My Secret Irish Baby: A Second-Chance, Secret Baby Contemporary Romance (Irish Kiss Book 7)

by Sienna Blake

  But I was going to do it. I thought I was debating, but there was really no debate: I had responsibilities. I was willing to work for a pig; was it really so different to work for a snake?

  As I sighed in defeat, I noticed that Michael's dangerous green eyes were studying me. He'd been watching me the whole time. He was clearly enjoying himself, toying with me, watching the struggle across my face, perhaps seeing those little flickers of attraction, perhaps seeing how terribly I fought against them. I met his calm, assured gaze and narrowed my eyes in frustration at having been beaten, thoroughly and soundly beaten.

  "Didn't your mother tell you not to play with your food," I snapped, snatching up my purse.

  I stood and stormed past him, our shoulders colliding like thunderstorms on the prairie.

  "Ms Miller?" Michael called after me as I practically kicked open the door.

  "I'll be there at eight," I barked back through clenched teeth.

  Just before the door swung shut behind me, I heard Michael say, a smile obvious in his voice, "Better make it 7:15."

  I raised my middle finger high over my head, sure he could see it through the glass front as I crossed into the parking lot of the rundown strip mall. Maybe it was my imagination, but I heard him laughing. For a second it sounded like the laughter of the Michael I knew once, for that brief time, like the shimmer of morning rays on a dew drop. But as I slammed my car door shut, I knew it must have been my imagination.

  Because that Michael was gone.

  Tomorrow I started work for the man who'd taken his place and left nothing but his eyes, those sharp green eyes.

  Michael

  I arrived at the office at 5:45 a.m. But for the next hour and a half I accomplished nothing. When the clock struck seven I couldn't sit still any longer. I pushed back my chair to stalk anxiously back and forth in front of my desk. At the tiniest hint of a noise, I would flinch, stiffen, and my heart would start to race. I would hurry to the door and check the hallway leading to my office to see if it was her. Every time I would see some intern or mailman or secretary, I would sigh, pinch the bridge of my nose, and chastise myself for behaving like a child. I would force myself to return to my desk, sit, and read through this court document or that.

  But that would only last for a few moments before I could no longer bear to remain still, the whole process starting all over again.

  Let’s be clear. I was not excited for Abbi to work for me, to be near me, to be close to me. It was simply that I'd wasted a lot of time without the aid of a personal assistant over the past week, and I was eager to catch up on my work. That was the only reason that I checked my wristwatch, my office clock, and the digital display on my computer to make sure I had the right time as 7:15 came and went.

  Assured that it was indeed 7:15 I poked my head out of my office and checked the desk intended for her just outside: empty. I frowned and once more checked my wristwatch. Seven sixteen. So she was late by a minute. That didn't mean anything.

  But as one minute turned into five and five turned into ten, I grew more and more frustrated, more and more angry. My pacing became less anxious and more enraged. I mumbled curses at her under my breath. It was definitely not fear that drove my anger. Fear that she changed her mind. That she wasn't coming. What if she was never coming? What would I do if I never saw her again?

  It was far easier to attribute my anger to my wasted productivity. I was here in the states to do a job and Abbi Miller was interfering with my ability to do that job. I stalked up and down my office till sweat shined on my brow and my nails left indentation on my palms from clenching my fists so tightly.

  At 8:25 I flew off in a fury, storming out of my office and slamming the door shut behind me. I barrelled down the hallway toward the lobby where I startled the receptionist with my red, huffing face.

  "I need you to call Ms Miller immediately and tell her that wherever she is, there is no reason for her to come in," I growled. "There's no job for her here."

  It had been a mistake going after Abbi. I had been weak. I had let my judgement be clouded by lingering attraction, sentimentalities I had failed to properly crush even after nine years.

  "But Mr O'Sullivan," the receptionist said timidly as she reached for the phone, "Ms Miller is here."

  I barely heard her through the blood rushing in my ears.

  "Did you still want me to call her?" the receptionist asked hesitantly, frowning in confusion.

  "What?"

  "Ms Miller," the receptionist repeated, "she's here."

  "In the office?" I asked, confusion of my own dulling a bit of my anger.

  The receptionist nodded.

  I frowned. "Since when?"

  The receptionist glanced at the clock on her computer and shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "I'd say since about 7:15."

  I balled my hands into fists behind the desk. "Well she isn't in my office," I said through gritted teeth. "So where the hell is she?"

  I found her twenty minutes later in a large open room with rows of cubicles where the paralegals and secretaries clattered away on keyboards. I grabbed the gossip magazine from her hands and bit back my rage as she smiled up at me pleasantly, sticky sweet. She was leaning back in her chair, legs propped up on the desk like she was on vacation in the Caymans.

  "Morning, boss," she said.

  "What are you doing here?" I hissed.

  Abbi feigned like she didn't understand exactly why I was fucking upset. "I thought you gave me my job back," she said, shaking her head a little as a small, confused frown made her the picture of innocence.

  "What you doing here," I repeated, giving the wall of her cubicle a smack.

  Abbi looked around the little workspace and said, "At my desk?"

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, already feeling a headache coming on.

  "Your desk is outside my office, Ms Miller," I said, feeling my jaw clench.

  Abbi pulled her feet from the desk, slipped back on her pumps, and swung her purse onto her shoulder.

  "Oh my, Mr O'Sullivan, I am so terribly sorry," she said, standing beside me and pushing back in her chair. "You must have been waiting for hours at this point."

  I gritted my teeth and forced myself to remain silent as I led the way out of the cubicle farm and down the hall.

  "I can't believe it's my fault that you wasted all that time," she continued as we rounded the corner toward my office.

  I wouldn't stoop to her level. I wouldn't.

  "I guess you should just be more specific next time, you know? Just think how easily I could destroy your productivity if you're not careful."

  We were almost to my office when I whirled around. I stormed toward her, forcing her to back up against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the mountains. My breath was hot and my lungs were gasping as I jabbed a finger at her.

  "Don't threaten me, Ms Miller."

  Abbi didn't flinch from my glare. Instead she lifted her chin and pressed herself against me till I could feel the swell of her breasts against my chest. "Or what?" she whispered. "You'll fire me?"

  The raise of her eyebrows was a challenge. I glared down at her, fighting back the urge to spin her around, raise her form-fitting black pencil skirt, and take her from behind for the whole goddamn city to see.

  I sucked in a steadying breath and tried to keep my voice calm. "This is the last time this kind of insolence will be tolerated. I expect only the best from myself, Ms Miller. Therefore, I expect only the best from my personal assistant."

  Abbi was silent as I lowered my lips toward hers till they just barely grazed against hers.

  "Now go get me a fucking coffee."

  Abbi was gone for three goddamn hours before she finally knocked at my office door and entered with a to-go cup. In the three hours she'd been gone I'd tugged at my hair so much that it was a messy rat's nest, pieces poking up in all directions. In the three hours she'd been gone I'd fidgeted with everything on my desk till my frustration boiled over and I knock
ed it all onto the ground. In the three hours she'd been gone I'd unbuttoned half the buttons on my shirt, loosened my tie, and thrown off my jacket to keep myself from hyperventilating. And suffice it to say in the three hours that Abbi was gone I did not manage three seconds of work.

  "Only the best for the best," she said cheerfully as she practically skipped into the office. "Boy, is it a beautiful day out there."

  I was brimming with so much frustration that I couldn't even spit out a word as she set the coffee down on my desk in front of my white knuckles that shook and quivered.

  "Good thing you have such high standards, sir, or I wouldn't have had the opportunity to drive all the way to Boulder for the best coffee in the state and enjoy those bright blue skies."

  I glared at her mischievous, daring, victorious smile.

  "That is what you said, isn't it?" she asked. "Only the best?"

  Her eyes flashed with fire. The heat felt like a memory, a memory of a warm breeze on a hot summer day in the mountains. For a moment I saw her—I saw the wild, fiery, unstoppable girl from nine years ago.

  I said nothing.

  Abbi saluted me and then spun on her heel to leave. I raised the coffee to my lips and spit it out when I found it tepid and stale.

  "It's fucking cold," I called after her.

  Abbi poked her head back in to say, "Well, yeah, it was quite a long drive back. And I drove extra slow so as not to spill it. Only the best."

  She winked and closed the door after her. I dumped the coffee into the waste basket and stewed angrily in my chair. I was letting her get under my skin too easily.

  I needed to regain some self-control, the kind of self-control that had gotten me to where I was. I needed to strip away all the emotions she stirred up inside of me like some kind of tornado. I needed to approach the situation rationally, clear-headedly, logically: she was just lashing out. I got her fired and she wanted her little piece of retribution. That was all. She'd nipped at me like a rambunctious puppy and now it was out of her system. She would settle into her role and we could go on as professionals, as adults, as if nothing had ever happened between us.

  The rest of the afternoon seemed to calm down. I found myself almost a little disappointed that the fight had gone out of her so easily. The girl I met all those years ago would have gone down fighting and swinging, cursing and biting till the very last breath. But she'd wordlessly set up the conference room for my digital meeting with the Dublin office and even held the door open for me as I went inside.

  I watched her walk away down the hall before closing the door behind me. It was almost a shame. I thought that fire in her eyes had been a spark for something more. But it was just an ember swept up on the wind to shrivel and die.

  At least that's what I thought. Until I addressed a full conference room of my peers and subordinates on the television screen, only to lift the binder Abbi prepared and have the entire five hundred pages slip free and spread like fresh snow across the floor. I stared in stunned silence at the pages at my feet, embarrassment making my cheeks hot.

  I barely managed to keep my voice steady long enough to excuse myself, grab a fistful of pages, and gently close the conference room door behind me.

  Abbi saw me coming down the hall and again grinned that mischievous grin, the fire in her eyes flaring back to life.

  "Afternoon, boss-o," she chirped, resting her arms casually behind the back of her head. "How's the meeting going?"

  I slammed the crumpled pages onto her desk and jammed my finger onto them. "What the fuck is this, Abbi? You made a fool of me in there!"

  Abbi frowned and leaned forward. "You told me to hole punch the legal precedents," she said, pointing to a single hole in the very centre of the page. "I hole punched it."

  I'd had enough. I'd tried to maintain some level of professionalism, but she'd pushed me too far. I grabbed each armrest of her chair, spun her to face me, and loomed over her.

  "Is that how it's going to be? Huh?" I growled.

  Abbi jutted her chin defiantly up at me, her only answer.

  "Because if you want me to ride, Ms Miller," I said, grinning wickedly myself, "then I will ride you. Hard."

  The corners of Abbi's seductive lips quirked up into the hint of a grin. "I'm not sure you can handle me, Mr O'Sullivan."

  I laughed darkly. "As I remember, I had no problem at all handling you."

  My hands moved to Abbi's thighs, gripping them tightly. Her eyes darted down to her lap and then she shoved me back. She tugged her chair back into place and returned to her computer.

  "Mr O'Sullivan, you're very behind on your schedule," she said. "For some reason you've been very distracted today."

  I moved to stand behind her and tucked her blonde hair, now cut shoulder-length, behind her ear. I leaned forward and felt Abbi tense as my lips brushed the sensitive skin of her earlobe.

  "Two can play at this game," I whispered, my hot breath causing goosebumps to cover her forearms.

  Abbi quickly rolled down her sleeves, but the damage was already done: I'd already seen her reaction to me. She looked at me over her shoulder, fire dancing in her eyes, ready to spread into a wildfire.

  "Perhaps," she said, grinning. "But only one can win."

  I should have been working. I should have been focusing. I should have been doing the job I was paid, and paid very well, to do. But Abbi wanted to play a little game.

  And for the first time in a long time, I wanted to play, too.

  Abbi

  Neither of us seemed to be able to stop.

  It'd been a week of our wicked little games, a week of push and pull, a week of tug of war with a rope that nobody could see or feel but us. It'd been a week of glares across the conference room—glares of disgust and arousal. It'd been a week of us biting at each other's throats and trying our best not to tear off each other's clothes.

  Neither of us seemed to able to stop. I wasn't sure if this was better or worse, but neither of us seemed to want to stop.

  He drove me mad with frustration, with anger, with irrational irritation, but I wanted, I needed more of it. I hadn't felt that…much in a long time. I hadn't felt my heart beating that fast in a long time, even if it was beating with rage and fury. One thing was certain: Michael was making me feel something.

  And I missed that.

  It was into our second week of working (though perhaps working wasn't exactly the right word for what we were doing) when I received a text from Sandra late into the afternoon. She was sick and wouldn't be able to pick Zara up from school as usual. With a sigh, I leaned forward and spied through the cracked door into Michael's office. Asking to leave early felt like admitting a weakness, leaving myself open to an easy attack in our wicked little games. I drummed my fingers against the edge of my desk, thinking.

  I unbuttoned a couple more buttons on my blouse, perked up my tits, and inched up my skirt to show a bit more leg. Then I walked into Michael's office, head held high.

  "I'm leaving early," I announced.

  Michael's attention was fixed on his computer and he said without even glancing away, "No."

  "I wasn't asking," I said, willing him to look over at me.

  He didn't.

  Instead he clicked his mouse and said, emotionless, "And I wasn't making a suggestion, Ms Miller. You leave when I leave."

  I glanced at the clock on the office wall. Zara got out of school in forty-five minutes. With traffic I needed to leave in fifteen or less. Michael kept working, ignoring my presence, which he must have learned irritated me. I squeezed my hands at my sides and tried to keep my breathing even.

  He knew how to push my buttons, almost as if it were instinct to him, almost as if he'd downloaded the user guide to my hardwiring. Just a look from him could get my pulse racing and my cheeks burning. He would always get close to me because I think he knew: I think he knew I was barely holding on.

  Every time he cornered me in some dark hallway, I thought that was the time I was going to break.
To fling my arms around his neck and crash my lips into his. Every time he loomed over my desk chair, thumb brushing against the delicate skin under my wrist, I thought that was the time I was going to grab his hands and guide them between my legs. Every time he called me into his office with a booming voice, I thought that was the time I was finally going to lock the door after me and sink into his lap.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them, again checking the clock on the wall.

  "Michael, I need to leave early."

  He must have heard the seriousness in my voice, because this caused him to finally look over at me. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, suspecting this to be another round in our wicked little games.

  "Why?"

  Zara's face flashed in my mind. "That's none of your business," I blurted out without thinking.

  This was clearly the wrong move, because Michael leaned back in his chair, bridged his fingers, and grinned. I'd just dangled a piece of meat in front of a shark and then told him to ignore it. Michael's eyes flashed in interest.

  "I'll let you leave early if you tell me why," he said.

  I rolled my eyes. "It's really nothing."

  I couldn't tell him the truth, the truth about Zara. I wasn't going to tell him the truth. My chin fell to my chest as I remembered my undone buttons. It gave me another idea.

  I looked back up at Michael, who was watching me intently. I sighed and carded my fingers through my hair, letting it fall seductively across one eye. I took a step forward and sighed.

  "If you must know," I said, "I'm going on a date."

  I relished the look of surprise in Michael's eyes. His gaze travelled down my body, noticing the undone buttons, the exposed leg, and I grinned when I could read his thoughts like reading a book: this isn't for me? I watched his face darken with something that looked a whole hell of a lot like jealousy.

  "If you must know," I continued, moving to sit casually on the edge of his desk. "I haven't been laid in a long time."

  I crossed my leg so my skirt rode even higher. I ran my fingers over the long stretch of bare skin. Michael's pupils widened, his body posture stiffened, that air of carefree nonchalance gone.