dismisses me as if I'm not worthy of his time that makes me back down. It's realizing that I never want anything from him. His very energy is toxic. He's every characteristic I dislike disguised in a pretty exterior and wrapped up in false charm. He's such a good actor. Such a skilled liar. He must be a damn sociopath.

"If that's what it's going to take," he says with a sigh, fishing his wallet from his pocket.

The sight of him pulling out a few hundred-dollar bills makes me sick. That's what I came to ask him for but not like this. What puts me off isn't that he has ten times the money I need as small change in his pocket, yet he wouldn't give it to me when our mutual actions could impact my health. I get that he doesn't want a money trail leading to his infidelity. I get why he didn't ask what the complication was. He doesn't care how it turns out for me. He doesn't give a damn about the welfare of the child he conceived. We mean nothing to him. It was just a game. Yes, I understand all that. What floors me is how the money he waves in my face makes me feel bought. Dirty. Like a prostitute.

My pride can't allow him to humiliate me like that. He's done it once. I won't allow him to do it again.

"You know what?" I say, spinning on my heel. "Forget it."

"Wait," he says when I grip the door handle.

I don't. I push the handle down and open the door.

In a few long strides, he's next to me, pressing a palm on the door to shut it. Thrusting the bills at me, he says, "Take it. This is what you came for. Just know one thing, there's no more where this came from. This is the last time you'll get anything from me."

"There will be no last time." I open the door wide enough for his secretary to see us from her desk. "There won't be a first time."

He clenches his jaw and lowers his hand, shoving the money into his pocket. In a second, the polite smile is back on his face, his manner jovial as he holds the door for me and says loud enough for his secretary to hear, "Thank you for the visit, Ms. Brennan." Winking, he adds, "Next time, remember to make an appointment."

God, but he's good.

I utter a pitiful laugh. "Have a good life, Steven ."

His secretary blinks as she looks from me to him.

The last thing I see before lifting my chin and walking away is the polished smile slipping from his face.