Working It

24

Ben

I opened the door to my hotel room to find a tear-streaked and sobbing Fiona.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” I guided her inside and closed the door. She crashed against my chest, burying her face in my shirt as she cried. I brought an arm around her, doing my best to comfort her.

“I had my last insemination today.” She sucked in a breath to steady herself, her eyes gazing down at the floor. “They won’t do any more on me because it’s not safe to be on those drugs for longer than twelve cycles. That was my thirteenth. I had to beg them,” she said, her voice just a small rasp.

I’d never seen her so down. “So there’s still a chance, right?”

“No. I just know this isn’t going to work. Why would it? The other twelve didn’t. Maybe God or whoever’s up there”—she looked up at the ceiling—“doesn’t want me to be a mother.”

I remained silent, unsure of how to comfort her. I was completely out of my element.

“And even if I could find a new doctor to convince to work with me and take another round of treatment, we’ll be leaving in a few weeks and you’ll be back in New York, busy with your new girlfriend, too busy to help me with my injections.”

“Hey.” I reached out for her hand. “I’ll never be too busy for you.”

She laced our fingers together. “I know. You’re too good to me.”

Unsure of what else to do, I pulled her to my chest for a hug, and Fiona nestled against my neck. After a few moments, the sobs racking her chest had quieted and her hands slid down my sides to cup my ass.

I stepped back. “Fiona,” I pleaded, my tone a weak excuse for a warning. It would be so easy to slip back into our old roles, to fall into bed together, to comfort her that way. But I realized that it never made me happy. I never could sleep for shit the times we did share a bed. That was reserved just for Emmy.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks and blinked up at me. Fiona was a beautiful woman—even with her tears. But I couldn’t do this.

“Ben . . .” She didn’t say anything else, just continued pleading with me with those intense brown eyes.

“If I could fix this, Fiona, I would. You know that.”

Recognition seemed to click for us both at the same time as our gazes snapped together and she took a step closer. “Ben, you could fix this. You could give me a baby. The most beautiful little baby.”

“Fiona . . .” I shook my head.

“Ben . . . no one has to know . . . Emmy doesn’t have to find out. . . .”

I released a frustrated sigh. Fiona had worked hard to build my career, to make me wealthy and successful over the past five years. She’d worked nonstop for me, forgone dating and relationships . . . and I couldn’t help but wonder if she hadn’t been working so hard for me, perhaps she would have settled down into marriage and kids by now.

I led her over to the bed and we each sat on the edge. I hated the hopeful look in her eyes. Growing up without my own father made me damn sure that when I did have kids someday, I wanted to raise them.

“No one will ever know,” she whispered softly.

I gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll run you a bath. Do you want to stay here with me tonight? Watch movies? Order room service?”

She smiled weakly. “Thanks, dear. That’s brilliant. Exactly what I need.”

“No problem.” I rose from the bed, leaving her to run a bubble bath in the big Jacuzzi tub. I needed to call Emmy but settled for sending her a quick text while the tub filled.

Me: Something came up tonight. Too busy to talk. Miss you.