Chapter 28
The days have somehow slipped into weeks, and before I know it, it’s the end of May. I’m eighteen weeks pregnant. Almost halfway there.
And according to Nico, I’ve finally hit my “glowing goddess era p>
He and I are eating lunch at the Beckett Deluxe Design studio, a purpose-built, three-storey building in Ballsbridge. Killian insisted on keycard entry. CCTV. All clients have to provide identification on arrival, whether they’re here to see me or any member of my team. No one gets in or out unless it’s documented.
Fine by me. It’s better than being cooped up in the Beckett building on Grafton Street.
My family smothered me before I was pregnant.
Now, their fussing is insufferable.
My mother now calls every single morning. She interrogates me about everything from my sleep patterns to my bowel movements. It’s too fucking much.
Scarlett and Ivy call me several times a week to check on me. Both of them dropped off enormous bags of their favourite maternity pieces—all Seraphine of course—if it’s good enough for Meghan Markle, it’s good enough for the Becketts. Rebekka and Rian, who live in the same penthouse building as me, pop their heads around my door twice a week, bringing me flowers and grapes like I’m sick or something. Sean and Layla arrived last week with enough boxes of baby stuff to fill an entire nursery. Avery has ordered an extra flower girl dress in case it’s a girl—I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’m convinced otherwise.
Even Killian’s been texting to see how I’m feeling. I’m still not convinced he’s not looking for California, but I am convinced that with the Jack O’Connor threat still not tied up, he’s not about to hop on a plane to go and hunt him down.
I love them all.
I really do.
But I’m suffocating.
‘If your hair gets any thicker, Wella will be banging your door down, begging you to star in a shampoo ad,’ Nico says, spearing a piece of his Cajun chicken salad across the table from me. We usually go out for lunch, but we’re meeting with Cole Hartmann this afternoon, so instead we decided to go over his initial requests for the casino before we assess the space and lighting when we get there.
‘It’s the hormones. Thank fuck there’s some good ones thrown into the mix because I’m only ever one Red Cross advert away from bawling my eyes out.’ I shrug, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Nico is right—it’s never been this glossy or lustrous in my life.
And don’t get me started on my skin.
And my boobs.
And finally, I have a tiny bump. It’s small, round, utterly beautiful—and utterly impossible to hide anymore. I’m embracing it, seeing as I don’t have any plans to get pregnant again. I’ve switched the oversized shirts for fitted bodysuits that hug my figure, and low hanging tailored trousers that sit beneath my bump beautifully.
My body feels like a cathedral under construction—bigger, stronger, built for something sacred—and terrifying. It seems to know what it’s doing, even if I don’t have a clue.
Dr Kensington has been throwing words like ‘birth plan’ around like it’s something I can control. I’ve heard enough horror stories from my sisters-in-law to know that all plans whoosh out the window when the waters break.
I don’t give a shit about ‘zen music’ or playlists or birthing pools.
Give me all the drugs.
That’s my birthing plan.
‘Well, whatever you do, don’t cry in front of Hartmann later. He’s supposed to be ruthless, so if he doesn’t like your suggestions, don’t take it personally. Give him whatever he wants. Not only has he agreed to double your regular design fee, but this project has the prestige to propel Beckett Deluxe Designs to a global level p>
I roll my eyes at my friend. ‘Like I need reminding.’ I shove the last of my peanut butter bagel into my mouth—I can’t get enough of the stuff right now.
I swallow, dab my lips with a tissue, and reach for the crimson lip stain in my handbag, running my tongue over my teeth. ‘Unlike my hot-headed brothers, I appreciate an opportunity when I see one p>
‘Good. Do they know that you accepted the contract yet p>
‘No.’ I sigh. ‘It’s going to cause war, but maybe they’ll stop speaking to me long enough for me to take a pee without someone checking up on me p>
‘Have you seen Hartmann’s picture, by the way?’ Nico tosses his empty salad pot into the recycling bin.
‘No. Unlike you, I don’t have time to stalk people’s LinkedIn page p>
‘I didn’t. He was on the front of last month’s Forbes magazine. Seemingly every single woman in America wants to lock him down, yet despite briefly being photographed with some beautiful women, he’s never been in a serious relationship p>
‘What’s that got to do with anything p>
‘I suppose I’m just wondering what the chances are of Hartmann being gay, horny and camper than Christmas?’ He waggles his eyebrows at me. ‘I’m not above running away with a sugar daddy p>
My eyes narrow. ‘You’re going nowhere, Nico.’ I fluff my hair and stand, running a hand over my bump. ‘Not only are you my PA, fashion advisor, therapist and friend.’ I glance pointedly down at my swollen stomach. ‘You’re about to be a godfather p>
‘I am?’ he gasps, clutching his chest.
‘Of course, who else would I ask?’ There’s no way I could choose between my brothers.
‘I’m honoured, Z, really, I am.’ He reaches out to squeeze my hand. ‘I suppose if Hartmann does come on to me, I’ll turn him down. For you.’ He blows me an air kiss.
‘Good. While I’m on the subject of asking important questions,’ I grab my handbag and strut towards the door. ‘Will you be my birthing partner p>
I’m joking—obviously. Nico is the last person I want on the labour ward with me. But teasing him is too tempting.
The look on his face is priceless. He visibly pales as he scurries across the room behind me. ‘Z, you do know I’ve never seen a vagina in my life, sweetie? I’m not sure I need to be introduced to one now p>
I can’t hold back my laughter any longer. It bursts out of my mouth and reverberates around the room. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help it p>
‘Bitch,’ he sniggers. ‘I almost had heart failure. If you didn’t pay me so well, I’d sue you for emotional damage p>
Tate and Felstead are waiting for us outside the office door. They step in line with us as we head for the elevator—two silent mountains in suits who look like they could pacify a national uprising before breakfast.
There’s still been no sight or sound of Jack O’Connor since he entered those woods. Personally, I’m certain Jack has been worm food for weeks, if not months. But when my brothers hear I’ve accepted the Hartmann contract, having two burly bodyguards instead of one might prove useful.
My brothers have always been intense.
Their women don’t mind them being possessive and controlling, but me?
I very much do mind.
Today is the day I do something just for me.
Something that will start WWIII if my family finds out. Not if—when.
Nico clasps his iPad to his chest as we step out of the lift into the sunshine. ‘You ready to meet the man who’s bulldozing into your family’s territory p>
I shake my head. ‘I know it came as a shock to my brothers, but they don’t own the entire city. If they’d have boxed clever, instead of letting their egos takeover, they could have formed some sort of allegiance with one of America’s most powerful families. Avery told me Hartmann reached out to Killian for hotel security initially. Naturally, he saw it as an insult instead of an opportunity. If his men had excelled in Dublin, Elite Security might have been offered the security contract for the entire chain of Hartmann Casinos p>
‘Beckett boys have too much testosterone.’ Nico’s green eyes flick towards mine, and he winks. ‘I’m sure it’s a better trait in the bedroom than it is in the boardroom p>
‘Eugh.’ My nose wrinkles. ‘Don’t! I might be past the first trimester, but I’m still liable to puke on you p>
‘Just don’t puke on Hartmann,’ Nico warns.
Hartmann.
The mysterious American billionaire I’ve been emailing for weeks but never spoken to directly.
The man who’s building the largest hotel and casino Ireland has ever seen.
The man who has the power to launch Beckett Deluxe Design into the stratosphere…and possibly get me disowned.
The SUV is outside in the carpark. Tate opens the back door for me and then slips into the driver’s seat. Nico slips in behind me, and Felstead hops in the passenger seat.
As we drive into the city, towards the river, the new Hartmann Hotel dominates the skyline—a tower of steel and glass that climbs into the clouds. It’s obscene. It’s stunning. And it’s not even finished yet. I tilt my head, studying the monstrous, gleaming façade. ‘Freud would have a field day with that,’ I mutter.
Nico snorts. ‘He’s definitely compensating for something. Probably three inches short of a… personality p>
I laugh, and the nerves in my stomach loosen.
Hartmann can’t be as intimidating as he appears in his emails. But if he is, I’m more than capable of dealing with him.
We glide into the private underground car park. Tate steps out first, sweeping the area. Felstead follows. Nico and I walk together toward the private lift.
We step inside, and my pulse climbs with every floor we ascend.
Here we go.
A multi-million-euro contract.
Career explosion.
A brand-new future—mine for the taking. Beckett Deluxe Design Agency will be the most successful Beckett subsidiary, even if it’s the last thing I do.
The lift doors slide open into a minimalist lobby—black marble, ultra-modern lighting, a wall of floor-to-ceiling glass looking over the Liffey. Everything screams power, precision, masculinity. Who designed this? Hartmann himself? I’d put money on it.
A blonde receptionist greets us with a bow of her head.
‘Ms Beckett? Mr Hartmann is expecting you. Please—go straight through p>
My heels echo against the marble as we cross the space. Nico squeezes my arm, firing me a ‘you’ve got this’ wink. I smile back and inhale deeply as I steady myself.
Then I push open the office door.
My heels click across the threshold, and my eyes land on one of America’s most powerful billionaires.
And the smile on my face freezes.
My stomach bottoms out.
The breath rushes from my lungs in one powerful whoosh.
Because the man standing behind the desk—the tall, broad-shouldered, devastatingly handsome man wearing a navy suit that sculpts his beautiful body to perfection—is California.
My California.
My baby’s father.
My brothers’ biggest rival.
Those stunning, soulful silver-blue eyes lock onto mine.
Confusion creases his forehead.
He stills as shock registers on his face.
I instinctively reach for my bump.
His eyes drop, tracking the movement, then flare.
And my world detonates.