Her Two Billionaires and a Baby (Her Billionaires #4)

The look on Josie's face gave Laura pause. Her friend looked ten years younger, more like when they'd met, hair pulled back and face scrubbed of make-up, though her long fingernails remained, this time designed to look like hot dogs.

"Hot dogs?" she said, pointing to Josie's hands. Even saying the name of the food made her stomach lurch.

"I saw the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile and got inspired."

"Is that a nickname for the guy you're dating?"

Smirk. "She feels better!" Josie announced to Snuggles, who poked his head out from under the bed and popped it right back, terrified.

Sip. Deep breath. Squint. "Yeah. Just barely."

"Some flat ginger ale and saltines might help, too." Wary and watching, the words poured out of Josie's mouth like a string of curses, the words foreign and unreal.

"You think I'm – what? – you're crazy – no way!" Nausea returned in a giant tidal wave, her body twisting to the side to retch into a strategically-placed bowl on the ground. Orange. Everything that came up was orange. It made her vomit more, blood vessels bursting on her face, the rolling contempt of the muscles needed to empty her stomach making this all-the-more difficult.

"How long have you been doing that?" Josie asked dispassionately, stepping closer to pull Laura's hair back as she blew chunks. A box of tissues nearby were within reach; Laura grabbed one and furiously dabbed her lips.

"On and off for the past week. I swear, Josie. Flu."

"You have a fever?"

"No."

"Muscle and joint pain?"

"No."

"When was your last period?"

"I am not your patient!" Fear and dread crept through her, giving her chills. She hadn't let herself go there. It's not that the idea hadn't occurred to her – it most certainly had, especially when the nausea became so middle-grade and pervasive, lifting only late at night. She was on the pill, though, and while she'd stupidly gone bare, not asking the guys to wear condoms, she'd never worried about this. She was on the pill, right?

But there was that one day, Laura, a voice whispered, low and mean. One day.

No! It hadn't even been twenty-four hours! She'd just forgotten. That wasn't enough, right?

"No. You're not. You're my best friend in a shitty situation with those two assholes and now it looks like it's taken a turn no one expected." Kind and restrained, Josie's voice was simultaneously soothing and frightening. The implications of what she was suggesting were appalling. If she were – if this was – should she actually be – then this was like combining a Jerry Springer show with a Maury Povich paternity episode, all written by Dr. Drew and Judd Apatow.

In other words, a clusterfuck of unimaginable proportions. Because who was the father?

"It's not what you think," was all Laura could croak out. Josie handed her the sparkling water and each sip seemed to renew her. "Can we talk about anything else?"

"Oh, like the royal baby?"

"Shut up. Where's Nice Josie? I'd like her back."

"Nice Josie is about five seconds away from running to CVS for a few pregnancy tests."

"NO!" Her harsh tone shocked them both. "NO! I said it's not that."

Nice Josie made an appearance, sitting on the bed and taking Laura's hand in hers, kind eyes measuring her. "OK, OK, I'll respect whatever you want. But maybe I'll just appear and make you pee on a stick."

"You can't make me," Laura laughed. The feeling was foreign. It felt good.

Josie arched one eyebrow. "I am a nurse. Vee haf vays ov maykeen you ooorinate."

Laura laughed again. "I'll bet you do, you kinky bitch." Josie pretended to be offended, playfully hitting Laura's feet with a pillow. Laura kicked back and growled. A cat hissed and sprinted across the room, out into the hallway.

Closing her eyes, Laura leaned back against the pillow. Sip. Exhaustion seeped in again, the room spinning slightly, her eyelids now full of lead weights.

"Go ahead and nap," Josie crooned. "I'll be back later."

"Mmmmkay." Laura was almost asleep and barely heard her door click as Josie left. Snuggles nosed his way up onto the bed and settled next to her hip, his quiet purr singing her to sleep.

Three seconds later, Josie woke her up. The sun was different – not so stabby – and she heard music in the background. Indigo Girls? No. Adele. How could she get the two confused? Dry mouth made her taste cotton and Snuggles practically fell off the bed as she stretched.

"Josie?"

"Yep." Gurgle. Ah – making coffee. Just the thought of having to smell it made her inside turn. It was like vomit in the form of an odor these days.

"You making coffee?"

"Yep – want some?"

"God, no!"

"OK," she answered, her voice a sing song. "I'll drink it out here while you shower."

Shower? Laura pulled her pajama top out and sniffed her skin between her breasts. Eh. A bit oily. Sniffed a pit. Whoa! She was ripe. That cotton taste wouldn't leave, so she finished off the flat sparkling water on her bedside table. Wait. How could she have dozed off for a few seconds if the water was flat?

"How long've I been out?" she hollered.

"Three hours."

Three hours? Damn. She padded into the kitchen and stopped, the wall of java in the air stabbing her sinuses. "How do you drink that shit?" she accused, closing off her nose and breathing through her dried-out mouth.

"This?" Josie said innocently, pointing to her coffee.

"Ugh." Laura turned away and shouted back, "Just get rid of it by the time I'm out." Years ago, her grandma had told her she knew she was pregnant when she woke up in the morning and didn't want coffee or cigarettes. Maybe it ran in the family?

No. Don't think that way. Just...don't. Turning on the shower took so much effort. Moving her arm to take off her shirt felt like a Sisyphean task. Sliding out of her pajamas made her feel like she'd run a marathon. A small cup of water stayed down. Damn flu.

The shower's spray washed away a fair amount of fear and a not inconsiderable amount of nausea, thank God. Wash, wash, wash everything away, all the pain, the exhaustion, the confusion, and the grief. Grief for what she'd wanted with Mike and Dylan, for what they could be doing right now, for losing Mike's shy smile, Dylan's jaunty one, for missing out on the New England fall with them, for what could be.

Tentative, she let her hands move the soap where it needed to go, her hand grazing her belly below her navel. Could she – really? She and Ryan had just started to talk about having a baby when she'd discovered he was a fraud. Both had been pleased to find the other willing. A few more years, they'd agreed. It wasn't time. He had asserted that they needed to bond as husband and wife, first, before bringing in a third.

She snorted. Funny how there already was a third.

The lie mattered, but what also mattered was that she had been ready to think about kids, to imagine pregnancy and birth and babies and toddlers and all the roly-poly love that came with them. If she was pregnant – she allowed herself to think in hypotheticals, her hands mechanically shampooing her greasy hair, the feeling of rinsing like a baptism, washing away the past month of dysfunction – then it would be OK.

Everything would be OK. To be more precise, it would all work out in the end because she absolutely, positively, undeniably was not pregnant. And couldn't be. It just wasn't true, and as long as she willed it to not be true, she didn't have to face any of the long term consequences of having a billionaire baby daddy.

Or two.

A quick rinse was all she could manage as her legs and arms felt like jelly, her body shivering no matter how much she turned the shower faucet for more hot water. Time to get out. A quick toweling and new pajamas, plus a robe, helped with warmth. By the time she wandered out, combing her hair, she still felt the underlying tiredness and a smaller blanket of nausea, less intense but more pervasive, like a layer of fascia within her body, ever lurking but not always obviously felt.

Greeting her in the kitchen were Josie, a freshly-washed coffee pot, and three boxes on the kitchen table. Pink, white, and purple.

Ah, fuck.

"Josie!" she wailed.

"You're really glowing," Josie replied in a tone of flattery. Snuggles was in Josie's lap (how had she managed that?) and the cat turned and gave Laura the stare of doom. You're pregnant! its eyes said. And I don't care.

"That's anger, you idiot." The boxes stood there, judging her. Who came up with the names for these things? Early Pregnancy Test was fine, but First Response? What was she, a 911 call? Little cardboard soldiers of doom, ready to deliver a message from the front lines that she had lost, and it was time to surrender to the truth.

Never surrender!

And now she was quoting cheesy 80s songs in her mind. This was how far she had fallen.

"Water?" Josie poured more sparkling water from the green bottle and handed it to her.

"You just want to make me pee."

A sweet smile. "I just want to make sure you're hydrated. It reduces nausea."

"And makes me need to pee."

"Does it?" Josie asked, overly innocent and disingenuous. "How convenient."

Resentment kicked in with a healthy side of sour stomach. "Why are you so determined to prove I'm pregnant?"

Josie leaned in, blinking rapidly, her face serious and relaxed, the look jarring to Laura. She hadn't seen her friend this still and composed since...well, never. "Because if you are pregnant, ignoring it can only hurt you and the baby. I'm a nurse, Laura. I know how important prenatal care is. I've worked labor and delivery and I've worked the post-partum wing. I just want to make sure you don't do anything you might regret."

"Like what?" A shadow of something sinister crept into the room. What did Josie mean?

"Like ignore the reality of being pregnant and not get early care. Once you know the truth, you can do the right thing."

"The right thing?" She peered at Josie, wondering if she was implying what Laura thought she was implying.

"I mean get the care you need. Whichever way you choose. Early treatment is best no matter what."

Whoosh. Laura sighed deeply. Whew. "For a minute there, I thought you were saying I should get an abortion."

"Not my decision to make, or to influence." Josie shook her head, her vehemence a little unsettling. What if Laura needed to bounce ideas off her bestie? Isn't that what BFFs were for? Another round of nausea made her close her eyes and breathe slowly, deeply, as if she were getting through a contraction.

Staying perfectly still, Laura took in Josie's response, her body a bit more grounded after the breaths. No judgment. "Right," was all she could think to say.

Josie's face was neutral as she picked up the pink box and began opening it. "This one doesn't need first-morning urine, so you could do it right now, if you want."

Oh, God. A cold wave of everything washed over her. This was real. Her entire fate was in the hands of a thin stream of pee and a little plastic stick with chemicals on it that would measure her future in the form of one, or two, pink lines. The floor seemed really close, the walls closing in on her. Josie's face went from the look of a professionally neutral nurse to that of a concerned friend.