“We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I disconnect, wondering what the hell’s going on. Glad Jax is going to be with me. I don’t want any further misunderstandings.
“What the hell does she want?”
Jaxson is not a member of the Darra fan club. He thinks she’s a user and social climber, irrespective of her father’s wealth. Not surprising when she treats everyone she considers beneath her with contempt. Something my friend admitted to me after Darra and I split. As Jax comes from a middle-class family, she’s dismissed him on more than one occasion, and as for Pen…I wish she’d told me some things Darra had done. When I broached it with Darra, she shrugged and made a joke of it, telling me they needed to toughen up. Life is hard.
“I don’t know. Let’s get this over with.”
We arrive at Darra’s apartment. Her parents have put her up in a luxury three-bedroom penthouse. She is no longer a student, having graduated at the end of last year, and she’s working as a personal assistant to one of her father’s friends.
I knock on the door and wait.
Darra opens it, her hair dishevelled, her makeup smudged, not her usual immaculate appearance.
“Darra?” I question.
“Come in,” she says, stepping back from the door and holding her arm out toward the living area.
I limp my way inside. It’s been almost two months since my accident, and although my leg is out of plaster, it’s still healing. We make our way inside. Her parents have furnished the apartment to a high standard. Nothing is too good for Daddy’s little girl.
Jax drops himself down on the sofa, but I remain standing. I want to get out of here as soon as possible.
“How are you?” Darra asks, her eyes going to the boot supporting my ankle.
“I won’t be making this year’s Olympic trials if that’s what you’re asking,” I say.
“I’m sorry, Eli,” she says, her eyes filling with what looks like genuine concern.
“It is what it is. My fault,” I say.
Something my therapist has been helping me work on.
“Can I get you a drink?” Darra asks, always the perfect hostess.
“No thanks,” I say. “Just tell me what you want, and we’ll get out of your hair.”
Darra stares up at me, her eyes filling.
Shit!
I hate tears.
She’s used them a lot in the past six months. They seem to be her number one manipulation tactic in public, I’m beginning to realise.
“I’m…I’m pregnant.”
I stare at her.
“Did you hear me, Eli? I said I’m pregnant.”
“I heard you.”
“It’s yours,” she says, her hands going to her flat stomach.
“Impossible. We’ve always been careful. We’ve also only been together once since Christmas.”
She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow.
