Free Having Jay's Baby (Having His Baby #2) by Fran Louise Page B

was done.
    I kept the speech short, focusing on the work the designers were doing, and otherwise just making sure people knew how to donate. I took my charity work seriously; while I might abhor my family’s obsession with wealth and position, I couldn’t deny that they’d instilled in me a solid belief in charity. I was aware that it was one of the more perverse dichotomies of the super rich; tax avoidance and then charitable benevolence.
    Elizabeth was wavering on the spot when I arrived back stage, a squat glass of clear liquid in one limp hand. “Honestly, darling—let’s go,” she said, as though I’d been abusing her patience. “You’ve done your duty.” Distaste seemed to engulf her as a couple of models ran past, laughing. “I’m sure they mean well but it’s awfully amateurish.”
    She wasn’t the only one who wanted to leave. I had every intention of putting her in a car and turning tail in search of Stella. Excitement loomed in me like heavy mist. But that was something for later; something to look forward to once I’d finished this.
    “Okay, let’s get this interview done,” Fueller said, pointedly ignoring my wife’s comment. He eyed her glass cautiously. “Can you leave that here, sweetheart? We’ll be done in fifteen minutes. You can pick it up on your way out.”
    Elizabeth stilled. I was almost certain she was outraged, both by the gauche comment about the drink and the endearment. Like the well-bred woman she was, she put the glass down and didn’t comment. Her expression conveyed quite enough without the necessity of language.
    We weaved through the chaos in the room, but I was too distracted to take much notice. I kept one eye on Fueller, one eye on Elizabeth, and both eyes out for Stella. We were introduced to the designers and the head of the charity. I chatted with the organisers and made small talk with some of the more salubrious patrons of the charity. I resisted the urge to glance around; thankfully the conversation was restricted to a type of banal I was very familiar with, and required little effort on my part.
    My phone was vibrating in my pocket on and off. I finally picked it up during a short lull in the proceedings. Fueller’s name flashed up on the screen. Confused, I glanced up at my friend to see a tight, sardonic expression in return. Trepidation fizzed low in my stomach. Looking down, I opened the message.
    “ Test positive ,” it said. “ Congratulations, you’re a dad. ”

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
    Stella
     
    If I’d had to isolate the sensation, I would have said that my heart was trying to escape from my chest. Really – trying to tear its way out through a set of intense, unyielding battering. Inside the backroom I could hear Jay growling at the man who’d arranged the interview.
    “The evening’s over,” he was saying, and behind that the only marginally higher-pitched query from his wife. His fucking wife was here ... I couldn’t even allow myself to ponder on the implications of that. My photographer was in there, but I couldn’t hear him or anything else over the cacophony in the backstage area.
    Then the door swooped open.
    My heart leapt like a flea on a mattress as Jay came storming out. He looked like an angry god. His hair gleamed molten gold, his tuxedo stark against it. He clasped my arm. The surprise was so sharp that I let him propel me along the makeshift corridor without any resistance.
    “You’re hurting me,” I said eventually, recovering my senses. I tried unsuccessfully to yank my arm out of his grip. “Jay!” I was shocked by his reaction. “Good God, why are you acting like this?”
    He pushed me into an empty room and slammed a flimsy door behind us. I stared anxiously at the billowing marquee walls, half expecting them to collapse. Jay was everywhere, taking up the space and the air in front of me. He was lit with anger, white-hot with it. I couldn’t understand … was he angry because his wife had seen