Weights of Wrath (Cipher Office Book 4) Read online

  Me: Do you know where Blessings Chicken is?

  Joey: I don’t eat fast food.

  Me: I don’t care. I have a craving and as your baby mama, you need to meet me at Blessings Chicken.

  The three little dots populate and then disappear, populate and then disappear, populate and then disappear, before I finally have an answer.

  Joey: I’ll meet you there at five.

  Hmm. No denial. No arguing. Not even conflict over my choice in food. Maybe Joey isn’t as selfish as I thought.

  Chapter Three

  JOEY

  Pregnant.

  Knocked up.

  Bun in the oven.

  Not at all what I was expecting Cherise to say when I replied to her text. And yet, here I am, walking down the street to Blessings Chicken to meet my baby mama. Part of me wishes Michelle Warren really did have some student loans to collect. That would be a much quicker issue to solve.

  But a baby? How did this even happen? I’ve gone through my memories about a hundred times in the last couple of hours, and I’m positive I wrapped it up tight that night.

  Regardless, I know life takes you by surprise sometimes. Like when my parents decided to up and move to Florida the minute I got my own place. (Kind of rude to take the washer and dryer with them, if you ask me.)

  Or when my work buddy ended up happily shacked up with a supercute cougar within a few months of his divorce. I admit, Abel and Elliott are a perfect match, but it was still an unexpected pairing. I thought he would at least sow some wild oats for a while, but nope. Now I’m my own wingman.

  Speaking of wings…

  “Welcome to Blessings Chicken,” an employee says from behind the world’s oldest cash register as I walk in. Her voice sounds dry, monotone, and like she’s been here way too long. Her tone is also oddly familiar, but I can’t put a finger on where I’ve heard her voice before. So, I give a small wave in response, praying I never hooked up with her. Then I glance around the room, looking for the woman supposedly carrying my child.

  Despite having not seen her in two months, and with her wearing more clothes in public, I spot her immediately. Her hair is longer, and her face is clean of makeup, but she’s still just as beautiful as she was that night under mood lighting and a cloud of cigar smoke.

  I’d forgotten how stunning she is. The little man in my pants kicks up as he remembers, too.

  Sauntering over, I approach the table she’s sitting at and flash her my brightest smile. “Is this seat taken?”

  Slowly, she looks up at me, beautiful brown eyes staring—no, wait—glaring in my direction. “Really? I text you because I’m knocked up, and you greet me with an opening line like we’re at a club?”

  Generally, I’m a happy person and try to see the bright side of situations, even if it means starting off on the wrong foot. I’m a nice guy. I have a decent job and have some great friends. And don’t get me started on my great head full of hair. The kid could do worse in the daddy department. So yes. Yes, this is my opening line.

  “Is there something different I should be using?”

  That glare is back. It’s actually more like a weak attempt at intimidation. That’s another thing I had forgotten—the cute way she tries not to smirk when she’s trying to be a badass but is having a hard time trying to pull it off. I actually find it kind of cute. Like a feisty little kitten. Her snarky attitude is a strange turn-on right now. “I was thinking something along the lines of ‘how did this happen?’”

  I’m pretty sure that’s actually the question running through her head. I already know that answer. A night of dirty, dirty sex.

  Sliding into the seat, I don’t let her bitterness faze me. I may be blindsided by the situation, but I’m not the one who is dealing with the physical ramifications while making most of the hard decisions here. “I admit, I’m as surprised as you are, but we all know the risks when we hook up. It’s not ideal, sure, but I’m trying to see the positive in all this.”

  “Which is?”

  “Dinner with a beautiful woman.”

  Her eyes narrow, and I know she’s assessing me. It’s hard for people to grasp that I’m truly an even-keeled kind of guy all the time. Nothing ruffles my feathers. Well, except that time Elliott sent me a fake article encouraging me to masturbate three times a day for testicular health. I was irritated—figuratively and literally.

  But for the most part, I just go with the flow. I focus on silver linings. Seeing Cherise again under these circumstances has definitely got me concentrating on the shiny side of the situation. She’s a cool chick. I’m kind of excited to get to know her again.

  “This isn’t dinner,” she finally says dryly. “This is a conversation over food.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her because that sounds suspiciously like my definition of a dinner date.

  She rolls her eyes harder than anyone I’ve ever seen before. It’s actually pretty impressive. “You know what I mean. We need to figure out how to handle all this.”

  Leaning my forearms on the table, I clasp my hands together. “I guess the first thing I want to know is how are you? Are you healthy? Is the baby healthy?”

  If I’m not mistaken, I see a tiny chink in her invisible armor. “We’re fine. A little morning sickness but nothing to worry about at this point.”

  “Good. So how long do we have to prepare? When is the baby due?”

  “May fourth.”

  “That’s a great day for this Star Wars fan.” Baby names start running through my head immediately. I wonder what she’d think of Han for a boy and Leia for a girl. Hmmm….

  Cherise seems completely indifferent at having the best due date a George Lucas fan could ever hope for, instead reaching into her purse that’s sitting on the chair next to hers. “That’s what the doctor told me yesterday. Here.”

  She slides a row of black-and-white pictures over to me and my breath hitches as I take in what I’m looking at. “Holy shit. It’s… it’s…”

  “A weird-looking blob. I know.”

  “But it’s a beautiful blob,” I breathe as I run my finger over the pictures.

  “The doctor pointed out the head and legs or whatever, but I still can’t see anything.”

  I have no idea what I’m looking at either, but I don’t even care. “Cherise, this is… it’s just amazing.”

  Looking up at her, I catch her fighting a shy smile. She doesn’t want to be happy that I’m happy, but I can tell she is. “Yeah, it is kind of cool.”

  I’m glad we agree on that, but it doesn’t mean we’re on the same page for the future. I know what I hope for in this particular scenario, but I also know it’s not my choice. I helped get her into this mess, so I have to help her out of it as well, whatever that ends up meaning. “You know I’ll support you no matter what you choose to do.”

  Her answer comes quick and final. “Oh no. I was born and raised a good Catholic girl. There is no getting rid of anything, I don’t care what kind of blob of cells it is right now. The worst thing that could happen to me is not being pregnant out of wedlock, it’s my mother finding out I had an abortion and her praying directly to the Virgin Mary about me instead of the saints she regularly calls upon. The two of them would get together to put some sort of hex-y thing on me.”

  “I don’t think hexes go along with Catholicism.”

  “You don’t know my mother. She has a hard enough time with me being a stripper. Between her and my aunt, there are so many candles lit for me, it’s a wonder the church hasn’t burned down yet.”

  Good to know. Now that we’ve covered the biggest decision, I suppose it’s time to move on to the next difficult topic.

  “I don’t want to sound like a dick, but I wanna make sure what I’m getting into is real. I don’t want to fall in love with this baby, only to find out later it isn’t mine.” I hold by breath because as much as I hate having to ask, let’s be real. I don’t know Cherise all that well.

  “That’s… oddly sweet.” I shrug
and smile. She’s not the first one to say that to me. “But I haven’t been with anyone else after you. And not for weeks before. I was going through a bit of a dry spell.”

  This causes me to sit up straight in the booth. She’s young, single, beautiful. I’m surprised she hasn’t been playing the field. “How come?”

  “I sleep during normal business hours. And quality men are few and far between in my line of work.”

  “Aw. Did you just call me a quality guy?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. You haven’t seen your competition.”

  The same employee who greeted me when I got here drops a tray of food on our table. I guess Cherise didn’t wait on me to order.

  “Can I help you with anything else.” She doesn’t actually ask a question. She just dryly tosses out the statement, making it very clear that it’s too much effort to actually help with anything else.

  “Nope,” Cherise replies, pulling the tray closer to her. “This is all I need.”

  “Enjoy your meal.”

  Finally, it hits me.

  “Aha!” I snap my fingers, as the proverbial lightbulb goes off over my head.

  Cherise mumbles, “What?” around a bite of food.

  “You ever watch the movie Monsters, Inc.?”

  “Yeah. It’s my favorite. So?”

  “She sounds like Roz. The secret agent who pretends she hates everyone.”

  Cherise gets a delighted look on her face that she quickly schools as she glances over at the employee and nods slowly. “That’s it. It’s been driving me crazy since I got here, but you’re right.”

  I pat the table and throw my hands up. “Look at us. Already figuring stuff out. We’re going to nail this parenting thing.”

  It’s her turn to quirk an eyebrow. “Knowing the voice of an animated character is different than knowing how to change a diaper.”

  “But it’s a starting point.”

  “No. A starting point would be me finding some gainful employment.”

  That’s not what I was expecting her to say. “What do you mean? Are you not at The Pie Hole anymore?”

  “Yes, but not for long.” She gestures down her body as she chews and wipes her mouth. “Not a huge market for pregnant strippers.”

  “Are you sure? It’s a fetish.” I’ve seen something about it online before. Not that I go looking for pregnant porn but running across it wasn’t a surprise either.

  “One that I don’t particularly care to engage in. Nor does my boss. Especially since neither of us does online work.”

  “So, what now?”

  “No idea. The only job I’ve ever had is stripping. Well, unless you count that one time I tried to help babysit in the church nursery.”

  “Maybe you could work at a daycare?”

  She looks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. But is it so unrealistic to have a former stripper as your babysitter? I think not.

  “They kicked me out early when we all discovered the hard way I don’t actually like kids.”

  Okay, so that could be an issue. “I can see how that would be a problem. Do I want to know how you figured it out?”

  “Short answer, it involved boogers and me rocking in a corner.” Cherise tosses an empty bone on her plate and grabs another piece, booger talk not deterring her appetite at all. Damn. Is this how pregnant women eat all the time? Is this what they mean by eating for two? I’m starting to worry that maybe she’s having twins with the way she’s going at it.

  “It doesn’t help that my options are limited. I dropped out of high school, so no diploma.”

  “Why did you do that? Trouble at home?”

  She purses her lips. “It depends on what you mean by trouble. Were my parents abusive? Not even close. But my mother and I have butted heads for as long as I can remember. The minute I turned eighteen, I went out and found a job that I could live off of and surprise! There’s not a lot of demand for teenagers with no education. Besides, stripping is good money, and I don’t really give a shit who sees my boobs. It also fed my habit for all things extravagant, Gucci and Prada included.”

  “Seems like such a drastic move at a young age has been working for you so far.”

  “In hindsight, maybe I should have waited that last semester to leave like my mother begged me.” She grabs the last piece of chicken and begins picking at it. “No sense in crying over it now. I’ve got a job to find. My biggest issue is I don’t want to work in fast food or retail. The pay sucks but the hours are worse. And I don’t know how my nose would handle the smell of that much grease.” She says it while shoveling the world’s greasiest drumstick in her mouth. I wisely keep my thoughts to myself.

  “What about working at the gym?”

  “What gym?”

  “Weight Expectations. I’m a trainer there.”

  She looks at me like that’s the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. “I can’t be a personal trainer. I don’t even know how to exercise without a pole and some five-inch heels.”

  “Well, that explains your kick-ass calf muscles.”

  She glances at her legs under the table and bites back a smile. “I do have nice calf muscles, don’t I?”

  “You have nice everything. That’s why I liked watching you so much that night. You could compete on the pole. Did you know they’re making it into an Olympic sport?”

  “Really?” Cherise sits up straight, eyes brightening. I guess she enjoys her work for more than just the money. “That’s really cool. I hate the pervs that come into the club, but the actual dancing is so fun. I could do it all the time.”

  “Maybe after the baby’s born, you could get some certifications and learn how to teach pole classes.”

  Her chewing slows as she thinks through what I just said. “You really think the gym would let me?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but they’re always trying to shake things up. If it really does go to the Olympics, you know it’ll make an even bigger comeback as an exercise plan than it already has. Might as well be prepared. What’s the worst that can happen? You work at a different gym teaching classes instead?”

  Her entire demeanor changes. Gone is the guarded woman who was lobbing insults at me as she felt me out. For the first time since our night together, I’m seeing glimpses of a woman on a mission. Like her passion has more opportunities than she originally thought.

  “Well, I’ll have to look it up but I guess I have some time now that my current employment is about to end. For now, what kind of job were you talking about at the gym?”

  “I know we have a housekeeping position open.”

  She groans. “Seriously? I hate cleaning my own place, let alone a sweaty, stinky gym.”

  “You’re in luck. Weight Expectations doesn’t stink, and since we have housekeeping on site at all times, it’s more maintaining the cleanliness than deep cleaning.”

  She chews on a fry and thinks. “Do they pay well?”

  “Not what you’re making now, but they’re not cheap either. They like being a premier facility, so they expect everyone to work hard, but they pay you appropriately for it. Plus, full-time employees get benefits, and we could use those with all the doctor’s appointments coming up.”

  Nodding, she replies, “You make a good case for it.”

  “It’ll buy you time to look into getting certified to train. Maybe get your GED if it’s a requirement. And it gets your foot in the door at a really good place of employment.”

  “Okay. You’ve convinced me. How do I fill out an application?”

  I mentally pat myself on the back for how easy it was to get over that first major hurdle as a parent. I’m better at this dad thing than I thought I was going to be.

  Now, I just need to figure out how to cook.

  Chapter Four

  CHERISE… ER… ROSALIND

  I had forgotten how sweet Joey is. And caring. And attractive.

  But the second he slid into that booth at Blessings Chicken, my hormones reminded me that he may
have gotten a little overzealous in the bedroom, but he didn’t leave me hanging. He made sure I was good and finished off that night before kissing me thoroughly and telling me how amazing I was.

  Joey is the kind of man women dream of.

  He is also a big, fat liar.

  Not that I have any room to talk since he still doesn’t know my real name. I’ve almost told him several times, but then I made a wager with myself on how long it will take him to figure it out and it makes me laugh. With my budgeted play money stripped down to almost nothing—pun intended, I have to find some way to entertain myself.

  But still, omission of the truth is way better than his flat-out lie about my new job. Working in housekeeping is definitely not just “maintaining cleanliness” like he claimed. It’s picking up dirty towels and cleaning toilets and hauling an ancient vacuum around. Frankly, it’s kind of gross. And Joey’s nasal passages must not be working, because the men’s locker room smells so much worse than he thinks.

  I guess I should have expected as much. I’ve never heard of a gym smelling like roses. And truly, the benefits that come from spraying showers with anti-fungal cleaner outweigh how much filth is in that same shower. Barely, but it does. Besides, I need to keep my eyes on my future. If Joey’s right and I can do what I love in a place like this after the baby is here, it would be like hitting the jackpot.

  Not that I felt down and out working at The Pie Hole. I liked my job. It made me feel happy. Or at least, what it could buy me made me happy. I make no apologies for liking the finer things in life—designer clothes, a large one-bedroom apartment in Hyde Park, regular hair/nail/massage appointments—and I liked providing them for myself. Stripping can pull in some big money if you do it right. That is, if you can get past the whole getting-topless-for-strangers part. It never bothered me. They’re just boobs. Okay they’re fabulous, perky boobs, but they’re not that big of a deal. Very soon, milk will be shooting out of them and they’ll be covered in baby drool. I doubt the pervs at the club will think they’re very sexy then.