Knocked Up by Brother's Best Friend: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance

by Amy Brent

  The company and the money will be waiting for you—for the two of you. And life will be just as you’ve dreamed, only better. Trust me on this, I know.

  With all my love,

  Dad.

  I read that letter three times, and each time the result was the same. My whole being was filled with a terrible mixture of love, pain, and anger at my dad.

  There was a part of me that understood his motivation for forcing me to get married. His marriage to my mother had been one of those fairy tale affairs, and, of course, he wanted that for me as well. However, that was his life and his happiness. It wasn’t mine, and I resented him for forcing me to either lose what I loved most or fake something for his benefit. It was selfish and wrong, and I didn’t want to deal with it.

  Pissed and drunk, I shoved the letter back inside the envelope, tucked into my jacket pocket and called my driver to come pick me up. Since my fate now rested in the hands of the board, I was determined to go back to NYC, finish that merger and prove to everyone still alive that my father and his policies were wrong.

  Challenging my father’s will wasn’t going to be easy, and I knew it, but the company was all I had now, and despite my dad’s Disney dreams for me, I wasn’t going to let it go because of a stupid rule. No fucking way in hell.

  Chapter 3 — Pam

  “What are you doing here?” James asked as I walked into the airline’s staff lounge at LAX.

  I looked sideways at my friend and smirked at his question. With a raised a brow, I parked my suitcase next to him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before walking to the counter to collect the paperwork for the flight.

  “Working,” I deadpanned in a playful tone that made him roll his hazel eyes.

  “Considering you’re in your uniform, I’d say that part is clear.” I chuckled at his usual sarcasm as he continued, “What isn’t clear is why you’re working when you just got back from London this morning.”

  I shrugged and turned to look at him. “Lori’s sick with the stomach flu and asked me to cover for her. Since I’m a single mom putting her daughter through college with no financial aid, I can’t refuse extra shifts when they come around.”

  “Damn,” James muttered under his breath and stared at me with admiration in his eyes. “I wish my mom had been that committed to my education. Jess is a lucky girl.”

  I laughed at his comment and walked back to where my suitcase was waiting beside my friend. “Be sure to tell her that when you see her next. That brat sometimes forgets it.”

  James assured me he would do as requested and walked to the coffee machine. Moments later, he returned with two steaming paper cups, and then asked, “Where are you going?”

  “JFK,” I replied as I retrieved my much-needed dose of caffeine from his hands.

  He rose a brow and gave me a smirk. “Nacional. How long has it been?”

  “About three years, but at least I get to serve in first class.”

  “Uhhh . . . Fancy!” he teased as we left the lounge and started making our way through the airport to our gates.

  As we walked, James babbled about his life. As per usual, I laughed at his drama but still lived vicariously through him. Aside from our age and profession, our lives were complete opposites. While he lived an exciting life filled with lovers and adventure, I lived a dull existence of work and bills. Although I sometimes envied him, I wouldn’t change the life I had with my daughter for anything in the world.

  “Okay, honey, this is me,” I told him as we arrived at my gate. “You have fun with Giuseppe and text me about it.”

  He nodded and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Will do. Have fun with your coast to coast rich people.”

  “And you have fun with your economy adventurers,” I replied and, at his eye roll, I urged, “At least try.”

  “Yeah, yeah . . .” he said as he walked away.

  For a few moments, I just stood there and watched as my friend walked away. Then, I turned around to walk to the aircraft. As I approached the gate, I saw from the corner of my eye, a man at the waiting area with his chin propped over the knuckles of one hand while the other tapped a white envelope against his knee. The gray streaks at his temples told me he was probably around my age and the unkempt scruff on his chiseled jaw looked contradictory to the perfect fit of his suit. His eyelids were a little droopy like he’d been drinking too much, but a flash of pain and maybe anger was still visible in his blue eyes.

  In my forty years, I had known a lot of pain, and for that reason, my heart broke for that stranger. But I had work to do, and so I pushed thoughts of him aside and walked my ass to the plane.

  After greeting the rest of the crew, I stored my stuff and started getting the first class ready for our guests. As much as I enjoyed traveling the world, I had to admit that I missed my days of continental first class flights. There was something deeply satisfying about fluffing actual pillowcases and serving food on porcelain plates.

  Once we were all set and the boarding process began, I positioned myself at the plane’s entrance to welcome our guests. We would be flying at max capacity, and as customary, I checked the tickets and greeted all ten passengers by name as I directed them to their seats. The last person to board was the man in the tailored suit who still had the envelope in his hand.

  “Welcome on board, Mr. Walker,” I greeted in my kindest tone after checking his ticket. He looked me in the eyes and forced a ghost of a smile as he nodded, but didn’t say a word. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your seat.”

  I received another nod and led the way to the very first row where his seat was located. Once he was settled, I asked, “May I bring you something to drink before we take off?”

  “A bourbon, please,” he said, and I quickly went to the galley to fix his drink.

  As I made my rounds through the cabin, I realized that for some reason I couldn’t quite explain, my mind and gaze kept returning to Mr. Walker time and time again. My staring had nothing to do with how handsome he was. Honestly, he wasn’t really my type and, judging by his trendy haircut and hip reading glasses, I could tell my twenty-two-year-old daughter would interest him a lot more than me. Still, between the discomfort in his face, the compulsive drinking, and the daggers his eyes were throwing at the piece of paper in his hands, there was something that made me feel like he needed me somehow.

  Knowing that those were crazy thoughts induced by too much work and not enough sleep, I kept my distance and tried to remain professional and out of his business. But my efforts only lasted until after dinner when all the other passengers were either sleeping or with their headphones on. He pressed the call button for yet another refill of his bourbon and I was quick to answer.

  “You know that there’s a limit of how much you can drink in the air, right?” I asked him in a friendly tone I hoped would alleviate some of my intrusion.

  He raised one perfectly groomed black brow and retorted, “And what would that limit be?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted with a shrug, then added, “But I think you’re at least two shots beyond it.”

  Mr. Walker sighed and nodded, but remained quiet for a few seconds. Then, just as I was about to turn around and walk away, he said, “I just buried my father today. I’ve looked up to him my whole life and considered his old ass my best friend, and in return, all I received was this letter right here.” He raised the envelope he had been holding in the air and looked at it. “His last goddamned words for me and they were disappointing as shit.”

  His words tugged at my heartstrings, and though I knew I should keep quiet and just listen, my curiosity got the best of me. “Why were they disappointing?”

  “Because they proved that he never really knew me,” he deadpanned, demonstrating that by some miracle he was a lot less drunk than I initially thought. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted was to be him—the powerful CEO of the company I helped to build—but instead of giving me that, he slapped me with a marriage clause.”


  My brows pulled together in confusion. “A what?”

  “A marriage clause,” he repeated. “Apparently, being married to my work wasn’t good enough for him, and so, he wrote a will stating that I can only receive his shares in the company and assume my rightful place there after I’m married.”

  “Wow,” I said, not really knowing what else to say.

  Chuckling, Mr. Walker nodded and agreed, “Yeah, wow. Unbelievable, right?”

  I looked at him—really seeing him for the first time—and tried to put myself in his father’s shoes. Despite his powerful appearance, there was a loneliness in his eyes that was confirmed by the fact that he was on a plane, alone, on the day he buried his father. As a mother, I had to admit that the thought of leaving your child alone and lonely in the word has a very bitter taste.

  “Not really,” I said before measuring my words. His face hardened, but since I had already put my foot in my mouth, I had no other option than to explain myself. “I’m the mother of a twenty-two-year-old who is in a committed relationship with becoming a doctor, and I worry that if I die tomorrow, she’ll be left alone and with no one to care for her. So, I understand your father. If I knew that there was a sure way to assure that wouldn’t happen with Jessica, I promise you I would take it.”

  He was silent for a few moments as he pondered my words. Then, he asked, “But do you think it’s fair for him to meddle like that? To force me to have a relationship when I clearly don’t want one.”

  “No, it’s not fair, but most dying wishes aren’t. My mother, for example, asked me to bake a pie for my cheating father with her ashes mixed in.”

  Mr. Walker blinked a few times at me before bursting into a fit of laughter. Once his outburst subsided, he asked, “Did you do it?”

  “Of course, not,” I assured with a shake of my head. “She’s in her urn right at the center of my mantel. I loved my mother too much to let her turn into shit, especially my bastard of father’s shit. What I did instead, was tell him that she had confessed to me, on her deathbed, that I might not be his daughter. It was BS, but the look on his face was the revenge we both needed and a much better sight than a mouthful of ash.”

  He raised his brows at me and gave me a smirk that was almost admiring. “And you don’t feel like you cheated by not honoring her request?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all. What she asked for was revenge, not the actual pie, and though I didn’t follow it to the letter, I still honored her wish. Maybe it was the same for your dad. Maybe he knew that you couldn’t just pull a wife out of your hat, but he still wanted you to open yourself to the possibility of having a family. What you have to figure out is how to give him what he wanted while still remaining true to yourself.”

  After a few more seconds of silence, he surprised me with a smile and a question. “Are you happy as a flight attendant . . .” he trailed off as he read my name off my employee card, and finished, “Pam?”

  I raised a brow and nodded, “As a matter of fact, I am. Pays like shit, but it’s fun.”

  “Too bad,” he said with a click of his tongue. “If you were unhappy I would invite you to come work as my advisor. You seem like a brilliant woman.”

  Despite myself, I blushed at his comment but before I could reply, there was a ding, and a light came up a few rows down. I looked at it and sighed.

  “Well, thank you for the offer and the compliment, Mr. Walker, but I’m afraid that’s all the insight and advice I have. Now, if you’ll excuse me, duty calls.”

  He nodded, and I turned to walk away. Before I could even take a step, however, his voice reached my ears again. “Thank you, Pam.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. I really hope you find a way to honor your father and get your company.”

  As I walked away, I couldn’t help the feeling of mission accomplished flowing in my veins.

  Chapter 4 – Ben

  Pam’s words stayed in my mind for the rest of the week. I couldn’t stop thinking that she had a very valid point and maybe I was looking at this whole marriage clause wrong. Maybe it really was just about my father wanting to make sure I was okay and, if that was the case, then I could find a way out of this mess without signing away my life to a wife I didn’t want.

  Knowing that there was only one place for me to get the answers I needed, the first thing I did after returning from NYC was to drive over to Hank’s house. I parked my Bentley in the driveway of his modest home—or at least, modest by Bel Air standards—and made my way to his front door. After three knocks, his face appeared on the other side of the glass.

  “Benji,” he greeted me by the nickname only he and dad ever used and pulled me in for a tight hug. Being called Benji at forty was odd, but after recent events, it was a nostalgic oddity I enjoyed. “I wasn’t expecting you,” he added.

  I nodded as we pulled away. “I know, but I just got back and wanted to talk to you before the board meeting tomorrow. Is now a bad time?”

  His lips parted into one of the broad smiles I had seen my entire life. “It’s never a bad time for you, son. C’mon in.”

  He stepped away from the threshold and opened the door wider, welcoming me into his home. The house hadn’t changed one bit from when I was a kid. The walls were still painted the same cream color, and the floors were still covered with the same ethnic rugs. He guided me through the long corridor that connected the foyer to the double doors of his home office.

  The smell of paper and wood filled my nostrils as we walked inside the old-school wood paneled room. I smirked thinking of the many times I sat in the corner while Dad and Hank talked business at the long table by the window.

  “Do you want something to drink?” Hank asked as I took a seat at one of the chairs facing his side of the desk.

  Needing a clear head to properly navigate the delicate subject, I passed on the drink and waited until he was seated. Just as I opened my mouth to finally start the conversation I needed to have, Hank put on his reading glasses and pulled a folder from his top drawer. He tossed a stack of papers over to me and placed a second one right in front of him.

  “What’s that?” I asked, looking down at the papers.

  Hank raised a brow at me. “What you came here for, and don’t deny it. You and I are gonna read your dad’s will together and see what we can do about your situation. I really want to help you, son, and I’ve told Kevin that much, but I’m bound by law to uphold his wishes. I hope you understand that.”

  I sighed but still nodded. Hank wasn’t only my father’s friend. He was family, and I knew he was on my side. He’d always been.

  “Okay,” I started picking the papers up from his desk. “What does this thing states.”

  With a small smile on his lips, Hank picked up his version of the will and started explaining me the terms clause by clause. Aside from some money to charity and personal belongings he wanted his closest friends to have, I had received everything dad owned. The money, the houses, the cars, the art and jewels, everything, except for his shares and duties to our company, was now mine.

  Then, after that was settled, we arrived at the damned marriage clause. The text was quite straightforward. A mere seven line, meddling paragraph that wreaked havoc in my personal life.

  Once we were done reading it, I removed my glasses and propped my forehead in my palm. “Can’t I buy his shares instead, then?” I demanded, trying to find another way.

  Hank pulled his glasses off as well and shook his head. “No, to protect what is rightfully yours, Kevin has already transferred the bonds to your name. However, they are bound to the marriage clause and will only be released after your first wedding anniversary.”

  “And what if I don’t get married? Then a third of the company will just be in limbo forever?”

  “No,” Hank assured. “The fourth article of that clause states that if you die without an heir, those shares will be divided equally through the members of the board.”

  It took a while for the information to sink i
n. Once it did, I tossed my glasses and the will over Hank’s desk and stood up. Pacing back and forth, I tried to calm my mind, but it was impossible. I brought a hand to the back of my neck and tried to massage the tension away, but it was also a losing battle.

  “I understand that my father wanted to make sure I was okay after he died, but marriage, Hank? I’m a forty-three-year-old man, if I’m not married yet is because I know it won’t make me happy. That was him, not me.”

  The exasperation in my tone must have been so apparent that Hank got up as well, filled two glasses with bourbon and brought one of them to me. I downed the contents in one gulp as I listened to him say, “I know, and I told him that, but he was adamant that you at least give family life a shot. That’s why the marriage has to last only a year.”

  Hanks words shined on me like a light at the end of the tunnel. They also brought Pam and the story of her mother’s last request back to my mind.

  This whole time I had thought that to fulfill my dad’s last wish I would have to forgo my bachelor ways and commit myself to a woman for life. However, if all my father wanted was for me to try marriage for one year, there was a way for me to give him what he wanted while also keeping the freedom I needed and the life I loved, just as Pam had given her mother revenge without actually feeding her father the ashes. I just had to make sure my brewing plan would work before I put my foot in my mouth.