Prologue
Present Day (Unfortunately)
Chloe
If anyone ever forced me to describe Tyler Carrington in three little words, I’d choose ‘arrogant,’ ‘obnoxious,’ and ‘devastatingly-sexy-bastard-who-needs-to-be-slapped-into-another-dimension.’ (That last term is definitely in the dictionary. Trust me.)
To be fair, the runner-up word would be ‘my-baby-daddy-whom-I-loathe,’ but that’s a story for another day…
For the past several nights, I’ve devoured countless disaster novels, hoping that one plot will become a reality and he’ll magically disappear.
Alas, it pains me to admit that no sudden earthquakes, sinkholes, or zombie outbreaks have torn him out of my life.
Even now, at this very moment, he’s standing in my office doorway, glaring at me with his gorgeous almond eyes. As much as I despise him, he can arouse me with little effort, with one spoken word from his beautiful British lips. And no matter how many times I’ve attempted to convince my heart he’s unworthy of affection, it beats a yearning rhythm whenever he’s near.
“Are you ready to finish our conversation from last night, Miss March?” He finally shatters the silence, his deep accent disarming me with ease. “Now is the time to finish whatever you started to say.”
“Sure.” I shrug. “I hate everything about you and this situation. Please go back to London.”
“That’s not the conversation I’m talking about.”
“Then maybe you’re the one who has something to say.”
“I believe the words you’re looking for are, ‘I’m done playing these sick and twisted games, and I’m coming back to your place to stay.’”
“My best friends’ couches are serving me just fine. I appreciate your kind request, though.”
“This isn’t a bloody request.” He clenches his jaw. “It’s been eight days.”
“Seven.”
“The numbers aren’t the point,” he says. “I expect to see you in my bed tonight so we can discuss this latest problem like adults.”
“What happens when you realize I’m still not there?”
“I’ll be forced to take drastic measures to protect our soon-to-be-born child.”
“My child.”
“You didn’t make it yourself.” He smirks. “Surely you remember my part in that night, correct?”
“It was quite forgettable, now that I think about it.”
“I highly doubt you forgot five orgasms.”
It was six…
I search for something sarcastic to say, but memories from that fateful night are suddenly flooding my brain. All I can see is him owning my body with his mouth, bringing me to the edge so many times that I begged him never to stop, and pulling me close while whispering the filthiest things I’d ever heard.
“That’s what I thought.” He heads toward the door. “I’ll see you at home. Or else.”
He slams the door shut, and I pick up my cell phone.
I open the ‘What to Expect When Expecting’ app and scroll to the prior weeks of my pregnancy, back when I was still in denial.
Back when “Bring in my thirties with a bang” was a mere birthday wish, and I had no idea who “Tyler Carrington” truly was.
When I make it to ‘Week 4,’ I stare at the note I’d penned and finally accept the truth.
There are no refunds on birthdays, no exchanges on time. This man—and all of his baggage—will be a permanent passenger on the flight of my life…