Baby for the Bosshole Page 24

  “Okay,” he says gently.

  I soften my voice. “I love you.”

  “Love you too, sweetie pie.”

  We hang up. I stay where I am for a few seconds to gather my spiraling emotions and slowly unclench my hand from around my phone. I have to return to the office, eat lunch and go to the meeting.

  But the fact that Mom wants to reconnect after all these years keeps nagging at me. It’s like a dog that won’t quit nipping at your heels.

  After the meeting, I go back to my desk and pull out my phone. I stare at the Pulse icon. Why should I want to be her social media buddy now?

  I put my phone down on the desk. I should ignore her. She doesn’t matter. She can’t just quit on me and then show up later when it’s convenient.

  But I find myself picking up the phone again and tapping the Pulse icon.

  Sure enough, the request is the first thing that pops up.

  Renée Wilson wants to share mutual friendship with you.

  Confirm | Decline

  I click on the X to close it. What I want to do is check out her profile. See the kind of life she’s had after she dumped me and Dad. To be honest, I don’t know what I expect to see. Maybe I want to see her regret her decision to split. I know it’s going to feel like I’m being disemboweled if I see her with a new family…especially if there are children around my age.

  Do you really want to see that?

  But I’m already on her profile. Her face shot is excellent. Either it’s one from ten or fifteen years back or she’s done a lot of work to preserve her youth. Single. No kids. The gut tension eases, and I can breathe more easily.

  That confirmed, I go through her posts, photos and videos. Contrary to my wish that she regretted abandoning me, she’s had a great life, I note with bitterness.

  Images of her bouncing around topless by pools with beers and cheap sparkling wines spraying around her. Her licking white syrup all over her hand in a suggestive manner, her eyes on the camera, her mouth parted in a lascivious smile. Men gyrating against her, rubbing their dicks against her butt. She might as well star in a soft-core porn.

  Parties. More wild parties that stretch for years on end, from the day she joined Pulse. I guess I should be relieved she didn’t post any orgy videos, not that that would really shock me.

  No wonder she didn’t want me around. She might’ve been able to lead a degenerate life just being with Dad, but not me. I’m an inconvenience—or was when I was younger and needed her. But now… Maybe she thinks I’d make a great “girlfriend” to take to her repulsive parties. After all, she’s getting old. In the latest photos, her skin’s starting to show her age—and the decades of depraved lifestyle and choices. Maybe she needs younger meat to gain entrée. Who knows?

  I can’t decide if I’m relieved and happy that I’ve been right all along that I’m better off without her. Or if I’m sad that the person who contributed half my genetic material is such a pathetic human being. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

  I type a quick personal message for her through the app.

  I heard from Dad. You know, the parent who actually stuck around and raised me. FYI, I never use Pulse, and I’m not interested in connecting. Don’t bother Dad again.

  I stare at the sentences for a while. Part of me wonders if I should soften it up a little…but no. Was she sweet and kind when she decided to dump me and Dad? She didn’t look back. Never made an effort to call or send a birthday card or any of those things. She doesn’t get to wake up one day and decide to play mother because she feels like it.

  I hit send, then delete the app. People like Mom don’t deserve my time or energy.

  “Amy, are you okay?” Emmett asks, pausing on his way back to his office.

  I force a quick smile. “Yeah. It’s all good.” As I speak, I realize I haven’t seen him since I spoke to him about the deliverable yesterday. It’s crazy how busy we are that we don’t see each other much, even while we’re on the same floor. If we worked for different firms like Peggy and her husband, we really would have to make appointments.

  The baby’s going to need its father, and taking the offer from the Blaire Group is going to be a bad move for both of you.

  Well, yeah. I’ll have to stay here if I decide to marry Emmett.

  He looks around, then lowers his voice. “Can you stop by my place when you’re done?”

  Finally a chance to talk about what’s on my mind. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Emmett

  I’m standing in front of the elevators at six p.m. Grant raises his eyebrows as he passes by.

  “Not ordering in tonight?” he says.

  “Nope. Heading home.”

  He stops in mid-stride. “You feeling okay?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “It’s barely six. Fever? Upset stomach? There must be something.”

  “I’m not sick. Just wanted to practice a little work-life balance today.”

  “Good lord, the world is ending. I should check the news, see if some giant meteor is about to destroy us all.”

  I sigh and step into the waiting elevator. Grant doesn’t have to act like Armageddon has arrived just because I’m leaving a little early. Although honestly, it does feel strange. But I need to prep my home before Amy comes over, so I can make my case.

  I know we both work a lot, and our lifestyle might not be conducive for raising a child. I’ve seen how things are in our profession.

  On the other hand, I’m not going to let her take on the full burden. It’s my kid, too. Plus, money can solve a lot of problems, often in ways that she might not be aware of. I want to have her focus a little more on that. Let her know she’s not on her own, whether she marries me or not, although I prefer that she does. It’s just a logical step.

  Is that all? my mind whispers.

  What else do I need? Love? I have no clue what love is or what it should feel like. Isn’t it enough that Amy and I have amazing chemistry, we’re both smart, we understand each other’s careers and we get along? That’s more important than something as vague as love.

  Once I’m home and in the living room, I text her.

  –Me: When do you think you’ll be coming by?

  –Amy: Half an hour. I just left the office.

  –Me: What do you want for dinner?

  –Amy: Pepperoni pizza?

  –Me: Done!

  I place an order, then check the fridge to make sure I have her favorite sparkling pink lemonade. There’s an entire case.

  Perfect.

  Amy pulls in a minute after the pizza arrives. She walks breezily through the door, her purse slung over her shoulder. She looks gorgeous, her eyes bright and her mouth sweet and full. The pregnancy books all said the glow doesn’t happen until later, but she already looks like she swallowed a banquet full of stars.

  “Wanna eat first?” She’s pregnant and eating for one and a half. Some say you eat for two when you’re pregnant, but according to the books, the baby’s the size of a poppy seed. It’s just too small to get full personhood yet.

  “Yes! I’m famished.”

  We dig into the pizza. She can’t drink, so I content myself with a glass of Coke while she sips her lemonade and we talk about the water filter project. I don’t want to ambush her with my prepared statement about the baby yet. It’s always best to broach a sensitive topic when the audience is in a receptive mood.

  “Since it’s not your typical for-profit venture, what’s going to happen if it’s really successful?”

  “We’ll toast with the best champagne, and I’ll continue to be involved with Bernie and make sure he doesn’t let some hedge fund or private equity firm take it over.”

  “I thought that was the exit strategy.”

  “Normally, yes, but not after the botched one with the Blaire Group.”

  Her fingers flex and unflex around her lemonade. “The Blaire Group botched one?”

  “It was a couple of years back, but yeah. The whole thing was a clusterfuck. To be honest, I should’ve known better than to say yes when Marion Blaire wanted to be in charge of the deal. He has an overinflated sense of his own competence. And it bothers the hell out of him he’s only where he is because of his daddy.”

  There’s more to our enmity than that. His ongoing attempts to mess with me professionally and personally are more than irritating. He regards us as rivals, which is ridiculous. Rivals would mean we had the same level of talent and drive. The reality is that he just tries to steal my employees. Well, former employees. I hear that he’s snapped Webber up. He’s welcome to that unwanted dreck.

  Amy sips her lemonade, her eyes lowered. “So. Are we only here to share a pizza and talk about Marion Blaire?”

  Here it comes. I shift in my seat, mentally checking through my plan to make my case. “No,” I say. “I want to show you something, if you’re done eating.”

  “I’m done.” She wipes her fingers on the napkin.

  I lead her upstairs to the bedroom between my bedroom and an office. The door and one window have been left open, and the smell has dissipated a lot.

  I gesture into the room with a flourish. “What do you think?”

  She stops at the entrance and stares. The walls are painted shades of blue-green that look like the La Jolla water. Sea turtles and seals and towering kelp columns occupy two walls, while the others have unfinished murals of the marine world. An oak crib is already put together and sitting in the corner.

  She walks inside slowly. She doesn’t speak, just turns slowly, looking around the huge room, her eyes wide.

  Finally, I can’t stand the tension. “Do you like it?”

  “Yes! Wow. It’s…gorgeous,” she whispers. “I love everything.”

  Thank God. “It’s the nursery.”

  “When did you prep all this?” she asks. “You didn’t know what I was going to text back to your questions, did you? I’d like to believe I’m not that transparent.”

  I laugh. “No, you aren’t that transparent.” I wish. “I started yesterday.”

  “But you were in the office the whole time.”

  “Yeah, but I’m home at night. I put together the crib.”

  She looks at me like I just single-handedly cured cancer. Oh yeah.

  “But I can’t take all the credit. I hired a crew to do the painting and supervised them over the phone.”

  She blinks a few times. “I’m not sure what to say. I wasn’t… I haven’t even thought about a nursery yet.”

  “Well, you’ve been busy.” She’s adorable when she’s flustered. “I figured it was something I could take care of.”

  “Thank you.”

  So far, so good. “Listen. I know what you said on Sunday, but I want you to consider that raising this baby on your own isn’t going to be as easy as you think. I don’t want to be the kind of father who ignores and abandons his children.” Like Dad. He gave us money, but nothing else. If he could go back in time to ensure his vasectomy didn’t fail, he absolutely would. Or at least contact the women quickly and ask them to get abortions. “Same thing with you being the mother. We’re already compatible in a lot of ways. We both understand the demands our careers place on us. We’re both smart, and we want to do the right thing for the baby. Marriages have been built on a lot less.”

  Thoughts fleet through her softening eyes. A small smile curves her lips. She’s at least halfway convinced.

  Then her eyebrows snap together into a V.

  Damn it. What’s the sticking point?

  “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” she says.

  Uh-oh… Women say this when they’re about to give you some really bad news. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but your dick’s small” or “but you smell funny” or “but you just aren’t my type.”

  Nothing to do but feign cool nonchalance. “Okay.”

  “I overheard you and Grant talk about your dad’s birthday party.”

  Fuck.

  “And you said something about not taking anybody there.” There’s a hint of hurt in her gaze, vulnerability. “You also said, ‘Too damn embarrassing.’”

  Well, obviously. Dad’s parties are always awful. Meeting him one on one is even worse. At least at parties, his attention’s split. In more private gatherings, you get all of his insufferableness.

  “You also told me you didn’t want us to introduce each other to our families. I don’t think you should make a commitment to somebody you feel that way about,” she continues haltingly, her cheeks turning red. “Um. You should probably commit to someone you don’t mind introducing to your family, you know? And frankly, I deserve a man who is proud of me. At the very least.”

  Shit. I had no idea this is how she took that off-the-cuff comment. I have to fix this now. Dad isn’t worth the angst.

  I press my lips firmly on her forehead, like a stamp with my name on it. “Amy, I thought you were awesome when you came to your first interview. And I haven’t changed my mind since.”

  “Thanks, but you don’t have to lie,” she says, her frown deepening. “I heard what you said when you hired me.”

  Chapter Forty

  Amy

  Emmett looks puzzled. But how could he have forgotten?

  “You said, ‘I’m going to regret this,’ before you offered me the job.” My voice is sarcastic and resentful over the fact that he’s making me relive an old humiliation. Maybe he says it to everyone he hires, which is why he can’t remember.

  Yup. A total bosshole move.

  He stares. If he were a cartoon character, a bright light bulb would pop up over his head. “You thought I said that because I didn’t really want to hire you?”

  “Why else would you say it?”

  “I wouldn’t have hired you if I thought you couldn’t hack it,” he says in an I-can’t-believe-I-have-to-explain-this voice.

  “You hired Webber,” I point out.

  “No, I didn’t. Someone else interviewed him. Anyway, forget Webber. The reason I said that is because I wasn’t sure I could remain purely professional. You were too attractive.”

  Hmm… He could be lying. After all, we’re sleeping together, and he probably doesn’t want to piss me off with something he said a couple of years ago.

  “Stop giving me that look. You know I don’t think you’re some freeloader whose slack we have to pull. Your work speaks for itself. Along with your annual review.”

  Okay, that alleviates my doubts. “And all this time, I was working like mad to prove you wrong,” I mutter.

  “I don’t know how you could’ve proven you weren’t hot. I was annoyed as hell you were dating all those losers.” He huffs.

  I have to agree, I dated some really bad options.

  He adds, “You deserve better.”

  “Like you?”

  A corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Hey, if the shoe fits…”

  I can’t help smiling. “What if I find someone even better?”

  “Better than me?” He looks genuinely confused. “Nah.”

  I have to laugh. This man is absolutely impossible.

  “And just to make sure we’re clear, I was not talking about you when I said, ‘Too damn embarrassing.’ It was something else my brothers brought up.” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “I’m never embarrassed by being with you, Amy.”

  I search his face. See earnestness. Warmth unfurls in my heart. “Okay.”

  “If you really want, I’ll take you to Dad’s party. Just don’t be too shocked, okay? His events can be…unorthodox.”

  I smile, hugely relieved and happy to have that cleared up. “If a party isn’t the best way to meet your family, we can do it some other time. Maybe a small dinner or something?”

  “There isn’t any good time.” He frowns. “He’s…uh…busy, among other things. So let’s just do the party. It’ll probably be better that way.”

  “Okay.”

  “So are we all good? Nothing else you want to talk about? No other misunderstandings?”

  “Nope.” I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. He feels so, so good against me, all hard and lean strength. I missed him—being with him, tasting him, hearing his voice, smelling his intoxicating scent. I used to think pheromones were fake, some BS created to sell perfume or explain why people do stupid things when it comes to the opposite sex.

  But I’m not so sure anymore. The heat Emmett induces, the way he invades my mind and shatters my focus at odd intervals—it can’t be explained any other way.

  Still, none of that would be enough to convince me to think really long term. It’s knowing that he cares—that he’s excited about our baby, our future. The effort he put into creating this nursery, the way he’s taking ownership of a shared life.

  A man who was planning on a short-term fling wouldn’t bother putting together a crib himself, much less hiring an entire painting crew and giving them detailed instructions. He could’ve simply painted the walls a standard off-white, put in a prefab crib, filled it with carelessly chosen toys and called it finished. If he even bothered to do that much.

  I feel my body shifting and moving with his in a slow dance across the nursery and into the hall. Our mouths are fused, my fingers digging into his hair. The kiss grows carnal, his lips and tongue plundering me.

  He pushes a door behind him open with the back of his heel. We circle into his bedroom, my head spinning lazily to match our tempo. Need flutters inside like sweet butterflies.

  My world tilts as he lays me gently on the bed. The cool sheets feel fabulous against my heated skin. Cradling his face, I pull him down for more kisses. He obliges as he fumbles with the buttons on my blouse and spreads the clothes, then undoes the front clasp of my bra. He tugs at the zipper on the back of my skirt. I lift my hips to help, then relax when he pulls my skirt and underwear down in one long, sensuous glide.

  Then he strips naked and makes my body sing. His mouth closing over the tip of my breast wrings out a soft sigh. Strong suction elicits a groan. His hands are everywhere, leaving trails that tingle. He is taking his time, adding one layer of hot liquid pleasure after another until I feel like I’m drowning in languid bliss.