by Lexi Aurora
“It’s yours,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “The baby, it’s yours. There’s only ever been you, Harrison. I can promise you that.” The tears she’d been holding back for so long before were starting to fall. “I’m sorry I ran out on you all those times, I was just so scared. Before Brad, there was this other asshole, Nate. And he cheated on me so many times. And then after Brad, I finally just stopped trying to...” She sniffled and wiped at her face, laughing without humor.
“Hey... hey... come here...” He folded his arms around her and tugged her gently into a tight embrace. “I’ve got you... I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go.” His mouth brushed along her ear and across her cheek. Eventually, it found her mouth, and she kissed him back in return. Those slow, genuine kisses made her legs feel like Jell-O, and she melted into him with a happy little moan. While her fears were still there, they weren’t as prominent. And with every kiss that Harrison gave to her, she opened herself up to him more and more.
Without any warning, Riley felt Harrison lift her into his arms, and she let out a squeak of excited joy. She kissed him over and over as he carried her out of the office and into his room. Her limbs were wrapped around him so tightly that she almost began to wonder where she started and he began.
Soon, they were up against the office wall, and clothes were falling away to the floor in every direction. Riley cupped her hands around Harrison’s face and stared at him, studying his features as though she expected them to change at any moment. When all he did was smile at her and stare back, she took their kiss to dizzying heights; both of them growled and moaned and panted, and Riley clutched her thighs tight around Harrison’s hips. She pulled herself in as close as she could and sucked in a sharp gasp when she felt his rigid member fill her to the core. No man had ever been able to fill her the same way that Harrison did, and she found herself clinging to him tightly with both arms and legs.
“I need you,” she whispered against his ear. “I think...I love you, Harrison.”
The softness of his gasp, that little noise of surprise that came with it, made Riley’s heart jump. And when he whispered back to her, “I think I love you, too.” Her eyes glimmered with tears of joy.
Epilogue
HARRISON HAD NEVER experienced such perfection in his life. It had been six months since he had invited Riley to come live with him, and he hadn’t regretted a single moment. Together, they had turned his second office into the baby room. They had divulged their secrets to one another over time and had found that they had far more in common than they’d initially believed. Harrison had even gone into detail about his past, no longer afraid to let Riley in as he once had.
Riley herself had been unbelievably open with him, and he had taken in every word, never judging and never giving her a reason to be afraid of him. On more than one occasion, he’d told her to just take things one step at a time. There was no hurry, not anymore; they had all the time in the world.
Now, they sat together on the couch. Riley’s legs were draped across his own, and she was eating her favorite movie snack: buttered popcorn with candy-covered chocolate and cheese. He’d never known anyone to have such eclectic tastes, but he supposed it was true that being pregnant came with certain cravings that he would never understand.
“You still like that junk, don’t you?” he asked teasingly.
“How could you not like this?” She laughed. “It has popcorn, butter, candy, and chocolate. And you can’t forget the cheese! It’s basically all the best food groups packed into one delicious... oh! Oh shit...” Riley gave Harrison a brief look of panic as she swung her legs off of his and sat up. One hand went to her belly.
“What?” He pressed a hand over her own. “Riley... what is it?” He didn’t have to ask, though; he knew.
“The baby... I think it’s coming...”
“Okay, come on. Car, now. Let’s go! I’ll grab the keys, start going.”
Harrison felt faint with excitement as he rushed over to the counter and grabbed the keys off the wall. Then he dashed to Riley and supported her all the way through the door, down the hall, and into the elevator. She was breathing in hard, uneven puffs, and her face was much paler than it normally was; Harrison’s heart pounded even harder.
Once the elevator dinged to a halt, he guided her into the parking lot and to the car. “How much time? Riley, how much time?”
“I don’t know!”
“Okay, just breathe like they taught you in that breathing class, remember?” He barely knew what he was saying –how could he think properly?– as he opened the passenger side door for her and helped her in. Then he rushed to his side and snapped the seatbelt in place. He grabbed his phone and made a quick call to the hospital, letting them know that Riley was on her way and so was the baby. Then he hung up and tore out of the parking garage.
“Oh my god, Harrison, it hurts!” She was clutching at her belly, her lower lip bloody from where she was chewing on it.
“I know, I know. Breathe, Riley, it’ll be okay. We’re not even ten minutes away.”
“Ten minutes is too far! Drive faster!”
Bracing himself, Harrison slammed on the gas and made it to the hospital’s emergency department in less than eight minutes. He parked right next to the doors and ran around to Riley’s door. Several nurses and a doctor who had been notified of Harrison’s call, came out to greet them; Harrison was pushed off to the side as Riley was eased into a wheelchair and rolled inside. He followed as closely as he could, tears of his own shimmering in his eyes.
He, Harrison McCoy, was going to be a father.
HE SAT OUT IN THE WAITING room with his head lowered, both hands clasped at the nape of his neck. Every time Riley made a sound, he looked up; his heart broke for her, and he couldn’t imagine the amount of pain she was in; as much as he wanted to be with her, she had screamed at him to get out and stay out until the baby was born. Hurt and terrified and excited and full of joy all at the same time. He’d left without a fight; although less than an hour had gone by, he felt as though he’d been sitting in this chair for a lifetime or more.
The sound of a child screaming and crying, sudden and out of nowhere, was enough to get Harrison on his feet. He started toward the door, then paused. Just as he did so, a nurse opened the door and looked out at him; she was grinning.
“Mr. McCoy? Come on in; your daughter wants to meet you.”
“My daughter?” He was just about breathless as he entered the room.
The tears did fall, then, when he saw Riley there in the hospital bed with a small bundle of blankets in her arms; within those blankets was his newborn daughter. “Wow...” was all he could manage.
“I know... she’s beautiful, Harrison...” Riley smiled at him through tears of exhaustion and love. “Do you want to hold her?”
Speechless, all he could do was nod. He held out his arms and repositioned himself so that he was sitting with Riley on the edge of her bed. There was no word or phrase in the world that could describe how Harrison felt as soon as his daughter settled in his arms. He held her close, supporting her head and body. And when he looked into her eyes, she looked right back at him, her little arms reaching for his face.
“She’s so beautiful... how the hell did you even do this?”
Riley laughed tiredly and touched their daughter’s cheek. “Love I guess. I don’t know, I just did it.”
He smiled down at her, pressing a kiss between his daughter’s eyes. He couldn’t believe that he was holding his daughter, a small, stunning little person that he had helped to create. In that moment, Harrison knew there couldn’t possibly be anyone happier in the world than him.
THE END
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Chapter 1
WILL THIS DAY EVER end?
Just as I’m about to finally beeline out of the stuffy, overfilled room, someone grabs my hand.
“Not so fast, Blondie.”
At the sound of Geno’s slightly mocking tone, I suppress my urge to sigh. Instead, I turn around with the best smile I can muster.
“Yes?”
Geno’s grinning as if we hadn’t just spent ten straight hours teaching a bunch of unwilling amateurs how to cut carrots properly.
“There’s a customer who wants to speak to you.”
My smile hangs, but I glide over without a word to where his tanned finger is pointing. I know all too well how long a customer just wanting to “speak to me” can drag on—whether it’s a three-part fable of their cooking woes until they stumbled across Geno and me, or some compliments and picking my brain for every cooking tidbit I have, there really is no bounds to trying to get out of it, especially not while Geno’s hovering by like a delighted vulture. He doesn’t care how long after my shift I stick around, nor whether I like it. All he cares about is that we baby our customers to the point of ridiculousness so that we get a five-star review online and in all the famous cooking magazines. After all, “the customer is always right.”
This time, thankfully, it’s just a table of delighted tourists, who all clap their hands in glee and thank me profusely. And yet, every time I’m about to successfully escape, another one of them pipes in about their favorite part of the class, how they almost burned themselves, ha-ha, he-he, etc. All the while I stay dutifully frozen in place, with my smile plastered on, half hoping they can see how eager I am to leave so they will let me go in peace—it’s 5:15 p.m. now, and I don’t get paid for the extra time. But the whole group is delightedly oblivious, chattering on and on, not really including me—I’m just a symbol really. God, I can’t wait until I get my app developed; then I won’t have to deal with this nonsense anymore.
When I finally do tear myself away, I’m almost at the back of the restaurant when someone grabs my arm. I freeze. I twist around to see Geno. Closer to the back of the restaurant now, away from most of the patrons, Geno’s fake smile contorts into a scowl.
“What were you doing?”
I avoid his angry gaze.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Those people at that table at the front over there—those customers. You weren’t even pretending to be interested in what they were saying. You were rude, unconvincing, ungrateful.”
Now I dare meet his furious gaze with my own. I rip my arm away.
“Can I say something?”
Geno and I turn around to see the speaker, a customer we didn’t notice at a booth nearby. Though how we didn’t notice him is a miracle in itself; the man is, hands down, the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen. Model-sculpted face, dark curls the pride of any hairstylist, he’s wearing a black suit, and his piercing blue gaze is locked on me. Running a Rolex-watched hand through his hair, his gaze flicks to Geno.
“May I speak to your chef?”
Geno’s scowl immediately inverts into a placating smile.
“Of course, sir, of course!”
And then he’s gone, leaving me with the gorgeous man who I definitely didn’t teach today and yet still seems strangely familiar. With one finger the man beckons me over, and with wobbly legs I make my way to him and sit across from him. Plopped on the red plastic booth there, I can only gape at him with a half-stupefied stare. I’m too exhausted and starving for this.
“I’ve had your food before.”
“Oh?”
He grins, showcasing a line of perfect white teeth.
“Here in the restaurant, Picklebucket. And my buddy, Gerald, I don’t know if you remember him—big guy, dopey kind of smile—he came here. Before he would screw up Kraft dinner, and now, thanks to you, he’s making edible dishes: casseroles, pies.”
As I continue to stare at him stupidly, he explains “So I came here. To learn how to cook.”
The lightbulb lighting up in my head, I nod, smile.
“Great. You can just talk to my boss, Geno. It’s actually the end of my shift now.”
But when I rise, he does too.
“Why do you let him talk to you like that?”
“Who—Geno?”
The man nods, those too-blue eyes tracing the contours of my face, looking for something I’ll bet isn’t there. I avert my gaze.
“Geno means well. He’s taught me a lot; he just cares more about the customers than his own chefs.”
The man’s face appears as unsatisfied as I feel at my own response.
“Besides, I’m just biding time here until I can find an investor for my app.”
At my admission slipping out, I feel my cheeks redden as I avert my gaze again.
“No way.”
“Forget I said anything.”
But when I start to walk off, the man’s cool hand grips mine. When I turn to him, he looks as surprised as I feel and releases my hand.
“Sorry. I just—I’m an investor and have been looking for a new opportunity.”
The man returns to the table, sweeps his hand across from him where I’d been sitting before.
“Why don’t you sit down and tell me about your project?”
I pause. Really, at this point that’s just about the last thing I want to do. I’ve got a throbbing headache and a roaring stomach ache, but there’s something about this man, about what he said. I don’t know why, but I know instinctively that I should stay.
“Here.” The man fishes something out of his pocket. “Why don’t I give you my business card and you come by my office to talk more when you have more time?”
Once again, I’m speechless. Because the name on this card suddenly explains why this man looked familiar; he is familiar. Sitting in the booth less than two feet away from me is none other than Allan Dane, notorious billionaire, womanizer, and tabloid fodder.
Now he’s rising, passing by me.
“You know where to find me.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me half-stupefied. I find myself sitting back in the booth, staring at where he’d been sitting mere seconds ago, turning his card in my hand. Something tells me this may be the most important card I’ve received in a while—and the most dangerous.
Chapter 2
AT HOME, A QUICK NAP and half a BBQ chicken are enough to revive me. Angel is curled up on the couch with Popper, both of them casting pitying looks at my sprawled form on the other couch. Angel tosses me the chip bag, which I just manage to catch.
“Another long day?”
I dig around in the Lay’s bag for a minute, getting myself a nice big handful before responding.
“Yup, you know how Geno is. It’s not a real workday unless you’ve been held back at least ten minutes’ overtime with no pay.”
Angel tut-tuts, a red curl falling in her face, which she tucks away as she looks at me.
“You dropped this on your way in, I think.”
Face-to-face with the card, I manage a dismissive wave of my hand.
“Yeah, I met the Allan Dane today. Just strolled on into Picklebucket and asked to talk to me.”
Angel jerks to attention so suddenly that poor Popper half leaps half tumbles off the couch in fright.
“What?”
I lean down to gesture Popper over. Once his little wiener dog body has reached me, I pat him.
“Yeah, crazy, right? Apparently, he wanted some cooking classes with me, so I told him to talk to Geno. When I let it slip that I needed an investor for my app and practically ran out of there, though, he handed me his card and told me I could come by his office to talk my project over.”
Now Angel’s gaping at me, her slanted eyes practically bulging out of her head.
“No way.”
I laugh.
“That’s what he said.”
Angel gets up and flops on the couch beside me. She picks up Popper and plants him on her lap, running her long fingers absently over his sleek brown coat.
He looks so well and fat now, I almost forget what he looked like when we found him on th
e street: the patches on his fur that were missing, the frightened look in his eyes.
Angel’s voice breaks me out of my reverie. “So, are you going to go?”
I shrug.
“I don’t know. This is Allan Dane we’re talking about. I just want someone to back my app; I don’t want to be the star of some crazy tabloid spread involving starlets and drama galore. Besides, Geno would flip out if I tried to leave.”
Angel is silent, though I can feel her insistent gaze drilling into me. Finally, she speaks.
“Eva...”
Still, I avoid meeting her eye.
“What?”
“You know what. This is big. This is a chance—the chance you’ve been waiting for.”
I shake my head, refusing to look at her. If I do, then her contagious optimism will become mine too, and right now, I’m not sure I can afford that. But Angel isn’t one to be easily dissuaded.
“Don’t do this Eva. Don’t do that thing where you undersell yourself and give up before you even start. Your idea is good—great. You know it is.”
“Yeah, but Allan Dane hasn’t even heard it yet. He probably won’t think so. The most interest he’s ever shown in cooking was when he publicly reprimanded some famous chef a few months back, okay? There’s no point in getting my hopes up just so they can be shot down.”
Popper lets out a little yip.
“Popper’s right—you’re giving up before you’ve even tried.”
I frown at the blank TV screen. What I need to be doing right now is drowning my sorrows in some good old Vampire Diaries, not arguing over some pipe dream with my equally broke roommate.
“Don’t do that thing where you pretend you can read the dog’s mind.”
