Baby for the Bosshole Read online

  “Let’s sit down, and you tell me everything.”

  Sasha wraps her arm around me and leads me to the couch. I follow, holding on to the hot chocolate. I’ve already gone through a box of caramel truffles, but I need more comfort.

  “What happened?” she asks once we’re seated. “I thought things were okay between the two of you.”

  “We were okay, and then we weren’t.”

  I sip the hot chocolate to give myself time to gather my thoughts. Right now, all my emotions—including ones I didn’t know I was capable of—are having a no-holds-barred battle royale.

  “I turned in my resignation,” I say. “And he didn’t take it well.”

  Sasha blinks, then her gaze flickers to my belly. “I thought you weren’t going to quit because of the baby. Didn’t you and Emmett decide to raise it together?”

  “Yeah, but…not anymore.” I sniffle.

  “That asshole!”

  I shake my head. “It was my decision.” And the right one, too.

  She looks stunned. “How come?”

  “It’s really complicated…” I sigh, hating the way Emmett made me feel this morning—like I backstabbed him. “Please don’t share this with anybody because it’s private, and I don’t know if Emmett or Grant wants this to be public.”

  She makes an of-course-not gesture.

  I tell her about the birthday party. The awkwardness and discomfort plaguing me. Seeing a child there. His father’s buoyant reaction to my pregnancy. And the realization that having fun at a party like that is something my irresponsible I-only-care-about-me mother would love.

  “Given how well Emmett seemed to fit in, I can’t help but wonder if there are aspects of him that I don’t know about. Ones that would make him a terrible partner and father to my baby.” My voice cracks.

  “Oh, honey.” Sasha squeezes my hand. “That’s awful. Did he try to explain what happened?”

  “No. I turned in my resignation, and he basically told me to pack my stuff and get out.”

  The callous order sucker-punched me. Even though I know I did what’s best for my baby, I thought he’d try to explain himself. But he reacted like I’m the one who ruined our relationship.

  “He didn’t take it well that I’m going to work for the Blaire Group.” I already texted Marion to let him know I was taking the offer. I had a final interview with another firm, but didn’t want to wait. And given my situation, I absolutely cannot be without insurance.

  “How come? He couldn’t expect you to not work somewhere.”

  “He considers it a betrayal.” But somehow he doesn’t seem to think it was a betrayal for him to not tell me about his dad’s burning desire for a grandbaby and let me be ambushed at the party in front of his brothers. “He and Marion Blaire have this stupid competition thing going. Apparently Marion has a way of trying to take whatever Emmett has. He took Webber.”

  “So? Is he implying that you only got a job at the Blaire Group because of Marion Blaire’s weird hang-up with him?” Her voice bristles with annoyance.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” I haven’t been able to think too clearly about Emmett’s reaction since I left the office.

  “I don’t give a shit how betrayed he felt. It’s still no reason for him to treat you like that, not even giving you a chance to send a goodbye email to anybody. Even worthless Webber got to send one.”

  “Only goes to show I made the right call.” I sip my hot chocolate, wishing it were something stronger.

  “You did. There’s no reason for you to stay with a man with an ego problem. It isn’t like he has a monopoly on you or your ambition.”

  “No. No, he doesn’t.”

  But he made me dream for a moment that maybe I could have it all—the career, the baby and a supportive life partner—only to yank it away. That won’t be so easy to forgive.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Emmett

  Grant doesn’t nag at me. None of my brothers give me crap for bailing at the dreaded birthday party, which is unusual. Must be this damned Monday being so dreadful for everyone.

  Or maybe they can sense I need to be left alone.

  I wish I could get to the break room for coffee without going past Amy’s empty desk. Every time I walk by it, I feel like a fist is slamming into my gut, and another wave of anger and betrayal washes over me.

  Still, I manage to get some work done. Our startups depend on me doing my job.

  Nine o’clock comes, and I leave so I don’t have to see Amy’s desk anymore. But as I walk into my home, I realize I haven’t gotten away from her at all. The kitchen counter reminds me of the breakfast we shared. My mind’s eye sees how sweet and sexy Amy looked coming down the stairs…

  The doorbell rings. My heart jumps to my throat. It could be Amy, here to tell me she messed up—I’m sorry, can you take me back?

  But the image on the security panel immediately shatters my fantasy. It’s actually my brothers gathered there. Shit. It’s clear now why they haven’t bugged me with texts about ditching the party. They plan to bug me in person!

  I really don’t want to talk to them. What I need is a stiff drink and some sleep. Preferably in a guest bedroom, since I don’t want to sleep in the bed Amy slept in. At least not until the sheet are changed.

  “Open up!” Grant yells. “We know you’re in there!”

  “Don’t make us kick the door in,” Noah says, sounding entirely too happy about the possibility. He likes to think he’s a tough guy.

  I sigh, go to the door and yank it open. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have things to do, money to make?”

  They look at each other.

  “I made enough for the day,” Huxley says.

  Noah shrugs. “I never do nine to five.”

  Sebastian says, “Never work this late at the office. You know that.”

  “We’re worried about you. You left us with Dad and never called or texted.” Nicholas gestures at the bags they’re holding. “We brought food and alcohol.”

  They aren’t going to leave. Not until we talk. To be honest, if the situation were reversed, I’d be worried, too.

  Still, I can’t stop a sigh from forcing its way out. “Fine. Come on in.”

  My brothers walk right in, like they knew all along they’d win.

  They take over the dining table and spread out food from Manny’s Tacos. Sebastian brings plates and forks from the kitchen, and Griffin passes napkins around. Huxley hands out beers.

  And soon, a late dinner is ready.

  Since I’m not saying anything first, I start eating. A beef and guac burrito I would normally love tastes like sawdust. I wash it down with the beer, which is bland and flavorless.

  “So you got Amy Sand pregnant,” Grant says.

  My eyes on him, I shovel more sawdust—I mean burrito—into my mouth. Should’ve known this “dinner” is about Amy.

  “Is it true you fired her?” Nicholas asks.

  “Of course not! She quit.”

  “What did you do?” Huxley asks. “Or was it Dad?”

  “No idea. Seriously. I didn’t do anything, and I pulled him away from her, so I don’t think it was anything he did, either. Maybe it was the shock of the party.” I shake my head. “But she didn’t talk to me. Just gave me a generic two-week notice.”

  “At least it was civilized,” Noah says. “My last girlfriend threw the nearest thing she could find at me. Thankfully, it was just cold water.”

  “You’re doing a shitty job of trying to make me feel better.” I wish Amy had thrown her desk stapler at me. At least that would mean she felt something for me.

  “What are you going to do about the baby?” Sebastian asks.

  “I don’t know yet.” I told her my lawyers would be in touch, but that was in the heat of the moment. I want to do more than just pay for school tuition and living expenses. I want to be there for the kid. Have shared moments, create memories.

  “It’s your kid.” When I say nothing, Grant gives me a look. “Right?”

  “Of course it’s my kid!” Amy might betray me and plot to go work for Marion Blaire behind my back, but she wouldn’t lie about something this big. That just isn’t her.

  “Look, anybody would be shocked into temporary insanity after attending one of Dad’s parties for the first time,” Huxley says. “Give her some time to regain her sanity. She’ll come back.”

  I snort. “I wish. She’s moving to Virginia.”

  “Isn’t that overdramatic?” Sebastian says.

  “She is pregnant,” Grant says.

  There’s a general murmur of understanding around the table.

  Noah rolls his eyes. “It isn’t like she’s moving to another galaxy. It’s just a domestic flight, no big deal.”

  “She’s going to be working for Marion Blaire,” I say.

  My brothers all wince. Grant in particular looks extra pained. He hates Marion almost as much as I do.

  “Extremely poor judgment,” Grant says, shaking his head.

  “So are you just going to let that dickhead take her?” Sebastian asks. “Shouldn’t you go kick his ass and drag her back to L.A.?”

  “And then what? Take away her cell phone and keep her in a cage? If she doesn’t want to stay, she won’t. She’s too smart and resourceful to remain in a situation she hates.” And I want her to choose to stay with me, not be forced into it because of money or the baby or anything else. I’ve always wanted her to choose me.

  Perhaps that’s the reason I’m so bitter right now. She chose somebody else over me, when I’d choose her over anyone. It burns my gut to know she doesn’t feel even half of what I feel for her. If she did, she wouldn’t have left.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Emmett

  “You work entirely too much,” Mom says when I join her for lunch on Tuesday at her favorite French bistro. A soothing melody from “Claire de lune” floats in the air, all elegant and ethereal. Just the kind of relaxed scene she likes.

  “I do not,” I say, then kiss her cheek before taking my seat. Mom looks great with the light tan she’s recently acquired. Her cream-colored dress accentuates the golden undertones.

  “It is a sign you’re overworking when you can’t find the time to have dinner with your mother before she takes off for Japan.”

  She’s doing another trip to Japan, mainly because she misses Kyoto. She says it’s too charming a city to not visit regularly. None of the bustle and slickness of Tokyo. Just calm tranquility with a long history and culture.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  The waiter arrives, and I order a martini and the special. Mom decides to have lemon water and the fish of the day.

  “Isn’t it a bit early for a martini? It is a workday,” she says.

  “I deserve it.” What happened with Amy is still driving me crazy. My emotions are too jagged. Raw. I need something to soothe the pain, and a single martini at lunch isn’t going to kill me.

  “At least your girlfriend isn’t here to watch you enjoy a drink. Pregnancy is when you need alcohol the most.”

  I don’t want to talk about Amy or pregnancy, but despite myself, I’m curious. “How come?”

  “Oh, hormones and stress. Your body’s going through so many changes, and all you’re feeling is anxiety and doubt.”

  “I thought women were happy and excited when they’re pregnant.”

  Yeah, but Amy is on her own right now. Probably not that happy.

  I push the unwelcome thought away. It was her choice, not mine.

  “That, too, but things are hard.” Mom sips her lemon water. “Babies represent a huge responsibility. Once they’re born, there’s no going back. You have to love them and nurture them for the rest of your life.”

  No refunds. No do-overs. Once the baby’s out in the world, that’s it. Stuck. Except I didn’t feel stuck when Amy told me she was pregnant. Our baby feels like a blessing—like a winning lottery ticket.

  I study Mom. She looks serene. But I wonder…

  The waiter brings our lunch, interrupting our conversation. After he places our plates in front of us and disappears, I pick up my utensils.

  “Did you ever regret being pregnant with me?” I ask.

  Mom gives me a what-is-this-about look.

  “You can tell me honestly,” I add. “I’m too old to get scarred at this point.”

  She cuts her artichoke. “Of course not. Never. But I regret that you didn’t have a better father.”

  “Eh. Who cares about that asshole?” I hate that she feels bad about the situation when Dad doesn’t. “I had you. You’ve always been the best mom anyone could ask for.”

  “Well, thank you. But I couldn’t give you what a good father could. So I’m glad you and Amy are going to be involved together in raising your baby. I’m certain you’ll both make great parents.”

  Guilt. “Actually, she and I had a fight. We aren’t, uh, together anymore.”

  “What?” Mom puts down her fork and knife. “Emmett Alexander Lasker!”

  I wince. Full-grown adult or not, Mom still has the power to send shivers of apprehension through me by calling me by my full name.

  “I am shocked!”

  “It couldn’t be helped,” I say defensively. “She backstabbed me. Instead of talking to me after the party, she submitted a letter of resignation. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Talk to her? Nothing was stopping you, wasn’t it?”

  “It isn’t that simple. She didn’t just quit. She’s going over to the enemy.”

  Mom gives me a withering look. “North Korea?”

  “Worse. Marion Blaire.” Mom knows that creep’s weird obsession with “beating” me.

  “All the more the reason for you to talk to her, Emmett! She doesn’t know the situation between you and Marion. She was hurt and traumatized at the party. You didn’t tell her about your father’s ridiculous demand for a grandbaby, did you?”

  A beat.

  “No,” I say, my voice a tad lower. “But only because I didn’t think it was relevant.”

  “Of course it’s relevant! Ted is going to be her child’s grandfather.”

  “He’ll be interested for, like, two seconds and then move on. I’ll be shocked if he remembers the kid’s name.”

  Mom shakes her head. Her expression screams, Where did I go wrong with you? “I know you’re embarrassed about your dad and his behavior. And I understand exactly where you’re coming from. But that doesn’t mean you get to hide him or pretend he can’t affect you anymore. He can and does. If he really meant nothing, you wouldn’t be so resistant to talking to her.”

  Why is she trying to make me the villain here? And not just any villain, but a dumb villain. “I already told you why I didn’t talk to her.”

  “For God’s sake, Emmett. Marion Blaire is nothing to you. He annoys you the way a fruit fly annoys you. It’s just an excuse not to confront the fact that you don’t want to discuss your father with her, so you’ve decided to shut your mouth about it, even if it means losing her and the baby.”

  “But—”

  She raises a finger. “Would you have behaved any different if she didn’t quit and only wanted to discuss your dad and what happened at the party with you?”

  “Well…yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t have told her to pack her stuff and get out,” I say, refusing to admit she’s right. I don’t give Dad that much power over me.

  “Oh my lord. You’re so smart in some ways, but blind in others. If she’d only wanted to talk, you would’ve found a way to gloss over everything. You always do when it comes to the topic of your father. You’d say how everything was fine and offer to talk to your father if it’d make her feel better. But every time you do reach out to him, both of you end up talking past each other rather than talking to each other. And so the exact same issue she had at the party and with your father would surface again and again.” She pauses. “Just like it does for you.”

  I stare at Mom. She’s speaking quietly, but each word hits like a bullet.

  “For some reason, you won’t cut your father out of your life, even though you know he’s toxic. I’ve heard you threaten to do it, but you don’t follow through. And he knows that. I suspect it’s because you want to pretend he doesn’t affect you and you’re perfectly fine around him.”

  She reaches across the table and holds my hand.

  “I know you want to be a good parent to the baby you’ve made with Amy. But being a good parent sometimes means making hard choices, including blocking out people who don’t add anything to your life. Amy’s reaction at the party isn’t unusual. What’s abnormal is acting like your dad’s behavior is perfectly fine. I’m glad she’s sensible enough to see the rot underneath his glitzy, moneyed veneer. Not everyone does.” She sighs softly. “I know the topic of your dad is hard. So I’m not going to say you have to talk to her about it. But if you love her and want to keep her, you need to. Now leave that martini alone and eat your food.”

  Back in the office after lunch, concentrating on work proves to be impossible. Mom’s words keep circling in my head.

  Is she right? Did I let my pride get in the way of smoothing things out with Amy?

  Until I learned she resigned, I did plan on talking to her. But I wasn’t really going to discuss my dad. Just say that he likes to throw wild parties and tell her sorry if she felt uncomfortable. And I was planning on apologizing for Dad’s behavior over finding out that she’s pregnant—saying that he’s been whining about wanting a grandchild for a while and just got carried away in his excitement.

  But I wasn’t planning on getting to the root of the problem.

  Fuck. Mom is right. Everything I planned was merely glossing over the real issue, and Amy deserves better than some bullshit rationalization. If I’d told her the truth about Dad from the beginning, maybe she wouldn’t have left or taken the job with Marion.

  I look out the open door. Amy’s desk is there—its tan surface, clear of her things, somehow reminds me of a desert.

  There’s a hole in my heart that’s growing bigger and more painful. I miss her. Her smiles—fake, professional, genuine, all of them. Her scent—the fresh body wash over the sweet, feminine aroma underneath. Her mouth—which can say the funniest things or kiss me until my whole body is burning.