How to Have Your Boss' Baby

by Layla Valentine

  I am deeply, deeply infatuated with the woman—and I would tell her as much, if believed she felt the same. But Josephine left me in bed by myself. As if she was embarrassed at what we’d done. And that alone is enough to tell me how she felt about the night.

  So I buried my feelings and moved on to something I hadn’t thought about until that moment. The plan has always been there, somewhere in the back of my brain. But I never thought I would find a woman I wanted to share it with.

  A partner in crime.

  Josephine is the right woman. No, it isn’t the way I wanted to do it with her, and I made a mess out of the proposition. But that doesn’t change the perfection of the deal. It will give me the heir I know I want, and take care of her in a way that she wouldn’t be able to do on her own. It will keep her safe, give her the life that she desires.

  Yes, I could have just offered her the money to live that life. I could have told her that I want to take care of her, see her safe, see her as relaxed and happy as she had been after three glasses of wine. But I know her well enough now to know she never would have accepted that. It would have looked like I was pitying her, or trying to buy her silence.

  This way, at least there’s some sort of fair trade.

  Even if it leaves me feeling as if my insides have been ripped out and thrown to the sidewalk in the process.

  Chapter 23

  Joey

  The first thing I do when I get home is call Lana. I need advice, and I need it badly. I need a shot of her ice water for my veins.

  In fact, if she can manage it, I want an IV of it, one I can tote around the city with me while I try to make up my mind about the deal Reid has proposed.

  Once I get Lana on the phone, I take a grand total of about five minutes to tell her the entire sorry story of everything that happened in San Francisco—and the offer that came out of it.

  “You slept with Reid Billington?” she gasps, predictably going to the juiciest part of the entire thing.

  “Lana, that’s not the point,” I huff. “Did you even hear the part about the contract he’s offered me?”

  “Oh, I heard it all right, but I want to know the details first. How did that happen? What was he like? Is it true what they say about a rich guy’s money hiding certain… shortcomings?”

  I frown. “Is that really a thing or is it something you just made up?”

  “Well it could be a thing,” she retorts. “And maybe it is. I’ve never slept with a billionaire. I’m depending on you to mold my thoughts on the subject.”

  I snort. “It was…” And there I stop. Which version to tell her? The part about how it was bone-meltingly wonderful? The talent he has in those fingers of his, the exquisite sensitivity of his lips, the way he used his body to drive me over the edge again and again and again?

  Or the part where he treated me like leftover spaghetti the day after, but managed to find me impressive enough to want me to have his kid?

  In the end, I give her both versions.

  “It was amazing,” I say honestly. “Whatever you’ve heard about rich guys, it must not have been true. He was brilliant in bed, sensitive and romantic and then some. I actually, for a moment, thought that I…” I stop myself, unwilling to get into that. “But then he treated me like warmed-over death the next day. Good enough to play incubator for his kid, but nothing else.”

  I hear the hurt in my voice. I hear the heartbreak. And I don’t try to keep it from her. I want someone to know how much that man has hurt me, even if it’s just my snarky best friend who can’t do a damn thing about it.

  “Oh my God,” she breathes out. “Joey, are you… Were you falling in love with him?”

  “What?” I snap. “No! Why would you even think that?”

  “Because your heart is bleeding all over the place, and it’s bloody enough that it’s coming through the phone. I can hear it in your voice. And there’s an awful lot that you aren’t saying. I’ve known you for ten years, Joey. You’re an idiot if you think you can hide it from me.”

  I seal my mouth and take a deep breath. She’s right about having known me for that long. She’s right about knowing me that well. But I’ll never admit that I was falling in love with him. That is a secret I’m going to keep until my dying day.

  “My emotions are no longer an issue,” I say instead.

  “He’s asked you to have his kid. If you don’t think your emotions are going to get caught up in that, you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

  I lift my chin. I’ve thought about that, yeah. But I also have an answer.

  “This is just business,” I say. “Just a contract. And I’d get an awfully good payment for what, having sex with him a few times, until I get pregnant? What’s the worst that can happen, I have to do it for three weeks instead of just two? Oh no, three weeks of mind-blowing sex, how will I survive?”

  Lana pauses for a long, heavy moment. “Okay,” she says finally, “I can see we’ve blown right by rational thinking here, so I’ll address the lunatic that’s evidently controlling your conscious thought.

  If that’s how you’re thinking about things, then I guess you’d better just do it. You’re a fool for second-guessing it. If you can really keep your emotions in check, really keep yourself from getting hurt, then what the hell are you waiting for? This could be everything you want: money, freedom from the office, safety. Just for the price of a few months of being pregnant. Do it. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Sign that damn contract pronto, before he changes his mind.”

  Well. I didn’t expect her to agree that quickly. But does that make her wrong?

  “And he’ll take care of the baby,” I add. “He’ll give it everything it wants and more. Any kid would be lucky to grow up in that world!”

  “Exactly right. That kid will have things we could only ever dream of. Lucky little bastard.”

  “And I can do this,” I continue, building myself up. “I can get over him. Get past this whole thing. Have the kid, hand it over, and then run away, live my life the way I want to live it. Hell, maybe I’ll even meet another man, start a family out in the country somewhere.”

  “Too right you will,” she says, and I can hear the smile coming through in her voice. “And Joey? If this breaks your heart—when it breaks your heart—you know I’ll be right here to help you pick up the pieces.”

  Chapter 24

  Joey

  The next day, I take the signed contract to Reid’s office the moment I get in. He had it messengered over to my apartment yesterday, and I signed it the moment I finished reading it through. Before I could reconsider. Before I could remember how much it hurt.

  Lana’s right. I’d be a fool if I didn’t. So what if I had feelings for the guy for about five full minutes—or hours—in San Francisco? So what if I looked at him and actually wondered what a life would be like with him?

  That doesn’t mean anything. He’s offering me the way out I’ve been searching for, and then some. Enough money to quit the corporate world. Enough money to get the hell out of this town and never look back. Enough money to spend the rest of my life painting and working wherever I want.

  Most importantly, he’s offering me safety. And with barely any strings attached.

  I just won’t let my emotions surface, I tell myself. I’ll put them under lock and key and never, ever let them see the light of day.

  Easy-peasy. No problem. It’ll be a cinch.

  I manage to get to Reid’s office before he even arrives, and lay the contract on his desk, giving it one last, long look before I spin around to try to get out of the room before he arrives. I don’t want some messy confrontation here, or an awkward meeting. Not with that contract lying there. We’re going to have enough of those coming up.

  They can wait. I need them to wait.

  But then I turn around and stare at the contract on the desk, my breath caught in my throat, my heart trying to climb right out of my mouth.

  First thing thi
s morning, before most offices were even open for the day, I took the contract to a lawyer friend who owns his own practice in Manhattan. I might have already signed it, but I wanted to be sure of what it said, and what the requirements were.

  “It’s pretty simple, Joey,” Kyle told me bluntly. “It says he’s going to give you money for the kid and you sign over all parental rights. You’ll probably never see the kid again, unless he wants you to, for some reason. Given what you guys are doing, I can’t imagine he’s going to show up on your doorstep one day, begging you to be a part of the kid’s life. That doesn’t look like what he’s doing here.”

  “What is he doing?” I asked.

  A shrug, some major side-eye—presumably full of judgement at the fact that I was even considering doing something like this—and then, “Looks to me like he’s doing exactly what he told you he was doing. He wants an heir. Maybe this is some long-lost wish for a family… sans that messy marriage part. Once the baby is born, he’s not going to ask anything of you. The amount is what you expect, and it’s going to come in a lump sum as soon as the baby is born. After that, you’re free to go.”

  Go. And never see my baby again.

  “Just a business decision, Joey,” I murmur to myself. “Don’t let it turn into anything else, and you’ll do fine.”

  Chapter 25

  Reid

  I come around the corner to find Josephine standing in my office, talking to herself. The first part is a big surprise. The second is something I’ve come to expect from her. I’ve certainly seen it often enough.

  But it doesn’t bring me the joy it once did. Not today.

  A quick glance at her eyes tells me that she’s looking at my desk, and I follow her line of sight to see the paper laid diagonally across the surface. I never would have left paper like that.

  So she’s brought the contract. I wonder if she’s come to throw it in my face... or if she’s signed it.

  I don’t know which I’m hoping for, if I’m being honest with myself.

  Shit. This isn’t going at all the way I hoped it would go. I had a mind-blowing night with the woman standing in front of me—the woman I’d been dreaming of for weeks—and then I turned around and effectively asked to buy her child. Even worse, I made the offer without any emotion, without even hinting at how much she means to me. And in doing so, I sentenced us both to a lifetime of never seeing each other again.

  What the hell was I thinking? How did I think this was a good idea?

  Yeah, we’re compatible in bed. Yeah, she has all the things that will make her an absolutely fantastic mother. But I’m not making her a mother. And I’m sentencing myself to a lifetime without those things—all in the name of a plan I came up with when I was about sixteen.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  At that moment, she turns around and sees me standing in the doorway watching her. Her eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in extreme dissatisfaction.

  “Do you ever consider that it’s impolite to stand there when people don’t know you’re there?” she asks sharply. “Ever think that it’s akin to spying on someone?”

  God, she’s beautiful when she’s angry. Breathtaking, with the fire shooting right out of her eyes, the color coming up on her cheeks. I’m willing to bet good money that even her hair was getting in on the action, getting bigger and curlier as I watched it.

  I take two steps into the room, my hands held up in conciliation.

  “I’m not here to argue,” I say calmly. “I’m sorry I caught you by surprise. But you are in my office. Rationally speaking, I have more right to be here than you.”

  That gets her to back off a little bit, though I can see that she’s still champing at the bit. She wants a fight.

  “So, the contract,” I say, hoping to cut off the fury I can see in her eyes.

  “Yeah, the contract,” she says, casting her gaze over her shoulder at the desk again. “I signed it. I’m off the birth control already. We’re ready. I guess we just need to make… arrangements?”

  A heavy question on that last word, and I can’t blame her. This is definitely going to be the tricky part.

  “We could do it by artificial insemination, if you like,” I say, giving her the answer I prepared last night. “It’ll be less invasive that way. Less emotional. I doubt it’ll be pleasant, but at least you won’t have to… won’t have to…” Sleep with me, I don’t say. Get close to me. Let me touch you.

  To my absolute surprise, she shakes her head. “Let someone shove a turkey baster up inside of me, are you kidding?” she asks. “Not in a million years.”

  That startles a laugh out of me, and she gives me a reluctant grin in return.

  And there’s the girl I’m falling for. Right there. I step forward two more steps, coming to a stop right in front of her.

  I have to clench my fists to keep from touching her. From brushing that stray curl off her cheek, or straightening the collar of her jacket, which has folded up, maybe out of the pure emotional torment she must be going through right now.

  Touching her isn’t going to do a lick of good right now, I tell myself firmly. Hands to yourself.

  With my luck, I’d get a slap to the face if I even tried. And I’d deserve it.

  “So then, natural… insemination?” I ask.

  She bites her lip as she looks up at me from under her lashes. “I don’t think that’s the scientific term for it, you know,” she says. “But doesn’t it seem, I mean…” She trails off, waving a hand weakly in front of her. “Doesn’t it seem like that would be the best? Like that would make the happiest baby, or something?”

  I consider this for a moment, and though it’s an absolutely insane version of logic, I finally nod. “It does make a certain sort of sense. So… a date to start, then? Let’s say something simple. Dinner?”

  Her relief is so strong that it comes rolling off her in waves. “Dinner,” she agrees with a nod. “Where? When?”

  And therein lies the real question, doesn’t it? Because my heart, my soul, and ninety-nine percent of my brain want to drag this on as long as possible. Want to take this contract as a chance to actually date her, actually spend time with her.

  But that stupid one percent of my mind that isn’t focusing on what my heart and my cock want is telling me that drawing it out will be a mistake. And that it might hurt both of us.

  “How about tonight?” I say. “No point in delaying the inevitable.”

  Her relief vanishes like the mist on the river on a summer day, once it gets hot. But she nods in agreement.

  “Let’s say eight,” I tell her. “Two Thoughts?”

  She frowns at that. “That’s one of the hardest restaurants in New York to get into.”

  “And I can do it,” I say firmly.

  “What do you have, standing reservations in case you need a last-minute date?” she asks, arching a brow, her face suddenly very serious.

  I take her hand. I can’t help it. I hate that she’s so angry with me—and I know that I’m the reason for it, and that I deserve it. It’s a terrible, ripping conflict inside me, and if I could take it all back, I would.

  But something tells me it’s far too late for that.

  “You’d be amazed at the things money can do for you in this city.”

  She seems to struggle with that, as if she’s trying to figure out whether she can take me seriously enough, and I see her make a Herculean effort to get back on her feet and smile brightly at me.

  “Right. I’ll see you at eight, then. Have a good day, Mr. Billington.”

  With nothing more left to say, she drops my hand and rushes past me like I’ve got the plague.

  Chapter 26

  Joey

  I walk into the restaurant after a day of doing everything in my power to avoid seeing Reid in the office. Nancy asked me to write something up about the press tour for the blog, so that kept me in my office for much of the morning, thank God, and since Reid and I have offices on opposite sides of the
floor, it isn’t actually out of the question for me to not be in his space.

  That didn’t mean I relaxed, though. At all. I spent the day peeking around corners before I walked into a room and looking over my shoulder like I was a criminal just waiting to be caught. Hell, I even thought I heard his voice at one point, when I was in the break room, and ran through the other door, ending up on the balcony, where I crouched down under the window just in case he walked into the room and happened to look out there.

  I’m sorry to say that I stayed out there for a full half hour before I decided it was probably safe to go back inside.

  In short, once I get to the restaurant, I’m exhausted and cranky. I want to go home, take a long, hot bath, and get my fingers on some paintbrushes. I want to take my emotions out on a canvas, throwing paint against the sheer white of an untouched surface, allowing my feelings to come to life through color.

  I want to be able to turn my brain off—and my heart, while I’m at it—and just be for a second.

  Instead, I’m here to have a date with fucking Reid Billington, so we can no doubt go have sex afterward, so I can play incubator. There are very few things I want to do less right now.

  It doesn’t help that I’m in one of the most gorgeous restaurants in New York—and one that’s been voted “most romantic” too many times to count. The truth is, I’ve always wanted to come to this place. I’ve read about it a bunch of times in the paper, and have had friends who’ve come here. I’ve just never had anyone to come here with.

  And now… I mean can you even say I’m coming here with someone? Sure, I’ll be here, and someone else will be here. But we’re just moving on parallel paths, existing in the same physical space at the same time. That does not a relationship make.