“You’re what?”

My brows are furrowed, the cigarette that was previously in my hand now in the ashtray in front of me where I dropped it.

After you told me you’re pregnant with my baby.

I’ll admit, we’ve been fooling around for a few months behind the backs of a lot of people. Especially the boss of my rivaling organization that you’re married to. Not that I feel bad for him at all. He’s a complete prick, and it’s obvious that you don’t love him. You’ve been pretending with him. That’s why we started this thing between us. Sure, I knew eventually I’d pay for it.

But I didn’t think that meant you’d waltz into my private booth at the underground club I own downtown to tell me you’re pregnant.

I look around quickly, mostly at the two men stationed in front of my booth. But the music is pretty loud and they’re trained to keep what they hear to themselves, so I’m not overly worried.

“Are you- I mean, are you positive it’s mine?” I ask, my gaze flipping back to you.