The Baby Bargain

by Layla Valentine

  The shoot consisted of Ashton talking to the camera about Swann Innovation’s new stroller, explaining its features, why it excelled compared to its competitors, and finally, turning to my son and asking him what he thought of it. At this point, Levi would reliably offer a peal of laughter or some equally charming noise. It was all the other observers on set could do to not emit a chorus of “aww” at the close of every shot.

  My baby was a star!

  Ashton asked Levi one more time, “What do you think of it?”

  Levi giggled, and his little hands grabbed for Ashton’s nose. Ashton allowed him to take the nose in his small fist, and grinned at my son.

  My heart was on the verge of melting when the director called, “Cut! That’s a wrap, everyone!”

  Merciful timing. Ashton’s fatherly demeanor was almost getting to be too much to handle.

  The crew dispersed to pack up their various portions of the set as Ashton made his way through the crowd and over to me, carrying Levi and grinning.

  “This kid is a natural!” he crowed.

  “You guys got on well,” I replied with a smile.

  “Well? Come on, those shots were phenomenal. I’ve never worked so wonderfully with a baby.”

  His last observation raised a red flag within my chest, reminding me that Ashton’s reputation was less than glowing. Sure, he’d succeeded with Levi today, but all those stories had to have come from somewhere. Was I only seeing the charismatic, business-savvy side of Ashton that knew how to win an audience?

  “Let me take you out to dinner,” he added, pulling me out of my thoughts. “To say thank you.”

  My last considerations—of Ashton’s widely-known reputation as a total jackass with a temper problem—raced through my mind. I hesitated a beat too long, and the conversation became steeped in awkwardness.

  “Um…” I began, then trailed off. By the look on his face, he’d already deduced the cause of my pause.

  “What have you heard about me?” he asked. “No, wait, let me guess. Bad boy with a big mouth, impossible to work with, a terror to his board of directors, an absolute maelstrom of anger and impatience. Is that about the long and short of it?”

  I swallowed. “Uh, you’re my boss, so I can’t really say—”

  “Say it.”

  I relented. If that’s what he wanted, that’s what he’d get.

  “Yes. That’s what I’ve heard.”

  “From who?”

  “From everyone.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I probably should have figured that.”

  Ashton jammed his hands in his pockets, and I could tell that he was trying to hide his disappointment. Who knew that the formidable Ashton Swann could be remorseful over his reputation? Or was I just reading on his face what I wanted to find there? Jeez, it was frustrating, trying to get a grip on who he really was.

  “Listen,” he continued. “You’re absolutely under no pressure to go to dinner with me. Obviously there won’t be any repercussions if you decline. I’d just like you to consider that maybe I’m more than the stories people tell about me.”

  His dark, deep-set eyes burned above his cheeks, and I wondered if perhaps people had mistaken his intimidating features for a mask of rage. I knew that I couldn’t reach a fair conclusion on Ashton without spending some time with him. And, after all, if Levi liked him, that wasn’t a bad sign.

  “Okay,” I said, the words surprising even me. “Dinner sounds good.”

  Ashton’s eyebrows shot up with incredulity. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, seriously.” I blushed, and added, “I’d like to meet the man behind the reputation.”

  A smile broke across Ashton’s face, like a sun dawning. “I think you’ll like him,” he said.

  Chapter 5

  Harley

  The work day—like seemingly all of my work days lately—passed in a blur. By the time we packed up and arrived home, my heart was pounding with anticipation for the dinner. I’d texted my parents shortly after the conversation with Ashton, asking them to take Levi for the night. They’d agreed, and said they’d pick him in time for me to get ready.

  Sure enough, at six on the dot, in the midst of me changing Levi’s diaper, my buzzer rang. The knock on the door came a full minute later, as my parents labored to get up all four flights of stairs.

  “Come in,” I called out. “Door’s open.”

  “Hi, sweetie,” my mom greeted as they entered. “Long time no see.”

  I hefted Levi into my arms, and walked to greet my parents. My mom and dad in turn gave me a kiss on the cheek, then a kiss atop Levi’s little head.

  “How have you guys been?” I asked, then, turning to my dad, “How’s the arm, Dad?”

  He grimaced, and replied, “You know. Screwed up.”

  “Too screwed up for you to hold your grandson?”

  “Never,” he grinned.

  “Good,” I returned, and passed Levi into his arms.

  Dad’s face contorted with pain, and I immediately took Levi back.

  “All right, Dad, take it easy. Mom, can you…?”

  “Yes, of course honey,” she said hastily. “Your father is over-extending himself, as per usual. As though that wasn’t how he got the stupid injury in the first place.”

  Dad rolled his eyes complacently. It was true; like father, like daughter. He always pushed himself past his breaking point, and generally ended up breaking something. His physical therapist would be getting invited to our Thanksgiving dinners soon enough.

  Meanwhile, Mom marveled at Levi. “He gets bigger every time I see him!”

  I nodded. “He’ll be taller than me any day now.”

  My dad, having recovered from the spasm in his arm, gazed down at my son. “My grandson’s going to be a strapping young lad.”

  I chuckled. Ever since my dad had become a grandfather, he’d taken to talking like an old man sitting on the porch of his country home, sipping sweet tea. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be purchasing suspenders and a straw hat.

  Dad grabbed Levi’s diaper bag with his good arm while Mom wrapped the carrier around her chest.

  “Okay, sweetie,” she said. “We’ll get out of your hair and let you get ready for this date.”

  “Uh, date? Who said anything about a date?”

  “You did. You texted that you were going to dinner with a man. Isn’t that a date?”

  I shook my head vehemently. “He’s my boss.”

  I didn’t think it was wise to mention that something in me ached for it to be a date; my parents had raised me to be at least a bit more professional than that.

  “Whatever you say, Harls,” my dad said. “We just want you to find a man that treats you right. Not like that asshole who shall not be named.”

  “Language,” my mom scolded, but without any real conviction; my parents hated Kyle even more than I did, which was a feat unto itself.

  “All right, well, have fun on your…work dinner,” Mom said.

  “What time should we bring him back?” Dad asked.

  My mom swiftly interrupted, saying, “How about we just keep him for the night?”

  “Um, that sounds…nice,” I replied, and quickly added, “Just so I can get a decent night’s sleep, you know?”

  They both nodded along with my crappy fib and said goodbye, instructing me to have a fun time at dinner and to try not to worry about Levi. With that, my parents strode out the door, and I was alone. Just me, and my thoughts.

  Okay, so a part of me—a large part of me—had kind of, sort of hoped that this dinner might turn into a date. But that was a fantasy. The reasonable side of my brain had assumed that this was just a thank-you dinner with my boss.

  Now that my parents had suggested it could be something more, I was on edge. Were they right? Ashton had seemed flirtatious, but also reserved. What if they were just projecting romantic intentions onto it because they were desperate for me to recover from the heartbreak of Kyle? My mind spun out as it ran compu
tations on the probability of each scenario.

  I looked down at my outfit; I hadn’t yet bothered to change after work today. Should I be wearing something else? It had been a long time since I’d fretted over my clothes, but this was the second time in a single day that I’d debated over what to don.

  Giving in to my lesser instincts, I jogged to my room and stripped down to my underwear. Oh, shoot, my underwear! What if Ashton ended up seeing me in it? I shook the thought out of my mind as a total impossibility, but nevertheless, decided to change into something a little…sexier.

  As I pulled my hottest lingerie set out of the drawer, I decided to tell myself that I was wriggling into the underwear to make myself feel more confident. Things maybe—no, definitely—wouldn’t come to Ashton seeing this lingerie.

  Regardless, I found myself sliding into a plum-colored, scalloped bra with a matching thong. I looked into the full-length mirror, and was pleased to find that in this get-up, I wasn’t fixated on my stretch marks or my squishy bits here and there. In fact, I looked pretty damn hot.

  See, the underwear was already instilling me with confidence! It totally didn’t matter if Ashton saw it or not! Realizing that I was beginning to buy into my own lie, I decided to completely indulge myself; Levi was with my parents for the night, and I was going to dinner with a billionaire. Might as well go whole hog on this one.

  With that in mind, I grabbed a slinky black dress from my closet, one with wide shoulder straps, a cinched waist, and a form-fitting skirt that made me look like a tanner Marilyn Monroe. My golden locks bounced against my breasts, and my lips parted slightly as I admired my reflection. Not bad, Harley, not bad at all.

  As I sifted through my jewelry box for some shiny baubles, my mind wandered to Ashton, a place it seemed to be wandering to an awful lot recently. What if he turned out to be the tyrant everyone said he was? This date could be a total disaster, and after that last one with Mark, I wasn’t sure I could handle another disastrous dining experience.

  Maybe I’d been blindsided by how good Ashton was with Levi, and by those muscular arms sheathed in a collared shirt.

  Or maybe everybody else is wrong, a voice in my head proffered. Maybe tonight, you’ll meet the real Ashton Swann.

  But what then? What if one thing did, in fact, lead to another, and I allowed him to scoop me up in said arms and carry me into the night? I’ll just come out and say it. I hadn’t slept with anyone in a long time—and I mean a long time.

  What if Ashton wanted to have sex? The prospect was intriguing, to put it mildly, but what if I’d…actually forgotten how to do it? Did all of my parts still work right? Should I be watching porn to brush up? Sleeping with Ashton would be fun, I imagined, but not if I was so self-conscious about my abilities that I couldn’t even get into it.

  My phone vibrated, and I glanced at the screen.

  I’m outside your apartment.

  I quickly texted back, Who is this?

  Ashton.

  Huh?

  How did you get my address?

  Company directory.

  Fair enough.

  Another buzz.

  I’d come upstairs to escort you properly, but there’s no street parking.

  Typical San Bravado. For once, I was grateful for it; no parking meant Ashton couldn’t see my wreck of an apartment. A billionaire like him probably hadn’t seen a place like this in a long time, if ever.

  I typed out, Be right down, then raced around the living room, grabbing lipstick and keys and shoving them, along with my phone, into my small clutch. Before high-tailing it out the door, I stopped for half a second in front of the entryway mirror, and gave myself a brief once-over.

  Yup. Still got it.

  Chapter 6

  Harley

  I’d half-wondered how I would find Ashton what with the sheer number of cars parked on my block, but I soon saw that my worrying had been in vain—he’d rolled up in the fanciest sports car I’d ever come across in real life. It was the kind of car teenage boys used as profile photos on dating apps.

  In the middle of the street, cars honking behind him, Ashton got out of his ludicrous car, nodded at me, then strode around to open the passenger side door. Anxious to not hold up the other drivers, I scrambled across the street, nearly breaking a heel in the process. I brushed past Ashton’s large hand, pausing only to give him a brief smile before I slid into the car.

  He took his sweet time moving back around to the driver’s side, clearly unconcerned that what sounded like all of San Bravado was honking at him. At last, with a lazy gesture, he flung upon his door and moved into the seat next to mine.

  “Hey,” he greeted smoothly.

  I looked in the rearview mirror at the line of cars behind us, and replied, “Um, maybe we should make a move?”

  He waved off my comment with ease. “Oh, they’ll be fine.”

  Saying this, he at least put the car into drive, and sped off across the winding hills of the city. Nighttime had set in, and the street lights were beginning to flicker on one by one, so that it appeared they were coming alight just for us.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “I’m okay.”

  Keeping his eyes on the road, he returned, “You look more than okay. You look wonderful.”

  I gulped. Oh, God. Keep it professional, I instructed myself. He’s your boss. And he can flirt with you all he wants, but if things go awry, it’s your job on the line.

  With that in mind, I said a polite “thank you.” He looked rather disappointed at my cold demeanor, and I resisted explaining that I’d prefer to be very, very warm with my mannerisms.

  We made small talk for the remainder of the drive, as I tried my darndest to keep things professional—we discussed the weather (which never changed), the news (which was always bad these days), and sports (which, it turned out, neither of us knew anything about). I was relieved when we pulled up to the restaurant; I couldn’t keep the conversation this superficial for much longer.

  As the car came to a halt, I looked up at the restaurant, and had a realization.

  “Wait,” I said. “Are we at Demi?”

  “Yes, sorry, I didn’t think to ask about your preferences prior to having my assistant make the reservation. Will this be okay for you?” His expression was drawn, as though my approval meant everything.

  “Oh, of course. It’s perfect,” I replied hastily, garbling my words in the process. “It’s just that I’ve seen Demi on all the reality shows. It’s where the biggest celebrities go.”

  “Which shows?” he responded with a chuckle.

  I listed off a few of my favorites, then blushed at the realization that I’d just made myself seem like a total airhead; the shows weren’t exactly the fodder of the intelligentsia.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked in a low voice.

  “What?”

  “I love those shows,” he finished. “They’re my guilty pleasure.”

  I was taken aback. Ashton Swann, watching trashy reality TV? No way.

  He looked at my face, measuring my response. “Is that awful of me?” he queried. “I don’t usually tell people, but since you mentioned it…”

  “No, no, it’s—” I struggled to finish the sentence. “Actually kind of awesome. In such an unexpected way.”

  “Oh. Well, good. I strive to be unexpected,” he laughed.

  He was certainly succeeding thus far.

  The valets opened our doors and we disembarked. He held out his arm, which I gladly grabbed as we walked into Demi.

  The restaurant was better than it had appeared on TV. On the screen, the dim lights were brightened by the cameras, and the music was lost by the mics affixed to the stars’ clothes. In person, the place was undeniably sexy: a low blue light was cast over the entire space, reminiscent of a modernized Grecian underworld. Color-blocked paintings by famous contemporary painters covered the walls, and a chill beat thumped beneath my feet. Demi was filled with beautiful, glamorous people
, and suddenly, I was one of them.

  “Is this okay?” Ashton asked, repeating his query from earlier.

  “Are you kidding? Ashton, it’s incredible.”

  His response was interrupted by the hostess bustling over and greeting us.

  “Hello,” she said melodically. “Welcome to Demi. The Swann party, yes?”

  Ashton nodded, and I clung to his arm even closer. The feeling of his bulging bicep beneath my small fingers was primal and reassuring.

  “Right, then,” the woman continued. “Follow me.”

  She led us through a series of round tables that were each screened off by intricate lace partitions, presumably to give maximum privacy to the litany of famous names that surrounded us. I didn’t even have time to take in the fact that we were in a living, breathing version of my dreams, because the hostess had escorted us into a private room.

  “Here we are,” she said with a flourish, and my eyes followed the arc of her hand. As opposed to the average private dining room—or what I’ve seen of them from the public spaces, at least—this space was small, intimate. Not intended for large parties, but rather, for cozy gatherings. Candles flickered on the table, illuminating the red velvet backing of the chairs.

  “Wow,” I breathed. “This is…spectacular.”

  From my delighted expression, Ashton’s eyes gleamed, and turning to the hostess, he said, “Thank you, this will do nicely.”

  The woman nodded and exited the room, leaving us noticeably alone in the serene area. Ashton pulled out my chair, and I sat down, marveling at his impeccable manners. Where was the bullish asshole I’d heard so much about? All I saw before me was a perfect gentleman.

  “So,” he began as we settled in, “tell me about yourself, Harley.”

  I puffed out air from my cheeks, and replied, “What about me?”

  “Anything and everything you like.”

  My mom raised me to be wary of charm, but those wise old lessons quickly faded under the dazzling shine of Ashton’s smile.