by Frost, Sosie
“Fantastic. It’s only taken you months of aggravation to realize that I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t want help. I’m asking you to think of me as a partner,” she said. “Not just an office brat or somebody in your way. I want to learn how to run this business. If I take more responsibility with the classic line, that gives me the opportunity to use what I’ve learned so far and attend the meetings, guide the designers, and survey the budgets. If I need help, I’ll come to you. Before any decision, you sign off on it. But I want you to trust me. I know I can make it work.”
I crossed my arms, admiring her ambition. Certainly looked good on her, but so did everything else. Skirts. Silk sheets. My hands.
“And what do I get in return?” I asked.
“How about a baby?”
“Already got one of those. You have to sweeten the pot.”
She hesitated. “What if I promise to put less creamer in your coffee?”
I preferred none, not less, but I’d take what I could get. Didn’t earn my billion dollars by making bad deals.
“Deliver it to me in bed every morning, and I’ll shake on it right now.”
“…That means I’ll have to be in your kitchen every morning.”
“Should be easy.” I folded her hand in mine. “Not like you’re gonna leave my bed at night.”
She bit her lip with a bashful, insolent glance. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”
“I’ll agree…” Her tone shifted, darkening into something far more serious. “But I’ll need something in return.”
“Lube? Toys? Handcuffs?”
“I want the names of the board members who were pushing you to sell the company.”
One step too far.
I backed away from her.
Christ, I offered the world to the woman, and she asked for the one star I couldn’t pluck from the sky.
“Don’t do this,” I said.
“I know you’ve been in contact with board members who are eager for the sale to go through. Tell me their names. Let me talk to them. One-on-one. I can show them our vision.”
“No.”
“What if I can convince them to delay the sale until they see—”
This was foolish, and like an idiot, I’d fallen right into her trap.
“The votes are silent,” I said. “And the matter is sealed. The option is not on the table, and, until the lingerie line is in production, no one is speaking of selling the company. Ask any member of the board pointblank, and they’ll tell you they are pleased with their investments and want nothing more than to see Maxwell Intimates profit throughout the coming years.”
Mackenza lowered her voice. “I heard the voicemail, Cameron.”
Son of a bitch.
What the hell was she doing listening to my voicemails?
“So, all this talk about partnerships and wanting to work together was just a fucking lie?” I pushed away from the desk. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you when you’re snooping through my voicemails?”
“And why should I trust anything you say when this Mr. R is demanding that you keep me out of the business and sell the company as soon as possible?”
“I knew you were out of your mind,” I said. “But since we're already an embryo deep, I’d hoped I could handle you.”
“What’s to handle? I need to know why our company’s lawyer is representing this Mr. R, and why he apparently has enough power to strong-arm you into a decision,” she said.
“Kenza.”
“Does Mr. R represent the entire board?”
Only in my nightmares. “I don’t want you worrying about this.”
“I want to talk to the board.”
“I said no.” Irritation was one hell of an erection killer. “Forget what you heard. Forget what you’re thinking about doing.”
She pushed me away and stood before me. Not that it did any good. She had to look up to meet my gaze.
“All I’m asking is for an opportunity. A little more time. A few months. I just want you to hold off the sale. Tell this Mr. R to get fucked so we can get to work.”
Christ, if only she knew what damage that would do to everyone.
Including her.
“It’s more complicated than that,” I said.
“The one thing you asked of me was that we try to work together.” Mackenza had a talent to make her eyes as big, wide, and innocent as possible. “You asked me to trust you. And I did. You wanted me to fall in…”
We both stilled. Quieted.
And I eagerly awaited her next words.
She averted her gaze. “Fall in line with your decisions. So, this is how we do it. But you’ve gotta meet me halfway. Please.”
Christ. What the hell was I supposed to tell this girl? That her family had run the company into the ground? That there was no way out except to sell? The only thing we were doing now was trying to raise the stock prices enough so that I could ensure her family would have enough money to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table?
“Mackenza, this is going to be harder than you realize. I’m doing everything I can, but the company isn’t in a position to do anything. We’ll need a miracle.”
She smirked, pointing to her belly. “We already made one. How about we go for two?”
She knew where to thrust the knife to do the most damage.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” I asked.
She leaned in close, wrapping her arms around my neck. One quick kiss, and she nearly brought me to my knees.
It might’ve been the exhaustion. Or it might’ve been the sexiest woman alive teasing me with a nibble of her lips.
Her voice softened. “You should go home, Cameron. You’re falling asleep on your feet.”
“Only if you come with me.”
“And leave this perfectly good office behind?”
My hands circled her waist, drawing her close. “It’s yours, Mackenza. Whatever you want. Just promise when you’re done with it, you’ll join me in our bed tonight.”
It was too easy to fall for her smile.
Even easier to surrender to that desire.
I’d follow this woman to the ends of the world and back, and all she needed to do was give the command.
“If you thought it was hard to get close to me…” She kissed me, promising entirely too much with her soft giggle. “Just wait until you see how tough it is to get rid of me.”
18
Mackenza
It was time to tell the father of my baby the truth.
Even if it shamed me to admit it.
Even if it was the worst confession of my life.
I’d fallen in love with Cameron Mitchell.
And not just a little in love, but head-over-heels, ass-over-elbows, heart-in-my-throat, and a jig-in-my-step in love.
The birds chirped morning till night, the sun shone during a rainstorm, and even the jingle blaring on the radio for the local Chevrolet dealership sounded like it’d be perfect for a wedding’s first dance.
But keeping that secret was worse than the nausea, headaches, and pure exhaustion of the pregnancy.
How could something so wonderful be so unbelievably terrifying?
My phone buzzed against the coffee table. I launched off the couch to grab it, rolling my eyes as I read the screen.
The text wasn’t from Cameron—apologizing for being an hour late to a romantic dinner in which I’d planned to tell him everything I felt.
Instead, the gibberish plastered across the message was from Daddy.
He…hadn’t taken the news well.
I spied a P, a G, and an -ernt. Close enough to the right word.
Our two-hour long conversation the night before had ended just as it’d began—with a variety of grunts, sputters, and a whole slew of Jeeze Louises. His shock continued through the morning, afternoon, and now well into the evening.
I texted him back yet
another consoling and optimistic message.
Don’t worry, Daddy. You said you liked Cameron. This is a good thing. We’re both super excited that you get to be a granddaddy.
I knew my father too well.
I quickly texted Mom, and she promised to keep an eye on the old man and make sure he didn’t tread off one of the resort’s high ledges or wander too deep into the ocean.
He responded with only one word.
HOW
This was not a play-by-play I’d give Daddy. I trusted Mom would fill him in on the details and checked my email once more.
Nothing from Cameron.
How long did a pregnant girl need to wait around for the man of her damned dreams to come home?
I had good reason to wallop him about the head for worrying me, and an even better reason to start a good old-fashioned argument with the words I love you, you prick.
I paced his living room. His penthouse wasn’t any better than mine, but it was nice to walk across the floor without tripping over mannequins, drowning in bolts of cloth, or crashing into a precariously loaded sewing kit brimming with loose needles.
Still, a few of my more pressing projects had migrated across the hall. I scowled at the material draped over the mannequin. Was it a maternity dress or a circus tent? Maybe a good parachute for when I came crashing back to earth after realizing just how much trouble revealing my feelings would cause?
I grabbed a couple of pins and held them between my lips as I tackled the silk, reconfiguring the shape into something more flattering and less…muumuu.
At least I had a couple of more months to create a wardrobe of my own. My bump was getting more challenging to hide beneath thick blouses or behind a stack of folders cradled in my arms.
We’d have to tell people.
Soon.
Hopefully the world would take it better than Daddy.
Though, if I knew my father, within another day or two, he’d snap to his senses, hop the first flight to Ironfield, and shower me and his future grandbaby with every present he could no longer afford.
I poked the last pin into place and surveyed the dress. Now it seemed less tablecloth and more stylish, pinched in the right place to feature the bump in all its out-of-wedlock glory.
A key scratched the door, and Cameron peeked inside before daring to approach. He spotted me, grimaced, and then slunk into the penthouse.
“I can explain,” he said.
I threatened him with a pin. “No need. I already ate your portion of our romantic dinner. You can go hungry as your punishment.”
He groaned. “Your text did not say romantic. If I had the promise of a little action, I would’ve beat you to the plate.”
“Race a pregnant girl to dinner? I’d like to see that.”
“Yeah, but I could keep the dinner down.”
“Don’t rub it in.”
That lazy, perfect smile begged forgiveness.
And, like a virgin on prom night, I gave it up.
“Chicken nuggets and blue-box mac-and-cheese…” Cameron peeked into the kitchen, scoping out what culinary delights he’d missed. “Look out, Martha Stewart.”
“Well, I wanted to try something fancy and gourmet, but you decided to make a baby instead, and that complicates my pallet.”
He stole one of the few remaining bites of macaroni straight from the pot on the stove. “This is the height of sophistication.”
No need to tease me. “And when was the last time you had a home cooked meal?”
“I get meals cooked at home all the time.”
“Only ones you hire from some private chef, and they come at a price.”
“Oh, I have a feeling this one is going to cost me.” He slipped closer, his hand instantly reaching for the bump—where most of his attention had focused the past few weeks. “Sorry I’m late.”
“That’s okay—I was just going to make your every wish come true then top it off with a blowjob, but you must’ve had better things to do.”
“I had something to do…not as good as that.” He led me to the couch. “Sure I can’t get a raincheck?”
“You can’t call mulligan on missing a blow job,” I said. “Besides…I’m going to need your full attention for a minute.”
“If you don’t think a blowjob would get my attention…”
I sighed. “You’re making this hard.”
“Likewise.”
The damned flirt would ruin every lovely and romantic declaration I’d planned.
I groaned. Why was this so difficult?
All I needed to do was confess my soul to this man.
Surely revealing my innermost secrets, desires, fears, and dreams wasn’t this bad.
That’s what love was. Trust with everything—the good and the bad, the scary and the new, and all the little uncertainties in between that pitted stomachs and left palms sweaty.
But I hated that vulnerability. For so long, I thought I’d just know when I’d found the right man. That it’d be so obvious, so genuine, that the earth would move, Heavens would open, and the purest affection would burn away all doubts.
I didn’t doubt my feelings for him. They were real. Scary, oppressive, and wonderful.
The only thing I feared was what would come next, once the words were said, and I’d bared my heart.
Would’ve been easier if I didn’t need to admit it. Maybe we could just let our feelings be. No declarations, just dinners and promises and a baby on the way.
“So…” I’d accidentally stabbed a pin into his ten-thousand-dollar couch. I doubted he’d notice, but I covered it with a pillow anyway. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about something, and I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”
Cameron laughed. “Already told me you were pregnant. Not sure you can hit me with another pile of bricks like that unless you have a building permit.”
“It’s just…I’ve been trying to figure out what all of this means. With us. With the baby. There’s a lot to figure out.”
He nodded, leaning against the couch with a relaxed sigh. “You’re right. There’s one big question left for me to ask.”
My eyes widened. “You’ve been thinking it too?”
“Just every day since I found out about the baby.”
Relief warmed me. “And I thought it was going to be so scary.”
“Scary?” Cameron shrugged. “Nothing scary about this. Easiest decision of my life.”
And I envied him for that. Cameron possessed an utterly reckless abandon, a courage to leap headfirst into something so unknown and new. Business. Adventure. A relationship.
I threaded my trembling fingers in my lap. “I’m glad you feel that way. Makes this easier. Like we can work together.”
“Believe me, Kenza. You frustrate me. You irritate me. Pretty sure those coffees you make have given me diabetes. You drive me to the brink of insanity, and then laugh at me while I suffer.”
Guilt wedged somewhere between the baby and my tummy. “About that…”
“And I wouldn’t trade it.”
I glanced up. “It’s not the traditional hallmark of a functional relationship.”
“Then call me a masochist, because I’d suffer forever for you.”
“Might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” I covered my face. “Are we too fucked up to even consider this?”
“I think we’re perfect together.”
The pregnancy hormones didn’t help the conversation. Either my tears or my panties would drop, and it was a race on the high-speed progesterone track to see which would win.
“Cameron…” I took a breath, but it collided with my closing throat. “I…I wanted you to know…I wanted to say that I…”
Cameron’s eyes darkened, mischievous and excited. “I know what you want to do.”
That made it easier. “You do?”
“I want to say it too.”
“Thank God.”
I meant to fall into his arms, but Cameron twisted, rev
ealing an envelope from his pocket.
Instead of taking my hand, he shoved the paper into my palm.
“Go on.” He practically bounced with energy. “Take a peek.”
I tore the envelope with a curious glance, tugging the card stock, little doily, and an unnecessary piece of tissue paper from the inside. The scripted words had been gold leafed and hand-drawn with perfect calligraphy.
Mr. Cameron Mitchell and Ms. Mackenza Maxwell formally invite you to share in a night of dining, dancing, and celebration of their joyous pregnancy…
I peeked over the card stock.
“A pregnancy announcement?” I asked.
“A party.”
Disappointment lashed harder than morning sickness. “You were talking about announcing my pregnancy?”
“It’s time, don’t you think?”
Would’ve thought we needed to discuss a few other important issues first, but Cameron bounded off the couch and paced the room, animated and brimming with pent-up excitement.
“I wanted to surprise you.” He thrust his phone at me, and I fumbled with the screen as he flipped through his emails. “You’re getting the biggest, most lavish, most exclusive, most wasteful pregnancy announcement party ever—in the history of parties.”
I frowned. “I am?”
“Starting here—aboard the Vixen.”
I was afraid to ask. “What’s the Vixen?”
“Just the most luxurious, technologically advanced, and expensive mega yacht available on the planet.”
I stared at the beast on the phone—one part luxury craft with swimming pools and a putting green, one part aircraft carrier with helipad and its own contingent of sailors trying to keep the waste-of-precious-resources afloat.
“And you rented this monstrosity?”
“Rented?” Cameron laughed. “I bought it.”
“Why?”
“What better place to celebrate your pregnancy?”
Oh dear God.
“Cameron, most daddies-to-be buy their unborn children toys or onesies…” I gaped at the sickening display of wealth on the screen. “You bought a battleship.”
“Complete with two speed boats, seven jet skis, twelve thousand square feet of deck space—”
