Baby for the Bosshole Page 23

  –Me: Thanks, girl.

  I put my phone down, then lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Sasha’s loyal support soothes my nerves, which have been raw since I had that confrontation with Emmett. Maybe…just maybe I can be the tiniest bit more open-minded about what he proposed.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Emmett

  Books on pregnancy and child rearing. Check.

  Prenatal vitamins for Amy. Check.

  Lunch massages for Amy at the Aylster. Check.

  What am I missing? I tap my fingers on the desk and gaze at the laptop. A PowerPoint presentation is open for my review, but I’m too distracted to look at it. Even though it’s Monday at eleven, when I should be fully ramped up.

  But I’m not. What the hell do I need to do to convince Amy I’m right about getting married? My gut has never led me astray, and it’s unlikely to start now.

  Marriage as a concept is nebulous and unexciting. But marriage with Amy is electrifying. A woman who is smart, gorgeous and hot as hell? Yes, please. The baby will be a bonus, especially if it’s a girl who looks like her mom. But for some reason, Amy doesn’t see the same thing I do. I can’t believe she said I’d get bored.

  I don’t waste my time and energy on people I find boring.

  Except telling her, “I would have never slept with you if I thought you were boring,” probably isn’t going to work. Women need more solid reassurance.

  Diamonds…? Sparkly, elegant and expensive… That’s pretty good reassurance. On the other hand, can she be bought like that? She might be more impressed if I did something for her instead.

  Maybe I should make a PowerPoint presentation on all the things I can provide for her and the baby. She has to know it’s nearly impossible to raise an infant alone while working in venture capital. She’s going to need a team of nannies and some kind of in-house staff for grocery shopping and cooking. I’ll also pay for the kid’s education, all the way to whatever degree they want. At the rate college tuition’s rising, it’s going to cost a billion bucks to get a four-year degree by the time the kid’s old enough to enter.

  But is that going to be enough to convince her? She probably has more immediate concerns. She’s pregnant right now. It has to be taxing for her body to turn a few cells into a fully grown human baby. One of the books I ordered probably has some advice on what to do for Amy. I pick up a pink one and start reading. Thankfully, I’m a speed reader, so it shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to get through the five-hundred-page volume.

  Somebody knocks on the door.

  “Yeah?” I call out, my eyes still on the pages.

  The door opens. “Wow. You decided to take one for the team?”

  I glance up. Grant is giving me a look of sheer gratitude and admiration. “No,” I say. Amy only told me about the pregnancy because she got caught red-handed. I’m not letting anybody know until Amy and I get a chance to discuss how we’re going to break the news to our families.

  “But the books—”

  “Are for an industry analysis I’m doing. A proposal on a new kind of service for pregnant women.”

  “Ah.” Grant nods, taking a seat on the other side of the desk. “It’s important to know your customers.”

  “Exactly. How else can I judge the viability?”

  “And since you’re going to know so much about pregnancy, you can also take one for the team. You are the oldest, after all.”

  “Might be the oldest, but I’m not senile.” I’m not letting Dad anywhere near Amy or my kid. The baby isn’t some prop Dad can use to feel superior to Josh Singer. “You aren’t that much younger.” I’m not finding the answer I’m looking for on the pages. “Hey, did your mom ever happen to mention when she started puking in the morning?”

  “For what?”

  “Either due to morning sickness…or the sickening sinking feeling in her gut that her kid was an idiot.”

  Grant laughs. In fact, he has the highest IQ out of all of us. “No and no.”

  A text arrives on my phone. Grant reaches for his at the same time.

  –Griffin: WTF! He sent me a damn hooker at the university! During my office hours!

  I arch an eyebrow. He doesn’t have to elaborate.

  –Me: Calm down before you do something you’ll regret. Probably nobody noticed. It isn’t like anybody goes to office hours after the first month.

  Not because Griffin’s class is easy. But when a subject is too far beyond your comprehension, you can’t even ask a question because you know so little. Plus, girls who have the hots for him tend to give up after about four to five weeks because he never sleeps with his students.

  –Griffin: WRONG! I had a bunch of econ majors outside my office to protest their midterm grades.

  –Grant: Does it matter? You’re the envy of all the frat boys.

  Grant and my phones ring. It’s Huxley, doing a group call.

  “Griff, I know you’re mad. But you’re tenured, so who cares?” he says in a feeble attempt to cheer our brother up.

  Griffin is seething. If Dad were in his office, he’d give him a flying knee to the face. Although he’s a professor of a subject as unexciting as econometrics, he’s done years of kickboxing.

  “He’s right,” I say. “It isn’t like you hired her.”

  “The fucking head of the department cares, that’s who. He wants me to, quote, ‘restore the dignity of the economics department,’ unquote, by doing some bullshit case he couldn’t get anybody else to do because it’s stupid. It’s a tech firm that couldn’t make it in Silicon Valley.” If Griffin were a cat, all his hair would be raised. “It’s a failing company with poor capitalization and cash flow.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Grant says. “Just go through the motions. It isn’t like anybody expects you to work a miracle. Shoddily run companies fail all the time.”

  I nod. “Exactly.”

  Grant leans backs in his seat. His gaze flicks to the tower of pregnancy-related books on my desk, and a smirk tugs at his mouth. “By the way, guys, guess what Emmett’s reading now?”

  “How to Anal-Rape Wall Street for Profit in Three Easy Steps?” Noah says.

  “Pregnancy and baby books.”

  My brothers erupt. I give Grant a dry look. “They’re for market research,” I say, while Grant snickers.

  “He wants to know about morning sickness,” Grant says.

  “Yeah, I hear there’s a booming market for pregnancy puke,” Sebastian says.

  I sigh. They clearly don’t believe me about the market research, not even a little. Excess protest on my part would only cement their disbelief.

  “Just make sure she stays near a toilet,” says Huxley, Mr. Practical. “But the real problem isn’t morning sickness, it’s the weird cravings. One of the assistants in my office got knocked up a little while back. She ate canned tuna mixed with mustard and chopped green olives for three months.”

  “That sounds disgusting.” Hopefully Amy will like something a bit more normal and dignified. Like tacos or pizza. “But the books really are for an industry analysis. Grant doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Time for a change of topic. “How’s the birthday gift coming along?”

  “All good,” Sebastian says. “But you know Dad’s going to whine that it isn’t what he asked for.”

  Nicholas mimics Dad: “‘What does a man need to do to get the birthday gift he wants?’”

  “He needs to get over it. We’re going to show up, aren’t we?” Huxley says.

  “Exactly,” I say. “Besides, you don’t get what you want when you give almost zero notice. The party’s only two weeks away.”

  “Are you guys bringing anybody to the party?” Noah asks. “I’m bringing a date.”

  “Are you trying to break up with her?” Huxley says.

  “She wants to get into movies,” Noah says. “And insisted.”

  “I have nobody,” Griffin says. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

  “Me either. There’s nobody I’d bring to Dad’s birthday party.” I’m not subjecting Amy to what will undoubtedly turn into a massive clusterfuck. “Too damn embarrassing.”

  Three knocks at the door. “Come in,” I say, then turn to my phone, relieved I don’t have to continue the conversation. “Kids, I gotta go. Work.”

  “Likewise.”

  We hang up. Grant stands as Amy walks in. Just the woman who’s been endlessly occupying my thoughts.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Amy

  Grant and I greet each other, all professional. Emmett’s eyes skim me carefully, so I paste on a smile and pretend I’m fine.

  There’s nobody I’d bring to Dad’s birthday party. Too damn embarrassing.

  If Emmett and his dad didn’t get along, I might assume he was embarrassed about his dad. But I know that isn’t true, so maybe Emmett’s embarrassed about me. The notion is like a hot knife stuck in my chest. I force a smile and feel the corners of my lips twitch a little.

  When Grant closes the door behind him, I take a seat.

  “How are you feeling?” Emmett asks, all solicitous.

  How much of that warmth is real? “I’m fine. You?”

  “Good.” He clears his throat. “So. Have you thought about what I said yesterday?”

  I start to answer until the books on his desk catch my attention. “Did your brother see those books?” Did you tell Grant?

  “Yeah, but I told him they’re for an industry analysis. He has no clue.”

  “I see.” I nod slowly, trying to decide how I feel about that.

  “So, about what I said yesterday…”

  Did you mean I am embarrassing when you said, “Too damn embarrassing,” or was it something else? The words form in my mouth, then get stuck. I was an idiot for thinking I should keep an open mind about his proposal. “What about it?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Shouldn’t we meet each other’s families first?” I throw that out instead of the real question I want to ask.

  He shakes his head. He’s trying to keep his expression neutral, but I catch the wince fleeting across his handsome face. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  Too damn embarrassing. Emmett’s voice echoes in my head. The queasiness I’m feeling has nothing to do with morning sickness.

  “It isn’t like we’re marrying each other’s families,” he adds.

  My hands shake, and I clench them. I’ll be damned if I let him know how hurt I am. “Let’s talk about the Drone project.”

  “But we didn’t get to finish—”

  “I need more time.” To compose myself. It’s going to be humiliating if I end up crying, even though I can feel my face heating.

  He peers at me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little nauseated.”

  “Morning sickness?”

  I shrug. Let him think it’s the pregnancy. That’s better than having him see my bruised heart.

  Even though he’s giving me a look I can’t quite decipher, he goes over the project with me. The company’s almost ready for its IPO.

  I mechanically write down what he says, but my mind is whirring about why he asked me to marry him if he’s too embarrassed to take me to his father’s birthday party or introduce me to his family. Now that I think about it, he didn’t seem that enthused about meeting my dad, either.

  When I return to my desk and sit down, I note the Amazon box under the drawers. It’s full of different brands of prenatal vitamins. There’s a note inside that reads:

  Wasn’t sure what was the best, so I ordered a bunch.

  It’s an act of somebody who’s trying to do the right thing and take care of the mother of his child and the baby itself.

  Come on, Amy. You only heard one side of the conversation. Maybe somebody on the other side made some weird comment.

  Not very convincing, because there was hardly enough pause for somebody to say something, but I have to shake this off until I’m emotionally and mentally ready to talk to him about it.

  As I sit in front of my laptop, I have a text from Emmett.

  –Emmett: FYI you have a 30-min lunch massage at the Aylster spa from M-F.

  I stare at the message. He didn’t even hint about a massage. Once the shock wears off, confusion follows. This is another example of him acting like he cares.

  So why did he say, “Too damn embarrassing”? I just can’t imagine who or what he could be talking about, except me.

  Part of me wants to reject this massage offer, but I change my mind. It’ll be good to do something to de-stress myself. Not just for me, but for the baby, too.

  –Me: Thanks.

  –Emmett: You may not have time for lunch, so they’re going to buy whatever you want and have it ready for you when you leave. Give the spa receptionist your order before they start the massage.

  –Emmett: And you don’t have to limit yourself to the hotel restaurants. They can get you stuff from outside if you want.

  He’s thought of everything. Maybe he was embarrassed about something else. Maybe he’s feeling awkward about meeting the father of a woman he knocked up without meaning to. Maybe he’ll come around after a few days and realize we can’t just get married in a vacuum. We might not be marrying each other’s families, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be an important part of our lives. If nothing else, our baby deserves to know its uncles and grandparents.

  But as the hours pass, I don’t get anything that indicates Emmett’s changed his mind about keeping our families separate and uninvolved. What I get instead are incessant texts from him. Like this one after lunch.

  –Emmett: Sage or sunflower yellow?

  Two shades pop up on my phone. Both are lovely, but sage feels a bit too dark.

  –Me: Sunflower yellow.

  Or this one midafternoon.

  –Emmett: White or oak?

  –Me: Oak.

  –Emmett: Why?

  –Me: Warmer.

  –Emmett: How about oak or cherry?

  –Me: Oak.

  Then before he can ask why, I add:

  –Me: Cherry’s too dark.

  –Me: Can I come by after work?

  I want to talk to him about what I’d like if I agree to marry him—that I want our families to be part of our lives, since it was just me and Dad when I was growing up. And I want to have a good relationship with his father, since he’s important to Emmett. Everyone needs to get along and support each other. Maybe I should make that clear to him, in case he somehow doesn’t realize this. Then we can discuss how we’re going to announce the news to our families.

  –Emmett: I have a late meeting, and I don’t want you to stay up. See you tomorrow?

  –Me: Okay.

  The next morning, he texts again.

  –Emmett: Sea creatures or land creatures?

  I frown. Does he want to go diving again? Is that even safe if you’re pregnant? Or is this a hint he’d like to do a safari or something before the baby’s born? I have my first doctor’s appointment at the end of this month—she couldn’t fit me in earlier—and I don’t want to commit to anything until she clears me.

  –Me: Sea creatures.

  –Emmett: Why?

  –Me: They remind me of our diving trip in La Jolla.

  And I’ll never forget how I felt there, sharing the stunning underwater vistas with him.

  After my Tuesday lunch massage, I leave the hotel with a takeout beef burrito that the concierge got for me. My phone pings, and it’s Dad.

  –Dad: Hey, sweetie! When you get a chance, can you give me a call? Thanks!

  I bite my lip as I read the text. He almost never asks me to call because he knows I’m usually busy. This must be important.

  Trying to control a shiver of apprehension, I call him.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Amy

  “Hi, Dad!” I say in my cheeriest voice.

  “Hey, sweetie.” The brightness in Dad’s tone feels forced. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

  “No, I’ve got a few minutes,” I say, checking the time. My meeting isn’t until one thirty.

  “Oh, good.”

  I wait, but he doesn’t say anything else. An awkward silence stretches. “Are you still there?” I ask.

  “Yeah, yeah. Um. I was just calling to see if everything’s good.”

  “It’s great. Everything okay with you?”

  “Yeah, um. Well. It’s about Renée.”

  Shock punches me in the gut. Of all the things I imagined, the topic of my mom wasn’t anywhere near the top of the list. “What about her?” I try for some calm, but my voice is shaky.

  “Well, uh, she contacted me.”

  “After all these years?” This is infuriating. “What does she want? Money?”

  “No, no, nothing like that.” He gives a short laugh. “She knows I’ll never give her a penny.”

  True. Dad’s no fool.

  “But she wants to connect with you,” he says.

  Bitterness surges, until it’s all I can taste in my mouth. “She doesn’t think it’s too late?”

  “I think that’s why she tried to follow you on Pulse, but she couldn’t see any photos, so she sent a friend request. I guess you ignored it.”

  “I don’t do social media. I only have an account there because…” I sigh impatiently. “Anyway, no. I’m not interested.”

  “Then you don’t have to deal with her, Amy. I only wanted to tell you in case you wanted to talk to your mother.” Underneath the calm is a hint of sorrow. He’s always felt he couldn’t fulfill all my needs.

  “I do not.” I inhale deeply, hold the breath for a moment, then exhale. “I don’t need a mother. I have you, Dad. You’re the one who loved me and raised me. She doesn’t get to show up now and take any of the credit.”