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)
Predictably, nothing happened. I didn’t get a call from Gold Medallion setting me up with Chris. My phone didn’t ring. In fact, the week’s been incredibly dull, and I’m sitting at my desk now, looking at my screen with dry red eyes.
Because the past week has been pure hell. The only thing I’ve done is to stare at my computer in a daze, unable to do any work. How can I, when every thought is focused on Robert and the baby? So I sit here like a useless lump of charcoal. For sure, they’re going to figure out what I’m up to and I’ll be fired soon.
But in the meantime, my thoughts whirl. Because what am I going to do about the baby? I must be at least two months along now, if not three. That first time I met Robert, we had passionate sex, the man jizzing in me with no protection. My cheeks color at the memory. I held nothing back even though we’d just met, completely forgetting about a condom or a diaphragm.
And shamefully, if I had to do it again, I’d do everything the same. Because he was so magnetic and charming. Robert’s interest in me made me feel like I was really someone, and not dumpy Bridget Martin with her go-nowhere job and tiny shoebox of an apartment.
But that’s the thing, the voice in my head chided. Robert Carter is master politician, so of course he made you feel like you were the most amazing thing since sliced bread. That’s his job.
Hot heat stung my eyes again although by now, I’d cried so much that there were no more tears. I swallowed heavily, but my mouth was also dry, my throat raw and ravaged after hours of sobbing. What was going to become of me? What was going to become of my child? I literally had no idea, pregnant and alone in the big city.
All of a sudden, the building shook a little, and my face snapped upwards, alarmed. Because after 9/11, everyone in New York is sensitive to the possibility of disaster. It could be nothing more than a burst water main, or a minor earthquake, but still. This had never happened before. Our offices are made of reinforced steel anchored into the hard concrete. So what could be causing the sway, not to mention the godawful noise?
I stood, peering above my cube walls.
“What’s going on?” was my dry whisper.
My next door neighbor, Madison, shook her head, curls bouncing up and down.
“I have no idea,” she cried, eyes rolling frantically. “Oh my god, what do we do? Are we going to die?”
And at that moment, certainty gelled in my mind. Because I wanted my child to live. I wanted this baby to have a wonderful life because he or she had been conceived in passion, even if I never saw his father again. I wanted him to enjoy the glory of a beautiful sunrise, as well as the marvels of a gorgeous sunset. I wanted him to experience everything humankind has to offer, and with a shake of my head, I grabbed Madison’s hand with new determination.
“Come on,” I said roughly. “Let’s take the emergency stairs. Come on!”
We ran to the lobby area where a few other staffers had had the same idea, already heading to the side stairwell with the glowing red Exit sign over it. But as we dashed over, the rumble outside grew louder and instinctively, some of us turned to the huge glass lobby windows. What was happening?
And like out of a movie, a helicopter levitated, showing first its rotors, then the body of the chopper itself. Before long, the entire thing hung before our floor to ceiling windows, the steady thwap-thwap of its rotors making our eardrums vibrate.
“What?” squealed Madison. “What’s going on?”
“Holy hell!” shouted Tony, our proofreader. “It’s Marine One. And look, it’s the president himself!”
Because it was true. As I stared out the window, my eyes met a pair of eyes so blue that they seared my soul. Robert Carter was sitting in the powerful Blackhawk, his gaze intense as they met mine.
His lips moved silently and I gasped then, unable to breathe. Because had he said it? Had the president just mouthed “I love you” to me from a helicopter poised outside the thirty-fifth floor? Was this really happening?
But it was impossible to tell because with a mighty roar, the chopper levitated then, disappearing from view.
“They must be landing on the ceiling!” gasped Tony, one hand over his mouth. “That’s where the helipad is!”
And without waiting a moment longer, I sprang into action. As fast as my swollen feet would carry me, I rushed up the stairs to the roof. Fortunately, our skyscraper is considered moderate by New York standards, and from the thirty-fifth floor there were only ten more floors to go. Huffing and puffing, I forced open the door to the roof before stepping onto the concrete, hand shielding my eyes from the bright midday sun.