The Boss Baby Daddy (A Secret Baby Romance)

by Claire Adams

  It was a little after one. I had been hoping that by the time I actually got to her place that I wouldn't feel like I was going to be sick anymore. Hadn't happened yet. He was a baby; they just sort of hung out all day. He wasn't feeling as nervous to meet me as I was to meet him. It was just, I felt like babies could sense things, like they'd freak out if a weird person was around them, they had an intuition about those things. I didn't know shit about being a dad or how the hell to introduce myself to a kid. Nothing. I was going in completely unprepared.

  I got to Shelby's door and rang the bell. My heart started pounding so loud I heard it in my ears. Had this been a mistake? I am not ready, I thought suddenly. This was why I hadn't found out about him till now. Shelby had known, and she had just been doing what was best for him. Just leave, I thought. What the hell were you going to do for the kid anyway?

  I heard the door unlock on the other side. Too late to bail now. I held my breath as she pulled it open. I saw Shelby. She was a knockout on her worst day; she looked beautiful, obviously, but the little boy against her hip was giving her a run for her money. He had big round blue-green eyes, chubby cheeks, and a head full of fine, blond hair. He was wearing a white onesie with clouds, rain, and lightning bolts all over it.

  Holy shit. That was my boy.

  Everyone loved babies. If anything was universally cute, it was an infant's face. The baby, Damien, was cute, but that wasn't what got me. That was my son. I felt this hot, sudden rush of love for him.

  "Hi," Shelby said, grabbing my attention. "We've been waiting for you."

  "Hey. I... I got something for him," I stammered, holding the bag out to Shelby.

  "How about you come in and you can give it to him yourself?" she said, smiling. She stepped aside, letting me into the apartment. We walked through a short hallway into an open living and dining space. It was fairly spacious, two couches and a TV on a stand against one wall.

  "He just woke up from a nap, so you were right on time," she said, leading the way into the living room. A short, decorated Christmas tree stood in one corner of the room. Instead of a coffee table, there was a soft looking blue blanket on the floor on top of the carpet. There were colorful toys scattered over the floor.

  "What happens after he naps?" I asked, clueless. She walked over to the carpet and lowered Damien onto it on his stomach.

  "Around now, we play or read till he gets hungry, and I nurse him. You can sit down," she said, "just take your shoes off first." I took them off and sat on the ground near one corner of the blanket, looking down at Damien. He was trying to push himself up on his little arms, sort of like half a pushup.

  "Why is he on his belly?"

  "Putting them belly down helps strengthen their muscles enough to learn to roll over, support their heads, sit up on their own and eventually walk," she explained. He was wriggling on the floor. He seemed happy enough; I just hadn't been around enough babies to ever have anyone break down their development to me. I also hadn't really ever sat down and wondered what the steps were to get from baby to walking, talking kid. I knew that at some point, they got up and walked, and at some other point, maybe before that, they got teeth, but I was mostly in the dark. I watched him, fascinated. "What's in the bag?" Shelby asked, sitting on the other side of the baby. I took it out and showed it to her. She opened it and smiled when she saw the toy.

  "Did you just get this?"

  "I didn't just want to show up empty-handed. I wasn't sure what to get; a stuffed toy seemed like a safe bet."

  "It's adorable, thank you," she said, smiling at me. She picked Damien up and sat him on the floor between her legs, holding the toy in front of him. He smiled and laughed, making grabs for it as she made it talk and dance around in front of him.

  "Can he sit up on his own?" I asked.

  "Not quite. But he's getting there. He's active for his age, I think.”

  "How old is that?"

  "Three months," she said. "You don't have to sit so far away, Jason; you can touch him if you want." I nodded, apologetic that I was so out of my depth. I moved across the blanket, sitting down in front of her, so Damien was right in front of me. She had given him the toy, and he had it in one hand and was yanking the tail with the other. "His birthday was in September. The 15th. He was about a week later than we had been expecting him to come." I reached out and touched one of his cheeks. It was soft and pillowy. I brushed my hand lightly over his hair.

  "Is he always like this?" I asked.

  "This calm? Sometimes. Sometimes he's cranky, or uncomfortable, but the older he's gotten, the calmer he's become too," she said, looking down at him. He seemed so small. I knew they could be smaller since he had grown to get to his size. I took my hand away when he scrunched his face up and sneezed.

  "Is he okay?" I asked, a little worried.

  "He's fine," Shelby said, smirking. Was she laughing at me? This had been her life for the past three months; she had the advantage. She wasn't allowed to rag on me for not knowing how to do this whole thing... yet. If I had had as long as she had, then maybe I'd have a fucking clue how to be around him. I had just found out yesterday that I even had a kid.

  "Were you ever going to say anything?" I asked, remembering our lunch date. Had she even meant to say anything to me? It had kind of slipped out, and she had just gone with it. What if it hadn't? It hit me then. All the times I had asked her to her face about the baby, her acting cagey when she would talk about him and never giving me a straight answer. She hadn't had any plans to tell me shit.

  "When the time was right." She shrugged. "I would have thought about it."

  "Are you fucking serious?" I said, getting up. "How many times had I asked you? How many times did you tell me he wasn't mine?"

  "Calm down," she said, through gritted teeth, laying Damien back down on his stomach again.

  "I gave you so many chances to say something to me. I wanted to know, Shelby. Why didn't you ever tell me?"

  "You want to know why? Because I didn't think you'd care."

  "You didn't think I'd care? Of course, I fucking care. About my son? You're kidding me."

  "Yeah. I know that now. I realize I was wrong and I'm sorry about that. Living alone with a new baby, the last impression I had of you was of my demanding, egotistical boss back in New York. I didn't say anything because I thought you'd hear me then forget I ever said anything."

  "Shelby, I'd never do that."

  "You don't do a good job of showing that part of you then," she said, shrugging. "I did what I had thought was in Damien's best interests. That is my job as his mother, and I can't apologize for that. I can for being wrong though."

  "Shelby... I..." I didn't know what to say.

  "Could you watch him for a little bit?" she asked, walking away. I looked back down at the carpet, at Damien grabbing at his toys and babbling to himself. I had just met the little guy, and I was already a sucker for him. I walked back over to the blanket and sat down in front of him. How could she have thought that I wouldn't have wanted this? My son? My first child? How could she... was I... had I ever been that much of an asshole? What had I done to make her think that I wouldn't have acknowledged my child? I knew that our time at WRTC had been rough but not rough enough that she would think so little of me.

  I hated wondering what she thought of me. I hated even more that I had ever made her feel or think those things. Looking down at Damien, I hated that I could have been the reason I never got to be part of his life. Shelby walked back into the living room.

  "Has he cried at all?" she asked.

  "No, he's been fine," I said, hollowly. She came back to the blanket and put something down on the floor. A bottle full of milk. She picked Damien up.

  "He should be getting hungry by now. I thought maybe you'd want to try bottle feeding him," she said.

  "Seriously?" I croaked. She nodded, smiling slightly. "Shel, I don't think I can. I don't know how to do any of this stuff."

  "No one just knows how to take care
of babies; everyone has to learn," she said. "It's easiest if you're sitting. Come on." She got up and directed me to sit on one of the couches. I held my breath as she placed Damien in my arms and handed me the bottle. She coached me through testing the milk temperature to supporting him in the crook of my left arm so he could feed comfortably. Then she showed me the right way to burp him, sitting him on my lap and tapping his back.

  "There you go, you're a natural," she said after he had burped. He could sit but was a little wobbly still. Telling how awkward I was with him, she picked him up and held him against her hip. "Do you want to see his nursery?" she asked. I nodded, getting up and following her lead. Damien stared back at me over her shoulder on the walk there. It looked like she had two bedrooms in her place. The other door was closed, but the nursery was a good-sized room with yellow and white painted walls. The bedding in the crib was yellow and blue, coordinating with the walls. There was a chair in the corner near the window, and a wall mounted bookshelf near it. There was a fluffy white carpet right by the chair and another by the crib. A table with a pack of baby wipes on it I guessed was where she changed him.

  "This is nice," I commented.

  "Thanks. I know he doesn't care about the interior decorating; it was mainly just a project for me during the pregnancy." She stopped and turned to me. "Do you want to read to him?"

  We sat on the carpet near the chair, Damien sitting on me as I read from a board book about farm animals. He grabbed at the book as I read, even sticking it in his mouth at one point. Shelby said it was all right though; it was more about bonding and stimulating him with speech and pictures. I felt like I needed to be taking notes about everything I was learning, but Shelby was a lot more laid back about the whole thing. After talking me through how to change his diaper, we went on a short walk around the neighborhood. Several people stopped us, peering into Damien's stroller and commenting on how cute he was. Not going to lie, it felt pretty good. This mixture of pride and protectiveness where I knew he was adorable but didn't want anyone getting too close at the same time. By the time we were getting back to her apartment, he was drowsy.

  "Can you pull him out of the stroller?" Shelby asked me. I had held him a couple times already, but I had been sitting, and he hadn't been dozing in his stroller.

  "Won't it wake him up?" I asked, looking down at him. His lids would droop, then shoot open again like he was trying to stay awake.

  "He'll fall right back to sleep. Just be gentle," she instructed. I leaned down and unbuckled him. "Hold him under his arms and lift him out. Rest him on your chest." I followed her instructions, carefully lifting him out of the stroller and holding him against my chest. His eyes fluttered open, but she had been right: he was too tired, they closed again. "See, not that hard, is it?" she said, smiling as she collapsed the stroller. We went inside and after laying Damien in his crib, hung out for a while in her living room, talking over coffee.

  She had a baby book that she had been updating since he had been born, full of his details. Birth weight and length, first smile, all the little milestones he had hit so far. She showed me pictures she had from the day of his birth; her parents had been with her and had hired a birth photographer to capture the moment. She had even had one of those newborn photoshoots with him. The pictures were gorgeous, all black and white featuring the two of them. I soaked up as much as I could of the past few months before Damien waking up crying from the other room interrupted us.

  By that time, it was evening anyway. I held Damien as she got everything ready for their nighttime routine. I was still getting used to it. He was so small and fragile, but he didn't cry when he was in my arms, so that was good. She bathed him in a little tub that sat in hers in her bathroom, wrapped him up like a burrito in his towel, and took him to the nursery where she let me help dress him. I bottle fed him one more time before it was time for me to leave.

  I had stopped watching the clock after about the second hour I had been with them and the whole day had gotten away from us. I couldn't think of a way I would have rather spent it though. My first day with my son and it had been a success. It had been a lot to take in, for sure. I was still processing, but I felt good. After burping him, Shelby took him from me and walked me to the door. The sun had already gone down.

  "So?" she asked.

  "When can I come back?" I asked. She laughed a little.

  "Are you free this weekend?" she asked. My schedule was freer than free. I was wide open. We agreed that I'd come over the next day. Besides spending time with him, there was so much I had missed. I was ready, all in.

  "I'll see you tomorrow then," I said at the door. I looked at her, holding my son and for a few seconds, couldn't look away. I cupped her cheek and leaned in to kiss it. I had been good all day, I wanted to do more than just that, but we were rebuilding. It would take time.

  "See you," she said. I paused and fluffed Damien's hair.

  "See you too, little guy," I said, kissing his cheek. I rode a cab back to my hotel, wishing I could have stayed the night.

  Chapter Twenty

  Shelby

  I opened the picnic basket, taking out the dishes full of food. I had made the chicken wraps, lemonade, and cookies that morning at home while Jason had watched Damien. It was Sunday and he had been to the house yesterday too. I had wondered whether I would have gotten sick of him yet, but nope. I loved being a mom but taking care of an infant was a full-time job. It had been nice to have a little help, especially since Jason had been so eager to learn, warming up to the responsibilities of taking care of a baby. He hadn't been bad company himself either. As much as I valued quality time with Damien, it was nice to be with another adult who could talk back when I talked to him.

  I looked over to the playground where he was pushing Damien on a swing. I couldn't help smiling. It was picture perfect: a dad and his son bonding, having fun in the park on a Sunday afternoon. Damien loved the swings. I hadn't had to tell Jason not to push him too high or too fast; he had picked up on that himself. He was a big, built, tall man; it was interesting and kind of cute seeing him be so gentle with Damien. I set up the table and walked over to the swings to get them. Damien had had his bottle just before we had left the house, but he would likely get hungry soon. Jason picked him carefully out of the swing, and we sat at the picnic table, placing Damien's carrier seat on it so we could both watch him as we ate.

  "You're getting really good with him," I said to Jason, filling a cup full of lemonade for him. If it had been just Damien and me, I wouldn't have bothered packing a picnic, just waiting instead to get back home to have some food. I had gotten used to doing everything alone when I didn't have Paula and Damien wasn't in daycare. Having Jason around split the workload, but had made me realize how much I didn't give a shit when I was alone. There had been more than a few days that I had skipped meals because I was doing something for Damien and it wasn't lost on me how little I hung out with friends and colleagues now. Having Jason around had forced me to slow down, in a way. In a good way.

  "I'm trying," he said, with a shy shrug.

  "It's a learning curve, but you're picking it up fast."

  "I have, what, three months to catch up on? I want to make up for that."

  "I was wrong about you," I admitted, taking a bite of my lunch.

  "How?" he asked.

  "I really didn't think you even wanted anything to do with being a parent. I feel really bad about making that judgment without letting you prove me right or wrong."

  "You had your reasons," he said, with another shrug. "You’re Damien's mother and I respect that. Any parent would want to keep their kid away from a negative influence. This is delicious, by the way," he said, about the food. It had been a while since I had cooked for anyone but myself so I appreciated the compliment. I also appreciated whatever had happened in Jason's life recently to make him a person I could sit with my son and have a picnic with. It was like night and day. He was calm, attentive, even kind. I was still at a loss wit
h how he could have switched so fast, but I liked it.

  We finished eating and after a little longer in the playground, made our way back to my car. Before we left, Jason changed Damien's diaper in the back seat without my help. I hadn't been kidding when I had said that he was picking up fast. All the uncertainty that he had had around Damien the first day that they had met was almost completely gone. He, well, he looked like a dad.

  It was still early, and I didn't want to jump to conclusions. The smartest thing would have been to take this day by day, but I couldn't help it when my mind wandered to how steadfast I had been about excluding Jason from Damien's life. It wasn't this person I had been cautious of; it had been the man I had worked for in New York: rude, narcissistic, and rough. If he had been this person from the start, he would have found out about my pregnancy when I had.

  "Are you busy the rest of the day?" I asked him, unlocking my door.

  "Nope. Did you guys have something to do?" he asked, walking in after me with Damien.

  "No, that's not it. I just wondered whether you would want to spend the afternoon with us. Maybe stay for dinner?" I asked.

  "Can I?" he asked.

  "I'd like that," I said, smiling at him. He took Damien to the living room while I emptied the picnic basket in the kitchen. I opened the fridge, looking for a bottle, but I was out. Since Jason had been around, I had been pumping and bottle-feeding Damien more, so Jason could learn how to feed his son. The milk I had expressed the night before was already up.

  "Hey, Jason," I said, walking back out to the living room. He was on the floor with Damien. Damien was sitting up all on his own, unsupported grabbing at a ring of colorful plastic keys Jason held up in front of him