by Nikki Chase
I don’t know how well that has worked, though, because there’s speculation on some online forums about the real identity of a certain New York Times bestselling author named Olivia Pearson.
She’s never attended any book signings or romance conferences, so nobody knows what she looks like, aside from her publisher. Oh, and me. I know who she is—very, very well—and she enjoys her mysterious image.
My name has already been mentioned on the Internet as one of the possible authors behind the pen name Olivia Pearson. I’m not going to say anything, though. They can think what they want.
Sure, I won’t see “Katherine York” printed on the cover of a novel any time soon, but I’m okay with that.
The whole reason I wanted to become a famous author in the first place was so my dad would find me. And he did, not long after I’d made that surprise statement at the press conference while heavily pregnant.
I don’t know why I was looking for my dad anyway. He’s always been selfish and irresponsible.
I guess when I was growing up, he was the only adult who’d pay attention to me, even if he didn’t do it all the time. It took me finding Heath, who’s always showering both me and our son with plenty of love, for me to realize what a douche my dad has been.
My dad was doing great when I met him. His hair had thinned out and his belly had rounded out, but he didn’t have a care in the world. Yet he hadn’t even made any effort to reach out to me before my sudden fame.
I hate to think this of my own father, but he probably has ulterior motives. Now we’re friendly, but I keep my distance. It’s not that hard because he lives in Florida with his new girlfriend of five months.
And that’s why I’m glad we named our son after Heath’s dad, and not mine.
“Heath, can you pick Dave up after work this afternoon? I need to read through my entire manuscript again and meet with my editor to discuss it after that,” I say. “I already asked your mom and dad, but they’re busy today.”
Heath groans as he throws his head back.
“What?” I ask.
Sometimes, Heath doesn’t like it when I treat his parents like free babysitters, although they love doing it. I’m so glad the experimental drug has worked, and now David can bond with his grandson like he’s always wanted.
The two of them share something special. I would’ve hated for either one of them to miss out on that experience.
“Come on. I have the music on, the lights dimmed, and the wine poured,” Heath says, looking at me with a mixture of frustration and adoration in his blue eyes. “Got the hint yet, kitten?”
“Heath, I really have to run,” I protest. “Can we do this some other time?”
Heath heaves a deep breath and slowly shakes his head. “When I fell for the hard-working girl with big dreams, I should’ve known she’d be prone to workaholism.”
I scrunch up my nose and narrow my eyes at him. “Workaholism? Is that a real word?”
“No idea,” Heath shrugs. “You’re the writer here.”
“So?” I give him a hopeful look and put my palms together. “Pick Dave up for me?”
“You work too much,” Heath says.
“It’s just because I’m so close to the deadline.”
“There’s always another deadline, kitten. Slow down a little.” Heath smiles. “I know what it feels to be doing well and wanting to slam your foot on the gas. But you can’t go on like this. You’ll burn yourself out.” He pauses and meets my gaze. “And then your books will suffer.”
Damn it. He knows to hit me where it hurts.
“Also, I miss you. You’re always either working or taking care of Dave,” Heath says softly.
Seriously, where did he learn how to talk like that?
Tears sting my eyes. Ever since I had Dave, I’ve been quick to cry, especially when it comes to my family. I know what it feels like to really have a family now, and I can’t go back to the way things were.
And to think I was going to just walk away from Heath and Dave. I shudder to think about how different life would have been if we had stuck to the contract.
“Sometimes, it’s okay to take it easy. It’s okay for things to not be perfect,” Heath says. “Just because you can accomplish more by spending more time on something doesn’t mean that’s the best use of your time.
“A bunch of clients pulled out their investments after the news about us broke out, and it didn’t matter. I was actually pretty happy about that, because I’d been thinking about cutting back on my work hours anyway. I wanted to spend all my time at home.”
“Yeah, because we just had Dave at the time.” My lips curve into a big smile at the memory of those first few months.
We were both so clueless, so scared we were going to do something wrong. This was our baby—literally—and we didn’t want to screw him up.
Luckily, so far Dave has been a perfectly happy, healthy little boy. He has my blond hair and my love of stories; his father’s blue eyes and confidence; and our determination.
I’ve just introduced a sticker reward chart to Dave. The way it works is, he gets a star sticker on a chart we’ve stuck on the fridge for every time he does something good, like picking up his toys or putting on his own clothes. When he collects ten stars, he gets a new book.
But I didn’t anticipate him being this ambitious.
I realized we were in trouble one morning, not long after we started doing the reward chart. As soon as he sat up in bed, he said, “Mommy, can I get an extra star if I brush my own teeth?” So I taught him how to do that himself that day.
And then, the next day, he asked, “Mommy, can I get an extra star if I go potty on my own?” So I taught him that, too.
So far, this sounds like a great way to teach him the value of delayed gratification, right?
Well, soon, like any corrupt crook, he began to offer me gifts to bribe me into giving him more stars. He’s a smooth negotiator like his dad, too. He knows my weaknesses.
He’s actually offered to pose for pictures and create drawings by request—all for those star stickers. It’s getting out of hand, mostly because I can’t say “no” to those chicken-scratch drawings.
I know, I’m pathetic. Dave’s book collection is steadily overtaking his bedroom and may start invading other rooms in the apartment like the Lego bricks have. We’ll probably need a dedicated library by next year.
“So you’ll stay?” Heath asks with a small, victorious smile playing on his lips. He knows he’s got me.
I let out a defeated sigh. “Yeah.”
“You know, if you feel like you have too much on your plate, I know where you can cut back.” Heath pauses dramatically. “Just stop talking to Vera.”
“You know I can’t do that,” I say, looking down at my phone to type a message to my editor, asking her to push our meeting back by an hour. “Without my help, that house will fall apart. Bills won’t get paid, perishables won’t get replaced, and it’ll turn into a derelict hut in no time.”
Heath nods. “I can see them, Vera and her son, putting a metal tub in the backyard and using it as both a rainwater tank and a bathtub.”
I burst out laughing. “Yeah. So you see, I can’t just leave them alone,” I say, putting my phone back in my shoulder bag.
“Maybe they’ll learn to manage on their own if you stop helping them out,” Heath says.
“Yeah, I know that sounds like a reasonable solution and everything, but I’d rather wait until Bruce turns eighteen and moves out. I feel bad enough for him as it is. Vera can be… unpleasant.”
“Okay. You decide what to do,” Heath says. “You’re a big girl.”
“Exactly.” I smile.
“So…” Heath gets up from his chair.
I recognize that look on his face as he stalks toward me. It’s the same one he had when I found him reading my manuscript I’d accidentally left behind. It’s hard to believe how much trouble that caused—and how much that moment changed my life.
Standing beh
ind me, he reaches down and cups my breasts with his hands. His lips land on the back of my neck, and I let out a small moan. I’m glad for the jazz in the background; it should help cover any noises we’ll make.
I reach my hand behind me and hook it around Heath’s neck. His skin pulses under my palm. My skin throbs under his lips.
His hand pulls the hem of my skirt up and his fingers eagerly search for my wetness. He finds it, and he drives me to ecstasy.
By the time Heath lifts me up onto his desk and positions himself between my legs, I’m panting and writhing, begging for him to fill me up without any words.
And then, he’s inside me.
This is definitely worth pushing that meeting back.
Unlike Heath, I often work from home, which makes it harder for me to separate my work from my personal life. But if he can manage a multi-billion-dollar company and still have some time for me, I should be able to do the same for him.
I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve a man like Heath, but he’s right. Our time is limited, and we need to spend it with family.
I already have everything I’ve ever wanted—a career as a romance author, and a beautiful family. Now there’s nothing left to do but to enjoy it all.
As Heath pumps into me, I wrap my legs around him. My heels are pressed against his ass, pulling him deeper into me. My fingernails drag down his back, and my teeth are on his shoulder.
As we explode together, everything in my world quiets down for a moment, and all that’s left is gratitude. I can’t express just how much joy life brings me. And to think it all started when my boss read my smutty writing.
“I love you,” he says as he leans his hot, sweaty body down and kisses me.
“Love you too,” I respond, just like I always do, every single day.
I’m happy I accepted Heath’s offer four years ago. Even though it should’ve been wrong, it’s turned out to be the right decision.
I may have lost my own challenge to not fall for Heath, but I’ve won everything else because of it. I have no regrets.
Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed Kat and Heath’s story.
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About the Author
Nikki Chase is a contemporary romance author. After having her own real-life insta-love experience, Nikki now lives happily ever after with her husband in the Pacific Northwest.
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