Please Note: This story is now available on Radish Fiction as The Popstar's Baby - only a sample is left on Wattpad.
Mia Malone couldn't remember the last time she'd been this nervous. It might have been when she was fourteen and executives from Shooting Star Records knocked on her mom's door to offer her a recording contract. Or it might have been when she was nominated for a Grammy Award at sixteen. That was the year she realized her life was no longer her own. Picking out clothes, styling her hair, choosing her meals were only some of the things she no longer controlled. Every time she turned around her mother was hiring someone else to make life easier. Mia hadn't slowed long enough to figure out if it was working.
From the rental car, she stared at the well-kept second-hand shop on the edge of the small town and bit down on the tip of her nail. The acrylics she'd gotten at fifteen had forced her to stop biting them. Even now, five years later, she hadn't broken the habit of putting her nail between her teeth, desperate for the rip and tear, for something to feel in her control. She'd become so used to other people directing her and her body that coming to his store in Little Falls, New York felt like anarchy.
No one knew she was here.
Out of the corner of her eye, her bodyguard Pasha stared impassively ahead. She didn't think he spoke much English which was why she'd picked him. He also seemed to be the only one her mother didn't have under her thumb. Laura Malone could never know what her daughter was about to do.
"You'll wait here?"
"Yes."
A small smile played at the edges of her lips despite her nerves. At night she stared at the ceiling of the tour bus as it rumbled through another city and practiced speaking like him. Trying out his thick Russian accent was like slipping into another skin, another life.
God, that tour bus. She was so fucking done with that bus.
Tomorrow afternoon she had to make sure she was in the right city at the right time to meet her mom and the bus. Only three more months. It was her mantra. Three more months on that bus. She didn't want to think about all the commitments flooding her calendar beyond that date. Whenever she felt like this, she reminded herself she was lucky. Lots of people wished for the kind of success she was experiencing. She had no right to complain.
"You sure person here?" He raised one pale eyebrow at her and scanned the sidewalk outside the shop. "Not busy."
"It's a second-hand shop and a costume place. Other than Halloween parties and being poor, why would anyone go in there?" She rolled her eyes and threw open the passenger door before she talked herself out of it.
Her best friend Sarah was the only person who knew her secret. As one of the judges on the talent show Center Stage, it was Sarah who suggested Grady Castillo as a songwriter for her album. He'd been a winning contestant who'd produced a single hit album and settled into anonymity writing songs for other people. Mia had been wary at first. Men who avoided the spotlight usually had things to hide, behaviors, interests, habits that made a twenty-year-old girl like her a prime target. That had been a quick, vicious lesson at the start of her career.
But he'd been the opposite of that—funny, smart, creative as hell, and seemed to genuinely enjoy the songwriting process, even when she'd called him a thousand times to discuss changes or ideas. She'd liked him. So, when he'd slipped in the clause about performing at a benefit of his choice, she hadn't given it a second glance. Her mother and her agent thought it was good PR. What could go wrong?
They underestimated her ability to turn something so altruistic and mundane into a catastrophe. It was fine, though. She was handling it. Or she would as soon as she remembered his name.
His store was the last one in the shopping plaza butted up against a pizza place. The bell above the door tinkled when she entered. She kept her sunglasses on even though it was January and not particularly sunny. Her black winter coat was from last season and the most discreet one she owned.
From the back of the store, a deep male voice called out, "I'll be right there. Just helping another customer."
In the middle of the store, she stopped and looked around, a surge of panic running through her.
Shit.
There were other people here? They'd sat outside the building for fifteen minutes. What sort of service was he providing to whoever was back there? Her chucks didn't make a sound on the linoleum floor as she rushed over to one of the clothing racks. She'd dressed in very casual, non-designer clothes on purpose. This was a secret mission. With feigned intent, she rifled through the racks, not seeing any of the clothes as they went by her hand.
The bell above the door rang again and Mia looked up, half-afraid it would be another patron. She would lose her nerve soon. Why had she come?
It was another customer.
The owner, and she knew he was the owner because he'd told her that night, headed for the cash register. God, why couldn't she remember his name? Hey you wasn't going to cut it in this situation. He retrieved a package from underneath the register and passed it to the woman who was getting out her wallet. He glanced up, but his gaze skimmed over her, not taking her in as he rang in the purchase.
"If there's anything I can help you with, let me know."
She remembered she'd like the timber of his voice, deep and calming. The measured way he spoke appealed to her, as though he was used to dealing with complaints or conflict is a rational, reasonable way. His blond hair with a tinge of red, not quite brown had appealed to her, too. The shade was unusual, pretty, even.
A few months ago, he'd been in better shape. Not that it mattered now. He'd been tall and fit, and his voice had turned her insides to liquid. It had been enough. Unlike so many people in her life, he'd let her take control, lead the way. Being with him had been a vacation from Mia Malone, superstar singer.
An escape.
Now, she felt trapped. But she knew where the exit was.
She focused on the clothes whizzing past as she flicked through them. Anything you can help me with? Oh, you know. Just a small thing. No big deal, really. Sweat pooled on her lower back. This coat was too thick for the warm store.
Maybe she didn't need to tell him. Sarah had insisted that he never needed to know. She'd be keeping the secret from everyone else, why not him? It was the first time in a long time where she was making a decision in isolation and not informing him was wrong. Wasn't it?
The bells on the door rang again and Mia glanced up. The woman was gone, but she couldn't force herself to look at him. It would be easier if she pretended to be someone else, the one who breezed through life without a care. When you're Mia Malone, all the world's a stage, and she was the most important player. Being here, talking to him was just another role.
Pretend. Pretend. Pretend it doesn't matter.
She relaxed her shoulders and strolled over to the counter. He glanced up from whatever note he was making by the register. His brown eyes reminded her of cognac. She remembered how they'd looked almost golden when they'd caught the light in her dressing room. Smooth voice, cognac eyes—everything about him screamed addiction.
He gave her a puzzled look and grabbed a lollipop out of an open container on the desk. While he sized her up, clearly trying to place her face, he twirled the lollipop round and round. "Can I help you?"
Wouldn't it be nice if he could?
"No." A small smile played on the edges of her lips. "I doubt it." It was apparent he hadn't managed to place her face. She was still wearing her sunglasses. Or maybe he slept with a lot of random women. They hadn't discussed it that night. Once he'd come to her hotel room, there'd been little talking. Quick and dirty had been what she'd been after. She'd ended up with a lot more.
"Okay," he said, drawing out the word.
She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head, her long dark hair swirling around her shoulders. Her hair felt better loose, a shield, part of her armor. When her gaze met his, recognition dawned on his face like the rising sun.
"Mia Malone." He grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was no joy or happiness in his face. "Didn't expect to see you."
The words ever again hung between them unsaid. Her stomach rocked as though she was at sea.
A garbage can. Where was a garbage can?
It had become second nature for her to look for a place to throw up when the rocking sensation hit. But she could weather this. Take a deep breath. Let her stomach even out, stabilize.
"What are you doing here?" He tore the wrapper off the lollipop, scrunched it up, and tossed it toward a can at the edge of the desk. It hit the edge and tipped in.
At least she knew where to run now when the rocking sensation became more violent. Sighing, she tugged her sunglasses off her head and dangled them from her fingers. Her insides were rioting, but she knew from watching herself on TV countless times it wouldn't show on her face. She was an excellent poker player.
"Have you been watching the news?"
He frowned and rubbed his brow. "Uh, not really? Are you—is this about you?"
"Yeah. And you, unfortunately."
His furrow deepened.
"Class action suit against a condom manufacturer. Ring any bells? Cocksure Condoms cocked up."
With a shrug, he chuckled. "Do you have shares in that company? Are some of the people from the class action suit here in Little Falls?"
She gave him a bored look, unimpressed that she'd have to spell it out for him. In the back of her mind, she'd had a glimmer of hope he might make the leap without her having to push him off the cliff. He was about to get a massive shove.
Right now, she wished she knew his name. She should say it first, hint at the gravity of what would come after. Oh, well.
"I'm pregnant."
And then another wave hit her stomach so hard, she wasn't sure her sea legs would make it to the garbage can. By some miracle, she stared down at the lollipop wrapper as she lost the little bit of lunch she'd managed to eat.
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