How to Have Your Boss' Baby

by Layla Valentine

  I give him a soft smile and tell my brain to take a hike. Then we both lay back down, his arms still around me, his body strong against my back.

  Until the morning, then. I’ll deal with this then. We’ll deal with this then.

  I close my eyes, breathe out, and set myself to enjoying the safe, secure feeling of a body laying behind me, encasing me in his arms.

  I don’t let my feelings go any further than that. Even now, in this moment, I know I can’t afford to.

  Chapter 19

  Joey

  I awake in a cocoon of warmth and satisfaction, my brain still hazy with the wine I had last night. I open my eyes to the brilliance of a San Francisco morning, the sun streaming in through the windows, and start to stretch.

  Which is when I realize that someone is laying right behind me.

  I jerk my head around to look and see… Reid Billington.

  Oh my God, what have I done?

  It takes precisely three nanoseconds to remember exactly what I did—and how many times we did it again, throughout the night—and I have to physically stop myself from jumping out of bed and high-tailing it out of the room.

  First problem: This is my room. He’s asleep in my bed. Fine, that doesn’t mean I have to stay here. But if I want to get out of here without waking him up, I need to move slowly. Jumping up and running around screaming isn’t going to be the best solution here.

  I slide out of bed, barely breathing, and though he mutters and rolls over, he doesn’t wake up. Slipping into the bathroom, I take the quickest shower of my life, rush through my makeup routine, choose the most generic business suit I have, and some of my most comfortable heels. A quick trip to the desk area and I have my bag, with laptop and notes included. There’s a cafe downstairs, and I’ll be able to work there until it’s safe to come back to my room and try to gather myself.

  My gaze runs across the little black dress and pumps lying on the floor, and I gulp.

  Gathering myself is going to be quite a steep climb. I’m going to need at least three cups of coffee before I even attempt it.

  I slip through the door of the room, one last glance at the bed assuring me that Reid is still asleep. Good. I’ll arrange for a wakeup call to the room, and count on him to have the good manners to clear out on his own.

  Turning, I make my way down the hall, trying desperately to turn my brain back on and locate my good sense, which seems to have gone missing.

  I stop by the reception desk to ask for a wakeup call in an hour, then make my way quickly toward the cafe, where I order the biggest coffee they have and set up shop at one of the tables. Work. Work is the way to get through this without wanting to kill myself. I have a ton to do—emails, meetings to set up, reporters to contact, an assistant to supervise from a distance of three thousand miles—so by the time I look up again from my laptop, two hours have gone by without me noticing.

  I also have three texts from Reid. Strangely, though, they don’t say anything about last night. Nothing about me having left him alone in bed. Nothing about any sort of emotional anything, honestly.

  “Are you around? I’d like to get breakfast before our first meeting.”

  “Okay, getting breakfast on my own, the meeting is relatively close so I suggest we just walk.”

  And, an hour later, “I’m heading to the meeting, I’ll meet you there?”

  A glance at my watch tells me that it is indeed time for us to get going. In fact, if I’d waited any longer to realize what time it is, I would have missed it entirely.

  I shove all of my stuff into my bag, check my appearance in my compact, and thank my earlier self for putting on enough makeup to get through the day.

  Looks like I’m not going back up to my room, after all.

  When I get to the building that houses our next meeting, I pause in the lobby, wondering if Reid has gone up to the third floor—home of the company we’re meeting with—without me. A moment later, though, he’s calling out my name and walking toward me.

  As he walks, I search his face for… Well, for anything, really. For any sign that anything has changed. Or a sign that, I don’t know, what we did last night meant anything to him.

  But he’s wearing a carefully blank expression, and it doesn’t change when he reaches me.

  “Figured I’d wait down here for you,” he says by way of greeting. “Makes more sense for us to go up together. I don’t think there’s any press around this meeting and we don’t have the presser until later today, so your morning should be relatively uneventful. Let’s get this over with.”

  And he strides toward the elevator, leaving me standing confused and somehow lost behind him. Did I completely dream the entire night?

  Or did it just mean so little to him that he’s able to blow it off without a second thought?

  I take one step forward, and then another, and soon I’m rushing to catch up with him. Right, well, if he’s intent on acting like nothing happened—or that something happened, but that it didn’t mean anything—then he’ll find that two can play at that game.

  I’ve had five years of experience hiding my true thoughts from him, at this point. It will be a piece of cake to go right back to it. And damn the feeling it leaves in my heart, like some part of me is burning to a crisp.

  I’ve ignored that before, too. I can do it again if I have to.

  By lunch I’ve changed my assumption from thinking that our night didn’t mean anything to him to thinking that he might actively regret it. He’s been cold and distant all morning, in that way you only are when you remember exactly what happened but want to pretend that it was all a dream. He’s definitely second-guessing what we did. And he’s making me feel like it was all my fault.

  Both of those things are rotten. And I can feel my own rage growing at the unfairness of it all. Hell, it took two people to tango—not once, but three times! He was the one who kissed me in the restaurant, and though he asked me if I was sure when we got into my room, he could have just as easily said no himself. It wasn’t like I even initiated the situation.

  How can he treat me like I did something wrong here?

  Maybe he’s upset that you left him this morning, that rotten voice in my head says snarkily.

  And so what if he is? I answer. Maybe he should address it like a grownup rather than pouting!

  Maybe this is why he never has women around. He doesn’t know how to treat them after he’s had his way with them.

  But none of the snarking actually feels real to me. Well, it is real, but it feels… insincere. Part of me thinks it was horribly cliché to sleep with my boss. The more romantic side of my personality can’t get over the way he looked at me last night, the way he cupped my face in his hands as he kissed me, the way he made sure I was taken care of—and then held me all night.

  I’m not sure whether I thought it would lead to anything more. But I can’t hide the fact that a part of me hoped it would.

  All of which makes his coldness today even more painful.

  When Reid comes back from his last meeting, we walk back to the hotel together, neither of us saying anything. In the lobby, though, he stops for long enough to ask if I’d like to have dinner with him, I very nearly tell him no. Why would I bother, with the way he’s treated me all day? Why get myself all worked up for nothing?

  “I have a business proposal for you,” he says as a follow-up. “One I think you’ll find very interesting.”

  I press my lips together and stare at him, wondering if he maybe has multiple personalities. That would certainly explain the dramatic swings from one end of the spectrum to the other.

  “A business proposal?” I ask suspiciously. “To do with my current job?”

  “Something more lucrative, actually. Something that I think might solve problems for both of us.” He starts to smile, his dimples deepening, and for a moment I see the man I was out with last night. That charming, caring person who made sure to walk next to me to keep me up on those heels from hell.<
br />
  But then he shuts that down and withdraws, and he’s all business again. Not even the man we usually saw in the office, who at least flirted and smiled, but someone I don’t recognize. Someone who is cold and hard.

  So sure, business. Evidently that’s all he wants from me. So it will be all I want from him.

  “Certainly,” I say neutrally. “Same time, same place?”

  A nod, and then he turns on his heel and is gone, on his way up to the fifth floor without doing me the courtesy of waiting.

  Maybe it’s a good idea to distance myself from him, after all. From what I’ve seen today, the man has major mood swings.

  I watch him reach the elevator, and then I turn and take the stairs.

  Chapter 20

  Joey

  I wear my best business suit to dinner. And my old, scuffed, and comfortable shoes. Yeah, I wear my hair down and put on the red lipstick that always makes me feel more powerful. But that’s about power, not sex. Reid has made it perfectly clear that he wants this to be about business, not feelings.

  So I was here, and I was ready to talk business. Screw emotions. Screw the thought that I’d been starting to fall in love with him. Screw last night, and the mind-blowing sex. The way his lips felt on mine. The touch of his fingers across my skin.

  Business. That’s all. So when I look at him, it’s with a lifted brow and a pursed mouth, and there isn’t any sex whatsoever in my mind. Artsy Joey is hiding in the background. Business Mask Josephine Evans is here in full force.

  He gives me a long, considering look, and then breaks right into a spiel I suspect he’s been coming up with all day.

  “Ms. Evans,” he says, and I don’t correct him or ask him to call me Josephine. “I’ve been thinking about this, and I think I may have come up with something really brilliant. You’re in a position you don’t overly like, at work, and don’t try to tell me that I’ve got the wrong idea, because I’ve seen you. I’ve seen how your face lights up when you talk about art, and how alive it makes you. I’ve also seen how hard you work to bring yourself back down when it comes to the office. I’ve seen the mask you put on there.”

  I start to interrupt him, to try to tell him that he’s wrong, because it’s starting to feel like my job is actually on the line here, but he puts a hand up to stop me.

  “I’m not going to fire you. I know you’re concerned about how you would pay your bills. I know you have loans to worry about. But I think I might have something that will make paying them back a whole lot easier.”

  “And what’s that?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice neutral.

  He takes a deep breath, and then dives in. “I’ve always wanted a kid of my own. I told you that yesterday. But I’ve also got the company, and that takes up my entire life. I could never make room for a girlfriend, or a wife.

  “That said, I do want an heir. I’m building this empire up, making sure it’s the best it can be, but what will happen when I’m gone? What’s the point of all the work I’ve done if I have to sell it to some stranger at the end of the day? I want it to go to someone that has my blood running through their veins.”

  I stare at him, confused. What on earth is he talking about?

  “I’m not sure I follow,” I say finally, thinking it’s the safest answer.

  He nods, and a smile touches the corner of his mouth. “I’m making a mess of this. It’s because I’m nervous.” The smile disappears and he reaches out to take my hand. “I want a baby, and for obvious reasons I need a woman to partner with me on this. I want a woman who is smart and clever and talented, and who will give my baby a real shot at being special.”

  Well. This is getting way too weird. But Reid isn’t finished yet.

  “I think you might be the right woman, Josephine,” he says bluntly. “And I think that if you agree, I can help you solve a lot of your problems. Agree to be a surrogate for me. Have my child, and I’ll pay you well for it. You want to leave, live a life full of art and sunshine, and this will give you that path. Please say you’ll do it.”

  I stare at him, blinking, and waiting for the world to start making sense again. Because this can’t be happening. This can’t be real life.

  “You’re going to pay me to have your baby?” I ask weakly. “How much, exactly, does that position offer?”

  He doesn’t even blink. “I’m thinking five hundred thousand, but I’m willing to negotiate.”

  The world implodes around me, and I stare at him, my voice lost somewhere in the explosions happening in the atmosphere of the reality I used to think I understood.

  Chapter 21

  Joey

  The flight back to New York is miserable, though I do my best to ignore the fact that I’m once again trapped on a private jet, alone with Reid Billington—who has now propositioned me as the surrogate mother of the baby he’s decided he wants to have.

  Honestly, I still haven’t been able to wrap my head around it. The idea is just so preposterous that it doesn’t even seem like it could be real.

  I went out of my way to avoid Reid after I left dinner last night, turning off my phone completely to keep from receiving the notifications of his texts. I don’t know if he felt bad or embarrassed or excited about what he’d proposed, but he started texting me as soon as I got back to my room, and it was a relief to finally just turn the phone off.

  This morning, I had breakfast on my own and got a cab to the airport while Reid was still in his breakfast meeting with the San Francisco distributor. Now, I’m sitting at the back of the plane’s cabin, as far from the video games and beanbag chairs as I can get, and burying myself in work.

  At least that’s what I’m pretending to do. Really, I’m making a list of pros and cons. Because the deal he just offered might seem like something out of a fairy tale—those really horrible ones where everything is dark and creepy and the witch just might eat your children—but it’s still going to require an answer at some point.

  Which means I have to figure out what the hell my answer is going to be.

  I glance at the list in front of me, the columns laid out neatly, one headed PRO the other headed CON. So far, those are the only words on the screen.

  I glance up at Reid, who is just as studiously ignoring me, his butt planted in a beanbag chair, his nose buried in his paper. I can still see his profile, the sharp, clean jaw, the straight nose, the shadow over his cheek that means he probably didn’t bother to shave this morning. The hollows under his eyes that mean he probably didn’t sleep any better than me last night.

  My gaze goes to his full lips and I breathe out, remembering how those lips felt on my own. Remembering how they felt when they grazed down my neck, over my collarbone, and over my breast, to take one nipple between them…

  Bad Joey! I mentally shout at myself. That part of our relationship is over! That’s probably what got me into this situation in the first place!

  And what a situation it is. Asked to be a surrogate. But not even that. Asked to donate a child that would be half mine to his little social experiment. It’s ludicrous! Crazy! I’ve toyed with the idea of having kids all my life, though I’ve never made any serious plans, and now I’m being asked to give one up, never to see it again. Yes, Reid made that part clear, too.

  “I’ll have sole rights to the child,” he told me last night. “It will be mine, and I will raise it—with the help of nannies, of course. You can rest assured that your child will be given everything he or she desires, no need going unmet. They will be comfortable and well taken care of. And in return, you will be safe.”

  Safe. That’s the other side of the coin. A price of $500,000, and that’s negotiable. My mind almost can’t understand that amount of money, but my heart understands exactly what it means. I would be able to pay off my student loans and live for years on that money. I would be able to move, perhaps get a job in a bookstore somewhere and spend my free time painting. Get out of the city, and away from the apartment where I’m not allowed to paint. Get away
from the rat race.

  Live the life I’ve always wanted.

  I just have to sell my own kid to do it. And forget that I ever had any feelings for the man sitting on the other side of the plane from me. Because if I sign that contract, I’ll never be able to see him again.

  Chapter 22

  Reid

  I stare at the paper in front of me, trying hard to look like I’m actually reading it, while all my senses reach out to her, trying to figure out what she’s doing. What she has on that laptop that’s so engrossing. And why she chose to sit so far away from me.

  Not that I can pretend I don’t know. Of course I know. And it’s completely my fault. All of it.

  I woke up alone in her bed yesterday and immediately started second-guessing my actions. She’d snuck out of the room—her own hotel room!—without waking me, and then had reception call and wake me up instead. She was distant right from our first contact that day, and though the smarter half of my brain knew that she was probably reacting to my own coldness, the softer, squishier part was heartbroken.

  We’d just spent the most amazing night together. We’d touched each other in ways we could never take back, made love in the moonlight, again and again, and melted into sleep, holding each other. It wasn’t a night I would have thrown away, not for the world. It was something I wanted to hold on to, cherish, talk about again and again and again.

  Even now, I want to get my hands on her again. I want to feel the way the chills run over her skin when I breathe down her neck. Want to feel her firm lips pressed into mine, her hips rocking against me, that shocking, warm heat when I bury myself in her. I want to look into her eyes as I move inside her, seeing her get closer and closer to the edge, and then send her flying over it. I want to do it every night, and every morning, and every afternoon.