UNPLANNED

Part 4

Knowing what Harry wanted was a relief. It made you sleep better, even that first night after you drove home and reported back to Lexi over dinner.

Sure–the stakes were now higher in a sense, right? You were going through with it. Something about that felt completely surreal and still somehow impossible, but deep inside of you, buried beneath the fear and the doubt, was a tiny speck of hope. And it was decidedly apple-seed shaped.

When you were five or six, you insisted on pushing your dolls around in a carriage, so much so that you refused one day to go to kindergarten without them. Your mother had you all buckled in the car, your doll beside you and the toy-sized stroller folded in the trunk.

It had always been something you wanted, something you saw in your future–but you'd always thought that it would be in a different order. In fleeting moments, when you made your peace with that, the hope managed to fight it's way through all of the other feelings, letting you know that it was there and real and maybe things would work out okay.

The reality was this: you were pregnant. You'd decided that you were going to have the baby. Harry seemed involved enough at this stage, and frankly, you were fine enough for now to just push any other thought out of your head.

Where would you live? Where would he live? How often would he see the baby? Would you even have full custody or were you making a terrible assumption? Would he be on tour when you went into labor?

There were a thousand questions that tried to keep you up at night, but apparently growing a human took enough out of you that you fell asleep easily these days. And Harry had warned you it was coming–a quick text to give you a heads up.

310-324-9090 (8:24am): Spoke with Jeff some more last night after I got home. He thinks it's best if we have a meeting with some of my team. Can you call me later and I'll give you some details?

You did as he asked–stepped out on your lunch break and spoke to him in the courtyard, careful to keep your voice quiet.

It wasn't that people at work were nosy–it was more that a random Facebook employee getting knocked up by a famous musician was sure to be a good headline that someone would be killing to write if they got wind. So for now, you tried your best to speak in code.

"They want to have a meeting. Just to talk about some logistics and privacy things and whatnot." He made it sound so casual.

"The logistics of the current situation?"

He sounded a bit confused. "Of you being pregnant with my baby–yes."

"This feels like something I would need a lawyer for."

"You don't need a lawyer."

"Aren't you the opposing side? Isn't this going to become some weird negotiation around what I can and can't do with your–you know."

"I don't know..."

"Your baby," you whispered the word quietly, a hand over your mouth to be safe. "Who is mine, too, by the way."

"Y/N–this is just a meeting, okay? There's a few things for you to sign–basically just saying that you're not going to sue me or try to blackmail me."

Glenne had mentioned that. She threw back another margarita that night in your kitchen and said you'd have to sign an NDA. It's just something a bunch of people sign, confidentiality, basically. You'll be fine.

It made sense. Jeff wanted to be sure you wouldn't sell your story or try to cash in on the undoubtedly pricey offspring you were producing–that's what Lexi had joked about. Can you imagine how much someone would pay for his baby?