Chapter 4

DELILAH

Even though weeks have passed, I remember the day after meeting Wells as if it happened just yesterday. It's amazing how memories like that stay fresh, every detail etched vividly in my mind. I woke up early, determined to be productive. With a list of errands in hand, I made a mental note to swing by the pharmacy to purchase a Plan B pill. Simple enough, right? My life never goes according to plan.

After breakfast, I quickly changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and a casual top, making sure to grab my keys before rushing out the door. My first stop was the grocery store, where I stocked up on some must-have items. Then, I made a quick trip to the dry cleaners to drop off a couple of dresses. Just as I was about to head to the pharmacy, my phone rang.

It was one of my high-paying clients, Glenco, a bottled water company. Mr. Sullivan, the CEO, sounded panicked as he urgently relayed the news.

"Delilah, we have an emergency. The campaign you put together isn't performing as expected. The ROI is way off."

A heavy feeling settled in my chest as my heart sank. In marketing, everything always seems to be an emergency, but that's part of what I love about the job—the adrenaline rush, the constant problem-solving. I promised Mr. Sullivan that I would return home in ten minutes to check things out and brainstorm possible solutions.

As I drove back, my mind was a flurry of thoughts, trying to untangle the situation. Glenco was one of my biggest clients, and I couldn't afford to let them down. When I finally made it home, I wasted no time racing to my desk, my fingers tapping on the keyboard filled the room. Sure enough, as I pulled up the campaign analytics, a wave of disappointment washed over me—the numbers were abysmal. As I dug deeper, the realization hit me—Glenco's in-house marketing team had gone against my carefully devised plan. They had failed to carry out my instructions accurately.

I called Mr. Sullivan back and explained the issue.

"Your team didn't follow the plan, Mr. Sullivan. There's still hope if we can steer them in the right direction."

There was a sigh of relief on the other end. "Thank you, Delilah. I'll get them straightened out right away."

With the crisis averted, I sank back into my chair, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and contentment. I ordered Chinese takeout, my go-to comfort food, and devoured it while watching some trashy TV. Before I knew it, I was asleep on the couch, the Plan B pill completely forgotten.

Didn't think of it again because my life has been pure chaos and my period hasn't exactly ever been known to be a timely beast. Then we rolled into the next week; still no period and I was sick for a week straight. I thought I had E-Coli or some shit from the wings at the club. Then Quartz joked I was knocked up and dancing pregnant, which was all fun and games until I realized I hadn't had ol' Aunt Flow in over a month.

Stupid, stupid Delilah, having unprotected sex with a silver fox and not taking precautions. And to top it all off, the guy never even texted or called back. I gave him my number for nothing. For all I know, he's on America's Most Wanted and is stalking me now.

I tried to look him up, to give him a piece of my mind via email or something, but do you know how many Welles there are in the world? Thousands. It's hopeless.

My doorbell rings, snapping me out of my spiral of anxiety. I rush to the door, and it's Derek, my best friend.

"I brought the tests," he says, the pharmacy bag dangling from his hand. "I got one of like every kind, 'cause I don't know which is the best. And well, we need the best to be sure this is happening."

"Get in here," I say, pulling him inside and slamming the door shut.

"I cannot believe you might be pregnant with some back-alley fuck's kid."

"Shut up. Save your jokes for when it's negative and we can laugh about this over tequila."

Derek searches through the bag and retrieves a ClearBlue test. "Here, do this one. It was the most expensive and actually says ‘pregnant' instead of two lines."

I take the test from him, arching an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"Read the box… front to back, multiple times." He follows me to the bathroom and hops up on the sink.

"You're going to watch me pee on this stick?"

"Yup. Not like I haven't seen your kitty cat before. You turned me gay, baby. Or did you forget? Yours is the only kitty I've ever pet, and I knew after that it wasn't for me." He fakes a gag, and I roll my eyes.

"Oh please, I was the best you ever had."

With closed eyes and pouted lips, he nods in agreement. "I mean, you did suck like a Hoover. But that's where the good times ended for me." He laughs. "Now sit down and tinkle on the stick."

I drop my pants and sit down, opening the box and pulling the little plastic stick from the packaging. Holding it between my legs, I count to ten and pull it out, recapping it and setting it on the back of the toilet to wait.

"I set a timer for three minutes," Derek tells me.

I get up and wash my hands, moving around Derek on the sink's counter and then straddle the toilet and wait as the timer on Derek's phone counts down.

I can't be pregnant. I'm a stripper, for Christ's sake, and I'm not ready to be tied down to a whole ass baby… am I? I mean, I've always wanted kids, but like in my thirties, not barely into my twenties.

Stupid sexy older man .

The phone beeping drags me from my thoughts, and I look at Derek, take a deep breath, and pick up the stick.

"Ohhhh, holy shit."

Derek's eyes widen. "What? What does it say?"

As I stare at the test, a feeling of disbelief washes over me. "It says pregnant."

"Are you sure? Maybe you read it wrong." He grabs the stick from me, his eyes scanning the tiny screen. "Yup, it says pregnant. Oh my god, Delilah."

I slump forward on the toilet, my head in my hands. "What the hell am I going to do?"

Sliding off the counter, Derek's arms find their way around me, pulling me closer. "You're not alone in this."

My eyes fill with tears and I try to blink them away. "I can't believe this is happening. How could I be so stupid?"

"Hey, don't beat yourself up. We'll get through this." He holds me tighter, and I let myself lean into his comforting presence.

Later, we sit on the couch, a dozen pregnancy tests lying on the coffee table like a ticking time bomb.

Derek hands me a glass of water. "You need to stay hydrated."

I smile weakly. "Thanks, Dr. Derek."

He laughs. "Anytime. So, what's the plan?"

I inhale deeply, hoping to calm my racing heart. "First, I need to see a doctor. Confirm this is real and figure out my options."

Derek nods. "Good idea. I can go with you if you want."

"Yeah, I'd like that." I sip the water, my mind still whirling. "I need to figure out what to do about Hidden Gems. I can't exactly be dancing on stage with a baby bump.

"Maybe you can do something else? Behind the scenes, or find a different job?"

I groan. "It's not that easy, Derek. This is how I make extra money and I like what I do. Let's not even talk about how I'm going to tell Claudia."

"Yeah, I don't wish that on even my enemy. But you already know she's going to be a raging cunt about it, and that's the same as every day."

I snort. "You know her so well."

"She'll get over it. It's not like you even see her so she can fuck off."

I look at him, grateful for his unwavering support. "Thank you, Derek. For being here."

"Always. Now, let's figure out what we're going to do next."