Jay's Lucky Baby - A Secret Baby Romance

by Layla Valentine

  “Just a moment, young lady. We’re going to need to see some ID!” he teased. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, something of which I was extraordinarily proud.

  “Oh, yes! Right, considering the collective age of this cruise…” I paused, realizing what I’d said, some moments after the words slipped past my lips.

  Jerry considered me with a quirked brow, and I tried to brush him off, producing my ID for the bartender. The young man preparing the drinks offered me a kind smile before swiftly producing my gin and tonic.

  “I’d make sure that’s not a fake ID! She certainly doesn’t look old enough to be drinking,” the employee continued to joke, and I turned to narrow my eyes at him.

  He smiled awkwardly, and after a moment I allowed the tension to release from my body. He wasn’t worth the argument, and he certainly wasn’t worth ruining what could be a good evening.

  “Not too young for you to sleep with though, eh, Jerry? Word around the water cooler is you got caught with your daughter’s best friend. Funny how things work out,” I said brightly, accepting my gin and tonic before slipping away from the bar. Jerry stared at me with angry eyes, but I couldn’t deny myself the small victorious feeling that welled up inside me.

  “Elizabeth Beck, what in the world has gotten into you!? You come back here and apologize to Jerry right now. He’s been going through a hard time, and you have no place to judge. At least his daughter has friends, am I right, Jerry?” A familiar and obnoxious voice called out, and I turned to see my mom lingering at the bar, ordering another round of shots.

  I breathed a sigh, weighing the pros and cons of bolting away and hiding in my room for the remainder of the evening. On the positive side, I wouldn’t be stuck apologizing to my mother’s sleazy employee. On the other, my mom would never let it go if I ran away like a frightened child.

  Suddenly, a realization swept over me. I tossed back the remainder of my drink before taking long strides in the direction of the bar. Martha Beck, CEO, looked at me expectantly, and I set down my glass before waving for the bartender to refill it.

  “Mom, we need to talk.”

  Chapter Two

  Paul

  In my defense, I made a valiant attempt not to lose my shit when I woke up. Late in the day, approximately two days out from Rio, and things just weren’t going my way. You’d expect a con artist to be used to things going awry, but I wasn’t your average con man. When I put my mind to it, I had a way of making things work. I had worked hard to weasel my way onto this exorbitantly expensive cruise ship, even if it was only as a performer.

  It was times like this when I thanked my deadbeat birth parents for letting me run away to the circus. Most parents wouldn’t consider it the most forward-thinking move, but mine just didn’t care enough to stop me. I wouldn’t accept anyone’s pity, though. A couple of freak show workers took me in as their own, in spite of the fact that I didn’t exactly fit in with the crowd.

  You learn a lot when your adoptive dad is the world’s strongest man, and your adoptive mom is the world’s hairiest sword swallower. They got a package deal with Ma; she was a bearded lady of many talents.

  Granted, in my travels growing up, I’d seen much hairier women who weren’t slated to work as a circus novelty. Not that I’m implying there’s anything wrong with an unshaven lady, but perhaps a little sympathy for that girl with the mustache at age thirteen, yeah? My tastes lay with the clean shaven, but beggars can’t be choosers. Fortunately, I was no beggar.

  My good looks were one of the reasons I excelled at the whole con man gig. It was easier to win people’s hearts when you were conventionally attractive, and women tended to drop their panties wherever I went. Not to brag or anything.

  In any case, my current job required a lot more than a pretty face or a ripped body. The skills I’d learned at the circus helped, sure, but you had to have your wits about you. Specifically, for this job, I’d have to find a way to get close to a crotchety old broad and get her out of her clothes.

  Well, hopefully, it wouldn’t come to getting her completely naked; I just needed that magic flash drive that hung around her neck. It didn’t pose that difficult of a task for Paul Drake, the most gorgeous entertainer any of these bored office drones had ever laid eyes on.

  That’s me, for the record. At least, for the sake of this con.

  That was another fun tidbit about being a con artist. Having the opportunity to explore your various identities, play up the most appealing parts of your personality. Or, in some cases, the least attractive. It all depended on the job, bucko, and whether you had to sweep someone off their feet or drag their head out of the clouds.

  Some may have figured me a madman, but you certainly couldn’t tell your therapist that the voices in your head served a particular purpose. Not that I could justify the price tag on a good shrink anyway—yikes.

  Back to the matter at hand: getting Martha Beck’s most valued piece of property off of her person. I knew bits and pieces about the old lady, in the sense that nearly everyone in the country had heard of her. A bit of a hard-ass when it came to getting the job done, as far as I could tell. The word was that she had a cute daughter, but as much as I’d like to think with my other head, I had to keep the one that held my brain in the game.

  I’d paid off a disgruntled former EBgen employee with some of the hauls from my last con. In exchange, he’d fed me a bit of information that wasn’t well known outside of old Martha’s closest circle of confidants. Apparently, the flash drive she wore contained some prime trade secrets that could ruin the woman if they were to get out.

  Moreover, they could put the right buyer in the position to form their own fortune 500 company. I wasn’t much of one for the business side of things, but I was sure some old codger would be willing to cough up the proper price tag. It was just a matter of getting the information, and getting away with it.

  There was just one problem with this entire con: days into the company cruise, with only two days until we hit port in Rio, I was no closer to snagging that damn flash drive than I had been in the beginning. I wasn’t one to lose my cool when it came to business, but I was getting a bit crunched for time. I would have to double down for the remainder of those final days if I had any hope of coming out with my prize.

  This was what had me frantically rummaging through my battered old suitcase the moment I woke up, trying to decide on the perfect outfit—one that screamed, “Of course I’m not here to steal your valuables.” I was charming as hell, but if the intel I’d received on this old broad was any indication, she would be hard pressed to trust someone enough to let them near her, let alone her prized possession.

  Maybe I’d have been better suited coming up with a persona for the cleaning crew, but hell, as far as I could tell, the lady never took the damn necklace off. It’d do me little good to be alone in her cabin if the drive was on her at all times. As much as I hated the thought of breaking in while the old biddy was sleeping, at this rate, I was running out of options. I was a miracle worker, but it wasn’t as if I could just snatch the thing and run. We were on a cruise ship! In the middle of the damn ocean!

  All things considered, I was pretty stressed. Out of time and out of options, I had to cobble together some way of making this crapshoot work. I decided on a simple pair of shorts, and hell, forget the shirt. Maybe Martha wasn’t as much of a man hater as she claimed to be.

  Examining my reflection in the mirror, I ran a hand through my shaggy black hair. I had grown a stubbly goatee for the sake of this con; something about it just screamed ‘carnie.’ Hell, if I weren't so concerned with looking good, I’d have grown one of those mustaches that curled up at the ends. Not sure I’d have been able to contain my evil laughter in that case, however. It might have been a step too far.

  As I grinned at my own reflection, my ice-blue eyes shone in the low light of my room. People had accused me of wearing contacts, but that brilliant shade of blue was all natural, buddy. I ran a brush through m
y hair, tossing my head to make sure it was just so. I was no pampered prima donna, but a man can recognize when he’s a looker, can’t he?

  Satisfied, I slipped out of my room and began making long strides in the direction of the entertainment hall. The gig was some frilly circus number, lots of trapeze and death-defying drops. It was pretty to look at, sure, but I’m sure the passengers would have much rather seen my fire dancing or sword swallowing; something that might actually shake them out of their happy hour fog.

  I checked my watch, forcing myself to focus. I had to plan out every conversation, every bit of information I would reveal about myself, or rather, this particular persona of mine. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I nearly collided with this cute little chick who looked like she was a thousand miles away.

  I managed to sidestep her at the last possible second, fighting a smile at the star-struck look she had fixed upon me. I made a brief assessment, taking in her chestnut-colored curls, the warm chocolate hues of her eyes. That wasn't even to mention that body, man, Jesus Christ. I had no time to introduce myself; I was so crunched for time that I couldn’t even entertain the idea of laying some girl in the midst of my brilliant plan.

  I would consider making an exception, depending on how the meeting at the entertainment hall went, but as it stood, I had places to be and people to see. I checked my watch again, trying to remember what exact time we were supposed to meet to check in with the other performers on board the ship. As far as I was aware, we were expected to run through a quick routine to gauge each person’s compatibility with each other.

  I hadn’t met the other entertainers yet, and I thought it strange that there hadn’t been any rehearsal before my hiring—I had only been required to run through a short solo routine—but I wasn’t about to complain and draw more attention to myself. The director was so flamboyant that I was certain he could burst into flames at any given moment, and there was no question that he had the hots for me. Not that I could blame him…

  The director having a raging boner for me suited my purposes better than I could have anticipated. He’d tried to give me the lead in the show, but I’d played the shy little wallflower and asked to be placed on the sidelines a bit. No one would question the sweet, bashful little circus boy when the flash drive came up missing.

  The whole sweet and timid act was pressing all the wrong buttons for me, but at least I only had to maintain it in front of these bucks with bigger wallets than brains. I couldn’t wait to get off of this damned ship.

  I stepped into the entertainment hall, startled to see the place empty, save for the director. He seemed to be taking down the props, and I approached him mock-warily.

  “Sir?” I started, cursing how shy I had to act.

  The director jolted, turning to face me with wide eyes. He brightened immediately upon seeing me, and I shuffled uncomfortably as his eyes roved my exposed skin. Maybe going shirtless wasn’t the best plan.

  “Ah, Paul. We were wondering where you had gone off to.” He smiled, stepping closer to me, and I resisted the urge to jolt back, gesturing vaguely towards the props he was taking down.

  “I thought we had a rehearsal thing,” I said, unable to keep the boredom from creeping into my tone.

  Keep it together, Paul, keep it together.

  The director chuckled, waving me off.

  “Well, we did! That’s why we were wondering where you were. Some of the others suggested we fetch you from your cabin, but I was certain you would show up. I must say, I’m a little disappointed, Paul. I expected more from you.” He pouted, poking his finger into my chest.

  I stared at him in horror, a thousand thoughts racing through my mind. Had I blown it? Was I screwed out of this job? It’s not like they could kick me off the boat, could they?

  “Oh, don’t panic, buttercup. I’ll have a place for you in the show. Don’t worry your pretty little head,” the director crooned, tracing his finger down my chest before drawing away.

  Unpleasant shivers ran through my body, but he looked delighted. Probably thought I was getting my rocks off or something.

  “Thanks. I’ll be here for the show. Actually on time. Heh,” I managed, and he quirked his lips in a smile.

  Before he could keep me any longer, I turned on my heel and ran out of there as quickly as my feet would take me.

  Well, that was one crisis averted. Now…back to Martha Beck.

  Chapter Three

  Ella

  My mother considered me with a bemused expression, and it was all I could do not to snap. At least Jerry had taken the hint to hit the bricks. For all I cared, he could be fantasizing about me in a full dominatrix get-up, complete with black heels to crush his…

  Never mind.

  “Ella, I swear, I have no idea what’s gotten into you lately. If you’re going to be in control of EBgen someday, you’ll have to earn the respect of your workers. Not their fear,” she huffed melodramatically.

  I rolled my eyes, fighting the urge to bite back that she could use that way of thinking in her family life. Instead, I steeled myself for the conversation I’d been simultaneously dreading and looking forward to for years.

  “Mom, I don’t give a damn about Jerry. We need to have a talk, just you and me,” I implored, only for her to consider me much like a bug for her to squish underfoot.

  She tapped on the bar with her fake nails, ordering a shot of bourbon. I sighed, sipping my gin and tonic as she slugged back the harsh liquor. She slammed the glass back down on the bar, crossing her arms and tilting her head towards me.

  “It would be rude for me to leave the festivities for whatever foolish thing is bothering you this time. If you can’t talk to me about it here, it can wait,” she said dismissively, and I felt an angry flush bloom on my cheeks.

  I downed my drink with more desperation than I would like to admit, ignoring the desire to scream at the woman before me. I couldn’t forget that she was my mother, and this was a business trip—even if she was a crappy mom, and I couldn’t care less about the firm.

  “I think it’s better if we go somewhere private,” I tried again, in spite of knowing it wouldn’t work. If there was one thing I knew about my mother, it was that she would not let me win so easily. Even a loss to her daughter was inexcusable.

  “Ella, for the last time,” she began, her voice rising. “Please, do not make me lose my cool. You act so much like your father sometimes, I swear,” she announced, glancing to the bartender as if for affirmation.

  The young man simply looked between us before shuffling away. I was becoming increasingly aware of the eyes of literally everyone on the ship fixing on the mother-daughter brawl that was about to go down.

  At this rate, it wouldn’t be Jerry alone picturing me in full fetish getup. Hell, they probably already fantasized about my mom crushing their junk on a regular basis. It wasn’t something in which I'd like to get caught up.

  I tossed back the last of my second drink, with the vague hope that it might clear my mind, and set the glass on the bar, looking at my mother with a pleading expression. I knew she cared nothing about my feelings, but I hoped she would at least try to remain professional in front of her workers.

  “All right. Well…the thing is, Mom, I’ve been thinking a lot,” I began, and she rolled her eyes as if to say ‘here we go.’ “Mom, I know you’ve worked hard to lay out a plan for me. I know you’ve done your best to prepare me for the responsibility of taking over EBgen, and I can’t begin to express how much I appreciate it,” I murmured.

  She quirked a brow at me before smiling warmly, reaching out to touch my cheek.

  “Oh, heavens, honey. It’s so nice to receive a bit of recognition. I have to say, sometimes it seems as if my hard work will be for nothing, and you’ll end up a hopeless deadbeat like your father.” She laughed, signaling to the bartender for another drink.

  I could already tell this was going to turn out great. Perhaps if I was lucky, she’d refrain from throwing me off the ship.
I certainly wasn’t dressed for a cold swim in the ocean.

  “I’ve always appreciated what you do for me, Mom. You know I’ve worked hard my entire life to see that you’re happy with the direction in which I'm heading. It’s just that I’ve been thinking…about my life, and whether I’m satisfied with the direction it’s taking…”

  She looked at me strangely, knocking back another shot of bourbon. God only knew how many shots she’d already had, and I was not looking forward to her getting blackout drunk before this conversation was over. She burbled a laugh as the shot went down. Fantastic. Things were only getting better from here.

  “How could you not be satisfied? Oh, Ella, I’ll admit the life of a businesswoman isn’t for everyone, but you’ve been so carefully groomed to take my place. The places you’ll go, the things you’ll see…” She paused, hiccuping before laughing again. “Sorry, dear. You know how bourbon tends to get to me,” she breathed, fanning herself and signaling for another shot.

  “Mom…I think you’ve had enough. You’re not listening to what I’m trying to say here. I, uh, I have something important to tell you. And I don’t want you to be angry at me, but it’s something I really have to get off my chest. I’ve held it in for too long,” I sputtered, reaching out to grab the shot before she could.

  She stared at me as if I had already committed the ultimate betrayal, and as I downed the shot, I could only think it would all be downhill from here.

  “Well, spit it out. You’ve always been very wordy. One thing you’ll need to learn before you can dream of taking my place is keeping your thoughts succinct. The men who work for you won’t want to listen to you babble on, and on, and on, and on…” She trailed off, looking entirely too inebriated for this conversation.

  To tell the truth, I was feeling a bit sick from the liquor myself, so I could only imagine how foggy her head must have been. Then again, she’d been walking the fine line of alcoholism for years, whereas until I turned twenty-one, all I’d had were sips of champagne I snuck at her work parties. Admittedly, I was a bit of a lightweight. I was beginning to reconsider that status as she waved for another shot, and I quickly snatched it out of her hands before she could drink it.