Famously His Baby: A Billionaire Boss Secret Romance

by Roxy Reid

  Famously His Baby

  A Billionaire Boss Secret Romance

  Roxy Reid

  Copyright © 2019 Roxy Reid

  All rights reserved. It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  For my incredible Friends and Family who have encouraged and supported me on my journey to becoming a writer.

  Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service.

  William Shakespeare

  Contents

  About the Author

  1. Wade

  2. Stella

  3. Wade

  4. Stella

  5. Wade

  6. Stella

  7. Stella

  8. Wade

  9. Stella

  10. Wade

  11. Stella

  12. Wade

  13. Stella

  14. Wade

  15. Stella

  16. Wade

  17. Stella

  18. Wade

  Epilogue

  Also by Roxy Reid

  More from Roxy Reid

  About the Author

  Roxy Reid writes sizzling hot romance about kick-ass women and deliciously hot guys that are guaranteed to leave you with a smile on your face and a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

  Roxy’s first love is writing and a very close second is tea, oh and cake, don’t forget the cake. Most days you’ll find her in a cafe scribbling away in a notebook, dreaming up romantic stories to share with her readers.

  Follow Roxy on Facebook

  facebook.com/RoxyReidAuthor

  Send an email

  Roxy@RoxyReidAuthor.com

  1

  Wade

  I’m knee-deep in shitty code when the phone rings. Theoretically, I shouldn’t be hunting down errors like this anymore. After a decade of planning, work, and luck, St. George Enterprises is the biggest video sharing platform after YouTube.

  But I’ve got a meeting coming up with our biggest, newest partner in a few days, and there’s an issue with the file compression that my project development team hasn’t solved yet.

  They could solve it. If I let them. But sometimes the way they fix things is like listening to a singer go flat. There’s only so much of it I can take before I start to twitch.

  Besides, what else do I have to do on a Friday at 5:45 p.m.? It’s not like I have some hot woman with a wicked smile waiting for me at home.

  I don’t even have a dog.

  Truth be told, I haven’t dated anyone seriously since a pregnancy scare and a cross-country move threw cold water on my last relationship. We were good together on paper. But the visceral relief we both felt when we found out she wasn’t pregnant made us both realize we needed a hell of a lot more than “good on paper.”

  I just don’t know what that more is.

  The phone keeps ringing.

  Weird. Normally the secretary gets it.

  Then I remember: I still need to replace my secretary. Fabian was best secretary I ever had, and I was thrilled when he agreed to follow me to the new North Carolina branch. Unfortunately, barbecue and sweet tea did not agree with the health-obsessed California vegan, and Fabian transferred back to Silicon Valley a month ago.

  I give up and answer the phone. “St. George Enterprises, Wade St. George speaking.”

  “Wade! My man! It’s hard to track you down.”

  I relax into my chair, grinning. I’d know the sound of that voice anywhere. It’s Duke Harrington, one of my best friends. He’s in New York now, so we only see each other two or three times a year, but they’re the best weekends of my year.

  “Sorry about that. Some paparazzi assholes got a hold of my cell number, and I had to get a new number. I guess I forgot to mention it.”

  “I can’t believe you literally just ‘New phone, who ‘dis?’ed me,” Duke says, and I laugh.

  “So what are you calling about?” I ask, glancing at the clock. It’s almost six, so I hit save and close out. I try to model good work life balance for my employees by leaving on time. Of course, I just go home and work more on my laptop, but they don’t need to know that.

  “Can’t a guy just call his best friend?” Duke asks.

  “On his cell phone? Yes. On his work line? No.”

  Duke laughs. “Fine. You caught me. I need a favor.”

  “Anything,” I say.

  “You might want to hear what the favor is first,” Duke says cautiously. “It’s about my sister.”

  “Stella?” Stella Harrington’s always been a bit of a wild child. Wearing a black suit to her debutante ball, ditching med school to join a rock band and go on tour across the country, making out with unsuitable men. That type of thing. She’s a hellion, but she’s basically a good kid.

  Well, not a kid now. I’m 35, so she’s … Jesus, Stella Harrington is in her thirties.

  “Is she okay?” I ask.

  “Oh, she’s fine. She’s actually … better than she’s been for a while. She moved back to North Carolina. Doing the whole clean slate thing.”

  I glance at the computer, wishing I hadn’t closed it out. I forgot how long it takes Duke to get to a point. He grew up in the kind of Southern household where it was considered crude to just get to the fucking point.

  “You’re saying she’s in town?” When I was opening a branch of the company in Winston-Salem, I considered a lot of factors. Talent pool. Taxes. Real estate.

  I did not consider the fact that moving back to my hometown meant I may be called upon to do favors for prodigal little sisters who also moved back home.

  “Do you want me to check in on her or something?”

  “I want you to give her a job.”

  “A job?” I ask. I glance at the empty secretary’s desk just outside my door. Stella wasn’t known for her tact, but maybe she’s changed. “What are her professional skills?”

  “Drumming. Passing the MCAT. And pissing off our parents.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can she type?”

  “Probably. Yes. Definitely.”

  I sigh. “We’ve got some data entry positions that have been open for a while. Tell her to call HR and list me as a reference.”

  Duke breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Wade. I owe you one. The next time you’re in New York, I swear, I’ll set you up with someone fabulous.”

  “That would be a better offer if I lived in New York.”

  “See that’s the difference between you and me,” Wade says, and I laugh and hang up.

  As I step outside and breathe in the sweet, tangy spring air, I’m feeling pretty good. I’ve got a good company that’s about to grow in a big way, now that I’ve signed a three-year contract to be the exclusive streaming platform for Home Sweet Home Entertainment, North Carolina’s answer to the Hallmark movie channel. I’m out of the Silicon bubble, in a place where a man can breathe again. And since moving home, not a single paparazzi has pointed their zoom lenses at me.

  And I helped out one of my oldest friends.

  Duke is pretty much the only reason I had any fun in high school. My mom was stressed and broke all the time, and I liked people better if they were on the internet. Rich, popular, football-playing Duke was the one who dragged me out of my room and m
ade sure people knew I was funny, and I knew they were nice.

  So, getting to a place in my life where I can help Duke? That feels like a bigger accomplishment than when I was on the cover of Wired.

  I whistle as I walk to the car. I can’t wait to take little Stella under my wing.

  A week later I walk into my office to see a pink-haired babe in a fitted black zip-up hoodie and a black pencil skirt sitting at my secretary’s desk. In California, that would be conservative attire, but I’ve been back in the south just long enough to get used to slacks and flowered dresses.

  Pink Hair pops up and holds out her hand, rushing at me like she’s a football player and I’m the end zone.

  “Hi, Wade, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. I know it’s been a while, but I promise I am waaaaaaay more mature than you remember, and you will not regret it.” She beams up at me, hand extended.

  It’s the smile I recognize first. Stella Harrington has a smile that would make a toothpaste commercial feel inadequate.

  Her smile wavers, and I realize I’m being rude, so I grab her hand and shake it.

  Her calloused palm isn’t what I expect. Or rather, it’s not what I expect based on the Stella I was remembering. It feels exactly right for the woman standing in front of me.

  “Great to have you on board,” I say, and I mean it. “Do you want me to show you where data entry is?”

  “What? Oh! No, I’m not doing that. When I did the interview, and Miss Em learned more about me, she decided I’d make a much better administrative assistant.”

  “Administrative assistant?”

  “It’s what you should be calling your secretary. I think that’s probably why you haven’t been getting many applications. It signals a certain kind of corporate culture that isn’t necessarily in line with what most tech industry professionals are looking for.”

  She beams up at me, and I blink.

  It’s her first day, and Stella already talked my stodgy HR administrator into a new job title. It’s possible Duke has seriously underestimated his little sister.

  “Right. Uh. Well. Just let me know if you need anything—”

  She laughs gaily, and in that laugh is the trill of a thousand southern belles. “Oh, aren’t you sweet. But I’m the one who should be asking if you need anything. Oh!” She suddenly blushes. “One moment.”

  She turns around, and hastily sheds the black hoodie. When she turns back to me she’s tugging at a gray silk turtleneck sweater that clings to her like a second skin.

  I do my best to ignore the fact that Stella Harrington has the kind of curves that would convince a man to fight his way across a crowded bar, just for the opportunity of being shot down.

  “Sorry about that. I, uh, I’m still getting used to the office dress code,” Stella says, sounding uncertain for the first time in the conversation, and I remember how nervous I was the first time I went into a tech office to pitch a project for funding. I’d walked in wearing a suit and tie to show I was worth taking seriously, only to find that the people sitting across the table from me were dressed in hoodies and jeans.

  “No worries. Dress codes are a bitch,” I say, startling a smile out of her.

  It’s not her razzle-dazzle smile. This one’s soft, and crooked, and reaches her eyes, and if I were on a date, it would make me lean across the table and coax her to tell me more.

  But we’re not on a date. We’re in my office at 9:00 a.m. She works for me. She’s Duke’s little sister. Any of these would be enough to have me viciously squashing that impulse, but the combination of all three has me backing into my office like the coward I am.

  “Right. Well, if anyone calls for the next three hours, I’m not here. I have to untangle some stuff before the leadership team meeting. I’ll want you there to take notes. And read-up on the people involved in the Home Sweet Home partnership. Most of them are great, but some of them will get pissy if you don’t recognize their names.”

  She’s nodding eagerly when I close the door.

  I normally don’t work with my door closed, but it’s for the best until I get my work blinders firmly on where Stella is concerned.

  There were advantages to having a male secretary.

  Administrative assistant. Whatever.

  I crack my knuckles, sit down at my computer, and put Stella Harrington out of my mind.

  2

  Stella

  As soon as Wade’s office door closes, my shoulders sag with relief. One first impression down. A million more to go.

  I don’t know where the laugh came from. Probably the pageant training my mom made me go to, before I threatened to wear a mumu in the swimsuit portion and turn the Q&A portion into what I called an education opportunity and my mama called a feminist screed.

  But that’s what moving back home does for you. It resurrects instincts you thought were long-buried.

  For example, the instinct where I drool over my brother’s geeky friend. It was at least a little more defensible when I was a teenager, and Wade was the only one of my brother’s friends with a brain or an actual sense of responsibility.

  Now that he’s a rich, famous, respected leader in the community who’s finally filled out to match his height … having a crush on him seems tragically basic. The grown up version of liking the quarterback.

  Which is why I am going to ignore the way his dark curly hair is just a little too California-long for Winston-Salem. I’m going to ignore the way his warm brown eyes checked me out, before he put two and two together and figured out who I was. And I am going to ignore the way he’s big and broad and safe, and already a million times better than any number of managers I worked for when I was touring.

  I ignore all of that. Instead, I plop down at my desk and go back to figuring out how to set up my voicemail, before doing a deep dive into the Home Sweet Home files.

  I am going to rock this job.

  Three hours later, I’m reading the Home Sweet Home contract, and remembering why I left the south in the first place.

  There’s a freaking morality clause in the partnership contract. The partnership can be dissolved if any of St. George’s leadership team engage in “publicly indecent or immoral behavior that reflects poorly on the Home Sweet Home brand.”

  It’s nice that they limited it to public immorality. Wouldn’t want to ban private immorality. Then you might have to go after all those ‘pillar of the community’ types who cheat on their wives and their taxes with equal enthusiasm.

  Hypocrites.

  I glance at the clock. Time for the leadership team meeting. I gather my notebook and pen, call a reminder to Wade through his office door, and head to the conference room.

  It’s already mostly full by the time I get there. There’s only one seat left at the table, obviously for Wade, so I sit in one of the chairs along the back wall. A few people smile at me and introduce themselves, but mostly it’s people complaining about the Home Sweet Home project. Apparently there’s a glitch that flares up under high volumes of streaming, and if the marketing team does their job, there will be high volumes of streaming when the Home Sweet Home content goes live.

  Someone says, “Well, let’s see what Wade says,” and the room goes quiet.

  The middle aged woman sitting near me checks her watch and swears. “He’s coding again.”

  There are groans around the table.

  “Maybe he’s not.”

  “Well, I’m getting my tablet so I can answer emails. Last time it took him twenty minutes.”

  There are murmurs of agreement as people pull out cell phones and tablets and break off into side meetings.

  I lean over to the woman who’s comment started all of this. Beverly something. “What’s going on?”

  “When there’s something high-level going on that Wade can’t solve, he avoids it by micromanaging the tech and development side of things. And then he gets sucked in, and you can’t pull him out, which means we can’t get decisions on everything we need a decis
ion on, and everything gets backed up. The cost of working with geniuses.” She sighs. “Bless his heart.”

  “Has someone tried just letting him know he’s late?” I ask and there are shudders around the table.

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  “He … um … has a temper,” Beverly says, in that discreet tone people use when they’re understating the problem.

  “Seriously? Wade St. George?”

  “People are more complex than you imagine when you see them in the media,” Beverly says, and the man to her left snorts.

  “I’m not basing this on the media. I’m basing this on knowing Wade since he was fourteen.” I stand up. Around me, people pale and flutter, and apologize.

  “We didn’t know—”

  “We didn’t mean any disrespect—”

  “He’s really a great boss!”

  “As long as he remembers he is the boss.”

  I wave off their protests. Jesus. I’m not tattling. “Calm down. I’m just going to go get him.”

  The volume rises as people throw out warnings like I’m a toddler about to wander into traffic.

  I glance at Beverly, who seems to be the most grounded of the bunch. She meets my eyes, and nods once, sagely. “We all have to make our own mistakes,” she says maternally, like I’m about to drop out of college or cut my own hair.

  Granted, my own mama has never been sage about any of my actions.

  I give Beverly a salute, and go to get Wade.