Famously His Baby: A Billionaire Boss Secret Romance

by Roxy Reid

  I unceremoniously dump her to the side in an act of sheer self-preservation.

  “Hey! There’s ladder parts under me.”

  “Sorry. Sorry, I should go.” I stumble to my feet, and flip the light switch by the door.

  The lights go up on a pretty empty apartment.

  Completely empty, actually. There’s nothing but an open suitcase with silk, cotton, and leather spilling out of it.

  She might as well have put up a big neon sign. I’m not sticking around. Don’t get used to me.

  The only thing besides the suitcase is the bed in the corner. I can’t help thinking about walking Stella back into that bed, spreading her silky hair on the white sheets, tilting her hips up for me.

  When I jerk my eyes back to Stella, she’s flushed.

  Oh God. Please say she can’t see what I’m thinking. Please say she can’t see…

  “I should go,” I repeat, like that’s the only sentence I know.

  “Yeah,” Stella says. “I think you should.”

  I flee before I do something we’d both regret.

  I do my best to put the incident out of my head, but by Thursday, Stella’s still being tense and weird, and I can’t stand it.

  Fuck, I admit to myself. I screwed up.

  This isn’t going to blow over unless I clear the air and apologize. But somehow, apologizing in the office feels worse, like I’m highlighting the power difference between us as I remind her I almost lost control and kissed her on the floor of her apartment like an animal. I’d ask her to talk about it over lunch again, but that feels too much like I’m trying to make a move, or buy her forgiveness with a life’s supply of sweet tea.

  I mean, if buying her forgiveness with a life’s supply of sweet tea would work, I’m totally up for it …

  Stella sticks her head into my office. “I worked through lunch, so I’m going to go on a walk to get some fresh air.”

  “Excellent. I’ll join you.” I stand up and grab my jacket before she can object.

  The air is surprisingly crisp as we stroll around the neighborhood. That’s the thing with spring in North Carolina. There’s highs and lows, and you never know what you’re going to get.

  I slide my eyes to the side. It’s a little like Stella, actually.

  I clear my throat. “I’m just going to come out and say it—”

  “Oh God, they called you for a reference already, didn’t they? I swear I was going to tell you …” Stella trails off as she sees my face. “You’re not talking about the reference.”

  “And you’re not talking the kiss the thing.”

  “What kiss thing?”

  What kiss thing, indeed. Apparently she’d been completely oblivious to my moment on the floor.

  “Nothing,” I lie. “There was a weird scene in one of those romcoms—I wanted your opinion, as a woman—but I think I get it now, not a big deal at all. How about you tell me about this reference?”

  “Well …” she bounces on her toes and bites her lip, clearly overflowing with nervous energy. “I have a job interview. Tomorrow. For my dream job.”

  “What? Already? That’s amazing.”

  Stella grins, and that’s another win. I am slowly learning to identify each of her smiles, and this is a new one.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “St. Mary’s. It’s a private school, so it doesn’t matter that I don’t have a teaching license. They’ve got a big music program, and most of their percussion program is built around the needs of the marching band, so I spent the whole weekend learning everything I could about marching bands. Do you remember Nancy Kelly from high school? She did marching band in school, so we’re getting coffee tonight so I can ask her some questions.”

  “That’s great,” I say. “When are they looking to hire?”

  “It sounds like they want to make an offer next week.”

  Next week? I feel a tug of loss. It’s been nice having her around. More than nice.

  I’ve got some of the best people in the region working for me. The best in the country. None of them could have gotten me that meeting with Ms. Covington.

  But it’s more than that. Since moving back to North Carolina, most of the people I see on a day-to-day basis are my employees, or other professional acquaintances. When I run into someone I used to know, they give me a sort of awed distance. Local boy made good. A little too good to invite him to the barbecue, or out for drinks.

  It’s been a little isolating, if I’m honest.

  But Stella blew right through all of that. She’s not intimidated by me. At all. And she’s funny. And smart, and creative, and irreverent.

  I’ll miss running into her around the office. I almost open my mouth to ask if she wants to get a drink or something after she leaves.

  As friends.

  Obviously.

  But instead I just say, “That soon. You could be free of St. George enterprises in a mere three weeks.”

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t start until September, when the school year starts. They’re just doing this now because the old percussion teacher is retiring at the end of the year, and this is normally when they renew teachers’ contracts if they’re staying.”

  “September,” I say, and immediately feel better. September is much better. “How are you feeling about the interview?”

  Stella shrugs. “When I think about what I know, I’m fine. But when I think of the whole interview process … drummers don’t have job interviews, Wade. We have auditions. I’m good at sizing people up, at jumping in, at thinking on my feet. But … well. I haven’t done a job interview. Not for a real job.”

  “You interviewed to work at St. George Enterprises,” I point out as we turn onto a street with fewer offices and more storefronts.

  “Yeah, but that was different. I knew I had it,” she says, frustrated.

  “Then just pretend you have it,” I suggest.

  Stella laughs, and the sound does something funny to my chest.

  “I’m serious,” I say. “That’s what I used to do when I wanted something too badly to think straight.”

  “And now?”

  I think about it. “I guess haven’t wanted anything that badly in a while.”

  We walk in silence for a block.

  “So, that’s one problem. Anything else you’re worried about?”

  Stella bites her lip. “It’s silly.”

  Not if it matters to you. “Just tell me.”

  “I don’t have anything to wear. Playing clubs doesn’t really translate to school-teacher-appropriate. I went to buy a suit yesterday, but I couldn’t afford …” she blushes, and I think of her bare apartment.

  It’s not because she travels light, I realize, feeling like an idiot. It’s because she’s broke.

  She doesn’t even have her drum set. And the way she talks about drumming, I don’t want to think about what it cost her to get rid of them.

  I’d buy her a suit in a heartbeat, if she asked. The money’s nothing to me. Even if she weren’t Duke’s sister, she’s my friend now.

  But she’s not going to ask. And I know it would be wrong of me to offer.

  “It’s fine,” Stella says after another block. “It’s not the clothes they’re hiring. It’s the person. And I have what I wear to work. It’ll be fine. Totally, totally fine.”

  “Ok, you’ve said fine one too many times,” I tease her, and then I see a familiar shop sign up ahead. “Wait a minute. I’ve got an idea.”

  I half-jog ahead, and when I see they’re open, I wave Stella over. “It’s a thrift store that specializes in business clothes. They’ve got some good stuff.”

  Stella looks incredulous. “A billionaire shops at a thrift store?”

  Well, no. I donate my old clothes here. Not that I’m going to mention that to Stella. “They’ve got a good reputation in the community.”

  “I’m sure they do, but there are other things I want more than a new outfit. And my current work clothes are fine.”


  I point to a mannequin in the window. “Tell me you don’t want that.”

  It’s a classic black designer skirt suit. But the lining of the suit jacket is pink polka dots, the exact shade of Stella’s hair.

  “Oh,” Stella breathes.

  “You know, if you don’t get this job, there will be other interviews. It probably makes more sense to buy a suit if you don’t get this job—”

  “Oh, shut up,” Stella says, but she’s grinning as she says it. She checks her watch. “Do we have time? You need to get back for the California call.”

  “How fast can you try on a suit?”

  Apparently, pretty fast.

  Ten minutes later, we’re back out on the sidewalk, one pink-lined suit in the shopping bag Stella won’t let me carry for her. She didn’t come out of the dressing room, so I don’t know what it looks like on her, but the smile on her face as she swings the bag at her side tells me she looks pretty damn perfect.

  They’d be a fool not to hire her. But the world is full of fools, so she practices her interview answers on the walk back, and I mentally cross my fingers and hope whoever’s sitting across the interview table can see how obviously, objectively great Stella Harrington is.

  I mean, I can see it, and I’m not biased at all.

  6

  Stella

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

  The car window is down, the radio’s playing country, and I don’t even care that I’m in a suit, and I’m going to have to buy a whole new wardrobe of frumpy teacher clothes, because I got the job. Right there at the end of the interview, they looked at each other, nodded, and then offered it to me.

  I want to sing at the top of my lungs. I want to shout at random passersby. I want to call my mama and tell her she was wrong when she said I’d never amount to anything.

  I want to tell someone. I think of my old bandmates, the good ones, but they’d think I’m settling. Those who can’t do teach, and all that. They wouldn’t get how big this is. I could tell Duke, but he’d jump straight into being practical, and preparing for problems that haven’t even happened yet. Which has its place, but it's not what I want right now.

  I want to celebrate. I want to tell someone who will look impressed and give me a bear hug and shout with joy.

  I want to tell Wade.

  Without questioning why the person I want to tell the most is my boss, I make a U turn and drive to our office, hoping he’s still there. I feel a little spurt of excitement when I see his car’s still in the lot. I park, and check my reflection in the rearview mirror.

  Not that it matters what I look like. Wade sees me every day. Plus, he witnessed the glory of my awkward teenage years. There is literally no reason for me to run my hands through my hair to give it body, or freshen my mascara. There’s definitely no reason for me to dig out the old pink lipstick in the base of my purse. I originally bought it because I got a kick out of the way it matched my hair, but now I’m thinking that it also matches the lining of my suit.

  Not that Wade’s going to see the lining of my suit.

  I’m just putting on lipstick because I’m happy, and sometimes happy days require lipstick.

  As I walk into the office, I feel so giddy it’s like I’m glowing. I can’t wait to see Wade’s reaction when I tell him.

  The office is almost empty, except for the intern who I know for a fact stays late so he can use the office printer for the sci-fi novel he’s writing. When the intern sees me, he walks into a wall and drops his freshly printed pages all over the floor.

  Yep, I look good.

  As I get closer to Wade’s office I hear him talking, and wonder if he stayed late for a phone call. Except he sounds sort of animated for a phone call.

  “Don’t do it, Karen! He loves you—damn it. Fucking Steve ruining shit. AGAIN.”

  I poke my head in. “What are you doing?”

  Wade jolts like he’s been caught watching porn. “Nothing. Work. I …” His words die as he looks up from the computer.

  His eyes start at my heels, and work their way up to my pink mouth.

  And the look in his eyes? Now I know that’s why I put on the lipstick.

  Wade jerks his eyes up to mine. “What are you doing here?”

  I smile, smug. “Well … I got the job.”

  “WHAT?! Congratulations!” He jumps up and gives me a big hug—exactly like I wanted—lifting me off the ground, and as my shoes go flying, I know I was right to come here. I didn’t think today could get any better, but Wade’s enthusiasm is the icing on the cake. He sets me down, then looks down and realizes I’m shoeless. “Whoops.”

  I laugh. “It’s fine. Just give me your hand so I can balance.” He offers his hand, and it’s strong and steady as I step back into my heels, feeling some Cinderella vibes. Except my magic isn’t going away at midnight. That job is mine, and I am going to rock the shit out of it.

  “Tell me all about it,” Wade demands, and I grin.

  “I will, I will. But first, please tell me why you were yelling at your computer screen. Did someone fuck with your coding again?”

  “That’s not how that … I mean, yep, that’s definitely what it was. So, let’s grab something to eat, celebrate!” He tries to usher me to the door, but I duck under his arm and rush over to get a look at his computer screen.

  It’s a movie, paused. On the screen, a woman in bad 90s clothes looks longingly at a man storming toward the camera. The man is so baby-faced, it takes me a while to recognize Joshua King, movie star extraordinaire. I thought I’d seen all his movies, but somehow I missed this one.

  They’re both drenched in improbably heavy rain, but I’ll give the moviemakers a pass because the way Joshua King’s shirt is plastered to his chest is truly a service to humanity.

  I mean, he’s no Wade St. George with his sleeves rolled up, but who is?

  I turn back to Wade, and raise an eyebrow. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “It’s from the list!” He defends himself. “The Home Sweet Home list you gave me to watch before the meeting. I figured I might as well start with the Joshua King one.”

  I glance back at the screen. “Huh. I thought he didn’t do romcoms.”

  “I think this movie is why.”

  I wag my finger at Wade. “Ah ah ah. I heard you. You were yelling at the screen. You’re hooked.”

  “I am not!”

  “So you won’t care if I skip to the end, just to see how it ends?”

  Wade crosses his arms across his broad chest, doing a very good impression of a man who doesn’t care about romantic comedies. “Why would I care?” he scoffs.

  “Ok then.” I reach down to skip ahead.

  “Don’t you dare,” Wade says, and I throw my head back and laugh.

  “Oh my God. Wade St. George. They got to you. You care about a Home Sweet Home movie.”

  “It would get to you too! Karen’s just so … ARGH.” He balls his hands into fists. “And Steve’s thing with the pickles, I mean come on man, get over it.”

  “Uh, no,” I say. “This movie would not get to me.”

  Wade jabs a finger at me. “You’re watching this Monday. And then you will eat your words.”

  I back away from his desk, my hands raised in surrender. “I give in. It’s good. It’s Oscar-worthy. Just don’t make me watch it.”

  “Too late, Harrington. Your fate is sealed.”

  I laugh, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at me that makes me suddenly very aware that we’re alone in the office at night.

  It’s probably just the suit and the lipstick. It’s throwing him for a loop. It’s throwing me for a loop. By Monday he’ll remember I’m Duke’s bratty sister, and I’ll remember that he’s an immorally rich genius who isn’t interested in broke debutante rejects.

  I should make my exit, before hormones and bad romantic comedies make one of us say something we’ll regret.

  I know I should.

  Instead I
say, “Did you really want to grab dinner? Or were you just saying that to keep me from looking at your computer screen?”

  “No! No, I’d love to take you to dinner. Let’s celebrate, right?”

  He grabs his stuff and closes down his computer, like taking me to dinner is the most normal thing in the world, while I stand motionless.

  There’s a world of difference between let’s grab something to eat and I’d love to take you to dinner. And I don’t know which one he really meant.

  I don’t know which one I want him to have meant.

  I should tell Wade no. Make up some urgent thing I forgot I had to do tonight. But he’s whistling cheerfully, and I’m in the mood to celebrate.

  Hell. Maybe this is something the new, suit-wearing me does: Let men take me to dinner like it’s nothing at all, because it is nothing at all, just a civilized act between civilized friends.

  “Where should we go?” I ask, hoping he won’t say a bar because I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime, but willing to tough it out if he does.

  “How about Annabeth’s?” He suggests, casually naming the fanciest restaurant in town, and my eyes bug out a little.

  “I know it’s a little … you know,” he continues, “But it’s a special night.”

  “A special night?” I ask, wary. First I’d love to take you to dinner, then a special night.

  Oh God. This is a date after all.

  Wade suddenly realizes how that sounded. “Because you got the job. That you wanted. No other reason. Although that’s reason enough. The job. That you just got.”

  He’s backpedaling so fast it would do a number on my ego if it weren’t so funny.

  “Right! The job,” I say, putting him out of his misery.

  “Yes! The job,” Wade nods, and I nod, and we both nod at each other like a couple of bobble heads ignoring the elephant in the room of why else two young people would ever go to the fanciest restaurant in town.

  But hey, it’s not a bar.

  “See you at Annabeth’s?” I ask.

  “Annabeth’s it is.”

  As I walk out of the office, followed by Wade, I’m grinning again. Only this time for an entirely different reason.