Pregnant By My Boss: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance Compilation

by Cassandra Dee

  And I collapsed limply on the couch, blind to my luxurious surroundings, blind to the beautiful orchid on the coffee table, the original watercolors that hung on the walls. Because it all belonged to Nick … and I couldn’t stay here anymore, not when my heart was breaking.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tammy

  I rolled out of bed, my head pounding, my body aching like I’d been buried alive under two tons of dirt instead of sleeping in a comfy feather bed. Heaving myself up, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My skin was dull, my curls oddly limp, a lifeless expression in my eyes.

  Because sure, I’d spent eight hours lying in bed but hadn’t caught a wink of sleep. Instead, I’d tossed and turned, my skin alternately flaming and then going coldly clammy, the shock hitting me again and again. How was it possible that Nick didn’t love me? That I was nothing more than a fuck toy to him, one of a few women in rotation?

  But that’s the thing. Even I’d repeatedly referred to myself as a fuck toy, his sex doll, his slave willing to do anything, get on my knees and worship at the altar of the billionaire. So I’d brought it on myself. I’d asked for it, treated myself like nothing more than a fuck toy, was it so odd that he treated me that way as well?

  I shook my head, miserable. There were no answers, I had no answers. Instead, I put on a drab shirt and skirt, not caring that the clothes were slightly wrinkled and stepped into a pair of shabby flats. Since moving to headquarters I’d tried to do better with myself, wearing heels, doing my make-up carefully each morning, styling my hair so it was a gleaming mass on my shoulders.

  But it didn’t matter anymore. I was nothing, a piece of garbage only, and so I grabbed my hair and pulled it into a low ponytail, snapping the rubber band harshly around the curls. My face looked wan and ghastly, dark circles under my eyes, the lids puffy and swollen but I didn’t care. I hurt and couldn’t be bothered anymore.

  Slipping a pair of sunglasses on, I stumbled downstairs through the lobby and onto the sidewalk. As usual, Max the chauffeur waited.

  “Miss,” he said, gesturing to the car behind him with a white-gloved hand. “At your service.”

  And I shook my head slowly.

  “No, not today Max,” I said. I would be damned before I took another thing from the billionaire, I was getting to work and logging onto Craigslist immediately to find a new apartment, a new roommate, a new job. I wasn’t getting in Nick’s car, no way no how. So I turned resolutely and started walking. It wasn’t bad, the apartment complex was just on the other side of Midtown, the walk would be thirty minutes at most.

  But a horn tooted behind me and Max leaned out of the window, his jaunty cap askew.

  “Miss Jones, please get in,” he pleaded in his vague Eastern European accent. “Please.”

  I kept walking, ignoring him. I wasn’t taking another thing from Nick Martin under any circumstances.

  But Max was insistent.

  “Miss Jones, I’m going to be in big trouble if you don’t get in,” he pleaded, still trailing me in the black car. “Please, Miss.”

  And at that, I stopped. I didn’t want someone else to suffer because I’d been a dunce. It wasn’t his fault he worked for Nick, he was just trying to do his job, make a living and support his family. And so I sighed, slowly backtracking.

  “Thank you Miss Jones,” said the chauffeur once the door slammed shut behind me. “Thank you for understanding. Why didn’t you want to drive today?” he asked. “The weather’s not so nice.”

  That was true, it was overcast with quite a few clouds in the sky and I didn’t have an umbrella just in case.

  “It’s nothing,” I said quietly. “Just thought I’d get some exercise.”

  Max’s eyebrows flew off his forehead. A thirty minute walk through Midtown wasn’t exactly the nicest walk, I’d be dodging piles of garbage bags on the sidewalk, dog poo left by lazy owners, not to mention the ominous weather. But the old man didn’t say anything, merely went back to driving, navigating the crowded streets.

  Suddenly, I had an idea.

  “Max,” I said. “How many people do you drive?” I asked, sitting up on the seat. Surely he was escorting several of Nick’s women around, chauffeuring them to various events.

  But Max was puzzled.

  “Just yourself and Mr. Martin,” he said, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “But I don’t see much of Mr. Martin, he takes the SUV with Walter sometimes, or even his helicopter.”

  And I sat back, perplexed. That wasn’t the answer I’d expected, I thought he’d say “Oh, I drive you and Amanda, Tiffany, Brandy, and Renee,” if not more. But maybe I wasn’t being crafty enough.

  “Max,” I tried again. “Have you driven women for Mr. Martin in the past?”

  And the old chauffeur just smiled at me, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror, his gaze kind.

  “Miss Jones, I know what you’re getting at. You’re trying to find out if Mr. Martin is seeing other women and the answer is that I can’t tell you. It’s not my business, it’s not your business, it’s not anyone’s business but the boss’s. I’m so sorry I can’t help,” he added, slightly reproving.

  And I sat back, ashamed of myself. I’d tried to trick Max into telling me information that he shouldn’t, the elderly man could lose his job if he blabbed. And so I colored, apologizing.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “You’re right, I was on a fishing expedition and it won’t happen again. I just feel … I dunno,” I said unhappily. “I just don’t know,” I finished with a soft, sad smile.

  And Max hummed gently, looking back at the road, his hands on the wheel, saying nothing.

  But as we pulled up in front of Luxor Corp., the old man jumped out to open my door, sprightly despite his advanced years. And as I maneuvered myself out the car, he leaned in to whisper.

  “But I will say that I’ve never seen Mr. Martin so happy,” he said with a wink. “I’ve known Mr. Martin since he was a young man, and the boss is happy with you. So take that for what it’s worth.”

  And I smiled ruefully again, arranging my crumpled clothes as best I could.

  “Thanks Max, but Nick Martin does what he wants,” I said quietly. “Even if he’s happy, there’s always more happiness out there, you know what I mean? The on-going pursuit of more and more and more,” I added with another sad smile. “Thanks for the ride.”

  And with that, I walked slowly into the huge building, dread filling my stomach, making my insides churn.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Tammy

  Except it didn’t quite go as planned. Instead of getting an email from “Nick Smith” and secretly tiptoeing through the secret passageway, I was actually summoned to Nick’s office by the queen herself.

  “Go right in,” sang Jeanette sweetly, looking me up and down and smiling that red smile. “Mr. Martin’s been held up a bit but he said to go right in.”

  I knew what she saw. A drab, frumpy, pudgy girl, one who wore not a scrap of make-up, my hair pulled back from my forehead painfully tight, the curls ruthlessly smooth.

  “Thanks,” I said listlessly. I was clearly no competition for the blonde with her perfectly manicured nails, chic updo and tailored clothes. I wish I could say that I wanted to smack the smile off her face but the fight had already gone out of me. I just wanted to be gone from Luxor, from this hateful place.

  So I let myself into the spacious office, the door snicking shut behind me, and took a deep breath, one last look around. This would be my last time here with the floor to ceiling windows, the modern Scandinavian deco, the private bathroom off to the side.

  I wandered around, trailing my fingers on the blonde furniture, the glass tops, even touching some of the artwork. It would be my last time and I wanted to absorb everything, let it flow into my pores before I went back to my old life in the Bronx, a life of hurried microwave meals, scrimping for quarters, scrambling to pay bills as I attended school and worked full-time.

  Except I didn’t have a new j
ob yet. Well, that would come with time. For now, I just wanted to breathe in the luxurious surroundings, envelop myself in opulence once more.

  So slowly I drifted, circling the office, breathing deeply. And as I came to Nick’s closet, I noticed it was ajar, his blue blazer hanging, waiting for its owner to reappear. On a whim, I pushed the door open and caught the garment to my nose, inhaling the big man’s distinctive scent, the woodsy masculinity making tears spring to my eyes once again. And as I blinked, trying to get my bearings, I noticed something in the pocket.

  Slowly, I reached in and pulled it out. It was a pair of panties, lacy and red, flirty and musky with the scent of female cream.

  Except they weren’t mine.

  They were someone else’s.

  And like a hot potato, I dropped the offending cloth, my cheeks flushing again, my whole body on fire as I realized what I’d just touched.

  Oh my god. He’d been with another woman recently and I had the evidence right here. If seeing Jeanette leave his apartment last night hadn’t been enough, then this was iron-clad proof that Nick was a manwhore, that he was sleeping around with multiple women, secreting their panties away in all sorts of nooks and crannies, keeping them as souvenirs.

  And I thought back to our first time together. What had happened to my panties then? Hadn’t he slipped them into his pocket? This was some kind of sick hobby for him, like notches on his bedpost or a hunter collecting skulls, evidence of his conquests, some type of disgusting ritual that pumped up his testosterone. I literally felt sick to my stomach, bending over with nausea.

  Except that Nick entered the office at that moment, when I was least prepared, my emotions on high. And I launched myself at him, kicking, screaming, my small fists flying at his face, his shoulders, his chest, anywhere I could reach.

  “How could you?” I screamed. “How the fuck could you? You’re such a fucking asshole, fucking women right and left.”

  He held me off, my aggression no match for his superior weight and power.

  “What the fuck?” he growled. “Tammy, get a hold of yourself.”

  But I couldn’t be stopped, I was too angry.

  “Look at that shit on the floor,” I screeched. “What the fuck is that?”

  And Nick’s eyes dropped for a moment, bewildered when they saw the crumpled fabric.

  “Baby,” he said, shaking his head perplexed, “aren’t those yours?”

  And that only made my temperature zoom, turning me into Mount Vesuvius.

  “What the fuck, can’t keep your women straight? No, those aren’t my panties, those belong to another one of your sluts!” I shrieked, practically spitting now, tears rolling down my cheeks. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  But Nick just shook his head again, his big body still holding me off.

  “Baby, I haven’t been with anyone but you,” he growled. “Listen to me, listen to me,” he shook my shoulders. “There’s been no one but you.”

  But I was in no mood for compromise. With two pieces of evidence pointing to his cheating ways, I only screamed louder and kicked harder, this time landing a good one on his shin.

  “Oww,” he roared, gripping his leg, letting go for a moment. And that was enough for me to scramble free. I snatched up my purse and dashed out of the office, my face flaming, tears streaming as my breath came in pants and sobs. I wish I could say that no one witnessed it, that I was all alone in my pain, but of course Jeanette saw it all.

  “Bye now,” she called after me silkily, her voice pure poison. “We’ll deliver your things to you.”

  And I sobbed even harder on the elevator down. Because I was well and done for, I’d gotten lost in a fairytale thinking that Nick loved me, that we were actually something, that I was someone special to the billionaire. But I’d been dead wrong. It’d been nothing but a pipe dream, the hallucinations of a virgin in her first physical relationship, and I’d gotten carried away. I was nothing, and I deserved no one.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Nick

  What the fuck had just happened? Just yesterday Tammy had been willing and compliant, bending over my desk naked, flirting with me over her shoulder as she fucked herself with a dildo. Because she was wicked like that, the little virgin had completely broken through every last barrier, every last shred of modesty, showing herself to me, baring her cunt, letting me taste it, trash it, pound her into the wall, the bed, if that’s what I wanted.

  And I wanted it a lot. We’d been going at it day in, day out, and most nights too. I’d looked forward to her visit last night but when she didn’t show, I didn’t call either. I figured the little girl was tired, I’d pounded her for hours the night before and she needed a bit of rest, needed to let that curvy body relax and recuperate before our next hot session.

  But when I walked into my office not twelve hours later, the woman flew at me like a banshee, accusing me of all sorts of shit. Now I admit, I’m no angel. I’ve banged a lot of women, I’m familiar with females and don’t hesitate to take the prettiest of the bunch, avail myself of a big heap of tasty twat and ass. But I hadn’t been with anyone since Tammy, in fact I hadn’t even thought of anyone since the brunette came into my life.

  Because Tammy was astonishingly receptive, curvaceous, curious and intelligent. She was everything I needed. Everything, and I had the ring in my pocket to make it permanent. Oh yeah, it was a whopper, seven carats bought with seven figures, and I wanted to look into her eyes as I slid it onto her finger on bended knee, kiss her as a smile lit up her face.

  Except the opposite had happened. Instead, the brunette had launched herself at me like a crazed hyena, screaming, crying, accusing me of all sorts of shit. And yeah, there was the underwear on the floor but I swear, I have no idea where it came from. Honestly, I thought it was hers, she was the only one I’d touched recently, the only woman whose panties I’d want to smell, wrap around my pole, spurt my jizz into. So I’d genuinely thought they belonged to my beautiful girl.

  But as I picked them up from the floor of my office, everything became clear. Instead of the clean, musky scent of Tammy’s pussy, a cloying island tropical odor emanated from the lace, making me choke and cough, it was so disgustingly sugary.

  “Jeanette!” I roared, anger mottling my face, my big frame tense with repressed rage.

  And when the blonde waltzed in, I didn’t hold back.

  “Get out and take your shit with you,” I raged, throwing the underwear at her. It landed on her head, perched crazily on her updo, making her look like an inmate from an insane asylum.

  “You can’t fire me,” she smiled lazily. “I still have my insurance, remember? The lace bodystocking with your saliva on it.”

  But I’d had enough.

  “Try it, bitch,” I growled, my hands opening and closing into fists at my side, I wanted to throttle her so badly. “Try it.”

  “Are you threatening me?” she replied, mock scared, her face a caricature of fear. “Oh, the big man is threatening me, this is grounds for a lawsuit too.”

  And I didn’t even say anything. Instead, I physically picked her up and dumped her outside my office, not caring who saw, leaving the blonde in a jumble on the floor, slamming my door in her face. I could hear her still even through the thick wood, chanting “Lawsuit, lawsuit, sexual harassment!”

  But it was time to stick to my guns. Because I’d spent the last year gathering evidence of her conniving ways, my lawyers talking with past victims, slowly building a case painting Jeanette as the amoral, scheming slut she was. And finally we were done, we had enough to make it open and shut, no way no how was any jury going to believe that blonde bitch.

  So still shaking with rage, I got on the phone.

  “Harris?” I growled. “Sue the bitch.”

  Because we weren’t fucking around. No way were we going to sit on our asses trembling with fear as Jeanette took the reins. Instead, we were striking pre-emptively and lodging our own complaint first. That’s right, Nick Martin
and Luxor Corp. were suing Jeanette Crawford for blackmail, extortion, as well as a host of other shit. My attorney was walking to the courthouse even now, the papers in his briefcase. Shock and awe tactics is what I call it, strike first and scare them so bad that they become rabbits, scurrying back into their tunnel, begging for mercy. Because who do you think’s going to win? Nick Martin and Luxor, with billions at our fingertips and an iron-clad case, that’s who.

  So I smiled grimly, my work done for the moment.

  Except that still left the question of my best girl and the ring burning a hole in my pocket. I hurt, I really did from the false accusations. Tammy hadn’t given me a chance to explain anything, to clear things up, to even talk. So slowly, I got out the diamond and put it on my desk. I needed to think about things more, process the incredible events of the day before I went after my little girl … for keeps.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tammy

  I huddled in the cold of my apartment. Despite the fact that it was only fall in New York, the Bronx apartment had no heating or hot water and I wasn’t surprised that the hovel was freezing inside.

  Because I’ve come back to my roots. After fleeing Luxor, I caught a cab to my old building, pleading with the manager to rent me my old apartment.

  “Please Luther,” I begged. “I know you haven’t found a new person yet and I really need a place to stay.”

  “I dunno,” he hedged, his wifebeater dirty and stained, gripping a protruding stomach. “You broke the lease last time and we were out a pretty penny.”

  I gasped, knowing that wasn’t true.

  “Luther,” I said firmly, “I know Luxor Corp. paid a fine on my behalf and the building was more than compensated for the broken lease. Now please!” I begged again.

  And Luther relented, but not before jacking up my previous rent by a thousand dollars, with two months prepaid in cash. So I’d practically emptied my bank account and forked over the money, only to drag myself up the rickety stairs and sit silently on the bare floor of my old apartment, huddled against the cold.