His Secret Baby

by Jamie Knight

  The reality of the situation hits fast, though. Without knocking, my door is opened by a guy in a suit - one of my (now fellow) realtors.

  “So, you’re the new girl, huh? Whole office is buzzing about your ‘meteoric rise.’” The smirk on his face undercuts any semblance of respect he might have been pretending to impart.

  “I’m Allen. Allen Jacobs.”

  “I bet they are buzzing about it,” I manage to retort without rolling my eyes. “And I remember who you are, Mr. Jacobs. I brought you three clients yesterday. Can I help you with something now?”

  My tone’s probably a little curt, but I can’t miss a chance to make myself known as something more than a pretty pushover in this office. Despite how angry I still am with my father, the lessons he taught me are still paramount in my head, and they’re not wrong.

  Jacobs almost looks taken aback, but covers it once again with that special sneer that only divorced middle-aged men seem to have perfected.

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Since you’re our new Susan, congratulations, you’ve inherited Susan’s workload. And part of Susan’s work? Comes from me. Those boxes over there?” he indicates three file boxes shoved into the corner. “That’s the start of it. First thing on your radar needs to be the Sanchez file - Susan was having trouble closing the deal with them, and now it’s on you. You mess it up, and I guarantee you’re out on your ass as fast as you came in. Congrats.”

  “Good to know.” I keep my tone just this side of terse, mostly because I now understand that he’s kinda-sorta-almost my boss. It’s something that happened at my dad’s company all the time, and I should’ve been prepared for it.

  Full-time realtors are often juggling more sales than they can handle, so the Junior Realtors are the ones who get saddled with the problem cases or the ones that have the lowest chance of success. That way, if the bottom drops out of something, the senior guy has a scapegoat and a way to keep himself from taking a loss.

  “I’ll take a look at it right away,” I tell him, but my curt smile isn’t quite enough to send him off.

  “Sure you don’t need some help?” Jacobs voice takes on a different tone now. Softer, more enigmatic. “I can stick around; we could look over the files together after hours.”

  Fuck, I realize. He’s just another horny middle-aged ass in a business suit.

  “I appreciate the offer…but I tend to work best alone.” I stare until he wavers.

  “Whatever you say, sweetheart. Just don’t come crying to me in an hour when you can’t figure out which way is up.”

  With that, he leaves me in peace. I take the whole three steps across the office (yeah, did I mention it’s small?) to the door and close it. Then I open the top file box and dig out the file with “Sanchez” scrawled on it in Sharpie.

  By the time I’m two pages into the file, I know that Jacobs was right about one thing: Susan was definitely having trouble closing this deal. There are so many back-and-forth email correspondences printed out (printed? Who the hell prints emails out, anyway? Susan that’s who) that you could fool someone into thinking that the case had been open for years.

  In reality, it looks like the Sanchez family has only been trying to sell their house for about three months… but that Susan wasn’t their first realtor - that’s a red flag for sure - and they weren’t particularly thrilled with her either - Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

  I’ve learned that clients who complain about problems with their former realtors are usually surefire bets to have problems with their new realtor as well. It’s most likely that the client is the problem, then. Now one that I’ve just inherited.

  I skim the rest of the emails, taking in pertinent details and scrawling them on a legal pad that I dig out from underneath the desk. I make notes of trouble spots, crucial elements the family is looking for, anything that might salvage this thing from the garbage heap and help me hang onto this job.

  The process gets a little easier once the IT guy shows up with a laptop for me (the setup is surprisingly painless). With the information from the paper files and access to our database of potential buyers online, I’ve got a cross-referenced list of potential successes to reach out to in front of me pretty quickly. Or at least, I think it was a quick process, until my stomach pangs with hunger and I glance at my phone to realize it’s almost 6 p.m., and I haven’t moved from my desk for almost seven hours.

  That’s when everything finally hits me for real. I’d been so wrapped up and rushed forward by the events of the day that I hadn’t really registered them… until now. My breath catches in my throat, and the office around me goes hazy, just for a moment.

  This is real. Really, really, real. All that time following my father around his office, watching what he did, going to college for that business degree… this is the first time I’ve been able to pause and realize that I’ve got the chance to make it all worth it, on my own. I didn’t need a reference letter from my father or anyone in his company to get this job. I didn’t have to sleep my way into an office. I got this chance because I earned it.

  I can’t believe I’m here because I impressed Wesley Drive, my dad’s long-time rival. Growing up, he would always tell me that this deal or that one was ruined because it was snatched out of his grasp by Drive Realty. My dad would kill me if he knew I was here. And what would my new boss do if he knew I was my dad’s daughter?

  What a mess. I can’t believe I got myself into this situation. And I can’t believe I didn’t even know who Wesley was at first, and that he has still done everything he’s done for me after my huge gaffe. I guess he’s just a nice guy – in addition to being a hot one. Despite hearing my dad’s rants about him my whole life – or maybe because of that – I’m thinking Wesley is pretty cool.

  Leaving the office with the Sanchez file under my arm, I walk down the quiet corridor, soaking in the silence and breathing easy for what feels like the first time in months.

  That relaxed feeling lasts until I step into the elevator. As the doors start to close, a voice calls, “Hold it!” and a hand catches the elevator door just before it shuts. The doors reverse course, and I find myself, for the second time that day, face to face with Wesley Drive himself.

  “Oh, hello, Mariah.” His smile is warm, comfortable, and it puts me at ease just a bit as he steps into the elevator with me. “Wasn’t expecting to see anyone else here this late.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  He chuckles, and the constricting band of nervousness, already eased by his smile, evaporates almost completely.

  “So, day one is over. I hope it’s not a one-and-done for you.”

  “Of course not, sir!” I almost bristle at the idea. “This is an amazing opportunity, and nothing could make me give it up.”

  “That’s good to hear.” The elevator chimes and the doors open onto the main lobby. We exit together, and he heads for a door marked “Executive Parking,” while I head for the street.

  “Mariah.” I feel a tingle in my chest as I turn to face him again. His tone is… at once powerful and practically seductive.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “First of all, call me Mr. Drive around the office. ‘Sir’ is for more formal occasions.”

  “Yes, si- Mr. Drive.” I can practically feel myself blushing as my mind wonders what those more formal occasions might be.

  “More importantly,” he continues, either not noticing my blush or choosing to ignore it,

  “You earned this shot, and don’t let anyone tell you different. Good luck… and don’t fuck it up, okay?”

  With a last flash of his slightly off-kilter grin, he’s gone through the door to the parking garage.

  I know he can’t hear me, but I murmur, “I won’t,” anyway.

  It’s not until I’m out on the street, walking back to my apartment, that I realize I’ve still got an idiotically wide grin on my face… and that my panties are a little wet.

  Shit. I can’t possibly be falling for the guy my dad ha
s always hated, can I? Who doesn’t even know who I am?

  What a mess. But I can’t seem to help it.

  Chapter 18

  Mariah

  The next day in the office, I (thankfully) don’t have time to worry about what it means that my new boss apparently turns me on. I take the morning to finish my research on the Sanchez project’s situation, and the early afternoon to make a few calls that I’m hoping will salvage the whole thing in one fell swoop.

  My plan might just work, if luck and pure desire have any influence in the universe. In other words, it probably won’t… but if I don’t try, what am I even doing here?

  After lunch, I make a quick stop at the reception desk to talk with Kristy. She’s on the phone when I get there, and barely spares me a glance until she’s done. Even then, a curt “Yes?” is all I get.

  “I think there’s some paperwork here that I need to fill out? I got an email from HR that they were sending up a bundle for me.”

  “No problem.” Kristy’s look is anything but happy. She hands me a manila envelope without making eye contact.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Not for you, obviously.” Kristy keeps her attention on her laptop screen.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.

  “Look.” Kristy raises her gaze from the screen and fixes it on me. “I put on the same stupid uniform you did. I put up with the same jokes and the same shit. That’s part of the job. But whatever you did to get yourself plucked out of the pool and put at the top of the ladder so fast? It’s pure luck. Or something else, I’m thinking. You didn’t earn it. Unless working on your back counts. But, just know this. The second your fresh pussy dries up you’ll be out of here and I’ll be waiting to take your place.”

  I’m almost surprised at this, but to be honest, I’d probably feel the same way if our positions were reversed. Not that I’m going to admit that to her. Almost against my will, I hear my dad’s voice in my head again. “Making enemies isn’t the job, but often it’s a side effect of a job well done.”

  “Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” I say, letting cold creep into my voice. “And neither does anything else that you’re…. implying. This job is mine, and I earned it.”

  Despite - or maybe because of - the fact that I’ve been assuring myself of the same thing for the last two days, the words sound somehow hollow when I say them out loud. Did I only get this job because the boss likes how I look? Because there’s that electrifying attraction between us? The phone rings, thankfully saving me from the slippery slope in my head, at least for the moment.

  “Don’t you need to get that?” I’m being snide and I know it, but I figure I owe myself one in this conversation, all things considered.

  Without waiting for a response, I head back down the hallway to my office. Behind me, I hear her say, in a distinctly more professional tone than our conversation had had, “Good afternoon, Drive Realty. How may I direct your call? I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting at the moment; let me put you through to his voicemail.”

  Chapter 19

  Mariah

  I’m still feeling less than great about my interaction with Kristy when I make it to the diner that night for my first shift. But as it turns out, I won’t have time to ruminate on it at all.

  This diner is really busy. It is full of customers who are hungry and ready for the quickly made food that eating at a diner promises them. And there aren’t a lot of employees to help out.

  Sterling greets me with that same bright smile, tosses an apron my way - and that’s about the sum total of my job training. This is quite different from the corporate world, where my days have been spent watching how other people do it and slowly learning from them. Here, it’s clear I’ll have to jump right in and learn on the job, all by myself.

  “It’s super simple round here, hon.” He whacks a near-empty ketchup bottle on the counter, intent on making sure every last drop gets squeezed out of it before it gets tossed. “Don’t set yourself or anyone else on fire, don’t drop the plates, and don’t put up with any shit. We get our fair share of ornery regulars in, and they ain’t going to respect you one bit if you cave the first time someone threatens to douse you in hot coffee because their eggs aren’t cooked just right.”

  I’m too surprised not to ask, “Who does that?”

  My only answer is a peal of rough laughter from behind me.

  I turn to see that the laugh is coming from a redheaded woman at the counter, slouched over her food and scrolling on a cell phone that looks like it fell out of a plane, hit a bunch of things on the way down, and found its way into her hand.

  “Don’t listen to Sterling,” she says. “He’s just trying to frighten you because there’s nothing else to do around here this time of day.”

  Sterling fake-glares at the woman. “Elle, why you gotta undermine me with my employees like that?”

  “If I didn’t, then none of them would make it through their first shift, and you know it.” Elle looks up from her phone, eyes sparking with humor. I like her immediately. “So, you’re Sterling’s latest adopted sidekick, hmm?” she asks.

  “I do not adopt my employees, Elle,” Sterling protests. “And I don’t need a sidekick. Unless he looks like Dick Grayson. That boy is fine.”

  “Well, at least now I know he has a type.”

  Elle laughs uproariously at that.

  “Oh, I have lots of types, Mariah. Elle’s just sad she’s not one of them.”

  “You couldn’t handle me even if I was,” Elle says. “One night with me would break you in half. You’d thank me for it, but still.”

  “Sterling?” I ask, putting a false note of shyness in my voice. “I thought you were supposed to serve the customers, not the other way around.”

  Elle chokes on her sip of coffee. Apparently, I can fit in here well. I’m already liking my boss and co-worker, and it seems pretty clear that they like me too.

  “That’s enough out of you, new girl. Go scrub me some dirty dishes and think about what you’ve done.”

  “I’m supposed to do the dishes?” I ask, a bit surprised. I thought I was hired to be a waitress.

  “You’re supposed to do anything that is needed,” Sterling replies. “If you didn’t notice, we’re a bit short-handed around here, and we all pitch in.”

  “Of course,” I answer.

  Sterling’s tone is stern, but his look is midway between impressed and amused.

  Still, I do the dishes.

  Chapter 20

  Mariah

  “I promise you, this is the best possible deal for everyone. The family’s made an exceptional offer.”

  I’m sitting at my desk, facing the Sanchez family: Robert and his wife Marie. They don’t look half as excited as I’m trying to make them, but that’s okay. There’s still time.

  “Tell me about them again,” Mr. Sanchez asks.

  “Of course.” I flip the file open, but Mrs. Sanchez cuts me off, to talk to her husband.

  “Mi amor, we know who they are. We’ve read over their application ourselves a dozen times.” Mr. Sanchez gruffly nods, but still doesn’t look pleased.

  “Listen. I understand how tough this is,” I tell them. “Selling a house is never easy - ”

  “I do not think you do understand.” Mr. Sanchez leans forward in his chair, his expression more pained than angry. “This home has been my family’s since the time of my great grandfather. He built it with his own hands. Letting it go…”

  Marie rests her hand on her husband’s arm. “Letting it go is what’s best for all of us, mi amor. It’s time to move forward.”

  Robert doesn’t look convinced. Even from just the few minutes I’ve spoken with him on the phone and the time spent with him here and now in the office, it’s hard not to feel his pain. It’s new for me.

  Houses have always been just that for me: houses. The lives and times of the people who live in them, move out of them, and m
ove into new ones were never any real business of mine. When I was younger, I’d see my dad escort the buyers and sellers in and out of his offices, occasionally hearing bits and pieces of their conversations… but it had never really struck me directly until this moment how difficult it might be for someone to sell the house they grew up in, to let go of that control and still feel whole.

  “You’re right, Mr. Sanchez. I don’t fully understand what you’re going through. But I can say for sure that I understand a small part of it.” The words start pouring out before I’m even fully sure I want to share them. “Letting go is hard. And I know it must sound silly, coming from me, but I really do know how hard it is, especially when it comes to family. My father… he had a goal for me.”

  The Sanchezes are both listening now. No going back, I guess. “He wanted certain things, and if I’d given them to him, I would have had a comfortable life sitting in front of me. Comfortable, but constrained. Instead of sticking with what was comfortable, what would have been easy, I chose to move forward. I left a lot of valuable things behind, but if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting in this chair right now, and I wouldn’t be able to help you. Or myself. I’d be stuck in the past, and I would have ended up resenting the whole package. Not just the bad things, but the good ones, too.”

  Robert and Marie share a look. My stomach is clenching, both from the shock of spilling my own guts to them, and with the fear that doing so won’t actually mean anything after all. But then, Robert turns from his wife and smiles at me.

  “You may be young… but you are not wrong. I have my memories, and now it is time to allow a new family to begin making theirs. I will sign the papers.”

  I have to choke back a cry of joy. Marie smiles at me, squeezing her husband’s hand. “Thank you,” she mouths. I smile and nod back.