Baby for the Bosshole Read online

  Let’s see… Movies and shows about baby showers… Surprise pregnancy… Maternity leave…

  Ugh. What kind of excitement can you possibly generate from a show about maternity leave?

  I turn the TV off and throw my hands in the air. There’s gotta be something else more fun to do… Like… Like…

  My eyes slide to the bathroom. The toilet gleams at me.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  Expelling a long sigh, I drag myself to the closet and change into an office outfit. It’s Sunday, but it doesn’t matter. It’s my rule not to do work at home.

  My phone pings. I brace myself, since I have no clue if it’s going to be Emmett the Boss or Emmett the Fling.

  But happily enough, it’s Dad!

  –Dad: Hey, sweetie pie! How are you?

  I’m pregnant and might end up a single mom, but hey, my bathroom is really clean.

  –Me: I’m doing awesome. How about you?

  –Dad: Great! Just great!

  We exchange selfies. He looks happy, and I look okay. It helps that I’m not in my frumpy cleaning T-shirt and shorts anymore.

  –Dad: Hey, remember how I said I’d be in SoCal for Xavier’s wedding and would stop by?

  –Me: Yeah.

  –Dad: Well, it got canceled.

  –Me: What happened?

  –Dad: Xavier decided he’s better off single.

  Shocking. I mean, I agree with Xavier’s assessment, given that this would be his fifth marriage. But I honestly didn’t think he’d come to that conclusion on his own. Most people can’t see their own situations clearly.

  –Me: How come?

  –Dad: His fiancée got pregnant.

  Asshole. That’s a terrible reason to dump your fiancée. My empathy doubles, since I understand exactly how she’s feeling right now. Emmett hasn’t dumped me, but then, he doesn’t know. And based on what happened yesterday, he might. A baby would get in the way of him doing “auditions.”

  –Dad: Turns out it’s not his baby.

  I take it back. What a bitch.

  –Me: How did he find out?

  –Dad: He had an accident a couple of years ago, which makes him shoot blanks, you know?

  –Me: Wow. That’s awful.

  –Dad: She tried to pass it off as his, but it didn’t work. And get this—she cheated on him with his younger brother!

  –Me: OMG!

  –Dad: She figured he wouldn’t know, given the family resemblance.

  Who needs Netflix and Prime videos when you have my father’s friends?

  –Dad: Xavier’s heartbroken and pissed off, but I think it’s best this way. It’s better to find out sooner than later that the person you’re with isn’t going to work out.

  –Me: Absolutely. Cut your losses.

  As I hit send, my heart stings because I’m wondering if I’m going to have to my cut my losses. I don’t know how to explain Emmett why I was unhappy on Saturday if that sort of thing is normal to him.

  –Dad: Exactly. How do you live with somebody you can’t trust, much less share the same values with?

  After unknowingly sowing more uncertainty and doubt into my head, Dad gossips about his life and buddies for a minute or so, which keeps me entertained. At the same time, I start to wonder why he’s so text-y. Normally, he doesn’t type this much. Does he have something he wants to say, but doesn’t know how to start?

  Part of me wants to prompt him, but I rein myself in. I’m the one who should be telling him about my pregnancy, since it is going to impact his life, too. But I can’t bring myself to do it when I haven’t told Emmett—or even know if I want to tell him in the first place.

  Finally, Dad wraps up his gossip.

  –Dad: You take it easy, you hear?

  –Me: Yes, sir! Have a great Sunday, Dad. Love you!

  –Dad: Love you, sweetie pie!

  I can almost hear his hearty voice and even heartier hug, and feel the love swell in my heart. He’s truly the best there is. I put the phone into my purse and head to the office.

  A few people are working at their desks, including Sasha. She waves when she notices me. I wave back, glancing at Emmett’s office door. It’s closed, but that doesn’t mean anything, since he could have decided to spend his unexpected free time catching up on work.

  Now that the shock of the naked redhead has worn off, I realize I haven’t done anything to fix the problem, a.k.a. my secret pregnancy.

  Don’t rush into anything, I tell myself. I need to be sure about my next move. So while my subconscious tackles the issue, I review an Excel model I made—not on the baby but on a real company we’re funding. I already went over it on Friday, but you can never go over a model enough times. Or so I tell myself.

  The task takes longer than it should. My head is foggy with a mild headache throbbing like background static. Coffee withdrawal is real. Please, God, just one iced Americano. Or latte. Or plain drip. Any variety will do.

  Be a responsible adult, Amy.

  Yeah. That’s why fifteen minutes later, I’m in the break room, going over the non-caffeinated herbal tea options, hoping something will look appealing.

  “Hey, I didn’t know you were working this weekend,” says Sasha, walking in. She helps herself to a huge mug of coffee, and it’s an effort not to drool.

  “Just some stuff I need to review. Nothing super urgent or anything.”

  She peers at me. “How are you feeling?”

  “So-so.” I really want to whine about coffee, but I don’t want her to feel bad.

  “Uh-huh. Well, I guess that’s good, considering. So how did he react?”

  “I, uh, kinda didn’t…”

  “What? A bun in the oven and you didn’t say anything—”

  “What bun?” comes Emmett’s eerily calm voice from behind us.

  Shit.

  Sasha’s neck and head sink until her shoulders are nearly touching her ears. Her expression says, Sorry!

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. This is not how I wanted him to find out. I inhale, then hold my breath for a moment. My heart starts racing.

  Settle the hell down. I paste on a fake smile, the same one I put on when I’m trying to look happy about Emmett dumping a last-minute task on my desk.

  “I’m waiting,” Emmett says, still in that scarily calm voice.

  I turn to him, the smile still firmly glued to my face. “Emmett! What are you doing here?”

  “It’s my firm.”

  Right.

  His gaze flicks to Sasha, then snaps back to me. “My office, please.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turns and walks out. He didn’t grab whatever he came to the break room for, damn it. I wish he’d gotten a snack or coffee or whatever, because that might improve his mood.

  Right now, he most definitely feels like finding fault with me. He won’t have missed the fact that my roommate knew about my pregnancy and he didn’t.

  “I am so sorry,” Sasha whispers, her whole face pinched.

  I pat her shoulder. “It’s fine. Might as well get this over with.”

  “Are you going to tell him about the…you know?” she whispers, without mentioning the word “resignation.”

  I shake my head. “I’m still thinking about the offer.” I also have two more second-round interviews. “I’ll be fine.” I hope.

  I straighten my spine and walk purposefully to Emmett’s office. He left his door ajar, so I walk in and close it behind me.

  He’s leaning against the edge of his desk, his expression unreadable. “Take a seat.”

  I do.

  “So.” His cool gaze drops to my belly briefly before meeting my eyes. “The bun.”

  “Yeah, um…” I exhale, feeling like a prisoner about to be executed. “I found out on Friday.”

  “Is it Rick’s?” he asks with a small frown.

  “No.” I’m not offended by the question. Sasha asked the same thing. “It’s most definitely not his.”

  Is it me, or did the tension in Emmett’s shoulders ease a little? He doesn’t ask me how I know, just nods.

  So I feel compelled to add, “My guess is that it happened that first time…here. We didn’t use a condom.”

  “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  His calm attitude makes me twitchy with anxiety. Shouldn’t he react with more…emotion? Accuse me of getting pregnant on purpose to entrap him or something? “It didn’t seem like something I should text.”

  “But on Saturday?”

  “Brenda showed up,” I remind him.

  He closes his eyes briefly and curses under his breath.

  He probably feels inconvenienced. Hard to audition naked women with a baby around. I don’t want to force him into doing something he might not want just because I’m carrying his child. People who are forced into decisions rarely honor them. And if they do, they resent the hell out of it. Neither the baby nor I deserve that.

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, except to provide child support because that’s what a baby should be able expect from its father.”

  “What?”

  “Take time to think it over,” I say, giving him a graceful way to back off and process it. “I know you’re probably in shock. This wasn’t part of our plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “A sex-only fling?” Shock seems to have temporarily halved his IQ.

  “That was not a ‘plan.’ Asking me to hand over money to pay for the cost of raising a baby isn’t much of a plan, either.”

  That annoys the hell out of me. I’m not some irresponsible non-planner! “I made an Excel model on what it takes to raise a child.” I don’t bring up the PowerPoint or memos, since he seems to be focused on the financial aspect.

  “I’d like to see it. I’m sure I’m going to want changes.”

  Ha. I’m not staying up until two a.m. to redo it!

  He continues, “Regardless, I can’t remain uninvolved.” He narrows his eyes. “We’ll get married.”

  “What?”

  He spreads his hands. “We’ll get married.”

  I stare at him, trying to process why in the world he’s saying this. My heart is racing, my belly all fluttery. Marriage never occurred to me, and the idea is scary as hell because I like it far too much. Somebody wants me enough to make the commitment!

  Until cold reality slaps me hard. Girlfriend, he didn’t say the M-word until you got pregnant. And remember Xavier? Weddings can be called off just like that. Cold reality snaps its frigid fingers in demonstration.

  “Are you out of your mind?” I croak.

  “I’m perfectly rational,” Emmett says calmly.

  “No, you aren’t. If you were, you wouldn’t have thrown out marriage as an option. Your judgment is clouded by the confusion of the moment.”

  “I am not confused. Just like you have definite ideas about how a fling should go, I also have definite ideas about how my baby should be raised.”

  “Which is…?”

  “In a household. With two parents. Who are married.”

  Wow. I didn’t expect Emmett to be this traditional. He was raised in Europe for a while—which is supposed to be more liberal than the States when it comes to stuff like this—and his father is a Hollywood producer who never married.

  “Emmett, we’re not getting married just because I’m pregnant.”

  “May I remind you that that”—he points at my belly—“is my baby you’re carrying?”

  “Yes, but marriage! It’s a big step.”

  He squints at me, then closes his eyes and nods. “You want to be romanced. Of course. Flowers, chocolate, jewelry…”

  “No, it isn’t about stuff like that! I’m not marrying someone who I can’t be sure will stick around no matter how rough things might get. If you marry me for the baby, you’re committing yourself for at least eighteen years. I don’t want you to get bored and leave in the middle of it.” As the words slip from my mouth, I realize the chances of him getting bored are significant. The man’s too smart and too rich not to, or put up with a situation when it’s no longer amusing. I can’t risk my future happiness—or my baby’s—on his mood. I deserve a dependable man who wants me for myself. “If you feel like you have to have some stake in the baby, we can do some kind of joint custody.”

  “Tell you what. Let’s just temporarily put marriage aside. Until you’re sure.” It’s like he didn’t hear my joint custody offer and is confident I’m going to change my mind.

  I can tell from his expression that he isn’t going to budge on this. Well, I’m not budging either. I’m not letting my child feel the same sense of abandonment and pain I felt when I was old enough to realize my mom didn’t want me enough to stick around.

  “Fine,” I say, since it isn’t productive to argue. Once he has some time to think a bit, he’ll realize I’m right. “Can I go back to the due diligence I was doing?”

  “No, you can go home. You don’t have anything urgent on your plate. There’s no reason you have to do that today.”

  I hesitate. I have nothing to do at home except stew.

  He gives me a firm look. “If you don’t, I’ll find a lot of training for everyone in the office to do and make sure they know it’s all due to your amazing effort.”

  “You are such a jerk.”

  “A jerk who wants you to not work on Sunday.” He bares his teeth in a smile. “Sue me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Amy

  The second I walk into my apartment, my phone pings. Maybe it’s Emmett texting to let me know he’s seen the light—and I’m right.

  But no. It’s actually Sasha.

  –Sasha: Is everything okay? I stopped by your desk after I thought you’d be out of the big, bad boss’s office, but you’d left. Did Emmett get really pissy about your upcoming maternity leave?

  Oh crap. I should’ve expected her to be upset. Now she’ll be angsty about getting me into trouble for the rest of the day if I don’t set her straight.

  I put my stuff at the foot of my bed and sit on the edge of the mattress.

  –Me: Not really.

  He isn’t upset about the maternity leave, but the fact that I’m not sure about marrying him over the pregnancy. The more I think about it, the odder it seems. Aren’t guys generally happy about not being forced into commitment? I’m giving him a graceful way out.

  –Sasha: It’s illegal for him to do that. I’m sure of it. You’re entitled to your leave, unless you told him you quit.

  Obviously my bestie is operating under a different assumption.

  –Me: Not like that. It’s complicated.

  –Sasha: What’s complicated? You’re so close to hitting 2 years anyway. If you wanna sue, let me know. I can ask around for some lawyer recs.

  I can already picture her asking her boyfriend. No. Just no.

  –Me: Please don’t. A lawsuit isn’t the way to go here.

  But even as I hit send, I know she isn’t going to listen. She’s like a pit bull when somebody in her circle’s threatened.

  –Me: You can’t tell anybody what I’m about to say.

  –Sasha: You known I can keep my mouth shut. But you’re scaring me here.

  I inhale slowly, and exhale even more slowly.

  –Me: I didn’t want to tell you like this, but put a hand over your mouth and clench your teeth together.

  –Sasha: Why?

  –Me: I don’t want you making any strange sounds! You’re still in the office, right?

  –Sasha: Fine. Done!

  –Me: Okay. Here’s the super secret. The baby is Emmett’s.

  Two beats and no response. Did she faint from shock? Do I need to call 911?

  –Me: Hello? You there?

  Three dots appear on the screen. I wait.

  –Sasha: HOLY SHIT! Fuck! I dropped my phone and banged my head on the desk when I bent down to grab it.

  –Me: Ouch. Are you okay?

  –Sasha: NO! You’re pregnant with Emmett’s baby? Emmett Lasker?

  –Me: Yeah.

  –Sasha: Ack! We need to talk about this.

  –Me: I knew you’d say that.

  –Sasha: Why did you have to tell me this when I have a shit-ton of work to do?

  –Me: Ask Grant for an extension?

  It’s a feeble attempt at a joke.

  –Sasha: He wants the baby, right?

  Boy, does he ever.

  –Me: Yes.

  –Sasha: I don’t have to poison his coffee, then.

  –Me: In case you feel the urge to spit in his coffee instead, he told me to go home and rest.

  –Sasha: Ooooh. I like that. You deserve a break.

  –Me: He wants to marry me for the baby. I’m not sure.

  –Sasha: Wait. He’s offering marriage?

  –Me: Yeah, but you know how I have my life planned out. Marrying a guy just because I’m pregnant with his baby isn’t part of that plan.

  I want to marry a guy who’s sure about being with me, no matter what.

  –Sasha: But you liked him enough to sleep with him, so maybe you can at least think about it? Emmett can be a little weird, but then, all geniuses are. But he doesn’t strike me as the type to throw something that serious out there just on impulse.

  –Me: Yeah, that’s true.

  And that’s what’s making it hard for me to think clearly about what Emmett said. On top of that, he seemed determined.

  –Sasha: I have tons of shit I have to do, but I will do everything in my power to leave the office by 9 so we can talk tonight.

  –Me: Okay. I’ll wait for you.

  –Sasha: Thanks, but if you feel tired, don’t wait up for me. Just go to bed. That’s more important.