Baby for the Bosshole Page 30

  Tears streak my face. I wipe them with my fingers, then try to breathe evenly so he doesn’t know I’m crying.

  “Follow your heart, sweetie. Do what feels right. Don’t spend all your life worrying about risks and contingencies. Most of the time, the worst things you think can happen don’t.”

  “But didn’t it? When you had to quit being a marine to raise me and Mom split? Wasn’t it the worst thing ever?” I say, still feeling guilty about the sacrifice he made.

  “Are you kidding? I have my health, I have my brain and good sense—and I have the most beautiful girl in the world in my care. What’s so awful about that? Could things have been better? Yeah, sure. But it wasn’t even close to the worst thing ever, Amy. You’re a blessing. You deserve everything good in life, and I wish you’d have a bit more faith in the world and yourself that things will work out for the best. The world isn’t as dangerous or terrible as you think.”

  As I take his words in, all the weight and pressure I’ve been carrying start to float away. I feel like I can finally breathe freely.

  I sniffle. “Thank you, Dad. I love you so much.”

  “I love you too. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and do all the things I would do, but better.”

  I laugh a little. “Thanks.”

  We hang up. I blow my nose and have a glass of water. Then I take my phone and type up an email for Marion.

  To: Marion Blaire

  From: Amy Sand

  Subject: About the offer

  Dear Marion,

  After careful consideration, I’ve decided it will be best if I look for opportunities elsewhere. Thank you for taking the time to interview and meet with me. I hope we can stay in touch.

  Sincerely,

  Amy Sand

  I stare at the email for a second, making sure it sounds okay. Then I go back and delete “I hope we can touch in touch.” If I didn’t put that phrase in my GrantEm resignation, I’m not putting it on my letter to Marion.

  My heart does a massive tumble, and my belly twists and churns like laundry in a spin cycle. I clench and unclench my shaking fingers and hit send.

  The email vanishes, and my heart starts beating normally again.

  I made the right decision.

  Then I think about what Dad said. About my fear of something bad happening, and my need for an exit plan. Compared to my coworkers, I can be overly careful. I make plans and I stick to them.

  That’s why I didn’t act on my attraction to Emmett. I dated safe guys—who all ended up not working out. I only went for Emmett when I thought it didn’t matter how our affair ended because I wasn’t going to be around for long.

  You were planning to fail, which is why the relationship between you and Emmett failed.

  I close my eyes briefly. I don’t know if I was actually planning to fail, but my mind was focused on the relationship failing. Even as Emmett romanced me and took me on that amazing dive and cared for me when I was sick, I was thinking about the end.

  So when the horrible party happened… I just…assumed he would be like Mom and never told him why I was upset. Never gave him a chance to explain his side. But what could’ve been the worst outcome of talking to him? Nothing that bad. I would’ve learned that he really was a jerk or there was a big misunderstanding that needed to be cleared up.

  I’ve been really emotional since finding out about my pregnancy. I presumed my life was becoming messy because I didn’t stick to the plan and made the impulsive decision to sleep with him.

  But that decision brought me some amazing memories with Emmett. And this baby, who is unexpected but whom I couldn’t love more. I constantly think about the precious little life inside me—worrying about whether I can be a good mother. I want to give this new human all the love and support I was blessed enough to receive growing up.

  Okay, so I’ve totally screwed up. But maybe it isn’t too late to talk to Emmett. To be really open about my fears and hopes and dreams.

  Like Dad said—what’s the worst that can happen? Emmett refusing to listen? That wouldn’t be any worse than my current situation.

  I have nothing to lose.

  Bolstered with renewed optimism and bravery, I text Sasha for some tips on how to approach an ex-boyfriend after a fight. She has far more experience dating than me.

  Her answer comes after a few minutes. And the advice nearly makes me fall off the kitchen counter stool.

  –Me: Are you sure that’s a good idea?

  –Sasha: Trust me. I’ve never NOT gotten a guy’s attention with this tactic. Plus, it’s going to be extremely convenient when you make up and need to celebrate.

  –Me: I don’t know. It didn’t work on him before.

  –Sasha: Wait! You tried it already?

  –Me: Not ME. You know how I am.

  –Sasha: Yeah, you need more sass and confidence. Anyway, the other girl must’ve done it all wrong. You have to have the right attitude to pull it off, which I expect you to have.

  –Me: If you say so.

  I’m doubtful, since I’m going there to apologize and talk, not impress him with my attitude.

  –Sasha: Look, if you’re that skeptical, let’s make a bet. $500.

  –Me: Okay. I could really use the money.

  –Sasha: Haha, very funny! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to work and think about what I’m going to do with the five Benjis you’re gonna hand over. Hehehe.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Amy

  To say that I’m skeptical would be a very large understatement, but I follow Sasha’s advice. She’s right about it catching a man’s attention, of course. But this is Emmett—who is no ordinary man.

  Sasha says that the right attitude is owning the entire space. Keep my shoulders back, chest out and spine straight. Strut like I’m the queen of the world.

  I can do most of that. But strutting like the queen of the world is going to take a lot of faking. I guess all there is to do is try my best.

  I debate between the office and his home. He’s always at the office, but then, so are other people. I don’t want to wait until everyone’s gone except him. Logistically speaking…

  Actually, never mind. I don’t have a GrantEm employee badge anymore.

  His place is the only option. We’ll have all the privacy we need. And if our discussion doesn’t go the way I hope, at least I won’t have to walk past other people and pretend I’m okay.

  So at nine in the evening, I drive to Emmett’s place. He doesn’t usually leave this early, but there’s always the possibility. Best to be prepared.

  Surprisingly enough, my passcode still works to open the gates. So I pull my car up to the driveway in front of the main entrance. The lights, triggered by sensors along the way, start glowing at my approach. His car isn’t anywhere in sight, and none of the windows in his home are lit.

  I cut the engine and wait in silence, mentally going over what I’m going to say. But eventually, that isn’t enough to keep me engaged.

  I take out my phone. No wonder people do social media. It’s gotta be awful to be in your own head all the time when you have downtime. I haven’t had much downtime, so this is new.

  A new email notification pops up from Marion.

  To: Amy Sand

  From: Marion Blaire

  Subject: Re: About the offer

  Amy,

  I don’t understand. Are you turning down the offer? If so, can I ask why?

  Regards,

  Marion

  Sigh. I don’t suppose “no” is going to be enough. Why do people ask yes/no questions when they don’t want a yes/no answer?

  But I should probably tell him. It’s obvious that nobody at the Blaire Group is going to clue him in about his ridiculous HR decisions.

  To: Marion Blaire

  From: Amy Sand

  Subject: Re: About the offer

  Marion,

  I don’t think the culture would work for me. People seem uncomfortable about the fact that I’d be working for you after having worked at GrantEm Capital under Emmett Lasker. I prefer to work with colleagues who are congenial and friendly, and I hope you understand.

  Sincerely,

  Amy

  I hope this provides enough clues for him to figure things out. If not, he’s too oblivious, and nothing can help somebody that unaware.

  The lights along the driveway die, and I’m plunged into darkness. I look for more emails to respond to, but they’re all junk. I put my phone away and stare at the driveway. How late is Emmett going to work? Should I have made an appointment? But if I tried, he might’ve said no. For all I know, he might’ve blocked my number already.

  He didn’t block the code for the gates…

  Yeah, but he could’ve forgotten that.

  I wrap my arms around the steering wheel and rest my head there. It isn’t too bad a position—I’ll still be able to see Emmett’s headlights when he drives up.

  I’m actually pretty comfortable. I stay like that for…a while.

  And then, suddenly, there are a couple of light taps on my window. I jerk up, wincing as I feel a burn in the side of my neck—ow!—and stiffness in my shoulders. My arms are numb from a lack of circulation.

  “Amy?” Emmett’s voice sounds muffled through the window.

  Oh. So he’s finally ho—

  Oh shit.

  Getting caught sleeping in my car isn’t the opening I envisioned. I look up to read his expression, but the light is behind him, keeping his face in the dark.

  Since I don’t want to yell, I try opening the door. It isn’t easy with numb arms and hands. After four flopping attempts, I manage to step out of the car, then instantly bend over and put a hand to my back at the tightness.

  So much for attitude! The space is owning me. If Emmett’s feeling charitable, he might call 911 for an ambulance.

  “Are you okay?” He lays a hand on my shoulder. His touch is tentative, like he’s worried he might cause me further pain.

  And that, more than anything else, makes me want to cry, which is ridiculous. Why are my emotions all over the map? “Yeah, I’m fine. Just…give me a second. I think I sat in the same position for too long. What time is it?”

  “A little after three.”

  No wonder I’m so stiff! I can’t believe I slept for so long. “You’ve been working late.”

  “It’s about normal. Do you need to sit down?”

  “No. I need to…” I slowly straighten. My back is still tight, but loosening. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Out here?”

  I look around. Or try to, then give up. My neck’s in too much pain. I must’ve pulled a muscle when I woke up. Ugh.

  “No. Let’s go…” I’m about to say “inside,” but realize that maybe he doesn’t want to invite me in anymore. If Rick ever shows up on my doorstep wanting to talk…

  “Come on.”

  Emmett points his chin toward his home and puts his hand at my elbow. The gesture loosens a little of the anxiety that’s been knotted inside me.

  We go into his mansion, the lights coming on as we step inside. Memories of our time together flow through my mind—eating together, chatting and laughing, sharing our bodies and making each other feel good, seeing the nursery he created. So many good moments, so many sweet emotions.

  And I realize I was right to come back, to try to hold on to him. Because no matter what drama might exist in his life, what we had was real.

  The love I feel for him is real.

  He leads me to the living room, then gently seats me on a couch. He takes the sectional to my right. Emmett looks as gorgeous as ever, but a little exhausted. His gray-blue eyes are slightly bloodshot, and his cheeks seem hollower than before. Something like determination fleets through his face as he studies me.

  “So,” I begin, since I’m the one who came by and said I had to talk to him. But the next part doesn’t come. I don’t know why. I had some words that sounded good in my apartment, but they seem so prepared and phony now. Panic rises like a wave.

  Your planned speech is no good.

  Shit. This means I need to wing it. And I hate winging it. But as I look at Emmett, I hate the possibility of wasting this opportunity more.

  “Okay. Um, first of all, I’m not going to the Blaire Group. Actually, I went out to Virginia, but turned the offer down after visiting their office. So, there’s that. Um… If you’re wondering whether I have another job lined up, I don’t. But I’m okay with that.”

  Emmett frowns. “What about your plan?”

  I raise one hand and release an imaginary balloon. “Poof. Gone like the wind.”

  His eyes grow curious.

  I decide to take that as a positive sign. “I’ll probably have to make a new one.”

  “I suppose you will,” he says.

  “But I still want the things I want. That isn’t changing.”

  His expression shutters a bit.

  I need to get to the point before he gets bored and throws me out. Emmett Lasker can’t stand people who bore him.

  “Things like a family—a husband who loves me, and children he and I both adore. I thought I’d get around to that once I was more advanced in my career. Done with my student loans and had more savings. But the, uh, timelines have changed.” I put a hand over our baby growing in my womb.

  “Yeah,” he says slowly.

  “I have issues, Emmett. I don’t…” I sigh. “My mother ran away when she decided she wasn’t going to have the kind of excitement she wanted in her life if she had a baby to be responsible for. Settling down wasn’t for her. I like to act like that didn’t impact me—or hurt me—but I think it did. She reached out to me on social media a little while back, and when I saw the pictures she posted… They were of her partying, drinking, smoking joints, that whole scene. Basically a forty-something woman acting like a teenager, and it just…hit me the wrong way.” I swallow and inhale a shuddering breath. “So when we went to your father’s party, I started to doubt, especially when your dad came and said the things he said about wanting a grandbaby. I…”

  The words trail off as my courage starts to fail. I really should’ve made a PowerPoint presentation. Or some kind of prop with timelines and plans and things. Emmett’s just staring at me, his gaze intense, and I’m too nervous to interpret his reaction.

  When I stay quiet, Emmett sighs a little. “Thank you for explaining. I was actually planning on calling you or stopping by. Because, well… I lied while we were together.” He looks overly somber.

  My gut tightens unbearably, and I feel like I’m about to throw up. Just how bad is this lie going to be?

  “I don’t get along with Dad at all.”

  Huh…?

  “He’s more like a sperm donor. Well, a sperm donor who paid for things, but I think he did that to make sure my brothers and I weren’t around to bug him. He shipped us all off to a boarding school in Switzerland when we were three.”

  “Oh my God… Three? You were so little!”

  Emmett shrugs. “Mom and all the other mothers of my brothers came with us. But it was obvious that Dad didn’t really want his kids. We were a group of vasectomy-fail babies to him. Nothing more—”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Yeah. He only ended up with us because a vasectomy he thought would keep him child-free failed, and seven of the women he was banging got pregnant.”

  “Seven women? All at the same time?”

  “More or less at the same time. And yeah, seven. That we know of.”

  I cover my mouth with a hand. This is crazy. And here I thought my situation with Mom was awful.

  Emmett continues in a wry tone, “He only contacts us when he wants something, and we only go see him on his birthday. We try to avoid him as much as possible because nothing good ever comes out of the encounters. There are more scandals attached to his name than anyone wants to count, and frankly, I find them—and him—embarrassing. I didn’t want to have you meet him, ever, which is why I didn’t want to take you to the party. I didn’t want us to have a private dinner or something with him either, because spending that much time with him, in such close quarters…” Emmett shudders.

  He doesn’t have to say more. Now his reactions make much more sense. I wish he’d told me the truth—at least the part about not getting along with his dad—so I wouldn’t have put so much pressure on him to make the introduction and so on. I would die if Emmett ever met my mom.

  “You didn’t want to talk about it because it’s…embarrassing.”

  “…embarrassing,” he says in unison with me.

  Sympathy wells up. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too. I should’ve said something, but it was just easier not to. It’s a habit—I’m not used to talking about Dad with anybody, especially given his celebrity status.” He smiles a little. “And because I don’t want people feeling sorry for me or saying something flippant like ‘At least your dad paid child support.’”

  Ugh. People can be so judgmental about others, and they rarely know all the facts.

  “I was hurt when you decided to take the job with Marion because I don’t like him, and I thought you knew that. But then I realized that maybe I haven’t done enough to show you I’m not like my dad—that I’m the kind of person you can depend on, a man who will never break your heart or make you cry.”

  There’s such sincerity in his beautiful eyes. Hot, sweet emotion spills from my heart and spreads throughout my body until I’m dizzy with joy.

  “You got under my skin the moment you walked into my office for your interview. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. The more I get to know you, the more I love you.”

  My eyes start to heat and prickle.

  “So I have a question to ask you—just you. It isn’t about the baby or the responsibility I feel for it.” He drops to one knee, pulls out a box from his pocket and opens the lid. A gorgeous princess-cut diamond sparkles against navy velvet. “Will you marry me, Amy Sand?”