Pregnant By My Boss: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance Compilation Page 5

  In less than ten minutes, I pull into the garage, parking my Lambo next to the red Ferrari. Finally, I can get some peace and quiet in the comfort of my home. But once I’m inside, my head of security practically jumps me.

  “Sir,” Bruno says, “welcome home. You didn’t mention you’d be home early.”

  I pat the large man’s shoulder reassuringly. I keep Bruno at home because I’m more worried about an unwanted presence here than at my office. Sure, my business has its enemies, but that’s all in the realm of white collar crime. By contrast, the mansion is under threat of ex-girlfriends and vengeful former lovers. Let’s put it this way—I’m much more afraid of a scorned woman than I am of any corporate titan out for blood.

  “It’s okay, Bruno,” I tell him, stifling a yawn. “I have a bit of a headache. I’m headed upstairs.”

  Before I can take another step, I’m accosted by Charles, my butler. Again, I have too many employees who have nothing to do all day but wait for me to get home. Charles meets us in the entryway and helps me remove my coat. “Sir, welcome home. Would you like some lunch? Roast chicken, perhaps? Or something lighter, like a crisp wedge salad?”

  A ham sandwich sounds better than that fancy stuff, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. So instead of just ignoring him and walking past him like I desperately want to, I respond. “A scotch is fine for now. Please have it sent to my room.”

  And finally, I’m left alone, both individuals scurrying off to tend to their tasks. I continue through the foyer to the stairs leading to the second story. I led Katie up these same stairs two months ago. I thought about pounding into her right here, in fact, but that would have left a bad impression on my guests. If I had my way, I would ravish Katie in every room in this monstrous mansion. And then I’d do it again. That’d be a good use for all this space instead of useless antiques that are collecting dust.

  Once I’m in the master suite, my memories of the curvy girl are even more vivid as I look at my bed covered in the same sheets she curled her fingers around and drenched with her juices. My cock twitches at the thought of that plump body, and the way her slick pussy cushioned my pole as she moaned. Shit, the brunette was so good, so tight, and so responsive. I definitely want more, and I know she didn’t want to leave either.

  So where the fuck has she been? Why won’t she take my calls? I pull out my phone and dial her number one last time. Just like the hundreds of times before, I’m sent directly to voicemail. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred. Proceed directly to jail.

  In a fury, I throw the phone on the floor. This girl has me doing things I’ve never done before. Since when do I obsessively check my phone and keep calling a girl I slept with only once? It should be the other way around, goddammit.

  “Sir?” Charles asks, knocking softly before letting himself in my room. Fucker should have waited for an invitation, but my butler’s been with me for ages, so I just sigh.

  “Your scotch,” he says formally, setting down a tumbler a quarter filled with amber liquid on a marble coaster.

  I take the glass and down it in a single gulp. The liquid burns as it slips down my throat, and I breathe out bitter fumes. Fuck, that burns. But it feels good, and I can feel the warmth settling in my belly already.

  “That’ll be all, Charles. Thank you.”

  “Yes, sir.” My butler takes the empty tumbler from me and exits my room, and not a moment too soon because my cock’s begging for relief. At the mere thought of the female, I’ve become painfully enlarged, and I find myself wishing for a photo of Katie or something to use as I jerk myself off to release the frustration. But my memory of her is so vivid that I don’t need a photo—I can remember her smooth, beautiful face contorted in an expression of overwhelming pleasure, and it makes me hornier knowing that I was the cause of that reaction.

  I quickly remove my dress slacks and lie back on the bed with my eyes closed. I begin touching myself, imagining it’s her tongue. She’ll slip me into her mouth like a good girl, gently caressing the vein on the bottom of my cock before lightly sucking on the tip. Fuck, that would feel so good. And then she’d take my entire massive length down the back of her throat until her eyes water and she gags.

  The vision is so tantalizing that it doesn’t take long for me to finish, white cream spurting all over my hand, virile and hot. And unfortunately, this has been the extent of my sex life since that night with Katie. Every fucking day, I stroke myself to the memory of her tantalizing body and moans, and it drives me crazy. I’m a man who can get any woman he wants, so why am I touching myself like some teenage kid? Shit. I try not to think about how pathetic I feel as I clean up and straighten my slacks.

  My phone sits where I threw it on the carpet, and desperate to try again, I pick it up and dial Katie’s number once more. When it goes to voicemail, I’m tempted to throw the cell at the wall this time, but reason prevails. I set it carefully on my nightstand instead.

  “Fine,” I mutter bitterly in defeat. “If she doesn’t want to talk to me, I’m done.”

  As hard as it is, I decide I’m not going to put in that kind of effort for a woman who clearly doesn’t want me. It’s pathetic. It’s pitiful. It’s not what I do. She’s just one random girl I fucked, and there will be many more where she came from. Shit.

  Throwing myself back on the bed, I vow to erase her from my memory. But despite my efforts, everything comes back to Katie. Her beautiful face drifts before my mind’s eye, and my hand reaches down to my cock once more, the length already hardening at the image of her beautiful visage. Damn it. And this time, when I climax, an involuntary cry erupts from my throat.

  “Fuck,” I grunt, voice hoarse from both the strain and pleasure. “Katie!”

  Because I’ve fallen for her completely…but unfortunately, the beautiful brunette isn’t interested.

  Chapter Seven

  Katie

  One year later …

  Trentie is crying in his crib. He’s a relatively quiet baby, but it’s like he can sense that something is about to change so he’s using the full ability of his lungs to make sure I don’t forget his presence.

  I slip on my dangly, faux diamond earring and walk down the hall to the nursery. Trentie’s gleeful smile when he sees me is enough to make me second-guess going back to work, but I have no choice. It’s been five months since my beautiful baby boy was born, and I’ve spent every day at home making sure he knows just how loved he is. I’ve got enough in my savings account to keep us afloat for a while, but it can’t continue like this forever – I have to go back to work to make a living for me and my child. But as much as it breaks my heart to leave him, I miss working too. After all, I did build the event planning company on my own, and I don’t want to see it fail without my management.

  Gently, I stroke my baby’s soft head and coo at him as his tears slowly subside into sniffles. He smiles up at me then, causing my own eyes to well up.

  It took me the entire seven months after I found out I was pregnant to decide on what to name my baby. I went back and forth between a million different names, accepting input from various friends and family members. The one name that I always came back to was Trent. I told everyone that it was just a name I’d heard once and liked so much that I wanted it to be my son’s name. They don’t need to know the truth: that I named him after the father he’ll never know. I’m always engulfed with a mix of emotions whenever I remember that amazing night, but the one thing I know for sure is that my son is the result, and I’ll always be grateful no matter what.

  After all, I stopped trying to contact Trent Senior after that fateful day when I stopped by his place. He clearly hadn’t wanted to see me and instructed his entourage to give me the brush-off. I knew a cold shoulder when I saw one and wasn’t going to keep begging to see him like a pathetic, lovesick girl. But sometimes, doubt overwhelms me. I definitely thought there was a spark that night and would have loved to see where it went. He was dreamy, charming, and sexy—who wouldn’t wa
nt to be with a man like that? But I had to be realistic. He was Trent Moore, billionaire extraordinaire. Why would he want to bother with a plain Jane like me? So knowing when to admit defeat, I stopped trying after that day. It was the most alone I’d ever felt, but it was all worth it because now I have my baby, and it’s the two of us against the world.

  When Trentie stops crying, I return to my room to finish getting ready. I would love to pull him into my arms and carry him into my room while I get dressed for the party I’m working tonight, but every book I’ve read on the subject says putting space between you and your baby is necessary if you plan on working full-time. Honestly, it rips my heart in two to even leave him with a babysitter tonight, but I have no choice. I have to make a living, and that thought hardens my resolve. Determined, I look into the mirror.

  The pregnancy and delivery were rough on my body, and I was haggard for months afterwards, what with the night feedings and nonstop crying. But we both settled into a routine eventually, and I’m looking better now. The makeup hides my pale complexion, and I daub a bit of red lipstick on for color. My body is fuller of course, and my breasts much larger from nursing the baby. I lost some of the extra weight, but my stomach hasn’t toned down to where it was before I got pregnant. It’s poochy, and I stare at it critically, but then I take a deep breath in resignation. Between jugging a newborn and running a business, I haven’t had time for the workout routine I used to follow. Exercise? That’s a foreign word to a single mom.

  Not that it matters. I can’t imagine trying to date now that I have a child. Maybe someday I’ll be ready, but right now my world begins and ends with the baby boy lying quietly in his crib down the hall.

  With my hair and makeup ready to go, I slip off my robe. I haven’t been able to do a lot of shopping since having a child. Just bringing a baby to a department store is a huge ordeal, what with the extra changes of clothes, the snacks, the huge stroller, and the chance that he might decide to cry incessantly for no reason. Sure, I take him to play dates with other children and the occasional stroll through a grocery store, but I try to avoid spending any excessive amount of time outside of the house. It’s just too hard, what with the extra hassle.

  So this is going to be my first time out to an event since I had my son. I hold up the dress I chose for tonight’s event and purse my lips critically. It’s a sleek black dress that falls just above my knees. The bodice is accented with subtle green sparkles that taper off down the skirt. It’s an old dress, but it’s perfect because tonight’s party is a St. Patrick’s Day extravaganza hosted at a large, luxurious venue. My outfit is casual enough that I’ll blend into the background, but fancy enough to wear to a St. Patrick’s Day soirée.

  I lift the dress up over my body and slide it on. The zipper snags when I try to pull it up, but I get it after a few tries. The material is a bit tight against my breasts, but the bodice and skirt hug my curves beautifully.

  Suddenly, my baby’s soft cries are coming through the monitor again. My little boy clearly knows he’s going to be left with a stranger, so he’s calling for my attention as much as he can before the babysitter arrives. But before I can rush out to check up on him, my doorbell rings. A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s the babysitter, right on time. I walk quickly to the door to let her in.

  “Hi, Katie,” the sitter says cheerfully. “You look beautiful.”

  Jessica’s no older than nineteen, but she’s responsible and loves kids. She’s already met Trentie a few times because I had to be sure they would be a good fit before leaving her with my son for the entire night. Thankfully, he didn’t scream in her arms, and her references were stellar. If things work out tonight, I might consider hiring her on as a nanny, or at the very least my go-to babysitter.

  “Thanks,” I say, smiling. “And thank you so much for coming over last minute to watch Trentie.”

  Jessica grins back. “It’s no trouble at all. Where is the little guy?”

  I lead her down to his room and thankfully, he’s already calmed himself down in his crib and is back to sleeping. We exchange a relieved smile and go back out to the living room.

  “I should go get my shoes and purse,” I tell Jessica. “I’ll just be a second.”

  Back in my room, I steal a glance at myself in my full-length mirror. I still look like the woman I was a year ago, the woman who discovered she was pregnant and couldn’t contact the man who knocked her up. But I’ve changed so much since then. Having Trentie changed me for the better.

  I slip on my heels, grab my purse, and meet Jessica back in the nursery. She’s rocking the baby in her arms and he’s smiling at her, making nonsensical noises and blowing spit bubbles. My body relaxes slightly, reassured that he’ll be okay under her care.

  But even so, I have the urge to snatch my baby from her arms and just stay with him all night. I sigh, knowing that if I don’t leave now, I may never make it out the door. I tell myself that the space will be good for both of us, and that I have to leave eventually.

  Jessica holds my child out to me, sensing my need to hold him once more before I go. I kiss the top of his sweet head and tell him I love him. He coos into my neck, sucking his little thumb. A tear falls from my eye as I hand him back to his babysitter.

  “All of my contact information is on the fridge,” I tell her, though I know she knows all of this already. “My phone is on, and I’ll be back in a flash if you need me.”

  Jessica smiles kindly, her eyes understanding. “It’ll be okay, Katie. Go to work. I’ve got this.”

  I hesitate, stroking Trentie’s soft, downy head. Realizing how silly I’m being, I give her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Jessica, I’m just attached and I’ve never been away from him for so long and I just don’t want anything to—”

  Jessica interrupts gently, putting a reassuring hand on my arm. “Don’t worry Katie, nothing’s going to happen. Go on out before you’re late—and have fun! We’ll be fine here.”

  With a sigh, I pull myself away from the sweet little boy and march out my door before I can change my mind for the millionth time.

  Once I shut my apartment door behind me, I lean my back against it and take a few deep breaths. The hardest part is over. My child is in capable hands with a responsible sitter. I just have to make it through the night and then I can come back and hold him again.

  With one last deep breath, I step out of the apartment building and walk over to my car. The urge to turn around is strong, but I ignore it. I’ve had five months of nothing but baby time. It’s important to get back to work because the money won’t make itself. I’ve been on leave long enough.

  Turning on the engine, I pull the little hatchback out on the road and follow my phone GPS to The Seasons. It’s a swanky hotel known for its famous clientele and hip interior décor. We’ve done a few events here, but none with such a large guest list. Whoever is hosting this party is certainly trying to impress a lot of very important people. In fact, this party rivals the one Trent hosted the night we met, but I shake that thought quickly from my head. That’s over and done with.

  Before I know it, I’m pulling my car into the employee parking lot at the back of the hotel, and then I make my way through a maze of hallways until finally, I’m at the ballroom.

  “Katie!” squeals Lizzy, one of my best employees. “You look amazing. I can’t even tell you just had a kid!”

  I laugh. “No need to butter me up. You’ve been doing great on your own. This place looks amzing!”

  “Oh sure, but you and I both know I couldn’t have done it without your help. I know it wasn’t easy taking all my frantic calls in the middle of the night. I’m just really glad you’re here to oversee things tonight. This party is huge, and I’m nervous about anything going wrong because the lady who hired us is a bitch,” Lizzy says with a sour look and a roll of her eyes.

  I smile wryly. I’ve had my fair share of snooty, difficult clients. “Customers are almost always difficult to deal with,” I reass
ure her with a sigh. “Consider it a rite of passage. So where do you need me? Keep me busy or I might just run back to my car and go home.”

  Lizzy nods with understanding. She has two kids of her own, so she understands my plight right now. The brunette squeezes my shoulder kindly.

  “It gets easier each time,” she says sotto voce. “But I miss the girls every time I leave home.”

  My heart beats painfully.

  “I miss Trentie so much,” I admit. “Which is why I need you to give me something to do. I’m serious about bailing to play bouncy ball with my son.”

  Lizzy laughs, but then focuses on the task at hand. “Could you do a lap around the venue? The table settings should be done, but I’d like a second set of eyes to make sure it looks immaculate, just in case we missed anything.”

  “I’m on it.” I give her a fake salute and head toward the dining area. Each table is set with a white tablecloth and all of the usual utensils. The centerpieces are miniature floral arrangements with red carnations and baby’s breath, mixed with plenty of green sprigs. Perfect for St. Patrick’s Day.

  I do my walk twice to ensure I don’t miss anything, but I know my employees made sure everything is in place. Everything looks amazing. The décor is ideal for a glamorous party for the upper class because it conveys subtle wealth without throwing it in your face. Silently, I congratulate myself for hiring such a great staff because in my time of need, they were able to band together and pull this off without me.

  After verifying the dining area is good to go, I roam to the kitchen where Lizzy is tasting various courses to make sure they’re up to snuff.

  I grab an hors d’oeuvre and pop it into my mouth.

  “So whose party is this, anyway?” I ask once I’ve swallowed. The chef’s done a great job, as usual. I’m tempted to take another bite, but it’s unprofessional to sample too much of the food before the party starts.