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Twin Babies with the Billionaire for Christmas 17. Chapter Seventeen 62%
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17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Rachel

“Morning.”

Tristan is sitting at the dining table as I pass by to make myself coffee. He had sent me a text last night which I saw but didn't respond to.

Breakfast will be at eight.

I could imagine him saying that to my face with his authoritative tone, and somehow managing to make it sound sexy. I hate how much he’s already worn me down.

Last night had been…comforting, actually. We had ordered takeout, he had turned on the gas fireplace, and we talked about everything and nothing.

It had been nice. Nicer than it should have been for two people who were just having an argument.

I had been more comfortable than I should have been with a man who might have been fooling around with his employees. That was, if Denise was to be believed.

Morning.

He said the word so casually, so calmly. As if last night wasn’t intense with the flood. As if I didn't ignore his message.

I pour myself a cup of coffee that is mostly cream. I know I can have some caffeine, but I don’t want to do anything to hurt the baby.

There are a million ways things can go wrong for me now. The scandal that would come of the world discovering that I got pregnant with Tristan’s child while I was working on his book makes me want to die inside.

I would lose everything I have worked so hard to build. My credibility would be destroyed. I have worked so hard to get to this point. I can’t let this pregnancy take everything from me.

And frankly, Tristan is still largely an unknown to me. I can’t afford to give up everything for what is more than likely a simple little fling for him.

“Morning, Tristan.” I walk past him to take a seat.

Was he waiting for me? It seems like he might have been, because he gets up and starts serving himself a plate from the small buffet that’s set up on the counter.

I notice that there are three different kinds of toast, scrambled eggs, peppery-looking bacon, and a carafe of juice on the sideboard. I ponder if I can keep any of the food down as I watch him dish up his plate.

“Who does all the cooking around here?” I ask.

“Nancy,” he says casually. “Although, sometimes we cook together.”

“She makes you cook?” I ask, a little confused. “I can't imagine anyone making you do anything.”

“Nancy is very kind,” he says back. “She is willing to take the time to teach me things. She’s been helping me learn how to cook since I was little.”

I smile a little and duck my head before taking a sip of my coffee. I don’t want him to see me softening toward him.

“Something amusing?”

He bites into his toast and looks at me sidelong. So he noticed.

“Most wealthy people don’t care about learning to do things like cook,” I say with a shrug.

“I know how to do lots of practical things,” he says. He gets a message on his phone and glances at it, then looks up at me. “Are you up for a little adventure today?”

“I don’t know…” I hedge.

“You seem to think I'm only interested in fucking you, or that I’m only interested in you writing my book,” he says abruptly, and I lean back in my chair a little.

I'm both relieved and shocked. It’s nice to have this part of our…relationship…out in the open, but I don’t quite know what to say to him.

“I like you, Rachel,” he goes on to say. “You’ll just have to accept that.”

“O-okay,” I say, my tone sounding like it’s a question.

“So, it’s settled,” he says in that high-handed way he sometimes has. “We’ll go do something nice later today.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he sets down his fork and rises quickly. “I’m heading over to your place to let the cleanup crew in, but I shouldn’t be gone too long,” he says.

“Oh, I want to go too,” I argue, starting to get up.

He shakes his head and comes around the table to look down at me. “It’s clear you’ve been working too hard. You still look exhausted,” he says to me. Then he shocks me by leaning in and pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Let me do this to help out.”

I open and close my mouth like a fish trying to breathe out of water, but nothing comes out. I should stop him, I should argue with him, I should say I can handle things myself.

But the truth is, I’m so tired. I am so fucking tired. I am sick of doing everything on my own, I’m sick of all kinds of problems and surprises, and I’m sick of being sick of it.

It feels like the worst kind of surrender to give in to his bossiness and to let him go take care of my flooded apartment without me, but I realize I’m going to let him.

“Thank you,” I manage to say to him as he hurries from the room.

“It’s no trouble!” he calls back, and then he’s gone.

I stare around the fancy dining room, at a loss. What am I supposed to do with myself now?

Sighing, I get up and start putting some food on my plate. I’m not sure that I can eat any of it, but I should try.

I come back to the table and sit down, scrolling through my emails and trying to decide which of them I have the heart to tackle right now.

I see Tristan’s name in the list and my finger freezes. I stare at the email with the attached documents that he claims explain everything that Denise was talking about.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, glaring at the email. I honestly don’t really want to know anything else about the scandal at his company. I hate that Denise brought it up at all, and I hate that Tristan was so pushy about me forming an opinion about the situation as well.

I’m tired of being pushed around, of being told that I need to feel things that are convenient for other people. I know that wasn’t his intention, not really, but it still sucks to be asked over and over again to be accommodating, sweet little Rachel.

But I think about what Cara said about the situation too and I shove a piece of bacon into my mouth with irritation and make myself click on the email. I force myself to eat the bacon as the email loads and the files download to my phone.

I don’t feel good this morning, but at least I’m not barfing all over the place. I hope this part of the pregnancy process is short-lived. I despise throwing up.

The files finally finish downloading, and I open the first one so I can start reading.

By the time I have finished reading all of the information in the files, I have also managed to eat a full meal. I realize it’s the first meal that I have been able to keep down in days and I feel oddly proud of myself.

Being pregnant is weird.

I lean back against the wooden back of the dining room chair and cradle my cup of coffee. I stare sightlessly at the full-length windows across the large space and ponder what I just read.

The documents detailed the situation that Denise had mentioned without holding back any of the facts. Amy had been young, she had been hired to be Tristan’s personal assistant, and she had made allegations against him for harassment almost right away.

The documents indicated that Denise had been instrumental in reporting the situation, and Amy seemed to have gone along with the case’s progress until she was forced to make a statement about the kinds of things that Tristan had done to her.

Apparently, she had come clean and said that Denise had wanted her to report Tristan and that she hadn’t felt like Tristan had done anything inappropriate.

She had also admitted that she was hoping to use the admin position to get in touch with other rich and powerful people so that she could track down a rich boyfriend.

There had been weeks of investigation done by Tristan’s company and local law enforcement. In the end, the allegations had been dismissed and Amy had turned in her resignation and apparently vanished shortly thereafter.

I still needed to talk to Tristan about all of this, but it really did seem like Denise was just a troublemaker all the way around. I thought of her stiff, pretty, perfect face. She had seemed…excited…to tell me about the drama with Amy.

Now it all made sense. Well, some of it made sense. What did Denise want from Tristan that she was willing to cause all of this drama over a made-up allegation? Tristan didn’t seem to be aware that Denise had it in for him, but Jay seemed to be aware that she was a problem.

I still needed to interview Jay…that was if I decided to keep working on the book. I still didn’t know what I wanted to do about anything, honestly.

Part of me wanted to simply go back in time and turn down Tristan at Cara’s party.

My life hadn’t been easy before I met him, but at least I hadn’t been secretly pregnant, worried about my future career, or concerned about how honest I should be when I wrote the book.

My phone pings and I glance down at it.

How are things?

The message is from Cara and I smile a little bit.

Okay. My apartment flooded, though .

She sends back a series of emoticons, all of which indicate shock and dismay. Then my phone rings.

“Hey,” I say to my friend, leaving my coffee cup on the counter and wandering back to the room that I am staying in for now.

“Oh my God, what happened with your place?” Cara demands.

I blow out a breath. “The upstairs neighbor’s place had a leak or something. There was water everywhere.”

“Oh shit,” Cara breathes out. “Do you need a place to stay?”

I sigh. “Actually, I’m staying with Tristan,” I say ruefully.

She squeals. “Ooooh. Lots of time for bonding!”

“Well…” I say, and then I explain everything that has happened over the last twenty-four hours.

Cara is totally silent on the other end of the line, which is rare for her. Cara always has something to say.

“I just don’t know what to do now,” I admit. “I don’t want to tell him about the baby unless I’m sure that he’s actually a good guy. I just feel like he might just be using me, Cara.”

“No,” Cara says and I can just imagine her shaking her head. “I’ve known him for years and he has never been anything but kind and caring toward the women in his life. He doesn’t really do long-term relationships, but that doesn’t mean he’s been shitty to anyone that he has dated. I can’t imagine him doing any of the things that Denise wanted to indicate.”

I press my lips together. Cara is a good judge of character, and she has run in the same circles as Tristan for years.

She would have noticed if Tristan was being an obvious creep, in any case. And, if I’m being honest, I don’t think Tristan is capable of something like that.

However, I am still conflicted about writing his story and I’m still not sure I should tell him about the baby, either.

“Either way,” Cara goes on, “Tristan deserves to know about the baby. Your baby also deserves to know their father.”

I want to argue with her, but I suddenly realize that she’s right. I don’t want my child to go through the things that Danny and I went through. I want them to have a happy, healthy life.

“You’re right,” I say quietly.

“That doesn’t mean you have to do it right now,” she says to me. “But maybe soon, you know?”

“Yeah,” I agree, biting my bottom lip.

“By the way,” Cara says abruptly. “When is your first doctor’s appointment?”

I grimace. I hate the doctor and I’m not great about going to see one for any reason. I honestly hadn’t even thought about going to have an ultrasound.

“You haven’t set an appointment yet, have you?” Cara scolds.

“I’m new here,” I say defensively. “I don’t know any of the doctors in the area. I don’t even have a primary care doctor.”

“You are so lucky you have the best friend in the world,” Cara says huffily. I can hear that I’m on speakerphone now. “I’m sending you the number for my OB. Call them and get an appointment ASAP.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say with chagrin.

“Send me the date. I’ll go with you,” she adds.

“Okay,” I say, feeling less worried. “Thanks for being a great friend, Cara,” I say to her.

She chuckles. “I do my best. Think about talking to Tristan. I think you can trust him to handle this the right way.”

“Will do,” I say back, but as I hang up the phone, I know that Tristan isn’t entirely the problem.

I honestly don’t know if I can trust myself to handle this in the right way. Heck, I’m not even sure there is a right way to tackle this kind of confusing situation I find myself in.

Dress casual. See you back at home in about three hours.

I stare at the text from Tristan and release a sigh.

Whether I want to or not, I’m going to have ample opportunity to talk things over with Tristan. The universe seems hell-bent on throwing us together at every turn.

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