Baby for the Bosshole Read online

  Chapter Eighteen

  Emmett

  Amy passes out after the last orgasm. I hold her, feeling more at peace than I can ever remember.

  It’s the sex, my dick says.

  It’s not the sex. Well, okay, it’s partly the sex. But I’ve never felt this way after sex with another woman.

  It’s Amy.

  Making her lose herself isn’t just fun, it’s satisfying. I could spend the rest of my life doing it. Cash out my stake in GrantEm, let Grant take over the firm. Or maybe provide capital, but stay out of day-to-day management.

  On the other hand, that probably isn’t something Amy would want. She’s too driven to be with a man who doesn’t have some ambition of his own.

  Somewhere, my phone buzzes.

  It’s Sunday. Can’t be anything that important.

  I let it go to voicemail, but a few moments later, it buzzes again.

  Amy’s brows start to pinch.

  Fucking asshole. I don’t know who’s on the phone, but it has to be an asshole to be calling on Sunday when I’m trying to have some quality time with the woman I’ve been obsessing over for almost two years.

  I pull away gently and tuck her in, making sure sheets are covering her all the way to her chin. I find my pants on the floor and pull out my phone, then tiptoe out of the room, ready to ream the butthole.

  The screen says: Dad.

  I feel my face scrunch. What the hell is going on?

  He never contacts us. Not for holidays. Not for birthdays—ours, not his. It’s kind of a shock that he even knows my number. Whenever he wants to convey a message, he has Joey gets in touch via texts.

  Probably a butt dial. Or maybe Dad has decided to dispense with assistants and harass me directly.

  Dad calls again. I’m tempted to ignore him, but he might go nuclear, call Mom on her well-deserved luxury Mediterranean cruise and ruin her vacation because nobody should be happy when he isn’t. Or come over to confront me in person. And I’d rather eat my shoes than risk having Amy meet him. It’d be too embarrassing.

  Suck it up and answer it. Humoring him is easier than fighting him.

  I wait until I’m at the bottom of the staircase so I don’t bother Amy. “What?”

  “Son of a bitch. That took a while.”

  “I was napping,” I snap, then reach into the fridge and grab a bottle of water.

  “I’m calling about my birthday.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve decided what you all can give me this year.”

  “Okay…”

  “I want a baby.”

  What the fuck? I’m glad I was in the process of twisting the cap open, not actually drinking the water. “Well, Dad, you know what to do. Just have another vasectomy fail. The baby won’t come in time for this birthday, but next year you’ll have a new little human to bounce on your knee.”

  “Not my baby! Your baby!” Dad booms.

  The planet seems to stop spinning for a moment. “What?”

  “You heard me. I want a grandbaby. That fuckin’ Josh Singer’s bragging about his grandson.” Contempt drips from the last word.

  Josh Singer is, in my father’s mind, the Arch-Nemesis. There doesn’t seem to be any real reason, but then, Dad doesn’t need a reason to hate someone.

  “Fuck him and his bragging,” Dad grouses.

  “Okay, let’s back up a bit. Number one, Josh’s kids are married. Grandchildren are what happen when your children are married.” Why do I have to be the one to unruffle his feathers? Some young, nubile thing should be on that. He’s surrounded by women all the time.

  “You don’t need to be married to make a baby!”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not doing it your way.” When I have a baby, I’m going to marry the mother of my child first. Do things properly.

  “I just want one, not seven! Just one! What does a man need to do to get what he wants for his damn birthday?”

  Oh for God’s sake! I’m not having a baby just to give him something to rub it into Josh Singer’s face. “I gotta go. I have an urgent call.”

  “Nothing’s more urgent than this!”

  “Actually, everything is.” I hang up, turn my phone off and let out a rough breath.

  “Um. You okay?” comes Amy’s voice from behind me.

  Oh, fuck. Rubbing my forehead, I turn around. She’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking gorgeous and sexy as hell in her shirt and shorts, her long legs and feet bare. “How much did you hear?”

  She rolls her eyes left and right in a slightly amused do-you-really-wanna-know expression. “Something about an urgent call? Did you mean a call of nature?”

  I laugh. “No, don’t worry. Nothing that urgent.”

  “If you say so. But don’t deny yourself just because I’m here.” A corner of her lips twitches, then she lets out a small giggle. “By the way, who was that?”

  “My dad.”

  “Oh. Do you two…um…get along?”

  With another woman, I’d just shrug and smile. No need to go into detail about my personal life. With Amy, I want to answer…but honesty would be embarrassing. Dad is one of the things that my brothers and I pretend don’t exist as much as possible.

  “We get along great.” As long as we don’t have any contact. I grin, determined to move the conversation into more pleasant territory. “Wanna see the place? I haven’t given you a tour.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Amy

  Emmett doesn’t seem that interested in talking about his father, so I decide not to probe. Just because he gave me more soul-destroying orgasms today than all of my past boyfriends combined doesn’t give me the right to dig into his personal life.

  Especially after I said that what we’re doing is a fling—just sex. So I focus on the tour of his mansion.

  Emmett’s home is rich. But not gaudy-new-money rich. It’s understated and classy, an interesting combination of marble, wood and crystal. The furniture is contemporary and expensive, but it doesn’t have a don’t-touch museum vibe that you see in some homes. It invites you to relax and let your guard down, which isn’t so easy to pull off in a place that’s dripping with money. Original paintings hang from walls. No family photos with his dad, although I do spot a couple of shots with Grant and a few other guys Emmett’s age. There are also several photos of Emmett with a well-preserved brunette, whose similarities to Emmett are so striking that she has to be his mom. Lots of pretty flower arrangements everywhere—and they’re fresh. Can’t be more than a day old.

  “I’m surprised you have so many flowers.” We settle on a plush couch in the living room opposite a huge TV. Since our situation is mainly about sex, I don’t want to get too personal.

  “Why is that so surprising?”

  “When do you have the time to enjoy them?” Besides, Emmett doesn’t strike me as the type to buy flowers just because.

  “I don’t, but there’s a local florist my mom likes. It makes her happy that I support him.”

  Emmett must adore his mother. He’s spending a fortune on flowers he doesn’t care for, and he didn’t become rich by wasting money. Maybe those nasty articles about his mom’s mercenary ways weren’t exactly true. Lowbrow publications aren’t generally interested in the truth, just whatever gets the most clicks.

  “You’ve seen his work before,” he says.

  “I have?” My ex-boyfriends never bought me flowers, and GrantEm doesn’t invest in ventures as small and ordinary as flower shops.

  “Larry does the flowers for the GrantEm events. Those roses you got for making the top five among your peers came from his place.”

  Huh. I remember them being exceptionally large and fresh. Still, there has to be more to Emmett’s mom’s liking the florist than just his thumbs being intensely green. “So what did he do? Save your mom from a mugger?”

  “Not quite that dramatic. But Mom did have her purse snatched. While everyone was busy digging out their phones to film the event, he offered to call Mom an Uber and gave her some cash so she could get home safely. He told Mom he’d offer to drive, but that might not make her feel comfortable, considering.”

  “Wow. That was nice of him.” It sounds like a meet-cute from a romantic comedy.

  “He’d just opened his shop, and it was doing okay. But when I heard about it from Mom, I wanted to do something.”

  It makes sense. If somebody ever did something similar for me, Dad would fix the man’s car for free for life.

  “Before I forget…” Emmett reaches into a drawer underneath the coffee table and pulls out a sleek black key card with a long series of numbers stamped on it. “Here. For you.”

  “What is it?”

  “A guest access key to the garage. You can also scan it over the door there to get inside. And if you lose the card, you can input the first three and last three digits directly into the system to get in. So you should memorize those.”

  “Oh.” I continue to stare at the shiny plastic. I’ve never exchanged keys with any of my ex-boyfriends. It always felt too personal and involved. Like mi casa es tu casa, but more invasive. My bed is your bed. My time is your time.

  “Here,” Emmett says. “Take it.”

  No way to gracefully escape. I wrap stiff fingers around the card. “Um. Does this mean you want a key to my place…?”

  He shakes his head. “I remember what you said about living with Sasha. But it’ll be easier if you can come here anytime, rather than wait for me to get home first or ask the housekeeper to let you in.”

  “Thanks,” I say, pleased that he isn’t being difficult about the whole thing. “But you aren’t worried about letting me in here? What if I come over and rob you blind?”

  “You would never do that. I wouldn’t have asked you to move in with me earlier if I couldn’t trust you.”

  Wow. That’s the nicest thing Emmett has ever said to me. Well, he’s said other stuff, like how hot he thought I was, but he’s complimenting my character—and we’re both fully clothed at the moment. I should mark the date on a calendar.

  “Besides, I know where you work.” He winks. “Hey, are you hungry?”

  “No, but I could use a drink.”

  He moves to the kitchen, me following. He reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of sparkling pink lemonade from a local beverage company.

  “How did you know that’s my favorite?”

  “How could I not know? Other than coffee, it’s the only thing you drink in the office.” He uncaps it and hands it to me.

  Surprised he noticed. “Thanks.” I take a sip and sigh. It’s so, so good. I’m going to miss this when I move to Virginia.

  “Can you keep next weekend free?” Emmett asks.

  “Why?”

  “I want to take you to La Jolla. I have a vacation home there, so we can spend the weekend in San Diego. Maybe scuba dive, if you’re certified. If not, we’ll think of something.”

  “Actually, I am certified. Got my license in high school.” When I graduated, Dad and I went on a scuba tour in the Caribbean. We loved it, although we never got a chance to try again because I’ve been so busy. Diving in San Diego sounds fantastic.

  “Awesome! There’s this amazing kelp forest. You’ll love it.” He smiles, his eyes twinkling, making him look a hundred times hotter and more approachable. “If we’re lucky, we might get to see some seals, too.”

  I grin. “Wow. Is there anything I need to bring for this trip?”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll prep everything. All you have to do is show up at the airport on Friday looking pretty. I’ll text you the details.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Amy

  The week’s going great. Much better than I expected.

  Although Emmett agreed to keep our fling a secret, I worried a little that he might change the way he treats me, which would let the more observant gossipmongers in the office figure out something’s up.

  But nope. He doesn’t do any of that.

  He still texts me this-or-that questions, which is fine. I don’t mind helping him out with his market survey. He also tells me to redo my Excel models, probably for “fun training.” But instead of waiting until it’s five fifty-five p.m., he asks between two thirty and three thirty, which is an improvement so massive it brings appreciative yet slightly peeved tears to my eyes. The annoyance being that he could’ve done this before.

  Still, I get to leave by nine o’clock. A true miracle.

  Of course, Sasha notices. “Did you tell Emmett he’d better let you go home early because you aren’t going to stick around much longer?” she whispers in the break room on Wednesday. She and I haven’t had a chance to talk since my fling with Emmett started. She came back from San Francisco late on Sunday, and she’s been super busy since then with urgent deadlines from Grant, only coming home to shower and change, then head straight back to office. She’s been living on nothing but gummy worms and coffee for the last three days. “You’ve never gone home before eleven back to back before.”

  I start to answer, then remember what Emmett said about this room being not so private. “No. But I think he’s finally realized I do better work with at least seven hours of sleep.”

  The extra sleep has other side effects. Like quadrupling Emmett’s attractiveness. The man is already hot as hell, but when my brain is crystal clear with sufficient rest, the impact of his sparkling blue-gray eyes and smiling mouth hits me like TNT detonating.

  Thankfully, nobody seems to have noticed anything’s different. Emmett hasn’t eased up on cracking hearts and crushing souls. Webber still walks around looking dejected, and Diana still seems like she’s ready to burst into tears at any time.

  Anyway, since Sasha did notice my changed schedule, I decide to stay late and get some extra work done. No need to get on her finely honed suspicion radar.

  I review the models and memos that the analyst working with me on the Drone project sent. Janey went too conservative. A very gloomy outlook. Her explanatory notes aren’t bad, but they show that she disregarded data that contradicts her position. Not good.

  Her job is to look at all the data and then make a judgment call. She’s been with the firm for the last eleven months, so somebody should’ve taught her that by now. Who was she working with before?

  I look up her profile on the intranet database… Webber.

  I shake my head. He should’ve mentored her better. I send a quick email to Janey, asking her to redo her model. The server syncs; the email disappears from the outbox.

  I feel vaguely annoyed. And…a little weird. Like I just pulled an Emmett Lasker bosshole maneuver. Well, not quite that bad. Unlike Emmett, I didn’t tell her to stay up until two a.m. to get it done. Besides, this is for her benefit. She has at least one more year to go at GrantEm.

  My phone buzzes.

  –Emmett: Can you come over to my office?

  Hopefully he hasn’t found some Excel model that requires an immediate redo.

  Maybe it’s karma.

  Shut up.

  I stop myself from running my fingers through my hair and stand up. Emmett and I established a firm rule that we’re going to be professional in the office. Remember that. No need to primp.

  I take a deep breath and make my way toward his office. It’s a little after ten, and the floor is empty. The cleaning crew doesn’t come in until four thirty a.m. Plus I guess everyone’s having a slow day, since we usually have some people at desk on Wednesday nights. Even Sasha and her team went home by ten. Grant ordered them all to get six hours of sleep, since they’ve been dragging their feet like zombies.

  I knock on the door, like a good, professional employee, even though nobody’s around to see.

  “Come in,” Emmett calls out.

  I open the door and walk inside. Before I can take a breath, the door slams behind me, and Emmett’s mouth crashes down on mine.

  You’re in the office! Kissing is not professional! Sadly, the voice of judgment is no match for the hot lust my boss’s mouth arouses in me.

  His tongue invades my mouth, and I grip his arms. The muscles are taut and hard, and I whimper at how much I’ve missed this kiss, missed tasting him and feeling his need for me growing more intense as our mouths tango.

  He pulls me tight. His large erection presses against my belly; my body zings with lust, but I put a hand on his chest and push back, gulping for some cool air to reorient myself.

  “You’re still here.” He places his forehead on mine. “You should’ve gone to my place. I was waiting to follow you home.”

  “I was working. Sasha thinks it’s weird I left early two days in a row. She would’ve gotten really suspicious if I left early again.”

  “Forget her. Let’s go home.” Clearly, the home in question is his.

  This must be how Eve felt when the snake offered her the forbidden fruit. Trust me, it’s perfectly fine. But I stay strong and shake my head. “No.”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  My mouth dries as heat spreads through me. “If it’s anything like Sunday, we won’t be done until two in the morning. At least.” The sex on Sunday was the best ever. It drove me insane how he wouldn’t relent, just kept going and going, submerging me in one tsunami of pleasure after another. “And I’m going to want to roll over and fall asleep.”

  “So? My bed’s big enough for two of us.”

  “So? So what do I say to Sasha when she wants to know why I didn’t come home?”

  “I thought she was a roommate, not a cockblocker.” He lets out an irritated sigh. “Let’s get you a place of your own.”

  “No. I’m not leaving her in the lurch.” Besides, she already knows I’m moving out soon to take a new job. It’s going to look really weird if I tell her I need my own apartment.

  Emmett waves a hand. “I’ll cover your portion of the rent.” Mr. Problem Solver.

  “No!” Even if I weren’t moving away, I wouldn’t agree to this. “There will be no money exchange between us here. If you insist, we won’t do this at all.” I want his body, but not enough to disrupt my entire life.