“Because I don’t have time,” Sammi said.
“What do you mean you don’t have time?” Her mother waved her hand dismissively. “You’re twenty-six, for heaven’s sake. Xiao Wen Ju wasn’t even discovered until her twenties.” Celeste often bullied her daughter by referencing non-Caucasian top models. “If you worked as hard as she did, you might land on the cover of Vogue or be signed as the face of a top designer. Until then you can still walk the runway.”
Sammi shoved aside her anxiety and focused on irritation. Her mother never stopped badgering her about working. Well, at least that was at an end.
“I’m pregnant.” She braced herself for her mother’s explosion, but what came next shocked her even more.
“Oh, is that all?”
“Is that all?” Sammi echoed. How could her mother be so blasé about something so momentous?
“You can take care of that in an afternoon.”
Sammi recoiled. “Take care of...?” As in terminate the pregnancy? Tears sprang to her eyes at Celeste’s insensitivity. She’d barely taken a moment before dismissing what the pregnancy might mean to Sammi. A second later the acid burn of resentment flared in her stomach. Or maybe it was the crackers she’d eaten earlier intending to make a reappearance. “I’m not taking care of anything.”
Her mother’s almond-shaped eyes went nearly round with astonishment. “You can’t possibly mean to go through with the pregnancy?” After a second she gave a scornful half laugh. “You’re such a foolish child. Do you have any idea the sacrifices being a mother requires?”
Do you?
The question demanded release, but Sammi didn’t dare voice it for fear that once she ventured down that path, she’d say things that would cause irreparable harm. As focused and stubborn as her mother could be, she was all the family Sammi had. Without her mother, Sammi would be all alone. The thought terrified her.
“How will you support yourself?” Celeste demanded when Sammi remained lost in her thoughts.
“I’ll find a job.”
“A job?” her mother scoffed. “Doing what? You don’t know how to do anything but pose in front of the camera.”
The harsh truth made Sammi wince. While this was true, she couldn’t believe that this was the limit of her abilities. She’d never had the opportunity to explore anything other than modeling. What could she do? What did she want to do?
“That’s not all I can do. I will start at the bottom.”
“You can’t seriously expect to start from the bottom and be able to support yourself in Manhattan?”
“So maybe I don’t stay here,” Sammi said, fear making her breathless. Aside from the five years she’d spent modeling overseas, she’d never lived anywhere but New York City. She didn’t know how to drive a car or what might await her outside the fashion industry.
Her mother’s mocking laughter rang in her ears. “I didn’t raise my daughter to be a fool. Don’t be one now.”
“I’m not a fool,” Sammi said, clamping her teeth together as bile rose in her throat.
What if her mother was right about everything? Did she seriously think she could raise a child on her own without modeling? What could she do to make money? Swamped by uncertainty and fear, Sammi headed for the front door. More than anything she needed to clear her head.
“Where are you going?” her mother shrieked after her.
“Out.”
She was on the street and signaling a cab before she had any sense of where she intended to go. Not until she settled into the back seat, and the man asked for an address, did she give into the tears she’d been holding back. Where was she going to go? Who could she turn to for help? All her friends were models. It was likely their advice would be no different from her mother’s recommendations. Celeste jealously guarded her influence over Sammi, blocking anyone else who might have offered career counseling.
Sammi gave the driver the address of her modeling agency. She needed to have a conversation with them about her condition and take that first step into her future. If they fired her on the spot, it would certainly galvanize her to make a plan. As she dashed away her tears, Sammi realized she still held Oliver’s card in her hand. That was another difficult conversation she needed to have. Yet for some reason it was the one she was least afraid of.
Before they’d gone more than a few blocks, she directed the cab to the new destination and asked him to let her out two blocks from Oliver’s loft. The walk would afford her a few minutes to make up her mind about what she intended to say. She turned the card over and eyed his personal cell phone number. Should she call first? What if he avoided her call? Or refused to see her? He hadn’t asked for her number that night, so obviously he had no interest in pursuing her.
Sammi’s steps faltered as she approached the final intersection. Ahead, she could see Oliver’s building. She looked up to the top floor, wondering if he was even there. Her mouth went desert dry. Was she really going to ambush him with her pregnancy? Would he believe her? Or would he assume she was trying to manipulate him? She could see how his elusiveness might make women desperate.
And what if Oliver Lowell was a terrible father for her child? No matter how amazing the sex or the connection she felt toward him, the fact of the matter was she didn’t know anything about him, and his reputation for being temperamental and difficult worried her.
The traffic light changed twice while she stood rooted to the sidewalk.
What harm would it do if she just walked away and never told him he was going to be a father? Sammi considered how much she’d hated growing up not knowing who her dad was. She didn’t even know if he knew
