But no matter how much I thought about it, I hadn’t considered the consequences. I was on birth control, and they asked for our medical history on the forms, but I hadn’t factored in the medication I’d been taking the week before the date. What a naive mistake. I was an idiot.
What the hell was I going to do? I didn’t even know who he was or what his last name was. How the hell was I going to find him? Did I want to find him?
That had me pulling up straight, my spine stiffening at the slew of issues that bombard my brain.
All of a sudden, my door flew open, and my dad’s salt and pepper head popped through. “Meeting in a couple of minutes,” he muttered, barely giving me any attention.
When I didn’t immediately respond, he stopped and gave me a second glance. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene.
Move. Stop standing there like an idiot and move. Swipe all evidence from your desk you dumb, hormonal, pregnant woman.
My mind could be a bitch—but a correct bitch.
If I thought he was scowling before at my damp eyes and rigid posture, it had nothing on when he caught sight of the pregnancy test sitting proudly on my desk.
“What the hell is that?” He pushed the door fully open and pointed an accusing finger. Still, I stood there. “Carina!”
I jumped when he barked my name, and I dropped my gaze to where he pointed like I was hoping to find something else—like maybe he hadn’t seen the pregnancy test and was asking me about the pen that looked like lipstick. No such luck. Still a white stick with two pink lines.
“Oh, um…I…um—”
“Does Jake know?”
“What?” That brought me out of my stupor. Why the hell would Jake need to know? Then it hit me; my dad thought Jake was the father. Despite Jake being engaged to a man now.
I almost laughed. Almost.
Then I almost choked on that laughter when the man himself appeared beside my father, all playful smile and sparkling blue eyes, unprepared for the category ten disaster happening.
“Does Jake know what?”
“That.”
Jake took in my father’s glower, stepping into the office to follow the direction of my father’s finger. His brows rose to his hairline, and his jaw dropped. “Oh, ummm…”
“How could you do this to her,” my father accused.
“Jesus, Dad. No. It’s not Jake’s.” I directed an apologetic look to Jake who was still looking at me like I’d told him I just made a quick trip to Mars and back while he blinked.
“Then who’s the hell baby is it?”
“Dad—”
“I didn’t even realize you were serious with anyone.”
He started pacing, not even willing to hear me anymore, muttering rationalizations on how I could have gotten pregnant, and not have introduced the man to my father. He could be so old-fashioned, completely oblivious to his daughter having a one-night stand.
He froze in the middle of his pacing and faced me, shoulders back. “I want to meet him. I’m not happy that you’re not married, but we can fix that.”
And back to pacing and muttering about weddings. I looked to Jake for help, because despite our broken engagement, he was still my partner in crime. But even he was at a loss for words, his eyes tracking up and down my body like a baby would pop out at any second.
The amount of ignorant testosterone in the room grated on my already fragile nerves, and I snapped.
Slapping my hands on my desk, I halted my father’s pacing. “I’m not dating anyone.”
“But that’s impossible.”
“Are you serious, right now?”
His eyes searched mine almost begging for another answer. I got where he was coming from. I did. My mother was a less than…lady-like woman. They both tried to fit together when they found out she was pregnant with me, but it didn’t work. In the end, she left, unable to put anyone above herself.
He didn’t want that for me and raised me with structure and discipline. Getting pregnant on a one-night stand was about as far from disciplined as you could get.
“Dad…”
“We have a meeting to get to,” he said, cutting me off. “We’ll discuss this later.” And with that he stormed out, gesturing for Jake to follow.
I stared down at the offending plastic before shoving it in my purse with a disgusted scoff. I’d deal with it later. My father was right, I had a meeting to get to, and work was something I was damn good at, and could control.
At least, I tried to.
My father went over the basics, seeking my opinion on everything, but delegating the biggest tasks to the men in the room. Each job that he passed me over for had my jaw clenching tighter and tighter. My father had groomed me for this position, made me strong enough to stand strong against any man in the business world, letting me know that as a woman I’d be looked down on—doubted and second-guessed.