Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
The phone rings. I hit the answer button to put the caller on speaker phone and keep typing as I talk into the phone. “Barnett Ranch. How can I help you?”
“Hello. Is this Camille Trotter?”
My fingers stop moving across the keyboard, and I stare at the phone. I’m not sure why someone would be calling for me here, but just as quickly, I know I’m being ridiculous. It could be a vendor or anyone that I talked to yesterday.
I sit up a little taller. “Yes, this is Camille Trotter. How may I help you?”
The man’s voice on the line changes a little and gets a little deeper. “Hello, Camille. This is Mitch with the Daily Gazette, and I’m wondering if you’d like to comment about your relationship with Elliott Barnett.”
“Excuse me?” I say, frowning at the phone.
“What can you tell me about your relationship with Mr. Barnett?”
My heart starts to race, and my hands get clammy. “Nothing. There’s no relationship between Elliott—I mean Mr. Barnett—and myself. He’s my boss.”
I say it, but it doesn’t feel right saying those words. Elliott may want to forget last night and act like it didn’t happen, but I won’t be able to.
The man continues. “The pictures don’t lie, Ms. Trotter. Is he the father of your baby?”
I gasp with an uneasy feeling. “How do you even know about that?”
“So you are pregnant and dating Mr. Elliott Barnett? Can you tell me how long this relationship has been going on?”
“I, I…” I start to stutter and then hit the hang up button in a panic.
My mind starts to run a thousand miles a minute, and I recall him saying pictures. What did he mean by pictures?
I open the online search program on my computer. There’s no reason people would be searching me online, I’m a nobody. So I type in Elliott Barnett’s name in the search bar and hit enter. I’m holding my breath and let it out in a loud whoosh when the first thing that pops up is a picture of Elliott and me at dinner last night.
None of this makes sense, but the headline is right there, and it makes me physically ill. Millionaire Cattle Rancher Elliott Barnett Is off the Market. And then in smaller font under that, it says, Barnett is no longer Jefferson’s most eligible bachelor.
“No, no, no…” I say as I keep reading.
Right now, the published article says that the woman is unknown, but I know that’s not true. They’ve figured it out, and somehow they’ve figured out I’m pregnant. This is not good. I warned Elliott, and he didn’t seem to care, but now I’m sure he will. This will ruin his business and his reputation. If they know what they know already, it won’t be long before they find out I’m pregnant and the father is a married man.
I know what I have to do.
I grab a piece of paper and scrawl out two short sentences and lay it on the keyboard of my computer. For just a second, I wonder if I’m making a rash decision, but I know this is the best thing to do. I know that after one night with Elliott, I want more, and it’s better to go now than later because I know that whatever this is between us is not going to last.
Without another thought, I run up the stairs to my bedroom. I grab my still packed suitcase and throw the few clothes and toiletries I have strewn around into the bag. I don’t want to leave, but I know it’s the best thing to do. Elliott will do what he thinks is right because that’s the kind of man he is. And no matter how much I wish I could stay here with him, I’m not going to force him into this situation, and that’s exactly what I’d be doing if I stay.
I carry my bags to the car in the pouring rain and throw them into the backseat. I have no idea where I’m going, but I have to go.
I pull out of Elliott’s long driveway trying to avoid the puddles and big holes the torrential rain has made in the gravel and dirt road.
I get around the bend, and without even thinking, I drive straight through a flooded road. Halfway through it, I know I’ve made the wrong decision, but I keep going, saying a little prayer along the way. I let out a sigh of relief when I come out of it on the other end. As soon as I cross the bridge, I’ll be downtown, and I can stop and think about what I need to do there.
I’m almost to the bridge when my car starts to stall out. It sputters and spits before coming to a halt just before driving onto the bridge. My windshield wipers that were going so fast have stopped, and the rain pelts against the front glass.