Baby for the Bosshole Read online

  “What was that?”

  “Somebody just jumped the fence.”

  “What?” Emmett’s home has a high wrought-iron fence. Plus it’s in a safe, wealthy neighborhood. And it’s not even eleven a.m. Who’d do something so crazy in broad daylight? “Maybe it’s a false alarm?”

  His eyebrows pinch as he glares at the phone screen. “No. We have an intruder.”

  “Seriously? Should I call 911?”

  “No.” Emmett seems totally calm, which is comforting.

  The doorbell rings. He sighs deeply, stands up and walks past me to the foyer.

  I sling my purse over my shoulder—in case I need my phone or the pepper spray Dad sends me every Christmas—then grab the butter knife and fork off my bagel plate, too, just in case. Now properly armed, I follow him.

  The hi-res security panel next to the door shows the person on the other side. A redhead looks up and smiles at the camera. She’s gorgeous, with sharp, high cheekbones that belong in a fashion magazine. Careful makeup covers her face, her eyes edged with long, curly lashes. Her hair is thick and glossy, shining like burning copper.

  The only thing strange about her is the clothes—a beige trench coat. The weather’s too warm for that. But still, facially, anyway, she’s a ten.

  And compared to her, I’m quite ordinary. Just mascara and lip gloss. A white shirt and jeans. My sandals are cute, with nice heels, but that’s about it.

  “Who’s that?” I ask.

  He shakes his head slowly. “I…have no idea.”

  The redhead waves then starts banging on the door.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t open it.” I have a bad feeling about this. Not because I suspect he and she have some history. But my instinct says she’s bad news. “She could be unhinged.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Just because she’s pretty doesn’t mean she’s sane.”

  “I know,” he says, squinting at the woman.

  “Hello?” she calls out from the other side. “I know you’re home. Ted Lasker sent me!”

  Emmett’s dad sent this woman? Why did she jump over the wall, then?

  Emmett yanks his hand away like the door turned into a viper. He’d take a step back if I weren’t in his way.

  “Shouldn’t you answer that?”

  “Two seconds ago, you didn’t want me to.”

  “Yeah, but that was before I knew she works for your dad.” Who knows what Hollywood people think is normal?

  “Yoo-hoo!” she says. “Hel-lo-oh! Your father sent me! It’s important.”

  I elbow Emmett gently. “You should probably see what she wants.”

  He sighs, then opens the door.

  “Hi,” she says chirpily, standing hipshot. “I’m Brenda. Are you Emmett Lasker?”

  “Yes,” he says slowly.

  “Oh, wow. Cool that you’re so hot. Hahaha! That was a joke. But seriously, I was kinda worried you might not be.”

  I stare at her. What a bizarre way to talk to someone you just met. Whether Emmett’s dad sent her or not, she seems one wheel short of a hamster cage.

  “I really wanted a hot costar,” she adds with a winsome smile that says she’s not crazy.

  “Ooookay.” Emmett clears his throat. “So, uh. What are you here about?”

  “It isn’t about what I’m about, but what we’re about.” She undoes the belt around the trench coat and shrugs it off her shoulders. She’s completely naked underneath. And completely shaved, I note. She raises both arms like a game show hostess showcasing the best and final prize of the night. “Ta-da!”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Amy

  Oh my God. Holy cow. I try to look away, but only manage to raise a loose hand in front of my eyes.

  Emmett is staring, too, his gaze unblinking. Couldn’t he at least put a hand up or something as well? He doesn’t seem to really be interested, but he isn’t showing any annoyance, either. His expression is a weird combination of I-knew-it and I-can’t-keep-my-eyes-off-her.

  The latter part bothers me more than anything. She might be hot, but has she read The Mathematics of Financial Derivatives? I don’t think so.

  Okay, snap out of it. I’m being ridiculous. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I’m jealous, except I shouldn’t be because technically Emmett and I are having a sex-only fling.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Emmett says finally.

  “An audition,” she says like it’s completely normal to stand on somebody’s doorstep buck naked on a sunny Saturday. “For Ted’s next movie.”

  “Your dad makes porn on the side?” I ask, flabbergasted. Ted Lasker has produced countless hits—the kind of movies you watch in theaters—but maybe he does other things, too. After all, sex sells.

  “No.” Emmett’s response is immediate and firm.

  “But she’s naked and…” Something else she said earlier pops into my head, scattering confusion like confetti. “She said you’re her costar. When do you find the time?”

  “I don’t. And I’m not her any star. I don’t act, and I have no desire to act.”

  “Sure you do,” she cuts in. She sounds breathless, which has to be fake. Nobody gets breathless just standing there. “Your dad said so.”

  “So?”

  Confusion ripples over her. “Everyone wants to be a star!”

  Emmett shakes his head.

  Brenda looks lost. Maybe she doesn’t realize Emmett is already a star—just not in Hollywood.

  “But you have to! I need my big break!” she whines loudly. “He said you do auditions all the time!”

  He does?

  I don’t think Emmett notices me staring, though. He’s too busy letting out an exasperated sigh. “Look, you need to leave. I’m not doing this audition.”

  “How come?” she says.

  “I’m busy. I have company.” He points at me.

  “You can finish the audition with her. I can wait,” she says.

  Instead of correcting her, he says, “No, you can’t. But if you leave now, I’ll open the gates so you won’t have to jump the wall again. Wouldn’t want you to break a nail or anything.”

  She looks down at her hands with a gasp as though she’s just realized the horrible possibility. “Fine. I’ll come back when you aren’t in an audition with somebody else.” She flicks her eyes over me—and doesn’t seem too impressed—before she turns to Emmett with a smile. “Bye!”

  She shrugs on her trench coat and walks away, hips swinging. She has to know we’re watching her.

  As she moves off into the distance, I turn to Emmett. “Does this happen often?”

  “No.”

  No elaboration. His answer could mean this sort of things happens occasionally, or that it never happens.

  I study him closely. He is entirely too calm and collected. Plus, he had that I-knew-it expression earlier, like this is something he’s done before many times. He didn’t react with much shock when she took off her coat, either.

  When we were in La Jolla, Emmett told me he got along fine with his dad. So he must be at least somewhat comfortable with this kind of incident.

  Just like that, all my anxiety over telling him about my pregnancy vanishes. I feel deflated. And that sensation’s soon replaced by annoyance and a vague sense of betrayal. I didn’t realize he and his dad have this kind of weird…relationship.

  “I think I’m going to go home now,” I say finally. I’m pleased at how calm I sound.

  Emmett peers at me. “Are you upset?”

  “A naked woman showing up on your doorstep? Why should such a minor thing upset me?”

  “Come on,” he says, spreading his hands. “She’s just some girl Dad sent over. I’ve never met her, and I don’t particularly want to meet her again.”

  If he’s trying to make me feel like I’m overreacting, he’s succeeding. But I know I’m not being unreasonable. Maybe it’s normal to him for his father to send a woman over and have her get naked on his doorstep, but it isn’t in my world. “That doesn’t change how I feel about the situation.” I raise my hands as I move toward my car. “I need some space, okay?”

  He follows me out. “For how long?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

  A beat. “Ten minutes?”

  Men. “A day or two.”

  “A day or two?” He gestures in the direction Brenda ran off. “Amy, come on. She’s not worth that.”

  You’re blowing it out of proportion. You aren’t being cool.

  “She might not be, but I need that much time to sort my thoughts.” I need to decide if I can partner with a man, who has random naked women popping up at home, to raise a child. Dad didn’t even date when I was growing up.

  “Amy, you’re being unreasonable,” Emmett says.

  Too late. I’m already in my car. With lots to stew over.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Emmett

  Fury erupts as I watch Amy drive away. What the hell? It was going so well until that woman showed up.

  Fucking Dad. He knew FedExing a hooker wouldn’t work, even if he paid her handsomely for her trouble. So he’s resorting to sending some poor woman desperate for a break in Hollywood.

  I slam the door shut and pick up my phone. If Dad thought he was going to get away with this, he has another think coming.

  After five rings, our call is connected.

  “Who the hell do you think you are? You sent me a girl auditioning for porn and think that’s going to get you a grandbaby? I’d rather get vasectomy!”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” comes Joey’s dry, professional voice. “Would you like the name of the doctor who did Ted’s first vasectomy? He’s still practicing.”

  I want to rip a hole into Dad, not his assistant. “Where’s. My. Father.”

  “Busy.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Oh, I get it. He sends me his ‘actress’ and is hiding now because he knows I’m going to ream him out.”

  “Just like gods don’t need to hide, Ted Lasker never hides. You know that.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “He is busy, as he often is, making a movie that will entertain millions. On top of that, everyone knows you’re a good son. You’d never be disrespectful to your father.” Joey sounds like a shitty actor at an audition—soulless and unconvincing.

  “Can’t you hire a writer for better lines?” Not that my criticism is going to make a dent in Joey’s relentless desire to make sure Dad gets whatever he wants. Joey would be nothing in Hollywood without his job as my dad’s assistant, and he knows it.

  “Ted knows you’re busy with work, and he just wants to help you along with the grandbaby production.”

  “I’m not some baby-making widget! And you—along with my super entertainer father—embarrassed me in front of my girlfriend!”

  Joey perks up. “You have a girlfriend?”

  Shit. “No,” I say, annoyed with myself. Now he’ll hire somebody to figure out who my girlfriend is and try to work on her. Amy doesn’t need that kind of static.

  “Is she pregnant?” Joey asks, his words brimming with excitement.

  “No! There’s no girlfriend, pregnant or otherwise.”

  “Ah, but you said there was. Can you get her pregnant? Like with a doctored condom?”

  “You are the most vile, underhan—”

  “If you feel squeamish about putting holes in condoms, I can provide some that are pre-perforated. They look slick. She won’t suspect anything, I promise.”

  “No, no, no!” I say it three times so that maybe one will get through. Joey has highly selective hearing, a trait he picked up from Dad.

  “I hope she’s a redhead,” he adds. “Ted wants a redheaded girl for his grandchild.”

  “Well, he can father one himself!”

  “You can’t father your own grandchild, Emmett.” Joey speaks like I’m intellectually challenged. “Even if biology wasn’t your best subject, you should know that. It’s just common sense.”

  “If you don’t stop, I’m going to kill you and dump you into one of those medieval common graves.”

  “No, you won’t, because you’d hate the prison lifestyle. Anyway, expect some condoms in the mail.” He hangs up just as I’m about to burst a vein.

  There’s a reason Dad likes him. Horses have blinders for their eyes. Joey has them for his ears. He only hears what he wants to hear and ignores the rest. He only conveys what Dad wants to convey, nothing else.

  My phone buzzes. Hopefully it’s Amy, done with her thinking. After all, what Brenda did doesn’t deserve even a second.

  But it’s a text from Huxley. I sigh.

  –Huxley: I’m going to build a penal colony on your anus. Who wants to chip in?

  He sent it to me and the five other brothers. What’s he talking about?

  –Sebastian: I don’t want anything on my anus, but if it’s on yours, I’m in.

  –Huxley: I meant your anus! Duck!

  I roll my eyes. It’s obvious what the problem is.

  –Me: Are you having Siri text us?

  –Huxley: Yes. She’s terrible at this.

  –Sebastian: Use your fingers.

  –Huxley: Can’t. I’m driving.

  –Me: Then stop texting until you can.

  –Grant: What’s your anus supposed to be?

  –Huxley: A planet.

  –Me: Uranus?

  –Huxley: Yes! Thank you! Ducking Siri.

  I shake my head. What did he expect? It’s an imperfect technology.

  –Noah: Are we putting Dad in the colony?

  –Huxley: Yes. Exactly.

  –Noah: Well, I’m all for that.

  –Sebastian: Can we make it farther away?

  –Nicholas: And colder?

  –Griffin: What did he do now?

  –Nicholas: What do you mean, what did he do now? He didn’t do anything to you?

  –Griffin: Nope.

  Lucky bastard.

  –Huxley: Some chick tried to break into my place. She was naked under a trench coat.

  –Nicholas: If she’d done that when I was in my home in Texas, I would’ve shot her dead. SMH.

  –Me: He sent me one, too!

  Which ruined my plans for the weekend. Amy is most definitely not going to be in a romantic weekend mood while she’s processing Brenda. But why does she need a day or two to think about it, anyway? A few minutes should’ve been plenty of time. Then we could’ve gone to Napa and had our belated wine country tour.

  I hope Amy wraps up her thinking quickly. Nothing good will come of her obsessing over what Dad did. The only thing he’s good at is throwing money around and making movies. Anything else turns to shit.

  –Griffin: Wow. Guess I dodged a bullet.

  Maybe Joey overlooked Griffin. Why couldn’t he have overlooked me, too? It isn’t like I’m that important to Dad.

  –Noah: He sent me a redhead. And she wasn’t that hot.

  –Huxley: Is that what got you upset?

  Palpable disapproval pours from Huxley’s text.

  –Me: I’m disappointed in you, Noah. She could be the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe, and I’d still say no.

  –Noah: Of course. But you can have sex with her, then say no afterward.

  Spoken like a true player.

  –Grant: You’d get Dad cooties. I’ll bet you my Bugatti that he slept with the girls he sent us.

  My face scrunches, but Grant is right. It’d be a typically Dad thing to do.

  –Sebastian: Excuse me while I go throw up.

  –Huxley: Keep the gross details to yourself, Grant.

  –Grant: It’s for Noah’s own good. In case Dad sends a hotter woman next time.

  –Noah: He’s not gonna waste his time like that when he’s failed.

  –Me: Guys, Dad is serious about wanting a grandkid. Joey offered to send me punctured condoms.

  –Griffin: Maybe he’s just sending you a box. I haven’t talked to Joey since I got my PhD.

  –Sebastian: I’m gonna kick his ass if he sends any to me.

  –Me: Get in line. But we have to figure something out to stop this nonsense. All this sending women is disrupting my routine.

  And upsetting Amy. She doesn’t deserve this kind of aggravation.

  –Grant: Like what? He won’t stop until he gets what he wants.

  –Nicholas: I’m getting myself huge guard dogs. Gonna leave them unleashed on my property.

  My brothers toss out more ideas, but they’re all temporary measures. We need a more permanent solution to the problem. And soon. I’m not having another fight with Amy over some trick Dad pulls to get what he wants.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Amy

  Sasha isn’t home when I arrive back from Emmett’s place. So instead of getting to talk to somebody trustworthy about what happened, I spend the day cleaning my room and bathroom twice. I scrub the toilet until you could perform surgery on it. I wipe the kitchen counter probably two dozen times. Do four loads of laundry.

  By late Sunday morning, all the clothes have been washed and folded and I’ve run out of things to clean. Sasha isn’t going to be home until late—if at all—which means I’m sitting on a now-pristine floor, tired and alone with too many thoughts spinning in my mind, a state I absolutely despise. It’s unproductive and makes you confused and stupid.

  So what’s a girl to do when she doesn’t want to think?

  I try Netflix. But its AI must be spying on me because it’s recommending me nothing but baby shows. How many movies and dramas about pregnancy can you make? Is it a thing to run away from your boyfriend while you’re carrying his baby? At least four shows say it is…if he’s a sociopath.

  Maybe this is Netflix’s way of making me feel better about my life. Emmett might have a naked woman stopping by, but at least he’s not a serial killer.

  Wow, Amy. Set the bar low, why don’t you?

  Okay. How about Prime videos?