Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
What was going on was that I’d taken a pregnancy test that morning, and it’d come back positive. I was elated because nothing sounded better to me than having the President’s child. I couldn’t wait to tell Robert the good news.
But I hadn’t had a chance to see Robert yet, and didn’t want to spill the beans before informing the father. So I kept mum, smiling mysteriously.
“Oh it’s nothing,” I said vaguely. “I think they might give me a promotion at work, isn’t that awesome?”
And it was enough to sidetrack Renee for a bit. But the problem is that it’s been a month since I discovered my pregnancy, and I haven’t heard from Robert since then. It worries me because usually he’s the one who sets up appointments through Gold Medallion. But recently, there haven’t been any unidentified callers, much less helicopter rides leading to escapades at the White House. Instead, I’m all alone with my secret, and I’m slowly growing more and more worried. Was he through with me? Was I a momentary distraction, forgotten after a few months?
My heart sank as I contemplated the possibility. Because it could very well be true, and with frozen fingers, I opened my laptop and surfed over to the Gold Medallion site. Robert Half’s profile had disappeared for a while, my heart leaping when I noticed that it was gone. Because it meant that President Carter belonged to me.
But what I saw now made the vomit boil in my stomach, rising to the back of my throat with a bitter taste. Because Robert Half was listed on the site once more, that handsome, smiling face taunting me with his blue eyes and perfectly chiseled features. Fuck. Bolting from my chair, I ran to the bathroom and really did throw up then, green and ugly into the toilet.
Gasping, I wiped my suddenly sweating brow with the back of my sleeve while clutching the porcelain. Because how could this be happening? I was pregnant with President Carter’s child, and he was back on the market? Without even so much as a goodbye conversation? How could this be happening?
Like a drunken sailor, I staggered back to my laptop, the taste of bile still strong in my mouth. But I forced myself to look hard at the Robert Half profile again, as if I could magically make President Carter appear from the words. Unfortunately, the model stared back at me blankly, with absolutely no sympathy for my plight.
Angrily, I banged my mouse down. How could he do this? I was pregnant, for crying out loud, and now I’d been dropped like a disgusting piece of garbage. What was I going to do with the baby? Hot tears stung my eyes as I realized the futility of my situation.
But I’m not sassy Bridget Martin for nothing. And in a haze of anger, I closed Robert Half’s profile and started surfing the other models. I totally get it. They’re probably just stock photos with no one real behind them. This whole thing had been concocted for President Carter’s benefit. But at the same time, who knew? Maybe there was a billionaire or a Congressman lurking beneath one of these other profiles. Maybe I’d get lucky once more.
So in a rage, I randomly picked one called Chris. He was cute in way that reminded me of a giant golden retriever. Six foot four with a body to die for, along with golden blonde curls and sparkling blue eyes. At least his smile was nice, and he didn’t seem like the type to get a girl pregnant and then ditch her by the wayside. Seizing my purse, I pulled out my wallet and fumbled for my credit card. Not even looking at the price, I typed in my information and then pressed “send,” swallowing the huge lump in my throat.
But it did no good because the minute the confirmation page flashed on-screen, all I felt was bad. I’d just wasted some godawful sum on a man that I didn’t really want to date, much less even meet. It was only because I was so desperate to see President Carter again, and yet I had no way of reaching him. Calling the White House operator was a possibility, but what was I going to say? Um, hello, I’d like to speak with the President please? This is his pregnant mistress, thank you very much.
At that point, the tears started flowing from my eyes like a river, hot trails streaming down my cheeks. I buried my head in my arms, sobs wracking my narrow shoulders. Because there was no way forwards … and I didn’t know what to do next.
CHAPTER NINE
Bridget
It’s been a week since I went on that furious rampage, puking in my bathroom before running back to my laptop and booking another escort on Gold Medallion. What the hell was I thinking? It wasn’t going to get me any closer to Robert. He probably didn’t even care, and if his staff told him, he was just going to chuckle with mirth, realizing what a loser I was.