Baby for the Bosshole Read online

She looks at me, up and down, but not unkindly. More like confused—maybe trying to pin me down. “I don’t remember seeing you elsewhere, either. Are you new? You haven’t done anything, have you?”

  I’ve gotten an MBA, worked for a major investment bank and am working at a venture capital firm, but my gut says that isn’t what she’s referring to. “Probably not.”

  She pats my arm. “Everyone has to wait for their moment.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Hey, Mellie, why aren’t you giving our new guest something to drink?” a brunette says, coming over with a whole bottle of champagne. “This isn’t some cheap shit. Ted doesn’t do cheap. It’s Dom.” She raises the bottle she’s holding. “You’ll love it.”

  “I’m good,” I say.

  “What’s your preference?” the brunette says, her free hand on her hip. “I can’t imagine anybody who doesn’t like Dom, but hey, first time for everything, am I right?”

  “Nothing. I’m waiting for my water.” Where is Emmett?

  Mellie and the brunette gasp in unison. “Nobody drinks water at a Ted Lasker’s party! You might as well insult the man.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Honey, if you want to be a star, you have to act like one,” Mellie says. “Stars don’t drink water when they can down some Dom.”

  The brunette nods.

  “Unless you’re pregnant,” comes a high voice from down around my waist.

  I look down and see a boy who can’t be more than five or six. He’s in Finding Nemo swim trunks, his platinum hair slicked back. Black sunglasses cover his eyes, and he’s smiling like he’s done something clever.

  Shock tugs at me from two different directions. First, that he correctly guessed why I’m not drinking. And second, that there’s a child at a party with a penis gallery. Did he hit one of the balls, too?

  I look in the direction of the entrance. You can see those giant dicks—and the genitalia balloons—clearly from everywhere.

  “Are you lost?” I say to the kid.

  “No. I’m here with my mom.”

  What kind of mother brings a child to… But maybe she didn’t know. “Where is she?”

  “Good question.”

  “Maybe you should call somebody?” I suggest.

  “Why?”

  “Because… You know. This isn’t really the kind of place a child should be.”

  Mellie and the brunette titter. “You are hi-lar-ious. Are you trying to break out as a comic?”

  “No.” Just how drunk are they?

  Emmett finally reappears from the pool house nearby. “Amy, here’s your water. Took forever to find it in the fridges.” He hands me a cold bottle of Evian.

  “Hi, Emmett,” the boy says.

  “Hey, George.” Emmett puts an arm around me.

  Maybe he’s going to take George to some wholesome area where other kids are hanging around. But Emmett doesn’t do anything. Actually, he’s acting like it isn’t particularly shocking to see George at a party like this.

  “Hi, Emmett,” the girls say, waving.

  “Ladies.” Emmett inclines his head with a smile.

  “So. Is she your girlfriend?” Mellie asks.

  “Yes. Amy, meet Mellie and Sunshine.”

  I give a little wave. “Hi.”

  “By the way, I think she’s pregnant,” Sunshine says. “She’s not drinking anything. I even offered her some Dom.” She lifts the bottle.

  “Are you getting hitched?” Mellie says, her eyes wide. “I want an invite.”

  “Um…” Okay, I should’ve met his family at a smaller gathering. Like a private dinner.

  “I’m trying to convince her,” Emmett says with a wink. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to see if we can find my parents.”

  “Oh, I saw your mom over there.” Sunshine gestures toward the other side of the pool where people are gathered with drinks.

  Emmett thanks her and links his fingers through mine. I look back at George, who’s hanging back by the buffet.

  “Shouldn’t we do something about the kid?” I ask.

  “No. His mom will flip out and make a scene if anybody tries to intervene. She calls it meddling, and it’s best for George if we leave him alone.”

  That poor child! “Is she an actress?”

  Emmett shakes his head. “She works with actors to help with their speech—mainly accents. Some other stuff, too, but she prefers to work on movie sets. More prestige and glamour.”

  “Isn’t there a space for kids? Away from all the, you know…dicks?”

  A corner of Emmett’s mouth quirks upward. “A space for kids? Not really on the priority list here. But George is used to it. He gets really uncomfortable when you try to move him elsewhere. He likes to think he’s a mature individual.”

  “Did your dad know about the kid coming?” I can’t imagine his father being okay with this. If this were my dad’s party—although I can’t imagine him throwing anything like this—he’d make sure there was something age-appropriate for children.

  Emmett’s eyebrows dip in disapproval. Is he upset I’m asking too many questions about George? I just met him, but I can’t seem to shrug him off like others. What about our baby? I don’t want our child to be subjected to dick arches and genitalia balloons and so on when he visits his grandfather. The other option is to get together someplace neutral, but that doesn’t seem right, either. They’re going to feel left out if they aren’t invited to celebrate their granddad’s birthdays and so on.

  Finally, Emmett sighs. “Yes. But he doesn’t stop George’s mom from bringing him.”

  Before I can ask another question, a tall, lithe brunette in an ivory bikini and translucent azure beach kimono comes over. She’s stunning, her facial features delicate and carefully sculpted, the long, dark hair framing her heart-shaped face perfectly. Her skin is smooth, her body firm and lean enough to grace a magazine cover, but there’s a maturity about her that says she isn’t one of those young, desperate-to-break-into-movie-business women. Something about her feels familiar, although I don’t remember seeing her in any movies, TV shows or magazines—not that I have a ton of time to look at those.

  Emmett’s face splits into a brilliant smile. “Mom!”

  That’s his mother? I blink and look again. Only then do I realize she’s the same person I saw in some of the photos at Emmett’s home. She looks even younger in person. Shocking, since most use camera filters to take years off their age.

  “Baby! I missed you so much.” Wrapping her slim arms around him, she kisses him on both cheeks.

  “You look good,” he says with a laugh.

  “Thanks to you. The cruise was amazing.”

  “Mom, meet Amy Sand, my girlfriend. Amy, this is my mother.”

  “Ma’am,” I say, extending my hand.

  Instead of taking my hand, she pulls me in for air kisses. “Oh, please. Call me Emma. ‘Ma’am’ makes me sound so old.”

  “Of course. Emma.” I smile, somewhat relieved she seems warm and friendly. And normal.

  She gives me a quick once-over. Nothing overt or rude, but more like innocent curiosity over her son’s date.

  “I can’t believe Emmett hasn’t said anything, not that we get to speak much,” she says. “How did you meet?”

  “We work together,” Emmett says.

  Emma raises her eyebrows as she regards me. “Oh! Then you must be smart.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” I say. “But thank you.”

  “The things Emmett talks about make zero sense to me.” She notices the water in my hand. “Emmett, dear, why don’t you get your date something better to drink? Ted’s gone all out for this party. He’s determined to outdo everyone, including himself.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. Emmett and I should probably announce the baby at some other time, without so many genital balloons and topless women around. Just wholesome pink and blue balloons, everyone fully clothed. Plus, family only.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve already witnessed a lot of the going-all-outness.”

  The impeccably shaped eyebrows arch again. “Oh, the decorations? You get used to them. They’ll probably be even more outrageous next year.”

  If she’s trying to make me feel better, it’s not working. Emmett squeezes my hand, but that doesn’t help much either.

  “Ted has certain things he enjoys. As long as we laugh and go along with him, he’s happy,” she adds. “So have you met Emmett’s brothers? Other than Grant?”

  “Not yet.”

  She nods, then waves at a couple of men some distance away. They begin to walk over.

  The men have Emmett’s dark hair and square jaw. Plus they’re tall. But they also look remarkably different—from the shapes of their noses to mouths and the way they project themselves.

  Emma turns to deal with a waiter who’s brought her another drink and some young woman who seems overeager to talk to her, so Emmett does the introductions when the men get to us.

  “Amy. This is Huxley. He’s in advertising.” Emmett indicates a man who has to be marketing spices he hates from the vaguely annoyed look on his face.

  But he smiles as he shakes my hand. “Hi.” The smile makes him seem friendlier.

  “And Noah. He’s a wildlife photographer.”

  “I also write fiction,” Noah adds with a wink—a light flirt and laid-back, nothing like Huxley.

  “One book that’s been in progress ever since any of us can remember,” Huxley adds dryly, like not having finished a book is the greatest sin.

  “I’d love to read it when you’re done,” I say.

  “Oh, for sure,” Noah says. “It’ll have all the good stuff. Nobel-worthy.”

  Emmett sighs with affection and exasperation, while Huxley looks skyward.

  “Where are the others?” Emmett asks.

  “Seb said he’d be late. Griff’s late, too. No idea why. Maybe debating if he should bring poison.”

  Poison?

  Huxley leans in. “Rat poison.”

  There cannot possibly be rats in this mansion. But Emmett, Huxley and Noah all seem unfazed.

  “Nicholas has some kind of stomach bug, but he’ll be here soon,” Noah says. “Didn’t get sick enough to be hospitalized.”

  He almost sounds mournful, which is weird. Why would he want Nicholas to be hospitalized?

  I make a mental note to talk to Emmett and see what the deal is with his brothers. Maybe there’s bad blood between some of them? If so, I want to know about it.

  “So how did you two meet?” Huxley asks me. “I had no idea Emmett was dating.”

  “Well—” My answer is cut short when a man slaps Emmett’s shoulder hard enough to make him take a step forward for balance.

  I turn and see Ted Lasker, in the flesh. The man’s bigger than I imagined—he’s as tall as Emmett, his bare chest solid, a pair of wet black trunks sticking to his hips, his legs thick. Fine lines have etched some aged roughness onto his face, and there’s silver at his temples. His appearance gives a clue as to how Emmett will look when he gets older, but the eyes are different. They’re hard and calculating.

  “Well, well, well! Heard you got your girl pregnant!” Ted announces loudly. He gives Emmett another clap on the back.

  Crap! How did he find out? And this is really, totally not how I envisioned everyone learning about my pregnancy!

  Emmett’s expression says it isn’t his preferred method, either. Huxley and Noah’s eyes widen as they stare at Ted, then at Emmett and me. Emma cuts her conversation with the party attendee and comes closer.

  “You are?” Huxley and Noah finally say in unison, although I’m not sure if they’re talking to me or Emmett, because their eyes are on him.

  Emmett unclenches his teeth and turns to his dad. “Look—”

  “If you’d told me, I would’ve put a water fountain in at the buffet.” Ted speaks so loudly it’s like he can’t hear anybody else. His eyes gleam with satisfaction. “I knew you’d come through when I said I wanted a grandbaby! You never let me down!” He turns to me. “So. You’re the baby carrier.”

  Baby carrier? That makes me sound like some kind of fertility machine!

  “Just wait until I show Josh Singer my grandbaby. He’s going to be pissed!” He laughs triumphantly and claps his hands. I can’t believe that’s the first thing going through his mind. My baby isn’t some thing he can use to piss people off!

  He turns to Emmett while hooking a thumb at me. “This girl’s smart, right? I don’t want a dumb grandbaby. At least not one dumber than Josh Singer’s.”

  “Uh, you can ask me directly if you’re curious about my IQ,” I say.

  Ted Lasker finally turns to me. “I’d never do that. If your IQ was low, how would you know? Emmett, maybe you should take this one back and get a new one.”

  It takes me a second to process what he’s saying through the haze of outrage.

  Emmett wraps his arm around his dad’s shoulders. “Why don’t we go inside and talk this over like rational people?”

  “I suppose. But I want a cigar! Where’s Joey?”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Emmett

  God damn it!

  I get Dad away from Amy as quickly as possible without appearing like I’m angry or embarrassed. He isn’t drunk enough not to notice, and he’d whine, complain and make everyone’s life miserable over the perceived slight.

  And I don’t need any more humiliation in front of Amy. I still want to kick my own ass for agreeing with my brothers to give Dad the cock canon last year. It was our collective way of calling him a dick, but of course Dad’s too self-centered and vain to understand the unspoken message. He thought it was a testament to his virility. Which explains why he decided to make more and use them for a game at this year’s party.

  “Can you text Joey?” Dad says.

  “No. We need to talk first.”

  “With cigars.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not really in the mood.”

  “Why not? Is the baby carrier difficult about things like that? It’s just a cigar.”

  “Can you stop calling her ‘the baby carrier’? Her name is Amy. She and I work together, and I like her.”

  Dad looks at me like I’m an undercover Martian. “So?”

  “I plan to marry her,” I say, frustrated and pushed to my limit.

  “Now hold on, Emmett.” He puts a hand over his heart. “You don’t have to marry her. I wouldn’t ask you for that kind of a sacrifice.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said about me liking her?”

  “Is she richer than you? Maybe well connected in some way that could help your business? That’s the only reason to marry somebody.”

  I actually feel sorry for all the women who dated Dad. He’s awful, too self-centered. He wouldn’t know what a true emotion was if it came and kicked him in the balls. God must’ve been in an ironic mood when He gave Dad the ability to stir deep feelings through movies.

  “I don’t want to marry her for money or connections,” I say quietly.

  He looks truly confused. “So you’re doing it for the baby?”

  “The baby needs its mother and father, who love and care about its wellbeing.”

  “That still doesn’t mean you have to marry her.” He gestures in the general direction where we left Amy with Mom and my brothers. “You don’t have to do any of that to make sure your kid doesn’t starve on the streets!”

  This must be some fucked-up way that he’s trying to actually be a good dad. The sole fatherly intervention he’s decided to force upon me.

  He’s right—I don’t have to marry Amy. She already offered joint custody. But I don’t want the possibility of her marrying somebody else, having that other guy be the father figure my kid sees every day.

  Actually, forget the baby. The idea that knots my gut is simply Amy with somebody else. It’s been going on ever since she joined GrantEm Capital. That’s why I made her work late so often, especially on the days and weekends she had plans.

  “Look, I’ll get you a good lawyer. I’ll even pay for it. You can take the calf without the cow, no problem,” Dad says.

  “As magnanimous as that offer is, no. You aren’t going to do that. As a matter of fact, you aren’t going to go anywhere near Amy or me or our baby.”

  “What?” He stares at me like I just called his latest movie boring.

  “We’re done, Dad. If you can’t respect me—or my girl—I don’t want you around.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Amy

  I stay rooted to the spot while Emmett and Ted Lasker walk away. Huxley and Noah continue to stare, and Emma looks at me with pity. My face burns, embarrassment churning in my gut.

  I slowly go over what Emmett’s dad said and did. He doesn’t want to know me—at all. The only thing he’s interested in is the fact that I’m pregnant with Emmett’s baby.

  No, it’s more than that. He said he knew Emmett would come through. When did he ask Emmett to make a grandbaby? Is that why Emmett didn’t use the condom that time?

  But that doesn’t make sense, because he used them every other time. Then again, they could have been expired or compromised in some way.

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. My head is throbbing painfully, and I need a moment to gather my thoughts. I can’t do it here. Not while Emmett’s family is watching. Not while this crowd is hollering and cheering and yelling.

  I want to go home, shower, get under the covers, hug Okumasama and lick my emotional wounds while I figure out what the hell has really happened between me and Emmett.

  Since Emmett drove me here, I need to call an Uber. I start to pull out my phone, but Emma is quicker.

  “Do you want to stay and wait for my son or do you prefer to jet out?” Her tone is gentle—no judgment, just sympathy.

  It’s easy to respond honestly. “I’d like to go home.”

  “Let me give you a ride, then.”

  “You should stay. Won’t Ted want you around?”

  “Oh, I already said hello. He won’t care if I leave.” She shrugs.

  I want to turn her down and take an Uber driven by a stranger who has no idea what the heck just happened here.