Boss Daddy: A Secret Baby Romance

by Black, Natasha L.

  “Well, don’t let it get to you too much. Nothing is set in stone. It’s just an idea. We’re trying to figure out all the details and the logistics. It’s just something to contemplate.”

  I nodded and got up to go back out to the bar and start working. It might have just been an idea, but the thought was stuck with me now.

  6

  Hannah

  I had just finished up washing the dishes from lunch when my phone alerted where I had it sitting on the counter away from the potential disaster of the sink. Wiping my hands on a dish towel, I picked up the phone to check what it was. My first thought was that it might be Ava from the bar sending me a message asking if I could come into work early. Instead, it was an email notification. I knew what it was before I even opened it. My parents had made a deposit into my bank account.

  Samantha had asked me why I didn’t just close that account and open a new one if I didn’t want my parents’ money. But I didn’t want to go through the hassle of reassigning all my automatic payments and getting all new cards. Plus, if my parents were insistent on sending the money, I would at least put it to good use by way of charitable donations.

  Letting out a sigh, I went into the living room and dropped down onto the couch. My laptop was sitting on the coffee table, and I opened it so I could go through my usual habit after getting such a deposit. The website I had bookmarked let me scroll through a wide variety of different causes and campaigns so I could choose something meaningful and worthwhile to donate the money to.

  I had just settled on the first of a couple of different causes I was going to donate to when my phone rang. Glancing over, I saw Samantha’s name on the screen.

  “Hey, Samantha,” I said as I answered.

  Pinning the phone between my shoulder and my ear, I continued the process of making the first donation.

  “Hey,” she said. “What are you up to?”

  “My parents sent another one of their deposits into my bank, so I’m finding places to donate the money.”

  “Hannah, you’ve got to be kidding me. That is so ridiculous. You’ve got to stop.”

  I was used to that reaction from my best friend. It was how she always reacted when she found out I was just giving away all the money my parents sent to me rather than keeping it for myself. According to her, I should just enjoy it and maybe even have a little bit of fun knowing that they were still sending me money even when I had no intention of doing what they wanted me to do.

  But that wasn’t something I could bring myself to do.

  “Too late. I’ve already chosen the first of the recipients for the day, and the process has begun,” I said.

  “So, you haven’t given it all the way yet? You can stop now. Keep some of it for yourself. That way you can feel good and have money to use.”

  “I totally hear your suggestion, but I’m going to have to pass. I don’t want any reason for them to think I need them or their money to get by. They love thinking I can’t possibly survive without them, or that I’m going to crash and burn. I have no intention of failing, and I don’t want them to think for a second they made any contribution to me making it on my own,” I said.

  “And you’re sure you don’t need it? That you’re doing alright on your own?” Samantha asked.

  “I don’t have the lifestyle I used to. I’m not going to pretend that. But I make really good tips at the bar, and I can afford to live without their money. I don’t need to have that life anymore,” I said. “I’m comfortable how I am now.”

  Samantha let out a heavy sigh, and I could almost see her nodding. “I sometimes wish I could be free of that life, too.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  I was a little shocked. I knew Samantha longed for a more carefree life sometimes, and that she felt like she might have missed out a bit by jumping right into marriage and motherhood rather than spending some time by herself when she was younger. But I also knew she enjoyed the money and the luxury that life afforded her. It was surprising to hear her sounding so wistful about not having it.

  “Yeah. I’m tired of all the stuffy parties I have to attend all the time. I’m tired of having to limit myself to one glass of wine at those parties because my husband doesn’t want me to get out of control,” she said.

  “Well, maybe he has a point there, Samantha. You know how you can be,” I said with a hint of a laugh.

  “Sure I do,” she said. “And I don’t have any intention of getting like that in front of his work people or the society crowd. But I’d like the opportunity to, you know? I’d like to feel that sense of freedom like if I wanted to drink myself silly and do a dance on the copy machine, I could.”

  “Do copy machines still exist?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I mean… I think they do.” We both fell silent as we contemplated the potential extinction of office equipment. Suddenly, she snapped out of it. “Anyway, I just sometimes feel like I’m being slowly crushed. Like those parties and the people and the rules and everything are coming at me from all the different angles and just gradually smooshing me into something totally unrecognizable.”

  “Are you thinking about leaving him?” I asked.

  She let out another sigh.

  “I can’t. I love my children. And I really love my husband, too. I genuinely do. And the kids need their daddy. We need to be together as a family. It’s just a lot sometimes,” Samantha said.

  I pulled up the next individual campaign I decided to donate to and started inputting my payment information.

  Shaking my head, I switched ears to take some of the strain off that side of my neck. “I can’t even imagine being married with two children. Of course, I spent a lot of the last five years dating a guy I hated, so that might be coloring that conviction a bit.”

  Samantha let out a dry puff of laughter. “Maybe. Speaking of which, though. I ran into Ethan the other day.”

  “You did?” I asked.

  Just the thought of him getting anywhere near my best friend made my muscles tighten and my skin crawl. As much as I would like to think Ethan as a human being had some kind of control over himself and wouldn’t do anything horrible just to get my attention, that was just my wishful thoughts at play. In reality, I knew he wasn’t above going through someone else to get to me, and I worried that was exactly what he was preparing to do.

  “Yeah,” Samantha said. “It was actually pretty awkward because we were both standing in line at Starbucks and noticed each other. We couldn’t just pretend we didn’t recognize each other, so we talked a little. He didn’t waste any time at all. He immediately asked if I knew where you went and if I knew when you were going to be coming back.”

  “What did you tell him?” I asked, nervous about what that might mean.

  “I told him I hadn’t talked to you,” she said. “I said you dropped everyone back home and went off the grid.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling relieved. “I shouldn’t be encouraging you to lie, but that makes feel much better.”

  “I’m just so glad you got away from that guy. I couldn’t stand him from the very beginning,” she said.

  “I know you couldn’t,” I said. “You made it pretty obvious. I just didn’t see the same thing you did.”

  “And now?”

  “And now I’m really happy I got away from him, too,” I admitted.

  That evening I went to the bar and was glad to see Jordan was working the shift with me. I smiled at him as I walked through the back door. He smiled back, and my heart fluttered in my chest.

  “How are you doing today?” he asked when I got closer.

  “Doing pretty good. How about you?” I asked as I tied my apron into place.

  “Can’t complain.”

  We spent the rest of the night flirting, our banter sometimes leaving me breathless. It had been a long time since I enjoyed talking to somebody as much as I enjoyed talking to Jordan, or since someone had been able to keep up with me and even best me the way he did
. By the middle of the shift, I wasn’t even thinking about the deposit anymore. I was just thinking about this life I was building and how my conversation with Samantha only made me happier and more grateful for what I had.

  7

  Jordan

  It was almost time to head in to work, but Matt and I had already made plans to grab food somewhere else before the shift. That meant driving to whatever godforsaken place he picked this time. Between the avocado-based sandwiches and kale ice creams, I wasn’t entirely sure I could take much more of Matt’s food adventures, but I was lucky enough to have been born with an iron stomach. As I drove up to the address Matt had texted me, I was relieved to see it was just a sandwich shop. A hipster sandwich shop, but a sandwich shop that had a big picture of bacon on the front window.

  At least it wasn’t vegan.

  I parked and got out, making sure at least three times that I hadn’t left the phone or keys inside the car before locking and shutting it. I was finding myself doing that more and more these days, and I wondered if that was because I’d taken too many shots to the head as a kid or if it was just getting old. Older. Not old yet.

  Satisfied that I had everything, I shut the door and went inside, finding Matt already at a table. He looked down at his watch and then to me as if to indicate that I was running well behind schedule, even though I knew I was ten minutes early. I raised my eyebrows and shrugged anyway. He looked upset, and there was no reason to agitate him and make him mad at me. I had a feeling I knew what was bugging him, and it wasn’t my imaginary tardiness.

  “’Bout time,” he said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “You order yet?”

  “Was just about to. They have amazing sweet potato fries here,” he said.

  “The buffalo chicken and bacon sandwich looks pretty g—” I began.

  “Can you believe it,” Matt said, cutting me off, “like our lives don’t even matter?”

  “Oh,” I said. “So, you’re upset about the suggestion?”

  “It didn’t bug you?” I shrugged but my expression gave away a bit more than I intended. “So it did, then.”

  “I guess, a little, if I’m being honest,” I admitted.

  “See? I’m not crazy, then,” he said as the waitress came up. His ranting paused for a few moments while we made our orders, but as soon as she walked away, he was leaning across the table again, overdramatic fury in his voice. “It’s absolutely ridiculous that he thinks he can just tell us we have to pack up and move.”

  “Well, he didn’t,” I said. “It’s all just talk right now. Besides, I get it.”

  “What?” Matt asked, his jaw dropping as if I were siding with the literal devil.

  “We don’t have families, Matt,” I said diplomatically. “If we moved to Portland, it would just be the two of us. We could even go in on a place together and save some cash. For us it would be an adventure and a chance to get out in a new town, meet some new people. For them, it would be a whole rigmarole.”

  “A what?”

  “A hassle. A bother. A damn inconvenience. They have kids now, Matt. We don’t. We could make something out of that place, you and me, and maybe find people to settle down with ourselves in a city where we don’t know every damn body.”

  “I cannot believe I’m hearing this from you,” he said, taking a big gulp of his ice water and looking away while shaking his head. “Judas. I’m sitting with Judas.”

  “Come on,” I said. “You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing anyway. It’s all just talk so far.”

  The food came, and our conversation paused again. Matt seemed to calm a bit in the silence, and when the waitress walked away, we dug into our food without speaking for a few moments.

  “Talk or not, it’s just rude,” he said finally.

  “Matt, are you ready to go find somebody and settle down right now?” I asked pointedly. He cocked an eyebrow at me and then laughed mirthlessly.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think that kind of life is for me. Could you imagine me being a dad?” Matt shuddered in his seat, and I laughed.

  “I don’t think you’d be too bad at it,” I admitted. “Just try to remember not to shake the baby.”

  “I don’t think so,” Matt said. “I’m not ready for all that insanity. I can’t even stick with one person too long before I get ants in my pants, you know?”

  “What about that girl from a few weeks ago?” I asked. “The local girl?”

  “Her?” he asked, waving me away as he took a bite of his sandwich. “Soon as it started getting serious, I bailed. She was doing all that clingy shit like making my bed and suggesting we stay in and have dinner ‘at home.’”

  “You mean, she was being a normal human being who was trying to take care of someone she liked?” I asked. “The gall of her.”

  Matt snickered. “Shut up,” he said.

  I’d seen him with the girl several times. Each time I did, he looked like he was head over heels for her, a little lovesick puppy. Then she up and disappeared, and Matt had been surly ever since. Not that I was going to say any of that out loud, at least anywhere he could hear me. But Matt was a whole lot closer to a domesticated man than he thought he was, and probably a whole lot closer than me. At least he had someone to pine over that might actually turn into something.

  We finished our lunches and sat there for a few minutes talking about sports before noticing the time. If we got a move on, we could get there a little early, which would make our day easier. That night was a college-heavy night, which meant the more we had everything in place, the less insane things could get. College kids could be rowdy, but they could also be the biggest spenders. To be young, dumb, and full of expendable cash again, I supposed.

  Matt left first while I settled the bill. I figured he needed a little pick-me-up and told him he could get our drinks the first night in Portland if we ended up there. He snickered, but it worked. A lunch tab at a sandwich shop was a small price to pay to quell some of his bitching. He was a good kid and a damn fine brother, but the difference in age and experience meant sometimes I had a little less tolerance for his dramatics. Not that I had a whole lot of tolerance for anyone’s dramatics, but Matt was around me more often.

  By the time I got to work, Matt was already halfway through condiment prep and Mason and Tyler had the rest of the place ready to rock. I grinned, thinking it would be nice to get through a shift where all I had to do was keep the trains running on time and kindly quiet any rebellion among the peanut gallery. It wasn’t a job I did proper, but keeping the peace had kind of fallen on my shoulders on nights I was there. We employed bouncers on occasion for the big theme nights, but on a regular weekend, either Mason or I was on the floor, making sure things were going smoothly if we weren’t otherwise occupied behind the bar.

  The night started off pretty low-key. Mason handled the bar without needing much backup, despite the increasing flow of what looked like overgrown children filing into the bar. It was weird that I saw them that way, I knew, but anyone younger than twenty-five was completely indiscernible to me from a teenager. They all could be college seniors or high school sophomores, and I wouldn’t know the difference without seeing some ID.

  Then, like clockwork around midnight, two guys started having slurred words and their friends began to take sides. Words were said about girlfriends and mothers and a mixture of the two, and tables got moved unceremoniously. At that point, someone had to step in before the bloodshed, and I made eye contact with Mason and Tyler, who were both busy at that moment. I nodded and walked toward the group.

  “Break it up,” I said in my best authoritative voice. It seemed to work a bit as most of the crowd around them scattered, but the two would-be fighters were still staring at each other.

  “Fuck off, old man,” one of them said, and I smirked. Old man.

  “Shut your face, child,” I said. It was enough to get him to turn and look at me. His legs seemed to have trouble with the new distribution of we
ight, and he stumbled before righting the ship and leaning dangerously close to me for someone who was looking as aggressive as he was. He had one finger out, theoretically to waggle. Also, theoretically as a target for me to break.

  “I’m no child,” he said.

  “You’re drunk is what you are,” I said. “Which means you are done at my bar, getting into a car that someone else is driving, and going somewhere to sleep it off.”

  “Give me three seconds and one good punch and I can make him sleep it off right here,” the other one said. The chorus of juvenile “ooohs” accompanied as the kid I was talking to turned back to face him.

  “I’ll beat you the shit,” he said, causing a moment of confusion among the entire group.

  “Come on, then,” the other one said, taking a boxer’s stance.

  “I said out, both of you,” I said, pushing the kid on the shoulder. He seemed to go rather willingly, and both of them shuffled to the door.

  “I’ll whip your ass, too, Old Man,” said the one who had not yet insulted me.

  “Hard to whip my ass when you’re unconscious, you little prick. Now move,” I said, pushing him lightly on the back. He sprawled himself out on the concrete a moment later, unable to get his feet under him to move fast enough to catch up with the reality of gravity. Rolling over to his back, he flipped me the bird, and I shook my head. One of their friends came up and assured me they were getting rides—separate rides—and going home.

  When they were all gone and out of the parking lot, I walked back inside. Mason and Tyler were behind the bar, and I walked up to it without saying anything about it. Tyler clapped me on the back, laughing.

  “Son of a bitch,” he said. “Maybe we ought to just have you be the bouncer from now on.”

  “Ha,” I said without humor.