Baby for the Bosshole Page 17

  Amy

  Eventually, we have to surface and swim back to shore. Jessie strips me out of my gear with casual competence and promises to send us our photos in the next day or two.

  After changing, we grab lunch at a casual seafood restaurant with a view of the ocean we just emerged from. Emmett teases me about my reaction to the sharks, which, it turns out, are actually harmless.

  “Okay, but how could I have known? They didn’t have a we-don’t-eat-humans sign on their backs.”

  “Because they were too small?” he says. “They were barely as long as you are.”

  “They could’ve eaten my thigh. Or an arm. Taken it off right at the elbow.”

  “Amy wings, with barbecue sauce?”

  “Right! I mean, a shark will eat anything.”

  After lunch, Emmett and I come home, shower and chill. It didn’t seem like much in the way of exercise, going so leisurely through the water, but the dive took it out of me. If I weren’t in San Diego for the first time, I’d probably just get a pizza delivered for dinner later. But I want to see more of this gorgeous city.

  So we go a drive. Emmett knows all the beautiful, interesting spots we can hit. We don’t go to SeaWorld or the zoo, because SeaWorld would be anemic after our dive and the zoo is enormous and would take literally an entire day. But we hit Balboa Park and stroll through the gardens and the Botanical Building, with more lush flora than I’ve seen in my entire life. Thankfully, there are no potentially man-eating animal encounters.

  Afterward, we take a drive along the coast. I take tons of photos, and we laugh and smile as we take silly selfies and eat ice cream by the beach. The sunset is stunning, gold and orange from the sky bleeding into the restless blue ocean until the Pacific looks like it’s on fire.

  I’ve been on beaches at sunset before, but this feels different. The vibe is more easygoing. And I’m holding Emmett’s hand, our fingers threaded and linked. The breeze tousles our hair, and I can’t recall the last time I was this happy. Or had this strong of a need humming through my veins.

  I tilt my head. Emmett turns at the same moment and our eyes meet. And then our mouths do.

  He kisses me tenderly, sweetly, like we have all the time in the world. I soak in his flavor, his texture. I love the way he carries me off to another universe where it’s just me and him and our desire for each other.

  More than sex, more than sex, a voice in my head sings.

  Part of me wonders if he feels it too. Or maybe this is how he treats all his girls, and I’m trying to read something that doesn’t exist because none of my ex-boyfriends did anything this nice. After all, all that “diamonds or pearls” or “rubies or sapphires” or “beach or mountain cabin” stuff must’ve been for some woman or other. Just because he’s amazing now doesn’t mean he’s going to stay that way forever.

  The thought leaves me bereft, like an abandoned child.

  I pull back under the darkening sky before I do anything stupid. “We should get back.”

  “We have to go get dinner first,” he says, his eyes unreadable.

  He drives us to an upscale seafood and steak restaurant and gives the smiling hostess his name. She checks her system and nods. “Yes, we have you right here. Your table’s ready.”

  “When did you make the reservation?” I ask in surprise.

  “Friday before we left. I thought you’d like it here.”

  I smile with appreciation at his thorough planning. He’s making me feel special, like this is more than just sex. Like I matter.

  Don’t get too comfortable, girlfriend. There’s a deadline on this thing. One you set.

  But that doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t melt. I’m not a robot.

  The hostess takes us to a table set in the balcony overlooking the beach. She leaves us with our menu and water.

  “Wow, it’s so pretty,” I say, looking out at the view.

  “It’s got its own charm at night. The moon’s out, too.”

  I tilt my head. Sure enough, a full moon is sitting low in the velvety black sky, the silver light dancing over the rolling ocean.

  Suddenly, something jars the table. The water in our glasses sloshes over, leaving wet spots on the table cloth.

  As I turn to see what’s going on, a brunette in a red dress pushes herself from our table. A strong smell of alcohol wafts from her, and she’s barely standing straight.

  “Are you okay?” I look around to see if she has a friend or date or someone. And sure enough, a man is hurrying over—

  Marion Blaire? Oh shit!

  What’s he doing in San Diego? He lives in Virginia, five freakin’ flight hours away!

  “Sorry,” he says, putting his arms around her.

  Should I look away and pretend I have no idea who he is? Yeah, that’s going to go over real well, when he’s going to be my next boss. Not to mention, I can’t pull that off gracefully anyway.

  Before I can decide on what to do, he pulls back a little. “Amy?” A grin splits his face. “Hey, how are you?”

  “Hi,” I squeak.

  “Sorry. This is my fiancée, Brandie. She’s been out in the sun for too long and had one drink too many on an empty stomach.” He gives me a sheepish what-can-you-do? smile.

  “You two know each other?” Emmett says. His voice is glass smooth.

  Damn it! That’s the tone he gets when he’s upset. He’s only talked like that in the office, about deliverables. But I guess it also applies to non-office settings too.

  “You’re here with him?” Marion points at Emmett, his gaze sweeping my boss up and down, almost too thoroughly to be polite. Emmett’s dressed casually, and so am I, although Marion isn’t inspecting me to compare, thank God!

  Emmett shoots him a razor-edged look. “Yes, she is. We’re on business.”

  “On a Saturday evening?” Marion’s tone says bullshit. His fiancée is still swaying on his arm, but he doesn’t make a move to take her back to their table.

  “Some of the best deals are done on weekends. Those of us who had to climb the ladder on our own know this.” Emmett blinks innocently.

  “Well. Dragging an associate out on a weekend for a job.” Marion tsks and turns to me, hooking a thumb at Emmett. “He can’t possibly be worth this level of personal sacrifice.”

  I give him an awkward smile and take the fifth.

  “Loyalty,” Emmett says. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Time to defuse the situation! “It’s my job,” I announce.

  Marion ignores Emmett. “Loyalty is a two-way street. And this guy won’t be there for you when you need him. If I were you, I’d be choosy about who I gave my loyalty to.”

  My God. Emmett’s my boss, not the man I gave my heart and soul to! But from the way Marion’s talking, Emmett and I are about to tie the knot and make a baseball team’s worth of babies.

  “I don’t feel so goooo…” Brandie whines. Her head droops and sways back and forth, hair hanging like seaweed.

  “Maybe you should take her back to your table?” I say, half standing to catch her in case she collapses. “Or a bathroom?” I’m also desperate to have Marion go away.

  “Very classy, holding a conversation while holding a nearly passed-out woman,” Emmett says. “I guess this would be your version of multitasking?”

  Marion turns with a retort, but Brandie’s face plops on his chest, then slowly slides down, her eyes closed.

  Cursing, he carries her away.

  I let out a soft breath. “You didn’t have to be so mean about the fiancée. I had a drunk incident, too.”

  “Yeah, but A, you aren’t my fiancée, and B, you were highly entertaining. If you’re going to be drunk, you have to be fun. Otherwise, it’s just crass.” Emmett taps his fingers on the menu. “How do you know that idiot, anyway?”

  “Oh, I interviewed with his firm once. When I was, uh, looking for a job during my second year at Wharton.”

  Emmett’s eyes turn flinty. Like Dirty Harry about to shoot a scumbag. “Fucker,” he mutters finally. “Should’ve known. You must’ve made an impression for him to remember you after all these years.”

  Crap. “I guess.” I give him what I hope is an innocent smile.

  “At least I don’t think he noticed anything about us. Second teamer for sure.” He picks up his menu. “Let’s order dinner.”

  Relieved that he’s dropping the topic, I nod. And make a mental note to be more careful.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Emmett

  “Okay, you Martian body snatcher. Where’s my brother and what have you done with him?” Grant says, strolling into my office on Monday before the floor starts teeming with analysts and associates.

  “What do you want? I have a lot of stuff to get through.” Gotta make up for the work I didn’t do over the weekend.

  He peers at me. “When you talk like that, you sound like the brother I know, but…”

  “Yesss…?”

  “You’ve been too cheery,” he says in the same tone a doctor might say, “Your condition is terminal.”

  That brings me up short. “Cheery…?”

  “Well, you know. Relatively speaking. You didn’t make anybody cry last week.”

  “What is it with—? I don’t make people cry! I merely show them the error of their ways. How they decide to react is on them.”

  “Ha. Show them in a way that has them in the emergency stairwell sobbing.” He drags his index fingers down his face.

  “And since when do you care about how I handle the staff? You know the rule. If you can’t move up…” I make a cutting motion across the neck.

  “Obviously. But there’s something wrong when you aren’t making HR sweat, wondering what bullshit they need to feed everyone to get them to not hate you.”

  I roll my eyes. HR has never had to do that. “They don’t hate me. They instantly forgive me when I talk about the ten percent of the workforce that does anything meaningful at GrantEm and the other ninety that are sheer deadweight.” For whatever reason, everyone believes they’re the ten percent.

  “That’s mean. Even Paulson said twenty percent does the real work.”

  “Things are tougher here than at Goldman, and you better realize that sooner rather than later if you don’t want to be part of the ninety percent. Anyway, I’m busy. I need to get all this stuff”—I gesture at my laptop, which unfortunately doesn’t increase its size in proportion to the number of tasks on my to-do list—“done before lunch.”

  “So? Delegate it. That’s why we pay them”—Grant inclines his head toward the floor—“the big bucks.”

  “I can’t delegate everything. So come on. What do you want?”

  Grant folds his arms across his chest, his eyes narrowed. “There’s seriously something wrong. It’s like…you got laid. The best sex of your life.”

  “Don’t be absurd. I always have great sex.” Time to change the subject, fast. If he goes any further in this direction, he might even realize that Amy’s the one I’m sleeping with. Grant is a genius at this sort of thing. “What’s your problem?”

  “Did you find the perfect woman to impregnate?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Or maybe there’s already a bun in one of your ovens. Tell me it’s true.”

  “Did Dad call you about wanting a grandkid for his birthday, too?”

  His face scrunches worse than an empty beer can somebody stepped on.

  “Jesus.” I shake my head. “You should know me better than that. I already said no.”

  “And he didn’t do anything to you?” Grant stares at me like I’m the one he wants to be when he grows up.

  “Not that I’ve noticed.” I was too busy with Amy. Besides, it sounds like he moved on to my brothers after I refused him.

  “He called my mom after I told him I couldn’t give him a grandkid.”

  Ah jeez. Dad and his drama.

  Grant continues, “He said he’d buy us hookers for the job unless she does something about it.”

  Grant’s mother tells him everything because she’s slightly needy and fragile and wants her son to comfort her every time she’s upset. It reassures her of his love. A lot of her “upset” comes from her personality, but I doubt she’s being melodramatic this time. Dad would absolutely believe that bought-and-paid-for women would make great mothers for his grandbabies. To him, a child is something to be popped out into the world and shown around when it suits his mood. Loving, caring for, giving guidance and nurturing are all functions to be contracted out. If he could bypass women and just grab our sperm himself to get a grandchild, he’d do it.

  “I’m not doing a hooker,” I state flatly.

  “I’d bet my entire portfolio he’s going to FedEx one to each of us.”

  “Refuse the package. Do I have to come up with a solution to every Dad problem?”

  “Should I adopt a baby?” Grant says, obviously not listening. “Or maybe Huxley or Griffin would agree to…”

  “Don’t even think about ruining some poor child’s life,” I say. “If you can’t love them the way they deserve, you shouldn’t have them in the first place. And frankly, I think none of you are ready for that kind of commitment.”

  “And you are?”

  “No. Which is why none of us are going to humor Dad on this point. We’re going to go ahead with the gift idea we came up with at Huxley’s, and that’s that. Huxley can lay on some bullshit about how Josh Singer never got the kind of gift we prepared.” He’s an ad exec. He can come up with suitable lies.

  “Yeah.” Grant nods morosely. “But it’d still be better if you just got somebody pregnant.”

  “Shut up and get out.” I point at the door, but my voice lacks anger. My brother’s wish sounds selfish, but I understand where he’s coming from. He doesn’t like to have his mother get hysterical over Dad’s calls.

  He leaves. Instead of turning to the work awaiting my attention, I text Mom to make sure she’s okay. She’s tougher than Grant’s mother, but that doesn’t mean her emotions are immune to Dad’s manipulative abuse.

  She doesn’t answer. Then I remember she’s in Europe. She could be getting ready to head out to enjoy her evening.

  Sighing, I put the phone down and get back to work. I can only solve what I can solve.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Amy

  When the elevator dumps me out on the floor at work, Grant is coming out of Emmett’s office. Emmett’s being here early—even before me—isn’t unusual. But Grant is another matter. He usually arrives later.

  He and Emmett don’t look much alike. The only similarities are the dark hair and the jaw. The rest must’ve come from elsewhere. Still, he’s a handsome man. It’s just that the only thing he inspires in me is a mildly pleasant feeling one might harbor for a non-asshole partner at work.

  “Hi, Amy,” he says. “How’d the trip to La Jolla go?”

  I tilt my head. Grant was just in Emmett’s office. Did he hear something? When I said I wanted to keep our fling discreet, I meant we needed to keep it secret from everyone, including brothers and best friends. I’ll probably tell Sasha later—but if I do, it’ll be after I’m gone from this company.

  “It was good. Very productive.” A standard, boring response that doesn’t give away anything.

  “Good.” He nods distractedly and goes to his office.

  Hmm. Maybe Emmett didn’t tell him, and he was only asking because he wanted to know I’m working hard to make money for the firm.

  I’ve booted my laptop and am checking my inbox when my phone pings.

  –Marion: Amy, I wanted to reach out and apologize for what happened on Saturday.

  –Marion: I got a bit emotional there after a long day. Hope you aren’t upset about the interruption.

  I tap my desk. Why would he be texting me now? If he really wanted to apologize, he would’ve done so before. Was his fiancée embarrassed when she sobered up enough to realize she’d made a fool of herself in front of someone who could be working for him?

  –Marion: I also realized that HR was remiss in not sending you the official offer. It’ll be rectified immediately, and the official offer in writing will arrive soon.

  Okay, maybe this is the real issue. Maybe he thinks I’m not going to accept the offer because of the scene on Saturday. But I was too distracted last week to even think about the written offer—or lack thereof—although I would’ve noticed if it hadn’t arrived by the end of the week.

  –Marion: And because we want you so much, we’re increasing the signing bonus.

  He names a figure that makes me raise my eyebrows. As tempting as the sum is, I don’t want to take it if I’m going to get stuck there for two years. Been there, done that. I need a bit more flexibility.

  –Marion: The other terms are all the same.

  Wow. It’s like he’s reading my mind. Being tied at the Blaire Group for a year at that amount is an excellent deal.

  Still, I can’t shake off this vague discomfiture. I’ve got skills I bring to the table and will be an asset to whatever firm I work for…but he’s being a bit too eager to have me say yes. I was dying to, too, until I witnessed that weird tension between him and Emmett.

  Granted, Emmett probably has some enemies and people he doesn’t get along with. I have a list of people I don’t care for, and I’m sure there are people who call me a bitch—or worse—behind my back. It’s inevitable.

  At the same time, the enmity between Emmett and Marion seemed a little too intense. Almost personal. Emmett didn’t talk to me about it, and I didn’t probe because I didn’t want to slip up and say something stupid.

  After mulling for a bit, I decide on a neutral response.

  –Me: Thanks for reaching out, Marion. I understand. I look forward to the letter, and I hope your fiancée is feeling better.

  That accomplished, I confirm a couple of Zoom interviews, one with a venture capital firm in Boston and the other with a private equity firm in New York. Just because I have an offer doesn’t mean I shouldn’t explore other options. I discover a headhunter’s email about an opportunity in London in the mountains of unread messages in my inbox, but I turn her down. I don’t want to be that far from Dad, even if it is a great chance to work overseas.