Chapter Four

"You really just left?" Nikki passes me the glass of chardonnay, then pours one for herself. I'd called her from my car, half-laughing and half-crying, and she'd ordered me to come straight to her house for lunch and consolation.

I probably should have left my car and taken a Lyft—because god knows I have zero memory of how I made it from Burbank to Malibu—but "good choices" has never been up there on the list of words that describe me.

Still, I made it alive, and now I'm staring into a glass of white wine that I don't really want and wondering what I could have possibly done to piss off the Hollywood Gods. Because I definitely have some bad mojo. Why else would Carson and Matthew toss Bryan the Bastard at me?

Well, other than the whole the boy is box office gold thing.

"Earth to Jamie."

I blink, then look up, realizing I've been watching the reflection of her light fixture in my wine. "Sorry, what?"

"I said, you really just walked out?"

"Well, the vomit came first. And it was more of a run. No, actually, it was a stumble." I close my eyes and breathe. "Correction. The word I'm looking for is clusterfuck. It was a total clusterfuck, and I was the fuckee at the center. And not in a fun orgy kind of way."

"So have Matthew or Carson called?"

I shake my head. "I'm guessing Evelyn told them not to. She ran after me—I mean, she gets why I'm so upset."

"She would. Yeah."

Evelyn and I were in the early days of our relationship back when I was "Rained" on by that cretin. And I know damn well she remembers just what a miserable shit he was. A miserable shit who later managed to land the leading role in what quickly became one of the most lucrative franchises in Hollywood history.

So, yeah. My running out may actually have screwed the movie. And my career.

I draw a deep breath and try again to take a sip of wine. Because right now, a chardonnay buzz is exactly what the doctor ordered.

But, no. I wrinkle my nose and put it back down. That wine's definitely gone off.

"He rode down with her," I add, making a face. "He wanted to go with her all the way to my car, but she made him go back up once they hit the lobby."

"That ass," Nikki says, still deep in the loyal friend zone. "What did he think he could say to you now that he couldn't say back when he was being a total prick?"

I let my shoulders rise and fall. "That he knows he was an ass. That he wishes he hadn't hurt me. That it's a great picture and we have good chemistry even with me hating him." I make a face. "He's probably right about that. Considering the ups-and-downs of those two in the script, chemistry mixed with utter contempt wouldn't be a bad thing."

She puts her now empty glass on the coffee table. We're in the second-floor library surrounded by the many books that Damien has collected over the years. It's a room that feels cozy and safe. But it's also starting to feel a little claustrophobic.

"Wait," she says, shifting on the sofa and tucking one leg up under her. "You're still going to do the movie? With Bryan The Devil Raine?"

I spread my hands and sigh. "He said he's sorry. Evelyn said he sounded genuinely contrite."

"Like hell he is. That man is the most narcissistic prick on the planet."

"Yeah, but he's also a man who can make a career." I draw a breath. "He used me. Now it's my turn to use him."

"I don't know, James." She reaches for my still-full wine glass and takes a sip. "Is that really the way you want to make it big?"

I give her my best stare. "Um, yeah."

She laughs, then takes another sip, apparently liking the wine just fine. "I get it," she says. "I really do. But that doesn't mean it's a good idea."

"Oh, come on. Why not? He's a major box office draw, and we'd share top billing. Plus, he's talented—much as it pains me to say—and on set he's professional. Or so everyone says. Besides, he's been divorced twice—both after just a couple of months—and I'm happily married to the best guy in the world."

"Second best," Nikki says.

"We could arm wrestle for the title, but I'd win. Especially since you've drunk all the wine."

"True," she agrees, then frowns. "Why is that?"

"I think I'm catching something. Probably a stomach bug. Even I don't usually barf on potential co-stars out of malice."

"So it didn't come on suddenly?"

"The barf-a-palooza? Yeah, that was a super-fun surprise. But I felt nauseous this morning, too. Totally skipped coffee." I shudder just thinking about it.

"Well, don't pass it on to me. Once someone in the house catches something, everyone does. Kids are like walking Petri dishes. And I especially don't want to get sick right before Damien and I head out of town."

"I'll do my best to go home with all the germs I came in with. Besides, the kids aren't here, are they?"

She shakes her head. "With the cousins. What are your other symptoms?" she continues, without even the slightest pause.

"Why? Is something going around?"

She just rolls her hand, as if to urge me along.

"Fine, Dr. Nicholas. I've been super tired. But, hey, last night was…energetic."

"Surprise, surprise. And what else?"

I shake my head slowly. "Nothing. Well, except I was a little bloated this morning, but I stayed up late snacking on cheese, and the whole lactose thing probably—"

"I don't think it's lactose."

"Neither do I. Twenty-four-hour bug. That's where my money is."

"My money's landing closer to nine."

"Nine hours?"

"Months."

"What kind of a cold is—Oh, fuck," I say as every cell in my entire body turns to ice. I shake my head slowly, as if moving too fast will make her words soak in and be true.

I draw a breath and actually think about the possibility. But it makes no sense. I mean, I'm a big fan of the pharmaceutical industry, and I've been supporting the makers of the pill for many long years.

"No," I say as Nikki just looks at me in that I know better way she has with her kids. "No way. I'm careful. It can't be that. It's just a cold. Don't go thinking tigers when it's just a housecat."

Her brows rise in a what the fuck kind of way, and I really can't blame her. That wasn't my best shot, but I'm a little shell-shocked over here. Not that I really think I'm pregnant. I don't.

I'm not knocked up. Just knocked a little sideways by even the thought of it. But it can't be true. How could it possibly be true?

Methinks the lady doth protest too much.

"Well, fuck," I whisper. "But no. Seriously, no."

She takes my hand. "When was your last period?"

"I'm on the pill. I miss them all the time." Not that I miss them. Really not my favorite time of the month. And damn, but my thoughts are rambling.

Pregnant?

No.

No, not possible. Really not possible.

More important, I'm not even the slightest bit ready.

Ryan is.

I growl at the little voice in my head. Because if Ryan is ready, then Ryan can damn well carry a baby.

"Fuck," I say, meeting Nikki's knowing eyes. "I can't be. It's got to just be a cold. A stomach bug. Something that's not going to derail my entire life."

She stands up. "Why don't we stop wondering and just find out?"

"Right," I say, letting her draw me to my feet. "And we're doing that how?"

She doesn't answer. Just heads to the hidden stairs that lead up to the third-floor kitchen. As I learned years ago when she first started up with Damien, multi-bazillionaires can have multiple kitchens.

It's a perk.

And I get loopy when I'm nervous. Which isn't a personal perk so much as value-added to my already sarcasm-heavy personality.

Soon enough, we've crossed through the kitchen and third-floor den to enter the huge master bedroom and attached bath. Nikki opens a cabinet, rummages for a bit, then pulls out a pregnancy test. She meets my eyes and holds it out. "Moment of truth," she says. "All you need to do now is pee."