Seven Days Secret Baby_A Second Chance Romance

by Emma York

  SEVEN DAYS SECRET BABY

  EMMA YORK

  COPYRIGHT

  This book is entirely the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved

  © 2018 Emma York

  No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the author excepting brief passages quoted in the context of a review. Any trademarked products or locations referenced in this story have been used without permission. The use of such trademarks does not represent authorisation or endorsement of this book by the respective trademark owners.

  CONTENTS

  ONE - JODIE

  TWO - NICK

  THREE - JODIE

  FOUR - NICK

  FIVE - JODIE

  SIX - NICK

  SEVEN - JODIE

  EIGHT - NICK

  NINE - JODIE

  TEN - NICK

  ELEVEN - JODIE

  TWELVE - NICK

  THIRTEEN - JODIE

  FOURTEEN - NICK

  FIFTEEN - JODIE

  SIXTEEN - NICK

  SEVENTEEN - JODIE

  EIGHTEEN - NICK

  EPILOGUE - JODIE

  Author's Note

  ALSO BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ONE - JODIE

  I closed my eyes and at once his hands were all over me, tracing lines over my skin as he quietly whispered my name.

  “Jodie.”

  I sighed to myself. It was a perfect moment.

  “Jodie.”

  A voice in the distance. Not his voice.

  Reluctantly I opened my eyes and the dream faded away in a cloud of disappointment and frustrated desire.

  “Jodie?” My supervisor was waving around the door of the staff room. “Earth to Jodie. Break's over. We need you in the Milton room?”

  I got up off my chair. Time to get back to work. My latest school group was waiting.

  It had always been my dream to work at a museum. I loved the idea of working somewhere surrounded by great things, helping others to understand them, maybe even come to appreciate the value of history a little better.

  The reality was quite different to my dream. The job mostly meant sitting on chairs and keeping an eye on that one person who felt the need to doodle a smiley face on a four hundred year old painting for no apparent reason. That and daydreaming about him.

  My coffee breaks were always spent the same way. Every time I’d drift off and imagine the man who came in occasionally to look at the Flambert painting. In my head he was madly in love with me. Dragging me off to his penthouse suite without a word, bringing me to the peak of ecstasy. Throwing banknotes on the fire because he didn't need money, he needed me.

  I’d mentioned my daydreams to my best friend and next door neighbour, Annie. She was as blunt as she was about everything. “It’s very simple,” she told me. “You need to get laid. 200 cc’s of sex, stat. Code red hot horny. Go up and ask him out.”

  Her plan was easier said than done. I didn’t have the first idea about how to approach my mystery man, let alone take the terrifying step of asking him out on a date. He wasn't going to ask me so I spent my shifts watching the world drift by and daydreaming about something that would never happen.

  I asked Annie, “What if I end up alone and no one ever gets a chance to-”

  “Go down to pussy town?” she replied with a smile. “Enjoy a buffet of you and your dessicated dried up cobwebbed snatch?”

  “You have such a way with words.”

  “Thank you. Don’t worry, Jodie. It’ll happen when you least expect it.”

  I had mocked her at the time but it turned out she was right. It did happen when I least expected it and it began with a man taking photos of me that day when I walked into the Milton room.

  Waiting for me in there was a group of raucous schoolchildren, their teacher nowhere to be seen. I made a quick scan of the main offenders. One adult in the room looking at me, clearly nothing to do with the group, camera in hand. Children everywhere running riot.

  “Right, you two off that statue. You, put him down and apologise. You pick that soda can up and put it in the trash. You, the rope’s there for a reason.”

  That done, I marched over to the corner in response to a sobbing sound. Half hidden behind one of the cabinets was a girl who couldn’t have been more than six. Hovering over her was a much bigger boy who couldn’t have been in the same class, he cleared her height by a foot at least. He had her shirt in his hand, holding her bodily off the floor.

  I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, took one look at my face and slowly lowered his victim to the ground. “What?” he asked, his face as angelic as any of the others. “What did I do?”

  “Where’s your teacher?”

  “I dunno, do I?”

  “Gone to the toilet,” the girl said in a quiet voice.

  I pointed at the boy. “You, go join the others,” I watched him walk away. Only when he was out of earshot did I crouch down. “Are you all right?”

  “He wanted this,” she said, pulling a broken pencil out of her pocket. “I got it in the gift shop for my mom. She likes writing. When I wouldn’t give it to him, he broke it. Said he’d break my arm if I didn’t give it to him but it’s for my mom.”

  “I like writing too,” I said, trying to distract her, hoping to stop her bursting into fresh tears. “What’s your name?”

  “Sarah.”

  “Wait here, Sarah, I’ll be right back.”

  Two minutes later I was back with another pencil from the gift shop. While I was gone, their teacher returned and was in the process of lining them all up at the back of the room. “This lady,” she said, pointing at me, “is here to tell you all about Edwin Drood and Mr Charles Dickens. Pay attention and you just might learn something.”

  While she was talking I noticed the man I’d seen earlier was still there, still looking at me, camera still in hand, pointed my way. I ignored him and looked for Sarah, the little girl I'd just spoken to.

  I found her hovering at the edge of the group. Without anyone noticing, I slipped her the pencil just in time for the teacher to beckon me over.

  “How many of you have heard of Charles Dickens?” I asked, starting the same way I always did.

  For ten minutes I managed to keep them engaged but they were a difficult group. It wasn’t helped by the teacher who seemed more interested in her cellphone than either the kids or the exhibits. I also wasn’t helped by the fact the man at the back of the room was definitely taking photos of me. I made a mental note to deal with him afterwards.

  “This is a first edition of his most famous book,” I said to the school group, pointing at the case next to me. “His last book, still in the process of writing it when he died. It’s unfinished but there was a rumour that he left a single draft of the ending somewhere. It’s my life’s ambition to find those final chapters. Now, I know you’re all getting bored so come over here and look at this painting for a minute.”

  They obediently followed me. I knew what would get their attention back. “This is by an artist called Flambert. This is the only painting of his you can see in public. All the others are held in private collections. Any idea how much it’s worth?”

  A chorus of answers.

  “Ten pounds.”

  “A hundred pounds.”

  “Two thousand, seven hundred, and ninety three pounds. And eight pence.”

  I smiled. “It cost the government thirty million pounds to buy it and put it here where you can see it.”

  A silence fell over them. That figure never failed t
o get a reaction. They might not understand the frustration readers felt about the world’s greatest author leaving a book unfinished but thirty million for a painting always got their attention.

  I left them ten minutes later with a set of quizzes to complete. The man who’d taken the pictures of me had gone and I was glad. Sarah gave me a wave with her new pencil as I headed past her and on to the canteen. I needed to speak to Annie.

  She was in there already. “What’s up with you?” she asked. “You look annoyed.”

  “Not annoyed, confused,” I replied, taking my coffee from the machine and pulling out a battered chair from the table. “There was a guy in there.”

  “I’ll call the papers. Man visits museum.”

  “I could have sworn he was taking photos of me.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “About sixty. White hair, pretty short. Cheap suit.”

  “You know who it is, don’t you?”

  I shook my head.

  “I bet it’s Alan Brears.”

  “It wasn’t him. Don’t you think I know what our boss looks like?”

  “Not him in person. I heard a rumor he was looking at setting up an educational tour group and I bet he’s heard about your skills.”

  “My skills at babysitting school groups?”

  “Don’t put yourself down. You do that too much. You know you’re good at these tours. I bet he sent someone to watch, kind of like a mystery shopper. I wouldn’t be surprised if he rings you with an offer. A million a year to give lectures to toddlers about Colonialism, something like that.”

  “I don’t do it for the money, Annie.”

  “That’s lucky because we don’t get much.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Got enough for a drink tonight though, right?”

  I couldn’t refuse. If I said no she’d ask why. I’d have to tell her how broke I was. That would mean admitting about my rent arrears and I wanted to keep that to myself for as long as I could. My housemate had left without notice three months earlier which took me from paying for half of an apartment to paying for all of it. That took me quickly into arrears and that meant one pissed landlord. I had no intention of burdening Annie with my problems though. She had enough of her own.

  So I ended up at Paddy’s with her. All the pubs in the city and she chose that one. Yes, it was closest to our building but that wasn’t the point. The point was it was where our landlord chose to drink that night. If we’d not gone there we might not have run into him and I might not have ended the night in prison.

  I was nursing the cheapest wine they had, trying not to wince at the taste of sandpaper in the back of my throat. Annie had a gin and tonic and was eying up two men in suits sat on the table behind us. “Could you stop thinking about men for one second,” I said, seeing where her eyes were fixed.

  “Says the girl who daydreams about sex pretty much constantly.”

  “I don’t dream about it all the time.”

  “Were you or were you not dreaming about him at work today?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “We both laughed but the merriment stopped the moment I heard my name being yelled from the pub doorway. “Jodie!”

  I turned and looked. There was our landlord, large as life and twice as angry. “Ryan,” I said, already getting to my feet. “Let me explain.”

  “What’s to explain? You give me a sob story about not being able to afford my rent just this morning and now you can suddenly afford to go drinking?”

  “It’s not like that. Please, can we talk about this outside?”

  “Why? Embarrassed the world will know you can’t pay your rent?”

  “No, it’s just…”

  “Pay me now. I know you’ve just got your check. Pay me what you owe this minute or you’re out.”

  “I haven’t got it.”

  “Bullshit. Why not?” He pointed at Annie. “She manages to pay hers on time on the same wage as you.”

  Yeah, I thought. She hadn’t just lent three hundred to the family on the other side of the corridor. They had been in worse arrears than me and they had a newborn baby. I couldn’t watch them get thrown onto the street so I’d lent them enough to clear their debt. It was a stupid thing to do but I’d taken one look at their baby after Ryan had finished yelling at them and known I couldn’t watch them get evicted. They were a family. I only had me. Seeing their baby often gave me pangs of jealousy but I kept that to myself.

  “How much does she owe?” a voice said.

  We all turned to see a man getting up from a table in the corner. I hadn’t even noticed him sitting there. “That’s him,” I said to Annie. “The one who was taking the photos of me.”

  “Who are you?” Ryan asked.

  The stranger ignored the question. “How much does she owe?”

  “Three hundred. Why?”

  The stranger turned to me. “I’ll pay what you owe if you agree to meet my employer.”

  “No,” I said, my spider sense tingling. Something about the guy was putting me on edge. “Annie, come on. Let’s go home.”

  Ryan grabbed my arm as I went to pass him. “You haven’t got a home to go to if you don’t pay me.”

  “Let me go.”

  “Not until you pay me one way or another. A little piece of ass like you, maybe we can work our your arrears with your cute rear?”

  He lunged to grope my ass. I didn’t hit him. I was too shocked to react. Annie did it for me, catching him on the jaw with her clenched fist.

  It went downhill from there. The next few minutes were a blur. Before I knew what was happening, Ryan was on the floor, Annie being dragged off him. “Don’t you touch my friend,” she was screaming. He had a grip on my ankle and I scrambled away.

  Someone put their hand on my shoulder and a few seconds after that I was in the back of a police car outside. “What am I being arrested for?” I asked as the squad car began to move away from the bar.

  “Starting a fight,” the answer came back.

  “But I didn't start a fight. ”

  “Tell that to the judge in the morning. ”

  I got no more answers in the car no matter how much I tried to protest my innocence. The two officers in the front didn’t listen.

  I thought it couldn’t get any worse but that night while I sat in the holding cell, I got a visit from Alan Brears himself.

  “Top brass come to see me in prison,” I said. “What an honor.”

  He managed a weak smile. “I’m going to have to let you go, Jodie.”

  “So you’re not bailing me out, you’re firing me?”

  “Understand it from my point of view. How do you think it would look if the papers found out one of my employees spent her evenings brawling in bars? We’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

  “But I didn’t do anything. Please, Alan, don’t do this.”

  “I’m sorry, Jodie. It’s out of my hands. The wheels are already in motion.”

  “So stop them.”

  He walked away without looking back and I tried not to cry. I lasted less than a minute. On the verge of eviction. Offered money by some weird guy who probably thought I was a call girl. Out of a job and locked up prison for the night. As Mondays went, I’d had better.

  TWO - NICK

  I still remember the last day before Jodie arrived. At that point I had no idea what she would say to my offer. I hadn't even spoken to her and I was about to ask her to spend a week in my house.

  I walked into my office to start the day. The statue had arrived at last. “Do you like it?” Gwyneth asked. She was officially my secretary but she handled most of the things I had no time for, like getting a new statue for the plinth in the third floor corridor, empty since one of the maids knocked off the Ming while dusting it.

  I looked at the statue and at the two men holding it in place. “No one told me the arms were missing. Get rid of it.”

  “Sir, it’s the Venus Di Milo.”

&nbs
p; “I don’t care what it’s called. I want a statue with arms, damn it. Not this nonsense. What good is a statue with no arms. Do I have no arms? Would you be a decent secretary with no arms? Would they be able to carry the damn thing if they had no arms? Get rid of it and bring it back when it’s got arms.”

  “Sir, we spent six months negotiating the deal to bring it here. It cost over twenty million just to start the discussion.”

  “Are you arguing with me, Gwyneth?”

  “Take it back,” she snapped at the men, waving them away.

  “Any calls?” I asked as she pulled out the desk chair for me to sit down and get started with the day.

  “Bill Gates again. He wondered about a donation. Warren Buffett rang too.”

  “Let me guess, asking for stock tips? Tell him he can look after his own damn investments this time.”

  “And Bill Gates? He hoped you might be able to help his malaria study with-”

  “With my money. Hasn’t he got enough of his own? I don’t have malaria and I have no intention of catching it. Where’s the profit in handing him cash?”

  “I believe it was to help other people.”

  “I am not a philanthropist, Gwyneth. I am a businessman. I spend money on beautiful things and good investment opportunities. Gates is neither.” I pointed at the desk. “Does that say sucker for donations on it anywhere?”

  “Have you forgotten about Mr Tomlinson?”

  “Who?”

  “Charlie Tomlinson? The oil deal?”

  “And?”

  “He will only sell to a commited philanthropist like himself.”

  “So?” I snapped impatiently.

  “So for you to buy, you need to prove to him you’re as charitable as he is.”

  “I’m charitable aren’t I? I donated to your sponsored nonsense last year didn’t I?”

  “Yes, Sir and I was very grateful for the whole pound you gave me.”

  “There you are then. Tell Tomlinson about that and we’re done.”

  “He might want you to hand over more than a pound to seem truly committed to charitable endeavors. If you recall, Sir, we had a plan.”