The Boss's New Plaything

by Layla Valentine

  “You’re right, there. Listen, I’m not giving you a definite answer. I’m telling you that I’ll think about it. If you happen to find someone else—” I begin, only to be cut short.

  “There’s no one else,” he interrupts, with a surprising amount of passion in his voice.

  I feel myself blushing, though I can’t exactly explain why. This whole weird situation has me feeling all sorts of fuzzy and unclear.

  “All right. Get some sleep, Dillon. I’ll let you know when I make a decision,” I murmur with a tenderness that shocks even me.

  He breathes a sigh, and it feels like there’s more he wants to say. However, he seems to decide against it.

  “Good night, Charlotte. Thank you,” he says with obvious sincerity.

  Quickly, I swipe my phone to end the call, tossing my it on my desk and walking towards my bed. My thoughts remain with the man I’ve been speaking to, and I find myself gripped by a sudden and intrusive thought about…potential conception.

  Unwelcome yet pleasantly warm tingles shoot through my body at the thought of sharing a bed with the man. I quickly banish the thought. It’s not as if we’re going to be in a relationship, even if I agree to his terms; he’s made that much very clear. I don’t know why I feel vaguely disappointed at that thought, but if I’m a million dollars richer, everything will fall into place.

  Deciding to take a quick shower before bed, I skirt around my bed and towards the adjoined bathroom. I want to visit Dillon at his office early tomorrow, and if I shower now, I can sleep in a bit. The water in this apartment complex takes an agonizingly long time to get hot, but I suppose it’s worth the wait.

  As I strip and step beneath the warm stream of water, I debate spending a few quiet moments alone with the shower head. But as my hand begins to creep south, I find that I can’t stop thinking about Dillon. As a matter of fact, my thoughts of him only grow more intense. I grit my teeth against the sensation of warmth between my thighs as I quickly wash my hair and rinse off.

  I don’t bother to get dressed before slipping between my sheets. I’ll regret going to sleep with damp hair in the morning, but for the time being, I couldn’t care less. I force my eyes closed, trying to banish thoughts of the gorgeous billionaire from my mind. This is just a potential professional venture.

  It won’t do to entertain these complicated…feelings, considering the nature of our relationship. Granted, our relationship seems to be permanently stamped as ‘complicated’.

  As I drift off, my final thought is of what it might be like to fall asleep in Dillon’s arms.

  When I wake up the next morning, everything seems a bit less disastrous than it did the night before, and I’m able to approach the situation with a more objective point of view. While my feelings for Dillon are anything but straightforward, I know I need to keep things as uncomplicated as humanly possible.

  I tell myself this as I get dressed, though there’s nothing awfully complicated about a pretty green sundress that brings out the shade of my eyes just so. I apply the slightest bit of makeup, certainly nothing extravagant or unusual. The up-do I choose for my hair is just a bit of an experiment, just for fun. I’ve been meaning to try it, after all. I look nice, but in a simple sort of way. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

  The trip to the office seems to drag on, but I think that’s due in part to the anticipation racing through my veins. I ride the elevator to the top floor, approaching Dillon’s secretary and debating how to breach the subject.

  “I need to speak with Dillon,” I hedge.

  She glances up from her laptop, her eyes shining with delight upon seeing me.

  “Oh, darling, he’s going to love you,” she gushes, gesturing for me to take a seat. I try to obscure the blush on my cheeks, but with my hair styled up, it’s not as easy as usual. “He’s in a meeting, but I can fetch him,” she announces, slipping away before I can protest.

  I’m shocked to see him nearly barreling down the hallway just a few moments later. Coming to an abrupt stop in front of me, he considers me with bright and hopeful eyes. I take him by the elbow, jerking my head in the direction of his office. He nods excitedly, leading me to the door.

  “Don’t let anyone disturb us, Tiffany,” he orders.

  She salutes, offering me a sly smile. I want to sputter that it’s nothing like what she’s thinking, but I can’t exactly blame her for her assumption.

  Stepping into Dillon’s office behind him, he turns to face me with wide and excited eyes.

  “Have you made your decision?” he asks, not beating around the bush.

  I smile coyly, turning on my heel and tapping my finger on my chin.

  “I have,” I reply, pausing for dramatic effect.

  His eyes are fixed upon my own, and a now-familiar thrill shoots through me.

  “Well?” he asks, nearly shaking with anticipation.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll have your child.”

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  Jay’s Lucky Baby

  Layla Valentine

  Ready to up the ante?

  Well settle in, because next up is my sweet and steamy bestseller, Jay’s Lucky Baby, in full!

  Copyright 2017 by Layla Valentine

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author. All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  Lauren

  I tighten my hold on the railing and press myself against the hard metal. Hong Kong’s skyscrapers glint under the sun, seeming as if they were made out of fire themselves. A warm breeze hits my face and I close my eyes. With the cruise ship gaining speed under my feet, I’m flying.

  “Enjoying yourself?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

  I start and turn to see a middle-aged woman wearing a baseball cap and holding some kind of fruity cocktail. I feel my cheeks redden. Was my enjoyment of the moment that obvious?

  “Sure.” I grin sheepishly.

  She smiles knowingly. “Get it, girl. Live it up, while you can. One day you’ll be my age, wondering where all the good times went.” She gives me a wink and ceremoniously sips her drink.

  I try not to laugh. “You’re American.”

  “So are you.”

  “Yeah, but…did you know that before you talked to me? How did you know I would speak English?”

  With my black hair and pale skin, people have been coming up to me and speaking in Cantonese all week long.

  “I didn’t, hon. I just hoped you would.”

  I glance back at the shrinking city. With the sun getting lower in the sky, the blinding light seems to be getting even brighter. I blink and turn away from the railing.

  “I’m Lauren.”

  “Donna. From Florida. Nice to meet you.” She extends a tanned hand and I shake it.

  “You’re not here all by yourself, are you?” Donna asks. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  I suppress a laugh. “I’m here with my parents.”

  “No boyfriend?”

  “No boyfriend,” I confirm.

  “But you’re so pretty.”

  “Thanks,” I say uncertainly.

  “You have a northern accent. Let me guess where you’re from…New York?”

  “Right on the first try,” I admit with a grin.

  “Are you here looking for a boyfriend? Because, you know, they call Macau the Vegas of Asia. You could get yourself a rich boyfriend there.�
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  “My parents would love that,” I reply sarcastically.

  Donna chuckles and swats at my arm.

  “Lauren!”

  I turn at the sound of my mother’s voice. Still yards away, she’s striding down the deck with her scarf billowing around her neck and her hips swaying. She could have been a supermodel, but instead, she went to school and became an accountant. Still, regardless of her job, she has gorgeous skin. We look more like sisters than we do mother and daughter.

  Mom places her hand on my shoulder. “Who’s your new friend?”

  “Donna Tuttle. Nice to meet you.”

  They lightly shake hands and I can see Mom studying Donna, trying to figure out whether she’s appropriate company for me or not.

  I suck in my lower lip and hold back a sigh. I’ve been out of school for only two weeks, and already, I feel like I’m ten years old again. My parents are always there, waiting to pass judgment, waiting to make decisions for me. Waiting to decide my destiny.

  Mom turns back to me. “It’s almost dinner time.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

  Donna looks confused. “Oh, goodness. I thought they weren’t serving for another hour.”

  Mom coolly smiles. “We like to freshen up beforehand.”

  She may not have ended up walking runways, but Mom always treats every event like we keep company with royalty. To her, this isn’t a little cruise between Hong Kong and Macau. It’s the Titanic, and we’re about to have dinner at the captain’s table. Retiring to our rooms and tying on our best pearls and diamonds pre-caviar is of utmost importance.

  I say goodbye to Donna, telling her I hope to see her again, and follow my mother to our cabins. It’s a short cruise—just overnight—but my parents managed to book us two separate cabins. I get dressed in the flowered cocktail dress and nude heels that I know Mom and Dad want me to wear, and freshen up my makeup.

  When I come out of my room, both my parents are in the hall, the perfect picture of a happy, middle-aged couple. They both look me up and down and give nods of approval.

  Mom beams in my direction. “I knew that dress would suit you perfectly.”

  I smooth down the pleats of the brightly colored dress and give her a smile. She bought it for me before I got home from college, and while I don’t know how much it cost, I’m sure it wasn’t cheap. I don’t follow fashion at all, but even I would be a doofus to not know the designer whose name is sewn into the collar.

  We make our way to the dining room, where dozens of white tablecloth-clad, circular tables are placed around the room. A string quartet plays on a small stage, and waiters in bowties scurry around with bottles of wine. I settle into my seat and lay my napkin across my lap. The number of utensils laid out next to my plate hints at a five-course dinner.

  I stay silent while my parents peruse the wine list and discuss the pros and cons of vintage bottles. I left my phone in my cabin, and I desperately wish I hadn’t. It’s only been a little over a week since I’ve seen my best friend, Willow, but I already miss her desperately. Just a quick ‘hey’ from her would be well appreciated.

  “We’ll have the Malbec,” Dad tells the waiter, who gives a nod and takes the wine menu from him.

  The bottle order and the soup on its way, my parents turn their attention to me.

  “So,” Dad begins, taking a moment to clear his throat before continuing. “How have you liked your graduation trip?”

  I don’t skip a beat in replying. “It’s been amazing.”

  I’m not lying. It really has. When my parents told me they wanted to take me on a weeklong trip to celebrate my graduation from college, I already had a list of destinations in mind—Hawaii, Italy, Costa Rica.

  Hong Kong had never crossed my mind. It was the land of my ancestors, the place my mom’s parents had been born. Though they’d left China when they were in their twenties, immigrating to America and having my mom in New Jersey, I’d never once thought of visiting where they came from.

  Just a week in the city had turned my world upside down. My parents had taken me on trips before, but never to somewhere so exotic. The sounds, the people, the food…even the colors, seemed different. Walking through Hong Kong’s streets, I felt alive in a way I never did in New York.

  The last seven mornings, when I opened my eyes, I actually saw what was in front of me. I wasn’t consumed by thoughts of school, work, relationships, or anything else. I was living in the moment.

  “I wish Pop-Pop and Ma could have come,” I sigh.

  Mom purses her lips in that way that says she’s having an emotional moment, but doesn’t want to show it. “The flight would have been too much for your grandfather.”

  “I know,” I agree. “I can’t wait to show him the sketches I drew, though.”

  Dad gruffly grunts. “Or you can just show him pictures.”

  The heat of oncoming anger flows through me. There’s an aggressive tone to his voice, and I think I know where the conversation is headed. Taking a moment to myself, I take a deep breath before responding.

  “Pop-Pop likes my drawings.”

  “He’s just indulging you,” Dad says dismissively as he busily rearranges the silverware on the table. He’s not looking at me, instead seeming overly-involved in getting his soup spoon exactly where it needs to be.

  I don’t know how to respond to that comment. My face is practically burning now, and my vision swims with tears as the waiter arrives and puts a bowl of some kind of creamed soup in front of me.

  My drawings are good. I know they are. And I’m not just being cocky. I’ve been sketching since the moment I could hold a pencil. My parents used to encourage it, too. When I was a kid—and even in high school—they always bragged to their friends about what a good artist their daughter was.

  But then, once I started college in Connecticut, things changed. It all had to do with my post-college plans. When art was something that I did for fun, everything was hunky dory—but once I started talking about making a career out of it, the shit hit the fan.

  “You have a business degree,” Dad sternly reminds me. “What would be the use in letting that go to waste?”

  I force myself not to laugh out loud over the absurdity of the question.

  “It’s a great degree to have,” I agree. “And it’s going to be perfect for starting my own illustration business.”

  My parents exchange a quick look.

  Dad works his jaw. “You’ve enjoyed this trip, right?”

  “Yes,” I dumbly say, though I’m pretty sure I’ve already said as much.

  “How do you plan on continuing to take these kinds of vacations? This is a graduation present, Lauren. It’s something fun for you to experience before you get serious again and go to grad school.”

  “Dad, I don’t need to go to grad school—”

  He barrels on with his speech. “You can’t make a living drawing pictures for kid’s books. I know that sounds like a great idea right now, especially with your friend Willow living out her ‘creative’ fantasy, but just wait and see what happens. Five years from now, she’s going to be a nobody, living in a shack in Queens. Do you want to end up like that?”

  I’m trying really hard to keep my composure. I am. But my dad just managed to insult not only me, but my best friend as well.

  “Willow is a talented actress,” I say slowly. “And her parents support her.”

  Mom clucks.

  “She’s spoiled,” Dad retorts. “That’s what she is.”

  I spread my hands wide in disbelief. “Why are we talking about this?”

  Mom twists her wedding ring around her finger, something she does when she gets anxious or upset. “Put yourself in our shoes, Lauren. What if you saw your own child going down a path that you know they’re going to regret?”

  I give my answer some careful thought. I don’t want to be disrespectful to my parents, but I also can’t just sit here and take their belittling anymore. They were the ones who pushed
me to go to business school. I was only trying to make them happy. I thought that college would be some kind of compromise. With a business degree under my belt, I could show them that I was focused and savvy enough to go into business as a book illustrator. I could show them that there was a way to incorporate what I wanted with what they thought I needed.

  Now, I see I was wrong.

  It’s bad enough walking through the world feeling like no one is on your side, but with your own parents against you, a somewhat-bad situation can become hell.

  I take another deep breath. Knowing this conversation would come up eventually, I have a monologue prepared.

  “I know it seems unconventional,” I tentatively say, looking from one parent to the other. “But a lot of other people have actually done it. Look at all of the children’s books that are out there, today. A real artist illustrates each one. There really are people making a living off of doing this.”

  My dad, of course, has a rebuttal. “And for every one of them, there are twenty others who aren’t ‘making it’.”

  I sputter in disbelief. “What? Where are you getting this statistic from?”

  “Look around you, Lauren. There are struggling artists everywhere. Our waiter is probably one of them.”

  “I have a plan,” I harshly whisper through gritted teeth. “You know that.”

  Dad drops his voice, as well. “Gallivanting around the world isn’t a plan, dear.”

  “It’s only going to be for a little while. And you know I’m not going to ask you guys for any money. I’ll save more than enough from my summer job. Then, once I’m done traveling some, I’ll come home and get to work on starting my business.”

  Both my parents gaze back at me with unmistakable looks of pity. A lump forms in my throat and falls into my stomach, dragging me down. I’m defeated. There’s nothing I can say. It doesn’t matter how many times I try to tell them that my plan is a viable one. They just don’t want to believe it.