Pregnant By The CEO by Cassandra Dee

3

Casey

It’s actually been a really good day. Nicole and I snuck out for drinks at lunch, and my column today was really popular. I got lots of letters applauding my response. Good. I hope that rich Daddy Warbucks who sends his assistant to do his dirty work knows that he’s been vilified in the court of public opinion.

So yeah, nothing can disturb my good mood. The sun is shining and it’s finally warm. Best of all, I get to leave work early because Rhonda is at a conference.

Heading towards the subway, I turn my face to catch some rays. Today has been the first really warm day of spring and the sunshine feels good on my pale skin. The AC was on in the office all day, and they often turn it full blast so that it’s like being at the North Pole. As a result, it’s nice to get out. In fact, it's balmy enough for me to remove my cardigan and wish I hadn’t worn stockings.

To celebrate, I buy myself a taco from a street cart. Perfect, especially since they have the extra spicy salsa today. But then as I take a bite, I remember my doctor’s appointment from yesterday. Ugh. My primary care physician gave me a long talk about my weight, saying I need to drop at least twenty pounds for health reasons. Blegh.

Sighing, I glimpse at my reflection in a nearby window. I’m a big girl, it’s true, and nothing’s going to change that, not even losing twenty pounds. I have a large booty, the kind that previous boyfriends adored and hated at once, meaning that they loved to grab it in private, but hated to see it in public. But pooh on them because I love my ass; it’s probably my favorite feature. I wear tight skirts and jeans pretty often, but the problem with tight skirts and jeans is they also accentuate my least favorite body part – my big, round belly. It’s always full and popping out, even if I haven’t eaten in hours. I generally try to shift attention upwards to my breasts which, if I don’t say so myself, are amazing.

I have round, perky Double Ds, and like my bottom, I like to show them off with scoop necks and dangly necklaces. My legs are long and shapely, and when I wear heels, they make my ass look like a perfect peach.

For the most part, my generous curves make me feel powerful and sensual. Why not? Stick thin scarecrows aren’t attractive in my book, and I’ve never understood why the male population is drawn to that look. But I guess a little exercise wouldn’t kill me either.

Damnit. I shake my head and finish the taco, relishing the tangy pineapple and the rich, crackling pork. I vow to walk home instead of taking the subway. When’s the last time I strolled over the Brooklyn Bridge, anyway? Besides, I love to walk. It’s preferable to going to the gym for sure, where I feel like a hamster in a wheel going nowhere.

It’s such a vibrant afternoon. The buildings glimmer in the sunlight and all around me people are laughing and enjoying the promise of coming summer. I close my eyes and inhale, breathing it all in.

When I open my eyes, I’m startled because I catch sight of a huge man in a suit barreling down 34th Street, probably late for a meeting. He’s gorgeous for sure, even if he looks like he could tear apart a small animal with his bare hands right now. Dark hair flies in the wind, and those blue eyes are so intense they could sear a steak with that fire.

I hop out of the way, hoping not to be trampled, but to my horror, he veers right and stays in my path. He looks right at me, locks eyes and then charges forward like a raging bull. My heart races. Holy shit, I’m about to be run over! Help!

I stand there frozen, like a deer in the headlights unable to move. But then to my relief, he slows and comes to a full stop right in front of me. This man is a good foot taller than I am, and hesitantly, I look up at him. Again, he makes direct eye contact, and this time I can see those blue eyes are full of hate and anger. I’m dumbfounded. Who is this person? Do I even know him?

But even during this inauspicious moment, my feminine instincts appreciate the sheer male beauty of this man. Sure, he’s angry right now, but it’s the kind of anger that comes from a glowering god. His eyes are the penetrating blue of pure cobalt. He has the sculpted face of an old-time film star, with a firm jaw and high cheekbones. His hair, charcoal black, sparkles with threads of silver. And best of all, beneath that perfectly tailored charcoal suit, I can sense the outlines of hard, thick male muscle. Oh god. What does he want with me? A frisson of sensation runs down my spine, and I feel my lady parts moistening. I’m in danger, and yet also aroused. How can this be happening?

But the man knows. He’s still staring right into me, and steps closer. He smells spicy, like ginger and smoke before letting out a low growl. I’m starting to feel legitimately frightened.

“Are you Casey Henderson?”

Slowly, I nod. There’s no point in lying; my photo is next to my name in the newspaper every week. “Yes, why?”

“I’m Pierce Lane.”

“Okay?”

Who the hell is Pierce Lane? I’ve never heard that name before in my life.

“Perhaps you know me better as ‘P,’ the so-called ‘heartless bastard’ you wrote about in your column last week.”

Despite myself, I gasp. What the? A guy like this reads my column? I know that most readers of Agony Aunt columns are middle-aged women who live in the Midwest, so this is a surprise. How did he find me?

“Hello, Mr. Lane,” I say evenly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He growls some answer, eyeing me up and down. He fixes his gaze on my eyes, vibrant blue irises alight with fury.

An exhilarating surge of fear lights up my body. My heart is slamming in my chest as I stare right back into his gaze. But then I force myself to speak.

“It’s not libel if it doesn’t say your name or any identifying details,” comes my brave protest. “I clearly had no idea who you were, so why would the readers? I stand by what I wrote to the LW.”

Whew. I’ve got this and just need to keep my cool for a few more minutes. Pierce seems to relax for a moment.

“Did you get any feedback?” he asks, almost casual now.

I can feel my hands shaking. Damn it. I shove them into the pockets of my skirt where they tremble against my hips.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did, Mr. Lane,” I say smoothly. “Plenty of women felt the same way I did. And guess what? They were moved enough by the story that they wrote me very heartfelt replies. More replies than I’ve ever received to a single letter, in fact.”

He sneers. “Oh, I’m sure.”

This man drips with arrogance while looking at me patronizingly. I shake my head and glance over my shoulder towards the subway, towards home. I don’t know. Away from this mess.

“Are we finished?” I manage in an even tone.

He doesn’t answer. Slowly, I turn on my heel towards the subway. Good, I survived. I’ll walk another day.

But then come the sound of footsteps. I walk faster, beginning to panic, but it’s too late.

“So what did the letters say?” he asks almost conversationally while catching up to me. I’m no match for those long strides.

I whirl back around, my patience rubbing off. I’ve been ready to end this conversation and never think about this jerk ever again from the moment it began.

Glaring at him, I speak in clipped, terse tones.

“The replies said plenty of things, all condemning your actions. Agreeing with me, saying even worse things about you. You can read some of them, if you want.”

The truth is that some of the response letters were a bit more lighthearted than that. One woman wrote, “Hey, if she doesn’t want the bracelet, send it my way!” (I did have a giggle at that one.)

Still, for the most part, people showed enormous empathy for the letter writer. And I can’t believe Pierce Lane wants to read these replies. He looks much too important, like someone who commands millions if not billions at his fingertips. Besides, from today’s interaction, he seems a bit sensitive for that. I guess powerful alpha males do get hurt sometimes.

Does he realize how crazy he is? I shake my head at the thought. This guy does not deserve my compassion. But then he takes me by surprise.

“Yeah, I would love to read them,” he says casually. “Can we set up a time?”

“Great,” I say with a light-hearted flip of my hair. “No, no appointment necessary. Why don’t you give me your email address, and I’ll send them to you during working hours? I need to go now.”

But he steps in my way again, that massive form looming.

“Wait, I have questions.”

“Send them to my secretary,” I say flippantly, praying he can’t hear my pounding heart. “I’m at the Two One Two.”

He glowers again, those blue eyes raking up and down my form. To my shame, I go hot all over, my insides loosening and moistening. How can this be happening? This guy is a monster who sprang out of nowhere to assault me on the sidewalk. How can I be physically attracted to him? But it’s easy to see why. Between that perfect physique and penetrating blue eyes, any woman would be ready to melt at his command. Meanwhile, Pierce Lane fixes me with that cobalt gaze again.

“Why did you come down on me so hard? What’s the deal with you? Do you do that to all unsuspecting men? Or is it part of your schtick?”

Shaking my head, I turn to leave.

“I’m sorry that my column offended you, Mr. Lane, but that’s for me to know. I’m going home now. My email is right there at the bottom of the column, so feel free to reach out.”

I peer into the street, considering just hailing a yellow cab to end this saucy interaction, but then he intercedes.

“No!” he growls. “If you were comfortable saying all this bullshit about me in writing, then you can sure as hell do it in person. Don’t hide behind your newspaper, Miss Henderson,” he practically sneers. But I give it like I take it.

“You mean like how you hid behind a gift?” is my snappy reply.

He glowers.

“Now we’re talking. Come on. I’m right here. Lay it into me.”

“I don't need to lay it into you. I said everything I needed to say in my column,” is my huffy retort. He ignores the frantic tone to my voice.

“Well, I want to defend myself.”

I shake my head.

“No, it’s out of the question. I’m not getting into an arguing match with you on the streets of New York. Do you realize how crazy you are? I should call the police.”

“Okay then.” The man holds up his hands as if admitting defeat. “Let’s talk about this like adults, instead of hurling insults in public. Can I buy you a cup of coffee somewhere? What do you say?”

I stare at him. No way am I going, but at the same time, I know if I don’t he’s going to keep harassing me in public, and the last thing I want is a scene. So grudgingly, I nod. Fortunately, we’re right by a place that does raspberry croissants that I’ve been dying to try. Setting my lips in a grim line, I nod.

“Fine,” is my grudging reply.

And with that, I’m off to my first date with this handsome, utterly infuriating man.