The Playboy's Baby: A BWWM Pregnancy Romance (9 page)

He would go on and on, describing in excruciating detail, each picture that was carved into the door. It was all a lie, of course. There was no story, though it made for interesting dinner conversation. He often pondered what he thought he would have inscribed for his “part of the story.”

“Maybe I’ll go crazy and become a recluse,” he said to some of the guests. “Or maybe I will raise cattle and become and urban cowboy."

His wife was not a fan of these stories. Nor did she like the doors. The only thing keeping them attached to the house was Rafe’s insistence that if she got rid of it, he’d find something more horrid to put in its place. She believed him.

He turned the lights and the engine off before pushing the button for the automatic garage door opener. Next to him, the other two slots of the garage were also filled; his motorcycle and his wife’s Vespa in one spot and her Mercedes in the far spot. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brows in disappointment. He was hoping that she would still have been meeting with her book club. He wanted to surprise her with dinner. He opened the passenger’s side door and pulled out a bouquet of roses before heading into the house.

“Stacey?” he called. Just through the garage door was the mud room, which led to the laundry room and the kitchen. His oxfords clacked as he made his way through each room. “Stacey?”

The kitchen was spotless thanks to their maid, Margarita, who came in four times a week. She was a sweetheart, a grandmother, and an excellent cook. She would often bring him dinner on Saturday nights when he was at home and Stacey was out with her friends. She didn’t much care for Stacey’s antics but Rafe understood them.

Stacey was a young bride – a trophy bride – who was caught in Patrick’s sights. If arranged marriages still occurred in America, this would be an example of it. Patrick liked how Stacey looked on Rafe’s arm. Eye candy. “She would be a great accessory to a corporate party,” Patrick had told him.

But what did Patrick know about being married? He’d done it enough times that he should have been able to get it right about now. His first wife was Rafe’s mother. She was a beautiful woman but – yes – also an “arranged marriage”. She was a trophy wife but a smart one. One day she had enough of it and she just got up and disappeared. Walked out on him and walked out on his dad.

Throughout his childhood and high school years, there were a string of girlfriends and a couple of wives but nothing that would stick. No one would put up with him or stay through the mistress. Yes, he had his fair share of girls on the side. The only mistress that he kept throughout the women was his work. Patrick was addicted to his job and he tried to convince Rafe to adopt the same principles. When he was going through college (before he had taken the bar exams), he partied hard – despite his father’s best efforts.

At that point, Rafe didn’t care anymore. He was also young – too young for marriage. He had a rebellious girlfriend that Patrick paid off (so that she could “ruin someone else’s life”). Rafe knew that it wasn’t love that kept him with his ex-girlfriend, but it was something that he enjoyed for the moment.

Of course, it wasn’t love that caused Rafe to marry Stacey either. In fact, Patrick was the one who had asked her to marry him. By that time, Rafe no longer cared. He had set his sights on his career. He was determined to live his life the way he wanted and the first step was going to be moving up the ladder so that he could create his own firm. Along the way, something derailed him. It might have been his growing affection for his wife. It was hard to love someone who didn’t love you back, though.

Rafe made his way into the living room. He always thought that the white walls and couch were too sterile for his tastes, but Stacey decorated it herself, so he didn’t bother to argue. The gray stone fireplace stuck out into the middle of the room. Its thin, layered bricks created a focal point in the room.

On the mantel were wedding pictures and photos of Stacey riding horseback, playing tennis, and hobnobbing with celebrities. Her curly blonde hair was in perfect ringlets in each picture. Her bright blue eyes were striking from photo to photo. The plastic smile was the same in each as well. He couldn’t stand to look at those photos. He might as well have just kept the pictures that came in those picture frames in the first place. It would have been just as genuine.

That’s when he heard the shower running from upstairs. His eyes followed the spiral staircase that went from behind the couch to the upstairs landing. The stairs were made of frosted glass; the banister, rod iron. It was a stunning piece of architecture, the only thing that he liked about the room.

Rafe hurriedly went back into the kitchen so that he could quickly whip up something for dinner. He placed the roses on the counter. Those would have to wait until he could steam some vegetables and cooked some pasta. He loved to cook. It was almost therapeutic for him. All of the elements under his control, the chemistry of each ingredient, the dance of the flames, the melding of flavors; it was one of the only things that he learned from his mother. Too bad that his future children wouldn’t be able to learn that from their mother. However, he was looking forward to teaching them himself.

The veggies cooked up in a jiffy and the pasta came in its own phase. He knew that he had plenty of time for each, since Stacey spent so long in the bathroom.

The sound of her heels against the glass was what brought his attention up from the place settings.

“Mm!” she said from the living room. “Smells divine in here!”

She waltzed into the room, dressed to the nines. Her short black cocktail dress extenuated her girlish figure – well, except for her breasts, which weren’t so much girlish as they were round like the earth (though not as natural as the earth). Her perfect curls. Her blue eyes. Her plastic smile. Rafe had seen each one from the images on the mantel. He smiled at her.

“You look ravishing. No need to dress up for me, though.”

“Oh, Rafe. You’re so silly, darling. I’m going out with my friends tonight.” She sifted through the items in her purse and produced her compact and a tube of lip gloss. She reapplied another layer of color to her already glossy lips.

The smile left his face. “I made dinner. I mean we delivered the closing summations today. The case is over. I won’t have any more late nights – well, for the next few nights at least—" He reached for her and tried to kiss her, but she pushed him away.

“That’s nice, babe. I’m happy for you. Congrats – but I’m going to be late. Estelle’s driver is picking us all up. You don’t have to wait up for me, dear.” She walked up to him with a
clack, clack, clack
of her heels against the tile floors and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “It really does smell good in here. Feel free to invite one of the boys over for dinner. I’d hate to see this go to waste.” And with that she was gone – out the front door, swept up by a limo.

Rafe fell into the chair. He shouldn’t have expected anything less. After all, he hadn’t told her he was going to be home tonight. He just kind of expected her to be here.  This was his fault, right? He stared at both plates before finally staring off into space. His thoughts wandered to Cheryl.

His thoughts often wandered to Cheryl and her smile. He tried to shake himself free of the daydream, but found himself coming back to it over and over again. He missed her. Her touch. Her soft lips. Her warm breath. The green apple shampoo that she used. It was all flooding back to him like a dream that just wouldn’t go away. Not that he wanted it to go away, after all.

He had to get out of the house. He couldn’t spend the night alone at home. Besides, he had more work to do at the office, anyway.

*   *   *

“You spent the night in here, didn’t you?” Cheryl said, leaning against the doorframe.

Rafe’s head popped up from his desk. She had startled him enough to wake him up from his deep sleep. The wrinkles from his shirt had imprinted themselves onto his perfect five o’clock shadowed cheeks. He blinked a few times and rubbed his forehead. “What time is it?”

“It’s seven AM. On Friday. What are you doing here? Most of the office is taking a long weekend. Even your dad called in to have his messages forwarded.” She set a coffee cup down on a clean spot on his desk. Next to that, she set a small bag. “Blueberry bagel and cream cheese.”

“You’re a saint,” he said. He stretched. “Everyone is gone today?”

Cheryl nodded.

Rafe cocked an eyebrow. “Then why are you here? And how did you know to bring me breakfast?”

“Well I got here at six and saw your car in the parking lot. It was one of, like, six.” She chuckled. “So I turned around and got breakfast for us both.” Cheryl held up another bag. “I also swung by my apartment to grab my books. I figured that it’d be quiet enough that I could get some studying done.”

Rafe took a sip from the cup. “Thanks.”

“You going to head home after breakfast?”

“Naw, I’ll spend some time here. Gotta go through some more from this case.” He looked at the pictures and documentation scattered over his desk. “Some scary shit…”

“Is it just like what they said in the news?” Her curiosity got the best of her, despite the fact that she knew it wouldn’t be the best conversation to have over a meal. Rafe motioned for her to grab a seat, which she did. She pulled up a chair and started rifling through some of the documents.

“It’s much worse. The cops must not have released all this info.”

Chapter Three

The Angel Killer was the biggest thing to happen to the region in the past decade. He spent most of the last half of the decade scaring women into barricading themselves in their home. However, it wasn’t necessarily them that he was after. The killer is known for having murdered at least 23 prostitutes along several red light districts in at least five major populated cities.

The reason he was called “The Angel Killer” was because of the care that he took with the bodies. After sexually assaulting and strangling the women, he would bath them, cloth them in white dresses, cross their arms, and place them in front of churches. Then he would gently lay them on the ground, and draw angel wings and a halo around them in white chalk.

After years of scouring and exhausting hundreds of leads, investigators settled on Stephen Roche, a quiet, churchgoing family man. He was meek and small with a receding hairline and gold wire-rimmed glasses. A career plumber, Roche had spent his entire life in the same 20 miles from the house that he grew up in. When his parents passed away, he even moved back into his old home – then brought in his wife and had their kids there. The community was shocked to see such a “regular” man get arrested for such heinous crimes – 23 women. The news channels were all over him. His face was plastered all over the TV screens all across the nation. It would be difficult to find an unbiased jury.

The murders had escalated at such an alarming rate right before Roche was arrested that they were finding nearly one body a week. However, after arresting Roche for a DWI, police searched his vehicle and found the tools used in strangulation, care, and preparation for the bodies. Not to mention, the murder stopped while he was placed under arrest for the murder of 23 women.

*   *   *

“All of that evidence they got was circumstantial. There wasn’t a distinct link between Roche and the murdered women. None of the prostitutes in any of the red light districts recognized him or his car—" Rafe put the last piece of bagel into his mouth.

“Well, they aren’t the best witnesses to take the stand either…” Cheryl added. “What was his alibi for the nights that those women were murdered?”

Rafe swallowed the rest of his breakfast before continuing. “He didn’t really have any, except that he was asleep next to his wife. She didn’t see him get up in the middle of the night or anything like that.”

“What were the police thinking arresting him without the proper evidence?” Cheryl leaned back in the chair.

“You think he’s good for it?” asked a voice from the doorway. Rafe and Cheryl looked up to find Noah Rochester leaning up against the doorframe.

Rafe cleared his throat. “Oh, sorry, Sir. I didn’t see you standing there.”

“No, no, no. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.” He smiled at them.

Noah was a good man. Cheryl called him “an honest lawyer if ever there was one.” He was also in his sixties, though his fast graying hair was nearly all white already.

“I heard that you were taking this case. I warned your father against it but he said that you liked a good challenge. How do you feel about this Roche?”

“Patrick told me not to go with my feelings. I can’t follow my gut, heart, and head all at the same time.”

“That does sound like your father.” He turned his attention toward Rafe’s pretty personal assistant. “Excuse me, dear. Can you give us a moment?”

Cheryl nodded and stood up. “Of course, sir. I’ll just be out…” She motioned toward her desk but decided against saying anything else and just shuffled her way out the door.

“I think I make the girl nervous,” Noah said with a chuckle.

“She’s a hard worker and a good person.”

“What’s she doing here, then?” Noah asked. He raised a sarcastic eyebrow and they both fell into matching laughs. “I wanted to stop by to talk to you about why I wanted you to become a partner.”

“It isn’t because of my boyish charm?” asked Rafe.

“No, and it isn’t because of your quick wit either.” He sat down in the chair Cheryl had just vacated. “You’re a good lawyer, Patrick.”

“Don’t call me Patrick,” Rafe suddenly snapped. “I’m not my father.”

“That’s why I want you to be a partner.”

Rafe looked up at Noah, his eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

“You are a good lawyer like your father but you also have a good heart. Your father may not think that’s a good combination, but I do. I need someone like you to match wits with your father when I’m gone.”

“When you’re gone? I thought they were just making room for another partner. I didn’t know that you’re leaving.”

Noah breathed deep. The air whistled out of his nose as he exhaled. “Colon cancer. They don’t give me much time.”

“Oh!” Rafe fell back into his chair. “I can’t— I mean… You’re like a second father to me. I can’t even…”

“I didn’t want to tell anyone. Only your father knows. Well, and now you. Yes, they are looking to hire a new partner but it isn’t because we’re making the room. It’s because I’m dying.” The room fell silent for what seemed like forever. “Now, now,” Noah said looking into Rafe’s eyes. “None of that crying business. I’m not dead yet.”

Rafe chuckled. “What did dad say?” A stern look suddenly plastered itself all over his face. “Something insensitive, I bet.”

Noah held up a hand and shook his head. “Your father was just – Patrick. No need to be heroic on my part. I didn’t expect anything more or less from him. We’ve been friends since college, so I wasn’t surprised at all. I just…” His voice faded for a moment. “I just want you to know why I want you to take my place instead of one of my own. None of my men can battle against your father like you can.”

He shrugged. “But no matter what I think, your father’s still going to make you jump through hoops.” He motioned toward Rafe’s desk, which was littered with horrific images. “Just don’t lose yourself in it. That’s who I really want to take my place.” He tapped the arm of the chair with his pen. “All right, I’m going to take off. Spend some time with the wife and kids. You should do the same. Don’t stay here all weekend and look at this.”

After Noah left his office, Rafe was brought to tears. In the years that he grew up, he always turned to Noah when he needed to be reminded of what it would be like to be human again. Not what his father wanted of him. He wiped the tears away and jolted up from his seat. He grabbed his coat and rushed through the door.

“Cheryl,” he said as he put his coat on. “Grab your coat and purse. Come on. We’ll take my car.”

“What are you talking about?” Cheryl asked, already nose deep in a textbook.

“No time for questions. Life or death. Life or death, let’s go. I’ll meet you at my car.”

*   *   *

“Where are you taking me?” asked Cheryl. She was sitting in the passenger’s seat of Rafe’s Jeep Cherokee.

“To the humane society.”

She turned to him. “I’m sorry. The what?”

“I need something.”

“You need fleas?”

“No—" Rafe let out an exacerbated sigh. “I need to be human again. Just humor me for a bit, okay? I’ll have you back to your textbooks by this afternoon.”

***

Cheryl hadn’t been to the humane society since she was a little girl. Her family had bought a small Pekingese puppy there. She grew up with little “Betty” up until she was a senior in high school. The small building always looked run down and sad. The poor puppies and dogs inside howling didn’t help the gloomy atmosphere.

As they walked into the lobby, they saw small cages with hamsters, rats and turtles. One of the volunteers led them back through the double doors, which led to the dog pens.

“Do you know what kind of dog you’re looking for?” the young volunteer asked. She looked as if she was fresh out of high school.

“No,” Rafe said. “Just a dog that needs a good home.”

Cheryl looked up at Rafe with questioning eyes but he ignored her. The dogs barked as they entered the concrete room. The walls were lined with cages. Dogs of various sizes looked up to see who the intruders were. Some were old, some were puppies, some were angry, but none of them really caught Rafe’s eye until he came upon the quietest cage of the bunch.

“This one is Oswald,” said the volunteer. “He’s a terrier mix. Sweet boy. Sometimes he can be a bit of a worrywart. He doesn’t really like to be alone much but he’s young so you can fix that separation anxiety with some proper training.”

Rafe and Cheryl crouched down. The small terrier mix had a gray head with small tan patches. The color blended into a soft white body. His eyes were huge as he looked up at them. He whined softly under his breath and nuzzled Rafe’s finger as he reached into the cage.

“Can we see him in the exercise yard?” Rafe asked the volunteer.

“Of course! I’ll go get the key and meet you outside.”

Cheryl gave Rafe a stern look as they stood outside. The air was cool and brisk despite the sun beating down on them. Autumn came fast in their neck of the woods. “You’re not really going to adopt a dog, are you? You’re trying for partner. You can’t take care of a dog and your career at the same time.”

“Why not?” Rafe said with a smirk, but he shook his head. “I just wanted to see some animals and donate some money to the humane society. I figured that since I was here I’d take a pup out for a walk, too.”

“You do that often?” Cheryl asked.

Rafe shook his head. “No, not this. I spend some time cleaning up the park sometimes, though. Keep the ponds clean for the ducks.”

“I’ve seen you out there on Sundays when I go for a run at the waterfront.”

Rafe grinned as he looked over at her. “Yeah? Why don’t you ever come over to say hi?”

“Because then you’ll make me clean up the park with you.”

Rafe laughed. “Yeah, I’ve always felt this drive to help animals,” Rafe said. His eyes were suddenly far away. “I don’t know if it’s because they just live their lives without worrying about anyone else’s, or if it’s because pets have this unconditional love that they give you no matter what you’ve done or been through…”

The volunteer appeared through the door holding a red leash. At the end of the leash was a small dog, a terrier mutt, the kind that you saw in movies with orphans who went on adventures with their four legged friends. Rafe’s smile beamed from ear to ear. He crouched down and held out his hand for Oswald to sniff. The small pup sniffed it and looked up at him, his eyebrows giving him so much expression. He nuzzled Rafe’s hand.

Cheryl knew. They were going to leave with this one, no matter what Rafe had said earlier. She pulled out her cell phone and looked up the nearest pet store.

*  *  *

“You won’t believe what he did,” Cheryl said. She fell backwards onto her bed. Holding the cell phone away from her face, she hit the speaker phone button. Her friend, Annie’s voice came blaring out of the speakers.

“What? Did he hit on you today? That dog.”

“No! Well… He got a dog.”

“What? Is that a euphemism for something?”

“No, I mean, he got a dog today. We went to the humane society and he got this little terrier. I have to admit, it’s a cute puppy, but still—"

“Why would he take you along?” Annie asked.

Cheryl sighed. “I don’t know. But he acted like he knew what he was doing. Maybe he took me along so that he wouldn’t end up buying a horse instead, or something.”

Annie laughed. She breathed hard into the phone. “You still like the guy, don’t you?”

Cheryl groaned. She set the phone by her side and grabbed a pillow. Burying her face in it, she let out a muffled groan and scream – then relaxed. “I don’t know. I mean, he’s a nice enough guy but he’s—"

“Married? Out of your league? Rich?”

“Yeah, yeah… I get it.”

“Don’t set your sights too high, chicka. You’ll fall down too hard.”

“I gotta go.”

“You only ‘gotta go’ cause I said something that you don’t want to hear.” Annie muttered something in Spanish.

Cheryl didn’t bother trying to tell her anything else. She just hung up the phone. It was late and Annie was out drinking with their friends anyway.

After Cheryl and Rafe got back from the humane society, they trotted Oswald through the office. They got a handful of Oo’s and Ah’s from the secretaries – talk about a chick magnet – but Rafe didn’t seem interested in any of that. It wasn’t until they got back to Cheryl’s office that their eyes matched. Both soulful and a bit sad. Those two needed each other. How did Rafe know that Oswald was going to be waiting for him?

The doorbell woke her up. She sat upright in bed, still wearing the same clothes from the night before. She must have fallen asleep before she could jump in the shower or change into pajamas. A groan escaped her lips as she made her way to the door and opened it. The chain kept the door from opening all the way. Oswald stuck his nose into her apartment. Cheryl let out a happy squeal and reached down to pet him.

“Well, let us in,” Rafe said. “Your weird neighbor keeps staring at us. I think he wants to eat him.”

Cheryl unchained the door. “What are you doing here?”

“We wanted to know if you wanted to go for a walk with us.” He looked around. Her living room was still filled to the brim with books. He nodded his head, “Yeah, I kind of expected this.”