The Rake (Boston Belles #4) by L.J. Shen

Aisling: dunno about me and Sam. We want to visit Switzerland for a few weeks. I have to visit the clinic.

Persy: oh yeah. Cillian mentioned joining you guys in Zurich. Something about meeting with his bankers?

Look at these bougie ass bitches, making plans for the summer like it wasn’t still wintertime.

Sailor: what about you, Belle? Up for margaritas poolside with the Fitzpatricks?

Belle: as much as I want to feel like a third wheel in this basic bitch couple-a-thon, some of us have actual businesses to run.

Sailor: aunt flow’s in town, I see. Tuck your attitude back in, Belle. It’s showing.

She was so off base it was comical. At least, I hoped she was.

Persy: come on @BellePenrose. You work so hard. Our treat.

I didn’t want to be treated to things. I wanted to be independent enough to never rely on other people’s good graces. It was something my sister, who had always been a romantic, couldn’t fully understand. She was fine letting people take care of her because it was in her nature to take care of them. Even when she married Cillian, it wasn’t for his money. Not really.

Belle: that’s sweet of you, Pers, but I really do have a lot of work.

Persy: don’t say I didn’t try.

Sailor: don’t worry, Pers. We’ll tag team her when we see her.

Belle: ah, just like in college. Only you’re not the entire baseball team.

Aisling: have you ever had a threesome, Belle?

Aisling: (and before you ask, yes, I’m blushing).

Belle: more like reverse harem.

I checked the timestamp on the beginning of the conversation and realized six minutes had passed. Taking a deep breath, I picked up the pregnancy test from the vanity in the restroom and closed my eyes.

It’s going to be okay.

You’ll get pregnant.

You’re doing this with a man who would move mountains to get what he wants, and he wants an heir.

I flipped the pregnancy test over and popped my eyes open.



Pregnant.



The gasp that tore out of my throat rattled the walls. I was sure of it. There was joy and fear and delight in it.

I was pregnant.

I was going to become a mother.

This was happening.

Maybe. The trouble wasn’t just conceiving, but keeping the baby, remember? a voice inside me cautioned.

For a few moments, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I paced around the small restroom, stopped by the mirror over the sink, and pinched my cheeks, screaming silently a-la Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.

A mother.

Me.

There was no one else I was going to need.

No one but my baby. We were going to be there for each other. Finally, I would have someone else to take care of, someone who would look after me the way Persy and I did before she married Cillian and started her own, tight-knit family.

After pulling myself together, I snapped a picture of the pregnancy test and sent it to Devon. No caption was needed. I wanted to see his reaction.

The two blue V’s signaling Devon had received and opened the message appeared on the screen.

Then … nothing.

Ten seconds.

Twenty seconds.

After the thirty second mark, I began feeling uneasy. Almost defensive.

What the hell was his problem?

I began typing a scathing message, with plenty of profanity and a good dose of accusations, when a call appeared on my screen.

Devon Whitehall

I cleared my throat, adopting his bland, annoying tone.

“Whaddup?”

“We make a good team, Sweven.” Devon’s laugh echoed from the other side of the line, reaching the pit of my stomach. It made a stopover in my heart, making my pulse stutter unevenly.

I wasn’t expecting the joy in his voice. I wasn’t expecting any kind of feeling from this Adonis statue of a man.

“I mean, we did work super hard and long on this,” I sassed.

“Don’t forget thick.” I heard him lighting up a cigarette.

“I could never forget the thick part. It is the thing I’ll remember you by when I’m old and wrinkly and you’re long dead and buried next to your beloved fax machine.”

“The fax machine gets cremated. She wants her ashes to be spread in the ocean, and you know I can’t refuse her.” Dammit, he was funny, in an odd kind of way.

“A baby,” I whispered again, shaking my head. “Can you believe it?”

“Still digesting,” he chuckled. But he didn’t sound as overwhelmed as I was, for better or worse. “Well, it was indeed a pleasure to do business with you.” I heard the hustle and bustle of his office in the background. “I will, of course, begin wiring you an amount of twenty thousand dollars a month. We’ll discuss your accommodations and furnishings for the babe’s rooms in our respective places during the second trimester. Though, of course, as per our contract, I shall expect weekly updates from you.”

Um, okay.

Technically, Devon didn’t say anything bad. On the contrary. I told him I wanted nothing to do with his ass after I got pregnant, and he was just sticking to the script. To what we signed off on that night I stood him up at the opera. But I couldn’t shake this weird feeling that I’d been discarded like an old sock.

You wanted to be discarded like an old sock. In fact, you threw yourself headfirst into the laundry basket.

“Duh.” I yawned audibly, pretending to be undeterred by his businesslike manner. “Is email okay for the updates? I would fax them, but I’m under seventy-five.”