“We’ve had a little disagreement,” I say, through clenched teeth.
I take the cakes out of the oven for her and set them on the side. She starts wafting them with a baking sheet – something she’s seen onBake Off. Leaning against the counter, I cross my arms to stop myself flapping about. I need to get control of my emotions. Going in hot-headed won’t help. You can’t fight fire with fire. I remember in the early stages of mine and Tim’s relationship when I would placate and bow down. Try to keep the peace, not ruffle the feathers. That was a mistake. I should have fought back, I should have stood up for myself and stopped the control before it got out of hand.
“Go talk to him. He’ll be stewing in his office. I’m going to sort the icing and decorate these.” She’s perfected the lemon poppy seed cupcake, and we’ve already prepped a lemon meringue icing. My perfect little student.
Giving Neive a soft smile, I take my apron off and tuck my hair behind my ears, trying to make myself presentable. I coulddo with being semi-professional for this conversation; he’s not my boyfriend, we aren’t in a relationship. As much as this feels like a betrayal, that’s not what it is. He was disrespectful as a customer, not a partner.
Walking through the corridor and towards his office, everything suddenly feels big and overpowering. Inadequacy is second nature to me: my dad didn’t want me, Tim only wanted to control me, and now Elton doesn’t trust me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a breath. Shoulders relaxed, head held high.
His feelings aren’t important, his opinion of me doesn’t define me.
I am not responsible for his emotions.
Not. My. Problem.
I glare at the door. It’s slightly open – light peeks through the crack and an angry muffled voice comes from inside.
“Yes, this is necessary. I deem Reilly to be stoic and impassive about destroying mine and Neive’s lives for a bit of cash.”
I push the heavy mahogany door open. Elton is sitting in his desk chair, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. He’s taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He runs a hand through his hair to the back of his neck. Closing his eyes, he blows out a breath.
I take a step into the room. From here you can see the spot I was standing while on the phone. Did he know I was there? Was he spying on me?
Maybe this is for the best. I’ve found out his true nature early. No heartbreak this way.
“This stays between us.” His voice is bland and well-versed, but through the power, I detect a hint of concern. “I won’t put my family through any more.” This is what this is about: Neive. His reaction isn’t personal but I won’t subject myself tohumiliation. I won’t be his punching bag when shit gets difficult.
His eyes snap to me, and I expect anger. I’m surprised by the storm of hurt instead. I shut the door and stand behind one of the leather chairs facing his desk. His eyes haven’t left my face. The other person is still talking on the other end of the phone. “Steven, I’ll call you back.”
The thud of the phone hitting the desk starts the clock of the silence that stretches between us. His veins on his arms are prominent as he leans forward, hands steepled in front of him. A king on his throne, commanding over his domain. A man who appears in control, but in reality he is teetering on the edge. He waits for me to go first, probably expecting my conditions and expectations. I won’t give him the floor to start berating me again.
I steady my nerves. I will myself to remain composed.
“I will no longer be able to continue with Neive’s baking lessons in this house. I would prefer you have her dropped off at mine, or we can use the bakery after hours. To be confirmed. If neither of these options work for you, then I would like to be paid for the lessons I have completed so far and leave it as is. I’m sorry to let Neive down, but I do not feel comfortable continuing to work in this house after the verbal bashing I just received.” There I said it.
Elton stares at me. His eyes dark and his breath heavy, he angrily knocks back a glass of amber liquid which I assume is whisky. He’s such a cliché wanker.
“I’ve spoken to my lawyer, and we will need a paternity test done straight away.” He’s choosing to ignore my previous statement, apparently. He picks up his phone and starts typing, avoiding my eyes. I won’t give him the satisfaction of a response to his statement. I allow him to carry on, digging himself deeper. “Then, a parenting contract will be drawn up to outlinefinancial and personal expectations.” And he has still not asked me the very simple and most important question. I’ll guess I’ll answer for him as he refuses to give me the benefit of the doubt.
“I’m not pregnant.” He stops typing, his list of demands forgotten. “I never thought I was.” Slowly, he places his phone face down on his desk and raises his gaze to mine. I can’t read his face. Is that shock, relief, disbelief? He says nothing. “I started new birth control recently, before we were together. I haven’t had a period in four months and have been experiencing nausea. Thought it best to check it out with the doctors.” I can’t help but lace my voice with an air of sarcasm. I shouldn’t feel the need to justify my medical history, but I want to embarrass him.
“You said you’d taken pregnancy tests?” he asks, narrowing his eyes, studying me. Leaning back, swiping his thumb across his lips, trying to find me in a lie.
“Yes, five of them. One every month since I started missing my periods and one yesterday. All negative.” My heart is beating through my chest but thankfully my vocals have not betrayed me and I speak with confidence and assurance. “I’m not pregnant.”
He stands and contemplates my statement. “Not pregnant,” he whispers, pushing out a breath. A shaky laugh slips out of him, before realisation hits and he whips his head towards me.
“Reilly, I …” He runs his hands over his now red face. “I’m so sorry ….” he tries, but I cut him off with one hand as he did to me earlier.
“Let’s not hash it out. You made a mistake, which I guess is understandable. However, your reaction is not.” I bite at thet. “Let me know what you decide about Neive’s baking lessons.” And with a nod of my head, I spin on my heel and make for the door. I need to get out of here before my fierce persona crumbles.
“Reilly, wait, please. Let’s talk.” I take a breath before I turn. I need to be strong here.
He’s made his way around the desk, and he takes a step towards me with his arm out ready to reach for me but he quickly retreats. His arm drops back to his side and I take in his sorry eyes. That’s the conscientious man I thought I had met.
“There is nothing to be said, Elton. We’ve both made wrong assumptions based on half-heard phone calls. We should keep our distance from each other now. Let’s call a spade a spade and end this before it starts.”
