Cowboy Baby Daddy (A Secret Baby Romance Compilation)

by Claire Adams

  “Annabeth?” Mrs. Weinstock howls.

  Oh, great. Annabeth’s going to kill me for that one.

  “I can come back,” I tell her.

  “You’re all going to leave me!” Mrs. Weinstock cries, and with that, she’s overplayed her part.

  “Oh, will you stop it? You’re a grown woman. People get hired, people leave. That’s just the way it goes. You can’t guilt everyone into doing whatever you want them to do.”

  Her expression changes in an instant. “You don’t talk to me that way,” she barks. “I am your superior, and you will address me with proper decorum.”

  “You know what? I am so sick of all the crap you people pile on me every time I come into work. I’m just trying to do my job and do it well, but every single time one of you asks me to see you in your office, I want to throw up, and you, Mrs. Weinstock, you’re the worst one of all with your whole grandmother act. You know what you are?”

  “What am I?” she asks, and I think we’ve gotten a little off topic.

  I let my temper simmer for a beat.

  “You are someone who asked me into her office to tell me something, and I’ve got a feeling you haven’t told me half of it yet. If you bombed my chances with Claypool and Lee, fine, I’ll find something else, but I’d just like to know so I can stop putting your name on my resumé.”

  “For your information, I gave you a glowing review, and I called you in here to tell me that I was their last call. The job is yours if you want it, although I sure don’t envy them putting up with your behavior.”

  “Maybe if you—wait, what? I’m hired?”

  “The man told me to have you give him a call when you had a free moment and they’re going to work out a time to get you in for training.”

  “I’m hired?”

  She goes to respond, but the suddenness and volume of the “Woo!” that comes out of me overpowers anything she might be trying to say.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lightly Baked with Just a Dash of Salt

  Dane

  It only took an hour for Wilks to show his talent as the new executive chef of l’Iris. By the time dinner service started to slow down, there was really nothing left for me to do that couldn’t be done just as well by someone else, and I offered to give Wilks the kitchen.

  Apparently, his first name is Jared.

  I never really bothered to learn that kind of thing, but it’s his kitchen now.

  After the discussion with Wrigley and obligatory coital session that followed, I started to feel a little bit better. Still, it’s going to be a little weird going home tonight.

  Maybe Leila’s out with her new boyfriend. Before I’m even to the door of the apartment, though, I can hear her inside singing along to some pop song.

  I can’t just hide from her forever, so I unlock and open the door. Once it’s closed, I decide that maybe I can just hide from her forever, and I make it to my room without alerting her to my presence.

  My phone’s in my hand a few seconds later.

  “Hello?”

  “Wrigley, I don’t know what I’m doing here. This whole thing is so uncomfortable. I don’t think I can go through with it.”

  “You’ve got to talk to her, Dane,” my new girlfriend says. “I’m not opening up the candy store until you’ve figured out what this is between the two of you.”

  That was the agreement before I left for work this morning, but it’s making less and less sense with every passing moment.

  “She’s with someone,” I say.

  “Right now? The guy’s there?”

  “No,” I answer. “I don’t know. I didn’t see him when I came in.”

  “Wait, you’re not hiding in your room like a little bitch, are you?”

  “She’s out there doing jazzercise and singing along with shit off the radio.”

  It’s a while before Wrigley’s done laughing.

  “She’s in a good mood,” she says finally. “Now is as good a time as any.”

  “Why am I doing this again?”

  “Because,” she answers, “I don’t want to start an exclusive relationship with someone whose heart isn’t into it. This is strange enough for me, I’m not about to jump in further if there’s nothing but undertow.”

  “But—”

  “I know it’s probably nothing,” she says, “but on the off chance that it’s something, you need to talk to her and see where you stand.”

  “Can we be in a relationship, but you go back to being callous and sex-crazed?” I ask.

  It’s too much to hope. She just laughs and hangs up.

  Wrigley was right about one thing, though. Sneaking into my bedroom, closing the door, and calling wasn’t really the strongest move I could have made.

  There’s nothing left for me to do but go out there and see what I feel when I do.

  I open the door and about startle the shit out of Leila.

  She turns off the radio, shouting, “Jesus, Dane, when did you get home?”

  “Just a few minutes ago,” I start. “There’s something I need to talk to you about—”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” she starts, a look of excitement on her face.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I got the job!” she exclaims, turning the radio back on.

  “That’s great!” I say with a smile. “What job?”

  “That’s right, I didn’t tell you,” she says. “I’ve been putting out my resumé for a while now, but I hadn’t heard anything back. Today, I got the call, well one of my bosses got the call, but that doesn’t matter. I got hired on full-time at Claypool and Lee! I start in a couple of weeks!”

  “Claypool and Lee?” I ask.

  She flips the radio off again.

  “Oh, right,” she says. “I probably should have run this by you.”

  “What?”

  “The job’s in Jersey,” she says. “I’ve got to start looking for places.”

  “New Jersey,” I say. “Wow. So, what happens—”

  “I’m not just going to kick you out,” she says. “I’ll talk to Traven and see if we can get you put on the lease as the primary. I know the place is kind of pricey, but I’m sure you could find a roommate.”

  That’s not what’s making me feel like I’ve been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat.

  Wrigley was right. There’s no doubt about it.

  I’ve got a thing for my roommate and it’s a big one. I’m not even making a penis joke there, that’s how serious this is.

  “Check this out,” she says. “I’m going to be working with some of the best financial minds in the country, and after five years, they’re going to give me my own team. They’re putting me on track to be a partner someday, you know, if I don’t screw it up in the meantime.”

  “Oh, you won’t screw it up,” I tell her. “You’re going to do great.”

  “Thanks,” she says. “I don’t mean to just bail on you, but this is really the opportunity of a lifetime for me.”

  “I’m happy for you,” I tell her. “Really, I am.”

  “Then why do you look like you just got hit in the stomach with a tire iron?”

  I almost correct her, as the visual in my head was very clearly a baseball bat with a bunch of nails driven through the end, but the amount of explanation involved there is just too much.

  “Well, I guess that just about does it,” I tell her.

  “No, seriously,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing,” I say, but even I’m not convinced.

  “Oh,” she says. “I know what it is. This is about last night.”

  “Well…”

  “May I ask why it bothered you that I was kissing Mike?”

  “Mike?” I ask. “Isn’t he your friend from town?”

  “Yeah,” Leila answers. “He was just having one of his moments and badgered me into letting him know if he was a good kisser or not. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “What do you
mean?” I ask.

  “Oh, nothing,” she says. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “What was your question?”

  “Why does it bother you that I was kissing Mike?” she repeats.

  “Why would it bother me?”

  “That’s what I’m asking.”

  I sigh.

  Am I really going to do this? Wrigley is a perfectly wonderful woman: totally out of her mind, but still, very much my type. Am I really willing to risk that for someone I hardly know?

  Of course, I hardly know Wrigley, but that’s neither here nor there.

  “I just didn’t know you were home,” I answer. “When I came in, I realized that I was probably intruding on something, but my phone rang before I could get out of here.”

  “Oh,” she says. “So it didn’t bother you that I was kissing someone else?”

  “Why would it?” I ask.

  This is painful.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “We almost, you and I, you know…”

  She trails off; her newfound discomfiture is hardly helping things.

  “What?”

  “Okay, I didn’t black out that night,” she says. “After your friend came out of your room wearing—or not wearing…whatever—I kind of wished that I had, but—is this too weird?”

  She’s talking really fast, and it’s a few seconds before I realize she’s just asked me a question.

  “Is what too weird?”

  “Talking about this,” she says. “I know you and that Wrigley chick have a thing and all that. I just don’t want to make things uncomfortable between us for the next couple weeks.”

  That’s actually a pretty solid idea. She’ll move, and I’m sure I’ll be over her in no time.

  “I think I’m in love with you,” I blurt out.

  That was stupid.

  The remote falls from her hand and it looks like her jaw is trying to follow it.

  “You’re what?” she asks.

  “You know what? Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything. You got some big news today, and I think that’s what we should be talking about.”

  “You’re in love with me?” she asks.

  “Well, I…”

  I stammer a bit, but I have no words to follow the string of unintelligible noises.

  “When did this happen?” she asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Look, can we just forget that I said anything?”

  “I just got a new job, and I’m going to be moving,” she says, putting her hands to her temples.

  “Yeah, let’s just forget I said anything. I’m thrilled to hear about your—”

  “Are you sure it’s not just a proximity thing?” she asks. “I know sometimes people—”

  “Oh, let’s just drop it.”

  She peers at me, and I can’t bring myself to return the gaze.

  “You are—seriously, why didn’t you say something before? You know, maybe while I was drunk and throwing myself at you?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Wait,” she says, “that’s right. There was a naked woman in your room at the time.”

  She starts laughing, and I want to kill myself.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “This really isn’t funny.”

  She’s still laughing.

  “Okay, well, I’m going to go now, but yeah, congratulations on the job.”

  “Dane, I’m so sorry for laughing. It’s a nervous thing. I’m really not trying to laugh at you.”

  “Really, it’s fine,” I tell her, and turn to go back to my room.

  “I wish you had told me,” she says.

  I stop.

  “I have feelings for you, too, you know?”

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  I’m no good at this whole vulnerable thing.

  “Yeah,” she says. “After that night, I realized that I’ve been really attracted to you for a while. I’m pretty sure that’s why I hated you for so long.”

  “So you hated me because you like me?”

  “I’m a girl,” she says. “That’s kind of how we roll. You guys do it, too, you know. That whole pushing girls down in the sandbox cliché; that’s the same thing.”

  “Yeah, well, good talk.”

  “I really wish you said something.”

  She’s still talking.

  Why are we dragging this out?

  “I wish I said something, but I’ve got this new job and I don’t see any way this is going to work, Dane. I wish we just—”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “You don’t owe me anything. I should have said something sooner and I didn’t. That’s the way it goes sometimes.”

  I turn the knob on my door.

  “Are you going to be all right?”

  That has just become my least favorite question ever.

  “Yeah,” I answer. “I’ll be fine. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  I’m half-expecting her to say something else, but she’s silent. So I push my door open and can’t get it closed behind me fast enough.

  Well, at least I have something to tell Wrigley, although I can’t imagine this is going to be the best first day of a relationship she’s ever had.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Coming Down

  Leila

  Mrs. Weinstock didn’t fire me after everything that happened yesterday, so I guess I’m here until I give them some kind of notice. That’s not really what’s on my mind, though.

  Work is a blurry mass of emotion, none of which stays in one place long enough to really sink in. I wanted to tell Dane that I felt the same way about him, and I guess I kind of did, but that doesn’t change anything.

  On the bright side, I’m so distracted that I barely notice it when Kidman asks me if I’d like to grease up his paper tray, and before I know it, I’m done for the day.

  I don’t want to go home, but I can’t stay here. Knowing Dane, little though I do, I can only imagine that if he is home, he’s probably got company.

  I’m just going to have to get over that, though.

  I would call Mike, but I can see that only making things even less comfortable with Dane.

  Why would he wait until the last possible minute to tell me that he has feelings for me?

  By the time I get home, I’m too emotionally drained to worry about whether Dane’s in there or not.

  I get into the apartment, and if he’s home, he’s in his room.

  That’s fine by me.

  Drained though I am, there’s no doubt that seeing him right now would be enough to send me off some kind of edge.

  I can’t think about that right now, though. I only have a couple of weeks before I start at my new job, and I need to find somewhere to live.

  If worse comes to worse, I can commute for a while, but that’s going to be a long drive. Like most people in Manhattan, I don’t have my own car, so I’d have to rent one; it’ll be so much easier if I can find somewhere before then.

  I pull out my phone. If there’s one thing Mike knows, it’s how to annoy the crap out of me. If there are two things he knows, they’re how to annoy the crap out of me and how to find a killer deal on an apartment.

  “Hello?”

  “I got the job.”

  I go on to tell him the finer details, and before I can even ask, he’s already installed himself as head of the apartment-finding committee.

  Now Mike: Mike has a car. It’s a beat down hunk of junk, but it runs. Tomorrow is Saturday, so the planning section of the conversation goes by quickly enough.

  It’s when he asks what I’m going to do about Dane that things start to unravel, or rather, that I start to unravel.

  I make a quick excuse and hang up, but just hearing the name has me in a tailspin. I don’t know why I’m crying so hard.

  * * *

  It’s 6 in the morning when my phone rings.

  I let it go to voicemail and have a brief, magnificent fantasy of falling back to sleep and not waking up again until I’m
no longer tired, but that dream is cut short as the phone rings again.

  “What?” I answer.

  “Rise and shine,” Mike says. “It’s time to find you an apartment. I’m downstairs and ready to go.”

  “It’s too early,” I tell him, but I know it’s not going to make any difference.

  “I brought coffee and donuts,” he says. “If you’re really nice to me, I might even let you have some, now get your ass outta bed and let’s get going.”

  I go on to make a very compelling argument about how nobody’s going to show us apartments this early in the morning, but he’s already hung up.

  Grumbling, I get out of bed.

  Mike didn’t leave me time to take a shower, so I put on some deodorant and hope I don’t feel too disgusting by the time the day’s out. I don’t really like my chances.

  When Mike said he was here, he meant parked in the garage down the block. It’s a bit early, but there are already people on the sidewalks, nearly all of them talking on phones. I can’t help but wonder how many of them are actually talking to someone and how many are just talking into the air, trying to appear like they’re a lot more important than they actually are.

  I might be a little cranky.

  I’m not even to the parking garage when I hear Mike’s voice echoing through the structure. He’s arguing with someone about whether parking on the line is “in” or not, and from the sound of it, it doesn’t seem like he’s winning.

  I follow the ruckus and eventually find Mike standing at the back of his car, up in the face of the parking attendant, and the problem is easy enough to spot.

  Mike didn’t pull into a space and take a little more than his share of the spot; he’s parked behind two cars, blocking them in. He’s trying to advance the argument that because one of his tires is on one of the yellow lines, he’s technically not parked illegally.

  “Lei, you’re here,” he calls over the attendant’s shoulder. “Let’s get the fuck out!”

  I hurry to the car and get in. The parking attendant is still shouting profanity at Mike through the window, but as soon as Mike starts the car, the man backs off.

  “Yeah, I didn’t know how long I was going to hold him there with that bullshit,” Mike laughs. “Your coffee’s in the cup holder on the right. You drink it black, don’t you?”