Jay's Lucky Baby - A Secret Baby Romance

by Layla Valentine

  No, it was just a shuffle to the bathroom, the two-minute brushing of teeth, staggering out of clothes, and a slump into bed. Then, my eyes closed and my dreams swirled in.

  I dreamed of paint. A black, shaking puddle of paint, trembling, bubbling, fizzing out. It was a canvas the size of a wall, with this bubbling center of black, this foaming, forming creature that became a head, that wiped paint out of its eyes, that stared at me with baby blue eyes. Only when I opened my eyes did I realize that it had been her. Donna.

  Chapter Six

  Donna

  I fell asleep smiling and woke up in tears. There was no escaping him. Even as I fell asleep once more, Carter Ray was there, in the bed beside me. He stroked me until I trembled, smiling at my helplessness, at my traitorous body that wouldn’t match my thoughts, that wouldn’t voice the “no” I knew I needed to say.

  No, his touch was driving me deeper into the black pleasure I could only give into. His lithe hands explored every inch of me, removing clothes such that I didn’t even notice. Moans bubbled out of me and disappeared into the blackness.

  “Won’t you leave me be?” I finally whispered amid it all.

  And then, as I trembled with the joy of it, with the pussy-pulsing need that could be satiated only one way, he said, “I will when you want me to.” That was when I knew there was no use.

  That day at work, I was at best unhelpful, at worst a nuisance. After Carter-filled dreams had consumed the first half of the night, I’d spent the second stoically refusing to fall asleep and thereby avoiding more unsettling dreams.

  After I emptied some tea onto a plateful of cookies instead of into a teacup, Kyle shot me a wink.

  “Boy, are you lucky I’m your boss.”

  Angling my body away from his oncoming pat, I gave him a tight-lipped smile.

  Because no; truth be told, having a boss who constantly hit on me wasn’t what I’d call “lucky,” even it did mean he wouldn’t fire me for how useless I was being today. Already I’d broken one glass, given one customer’s order to another, and somehow gotten my fingers lodged deep inside a freshly-baked muffin (which Kyle had declared an “employee snack,” eating half himself before slipping the other half between my lips).

  By the time it was 2:15 p.m., my break time, I could only collapse into a chair in the corner of the now-empty café, too tired to even venture to the staff room downstairs.

  Flopping into the chair across from me, Kyle moved his bushy, bearded face toward my averted one.

  “You good?”

  I shrugged noncommittally, and he continued. “Good seeing you at the protest the other day, even if we did get the boot pretty quickly.”

  I stared at the clock—only 2:18 by some horrible trick of fate—and muttered, “It’s wrong what they’re doing, destroying ecosystems for these pipelines.”

  “Yeah. I heard the CEO—Carter Ray—is basically a monster. No feelings, no concern for anybody or anything but his business.”

  I shot Kyle a suspicious look out of the corner of my eye, but his close-set hazel eyes looked as oblivious as ever.

  “So, what about that drink?” he said.

  With a sigh, I began my “I don’t know, Kyle; I’m really busy” speech, only to finish with, “What about next week?”

  Kyle’s gaze met mine, me just as shocked by my response as he was.

  “Really?” he asked, beaming.

  “Maybe,” I squeaked before taking off for the bathroom in the back.

  Double-locked inside the soap-smelling box, I glared at a flower sticker on the opposite wall. What was going on with me? Missing Carter Ray of all people, agreeing to go out with Kyle, when that just about the last thing I wanted to do.

  No, what you really want is to see Carter again, see if what you saw in his eyes—that split-second of kindness—was at all real, a voice in my head said.

  I strode over to the bathroom wall, ripped off the yellow-faced flower sticker, and shoved it into the sink before turning on the water. Watching it go down the drain gave me a strange sort of satisfaction.

  No, it didn’t matter what I wanted. I was never going to see Carter Ray ever again. And I was never going to date Kyle, with his creepy prolonged staring and complete disinterest in basically anything other than protesting, as if that one hobby could make up for his lack of all others.

  Once I emerged from the bathroom, a scowling-faced teenage girl was waiting at the counter.

  Thankfully, my break was up. The rest of my shift was spent imagining what kind of new house my parents would get (maybe another ranch, even!) and messing up more orders. This included that of a vaguely familiar-looking jerk who insinuated that there was a way I could make it up to him which involved me giving him my number. My glared “here’s your mocha frappé” was response enough.

  The coffee rush lasted for the next 45 minutes, and by the time I got out of the café and breathed in the fresh air outside, I had made a decision. I was going to see Carter Ray again, and I was going to see him tomorrow.

  Chapter Seven

  Carter

  What did you do when your past showed up at your doorstep wearing a too-tight purple windbreaker and a buck-toothed smile? You shut the door; that’s what you did.

  The only problem was that it was Karen who opened my door and, as I was walking down the stairs, let in my dearly inconvenient brother, Paul. Clearly, the topic of our next monthly meeting would be not letting in anyone without my explicit permission.

  But it was too late, now. Paul was swiveling his head around my house, as if searching for something, his gaze finally returning to me, where I was frozen on the steps.

  “You off to work?”

  Jogging down the rest of the steps, I tossed a “yes” over my shoulder as I made my way to my car. Once there, I stopped.

  “What are you doing here?”

  His attempt at a smile fell flat.

  “Don’t you remember?”

  I shook my head. “Paul, I have to go to work. What are you doing here?”

  “It’s…” His watery brown eyes blinked furiously. “It’s ten years since Mom…you know.”

  “Ah, that.”

  With a nod, I got in the car and closed the door. Paul trailed behind me.

  I rolled down the window.

  “That’s it?” he said.

  Turning on the engine, I called, “You can stay here, but not long. I have to go to work.”

  Then, I was pulling out of my driveway, driving away. But even as I sped down one road and onto another, Paul and all his unpleasant associations followed me. Trust my hapless brother to show up just as the final plans for the empire were getting underway, and for the most useless reason of all, at that.

  As if my periodic payments to his shiftless self weren’t enough, now I would be expected to put him up for who knew how long, all in the name of “brotherly love.” “Family is family, for worse or for worse,” as Father used to say.

  On my phone was the memo from yesterday: “Tell Cynthia to forget about Donna.” And yet, when I got into my busy-as-ever building and made my way up to my empty-as-usual penthouse floor (since my office was the only one on it), I didn’t tell Cynthia. No, I didn’t even give her my usual curt nod. I was five minutes late, after all.

  As I sat at my desk, I opened my laptop and went through the day’s schedule. Yes, it was looking like another packed day: calls and meetings and more meetings all day, some dinner, and then Selma all night. Sadly, there was no time for a sappy, useless brother. I texted Selma.

  Your place tonight. Wear the red dress.

  Selma was my Arabian princess. With black silky hair down to her ass and big doe eyes that half closed as I stroked her, she looked great in red. I couldn’t exactly remember which red dress was my favorite—I hadn’t seen her for a two weeks after all, with a handful of women in between—but I was sure whatever she chose would be good.

  A buzz. I picked up the phone.

  “Mr. Ray?”

&nb
sp; It was Cynthia.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a Mr.—, well, he says he’s your brother.”

  She said it with all the dubious shock that indicated that yes, it could be no one else but my brother, who had somehow managed to get here shortly after me.

  “Do you want me to—”

  “Show him in.”

  I hung up. Might as well get this over with.

  The door creaked open and Paul poked his head in.

  “Close the door behind you,” I said, and he did.

  “What do you want Paul?” I asked his pathetic-looking puppy eyes.

  “I…uh…well, are you going to come?”

  Glaring at Paul’s obliviousness, I resisted the urge to chuck my gold pyramid paperweight at his head.

  “Come to what, Paul?”

  “Mom’s grave next week. It’ll be the ten-year anniversary on Tuesday.”

  I slid the paperweight to the other side of my desk.

  “I know.”

  A long silence, then, “It’s been a while.”

  “I know.”

  When I glanced up, he was peering at me incredulously, as if I really had chucked the paperweight at his head.

  “What’s wrong with you? Aren’t you sad? I mean, I’m your brother, and Mom…”

  “I know, Paul. I found her, remember? And yes, forgive me that I’m not overjoyed to see you since it will invariably end up with a sort of teary payout to go away for a few more months.”

  Now the teary brown eyes were actually swimming with tears.

  “You… Hell, Carter, there’s something really wrong with you. With these pipelines that are all over the news, threatening biodiverse habitats, dividing the community…”

  I shrugged.

  “Business is business.”

  He walked up so he was right in front of my desk, the most incongruous guest my office had ever received.

  “You really don’t care, do you?”

  I smiled.

  “You’re starting to get it.”

  Wiping his eyes, words sputtered out.

  “Jeez, I always thought, whatever I heard, that you were my brother, that they were exaggerating, misunderstanding you. I always thought you weren’t like that.”

  I tilted the pyramid paperweight on its side. This was getting boring.

  “Be careful what you hear, Paul. Sometimes it just might be right.”

  Seizing the paperweight, Paul squeezed it, his eyes wild, like he might do something rash. Although, we both knew he wouldn’t.

  “You know, you’re really like Dad, you know that? Never thought I’d say this, but you’re just like that bitter old workaholic.”

  As Paul marched to the door, I called a “thank you” after him.

  The next time my phone buzzed a few minutes later, I answered it and immediately said, “Tell my brother to call. I’m unfortunately indisposed at the moment.”

  But Cynthia said, “It’s not Paul. It’s a Miss Ashley Turndale—of the Turndale family with extensive property in rural Colorado.”

  “Ah.”

  “She would like to meet with you—immediately, if possible.”

  I opened my laptop and glanced at my schedule once more. It was packed; no doubt about it. But this was important. It could have been the last part of property needed to complete the pipelines. This could solve everything.

  “All right. Where?” I asked.

  “Oh, eh, she’s saying Manitou Springs,” Cynthia said, clearly surprised.

  “Tell her it’s a go and to text me details,” I said, rising. “And move all my meetings to tomorrow. I’ll come in Saturday and finish everything else. Thanks, Cynthia.”

  I hung up. Suddenly, the room felt stifling. Paul had ruined the workday; there was no getting around it. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t pop out for a meeting and be productive despite the setback. Manitou Springs was only an hour and change away. I could make it, easy.

  Once I got in the car, I got a text from her: This is Miss Turndale. I’d like to meet in the Manitou Cliff Dwellings as they are part of my family’s land.

  I set my GPS to the Manitou Cliff Dwellings, strapped myself in, responded that I’d be there in an hour.

  Chapter Eight

  Carter

  The speed limit on the I-25 was 75 mph, but that was for people who didn’t have a buddy in the DA’s office. I had lost count of how many times Skylar had gotten me out of tickets and other petty bullshit charges. Although, I’d had my fair share of getting him out of close ones too, being his alibi when he needed one.

  As I sped along, weaving around cars like I was on an extended obstacle course, I thought about what I’d been doing this time yesterday. Or, rather, who. I never had gotten around to telling Cynthia to forget about Donna, but it didn’t really matter now. Now, I was going to see a potential business partner, and tonight it would be Selma’s. I wouldn’t stop at home; Paul could do what he wanted as long as I wouldn’t be around to suffer through it.

  So, speeding as I was, it only took me an hour to pull up to the dirt parking lot of the Manitou Cliff Dwellings. At the ticket window, I had to fork over $9.50, but it was a small price to pay when, with this potential land deal, I could very well be making millions. It was incredible to believe that this land (with springs on it, no less) could be owned by a civilian, but stranger things had happened—like a certain civilian handcuffing herself to my desk.

  Walking toward the cliff dwellings, I texted Miss Turndale and began scanning the crowd for a woman who didn’t look like an oblivious tourist. But I saw nothing. The next message on my phone indicated why: I’m in the first cave dwelling.

  I paused. Okay, something was definitely up. I went back to my car and got out my gun, slipping it into my inner coat pocket. I saved my Glock 43 for special occasions, and being cornered by one of the countless crazies angered by my pipeline plans definitely qualified.

  So, as I walked up toward the cliff dwellings, the feel of the hard metal in my leather jacket, pressed to my chest, relieved me. “If you’re prepared, there’s nothing you can’t handle,” as Father used to say.

  Already, as I made my way up, the tourists were practically drooling with excitement over the far-off cave dwellings. I tried squinting at the red-stone, old-looking things, but they looked as unimpressive as they had the other three times I’d come here to see them. Hell, people would do anything for a new bit of entertainment these days.

  I glanced at my phone, at the “Tell Cynthia to forget about Donna” memo. Look at me. I’d gotten the first new girl in weeks and already I couldn’t think of anything else. Though—and I didn’t know why—it seemed like there was something different about this one, maybe. Maybe not. Who was I kidding?

  What are you wearing? I texted the would-be attacker.

  Although it wasn’t like they were going to reply: Ski-mask. I’m the one with the AK-47 pointed at your head.

  The closer I got to the red structures, the less impressed I was. Great, some people back then built some old stuff that worked great except not nearly as well as basically everything we had now. What was the big deal? Why not enjoy what we had now instead of wasting time salivating over an old pile of rubble?

  I was at the first cave dwelling when Miss Ashely or whoever responded: Purple flowered dress.

  I stepped in and immediately saw her, the woman in the white dress with the purple flowers. She had braided mahogany brown hair and dancing baby blue eyes. Donna.

  She smiled when she saw me.

  “Hi.”

  I couldn’t stop a smile from making its way onto my face.

  “How, and why?”

  She flashed a pink-lipped grin.

  “Your secretary’s pretty easy to lie to.”

  I had to laugh at that one. After all, I had been promising that woman for months that we were actually going to go out for dinner for once—my treat.

  Looking her up and down, I said, “You still haven’t told me why.�
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  She said nothing, looking conflicted herself.

  I strode up to her and, pressing her into the wall, murmured in her ear, “I think I know why.”

  Shoving me back, she shook her head, one stray piece of her bangs swaying with the movement.

  “No, I…” Her eyes met mine. “I mean, I’m grateful you helped my family; really, I am. If only you knew how…” She shook her head again.

  “I just…last time—I know it’s stupid—I just thought that when I looked at you, when I really looked at you, it was like I wasn’t looking at the Carter Ray I had heard about. I was looking at someone different, someone who would maybe understand when I told him that this latest pipeline of his, the Morrison one, it’s not right. That he’s planning to build it in an area that is one of the most biodiverse Colorado has, and that the wildlife and natural beauty the pipeline will destroy…”

  Catching sight of my face, her voice trailed off.

  “Never mind. Forget it. It was stupid to think that you’d care.”

  I shrugged. “Guess so.”

  Her face fell, and as anger rushed through me, the words came out before I could stop them.

  “Don’t think you know me, or anything about me.”

  Anger flashed through her own narrowed eyes, then something else, too. Hope. It was just a flicker, but when I heard the guarded, soft-spoken words—“What does that mean?”—I could only respond with, “I don’t know.”

  And so, we stood there, glaring at each other, me, her, and her assumed version of me. And the problem was that I wasn’t sure which of us was right, who I really was—her worst stereotype, or her best hope—or both. I wasn’t sure why I cared, or why, for the first time in years, I had said the idiotic words “I don’t know.”

  “We can make another deal.”

  Now she smiled outright, and her smile became mine.

  “Yes?”

  Annoyance flashed through me. So, she thought she’d just get her way with that smile of hers and live happily ever after, huh? Well, she was in for a rough surprise when she heard just what this deal would require of her.