Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
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.”