Page 147 of Dr. Aster
“Nat bet Spencer on the way here that I was pregnant, and it was morning sickness, and you know how she is…”
“She’s always right, and we’re all wrong. God, I don’t know how Spencer deals with that woman sometimes,” Collin said with a laugh, hugging his wife again.
“Anyway, Nat bought a pregnancy test and had me take it before they just left because she was convinced.”
“Those two are shameless,” Jim said. “Who buys a pregnancy test for a friend with the stomach flu?”
“Natalia does, babe,” Avery laughed. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe we have another baby on the way!”
All of us got up and moved in the direction of where Elena and Collin stood in tears.
“Mickie,” Elena said with a daring smile, “looks like you’re my new baby doctor, and I hope you’re up for the challenge.”
I chuckled, loving that my job always carried so much positivity, even when negative emotions had tendencies to carry over into my life. These women had faced challenges beyond belief, but they were all fighters who came out on the other side, and I wanted that, too.
I wasn’t going to sulk anymore or get spikes of anxiety whenever I heard my phone, thinking that this might be it when John came back into my life. If he ever did, it would all be up to me in how I would receive him. One thing was for sure: no one would find me running up to him with open arms, welcoming him back like I’d imagined myself doing so many times since he went silent on me.
This time would be different. No flirting and no rushed behavior. I wouldn’t be as emotionally available as I was when he wouldn’t leave me alone, and I wanted nothing to do with him before I threw caution to the wind and let down my guard.
I was exceptional, and I was not desperate. If I wanted any man to respect me, I had to respect myself first.
Chapter Fifty-Three
John
Returning to Southern California after all these months of feeling trapped and suffocated in Manhattan was more liberating than I could ever explain. My father was in Zurich when I decided to throw down the gauntlet on my mother, and I hadn’t heard a word from them since, which was how I wanted it.
I had only two goals now: getting back the love of my life, knowing I’d fucked that up beyond belief, and getting back my job.
I spent most of the week waiting for this morning’s meeting with Jim at a rented condo on the beach since my parents took the liberty of selling my house the week after they ambushed me in Monaco. I didn’t care where I was, though, as long as I was here. Being on the West Coast again filled me with such rejuvenation, and I didn’t miss Martha’s Vineyard for a second. This was home, and this was freedom.
I leaned over the balcony of the one-bedroom condo, knowing that today was a game-changing day, but still unable to shake what I’d been through this year. I sipped my coffee, thinking about all my parents’ talk about how being home was the right move for my life. It wasn’t the right move for my life; it was the right move for their lives.
My parents’ issues were beyond the scope of any therapist, so I was well aware that I wasn’t about to figure them out. All I knew after living back home with them again was that they were miserable people, and they didn’t know the meaning of the word love. They just knew how to use love to manipulate people.
It might’ve taken me way too long to stand up for myself and walk out on my parents, but I did, and now all I could do was try to pick up the pieces of the life I’d broken when I skipped town. Here I was now, not knowing anything about my future, my financial situation, the future of Saint John’s, which my parents were likely in the process of financially burning to the ground, or the most important thing, my relationship with Mickie.
Had she moved on? Did she hate me? She had every right to. I wouldn’t know until I sought her out, but I needed to find out the damage my family had caused Saint John’s first. I couldn’t go to her jobless and homeless and expect her to even look at me twice.
Within the hour, I was showered, dressed, and walking into the South Tower of the Mitchell and Associates Global building. The place was pristine, exuding a level of elite professionalism that was difficult to put into words. People could say what they wanted about James Mitchell, but there was no denying how impressive the man was. Building this empire took a level of business acumen most men did not possess.
“I have an ten o’clock appointment with Mr. Mitchell,” I said to the receptionist on the penthouse floor of the extraordinary building. The woman looked like your typical Mrs. Claus, portly and white-haired with rosy cheeks and even half-moon spectacles.
“I’ve got it from here, Miss May,” Jake said to the sweet-looking lady as he approached from behind me. “This way, John,” he directed me, and from the looks of the friend I’d come to know better on our trip to Aspen, this probably wouldn’t be the meeting I’d hoped for.
Jake was distant, cold, and direct—three adjectives no one would ever use to describe him.
“Dr. Aster, Jake,” Jim stood behind his desk and greeted us upon entering his palatial office. “Come and have a seat,” he waved us in. “Just have the financial and legal teams go over the last two paragraphs one more time, Spence,” he said to the tall, suited businessman standing across the desk from him. It had to have been Spencer Monroe, Jim’s right-hand man. He was a legendary bulldog in the business world, and his reputation preceded him all over the globe. “Once it’s confirmed, we’ll begin the acquisitions, but I need to be sure.”
“You’re sure about this?” Spencer said. “It could go sideways if you’re too greedy.”
“The last thing I am is a greedy man,” Jim smirked at the guy. “And I wouldn’t waste anyone’s time if I believed it would go sideways.”
“You just want the wife to—” he paused, most likely because I was in the room, and this wasn’t the time for the two to be candid with each other.
“Just handle it, Spence,” Jim said. Spencer turned to leave, nodding at Jake and me as he passed by. Jim’s expression darkened when it fell on me, “Good to see you, John. Have a seat. Jake?” he acknowledged his brother, motioning him to sit in the rich leather chair to the right of mine.
“Thanks for taking the time to meet with me,” I told Jim as he sat intimidatingly behind his desk.