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I hated myself for hooking up with him that night. I felt lonely and missed Jaimie. I had finished two bottles of wine and found myself scrolling through old pictures of us in a buried file on my phone. It had been three weeks since Jaimie had left, and I wanted nothing more than to be held and kissed. Out of desperation, I texted him, and I regretted it more than anything.
Our relationship had ended almost a year ago. We were moving in different directions, my cookie shop was failing, and Cody was concerned with getting his paint business off the ground. I thought we would make it, and I was willing to forgo my business for him so we could start a family.
Then he told me he didn't want a family and I should look elsewhere if that were something I wanted. It was heart-shattering as his words coiled around my heart, turning my blood into molten lava. I'd rather be a single mother than let him back into my life; that was a hill I was willing to die on.
"What are you—"
"I called him," Samantha interrupted. She improved her posture and folded her arms over her chest. It was her sad attempt at being assertive.
"Why? I don't understand?"
"He needs to know that you're having twins, and he could be the father."
Cody's eyes grew wide, and he looked like he was going to vomit all over the floor. My eyes slid to the doctor, who had rolled to the other side of the room, quietly observing the shit show in front of him. Cody stepped forward as his eyes examined my growing bump. Fear stretched across his face as his eyes slid back to mine. I knew he wasn't the father; my intuition has never let me down, and I knew Jaimie was the father of my babies; not that it mattered because I'm no one's charity case.
CHAPTER3
Jaimie
I’ve been sittingin my office watching Remy bake and organize for hours. My phone chimed for the hundredth time, and a dozen email notifications had slid across my laptop in the past hour; I’ve ignored them all. The only thing that interests me is the woman on this screen. She looked just as delicious as the last time I saw her.
She was glowing and watching her move around the staged kitchen with her large bump and hair tied back struck something inside of me. I wanted her, fuck, I needed her. Every bone in my body ached with extreme need as I kept my eyes glued to the screen. When one video ended, I would let the next one play. I never wanted them to end, but the emails wouldn’t stop, and I could hear the mousey voice of Jaz yelling through the door. I snatched her phone, walked into my office, and shut the door, locking it behind me. I thought I lost Remy forever. I thought I would never see her again. The wiggling of the doorknob drowned out Remy’s succulent voice, and I had no choice but to open it.
“Give me my phone,” Jaz demanded. Her eyes narrowed, and she turned her button nose upward.
“Did you work? Have you done anything that’s in your job description today?”
Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and at one point, I thought they would get stuck, but I wasn’t so lucky.
“I do work and—.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t do a damn thing. You sit there on your lazy bum for eight hours painting your nails, smacking your lips, and annoying our clients.” I said, interrupting her.
I’ve always noticed that she never did any work, but it never bothered me. Having an executive assistant was useless. All she did was layabout and take long lunches. My team insisted I have one, though, said it looked better if my emails came from my assistant’s desk. I had a team of twenty people working their bums off for me every second of the day, so one loose link didn’t kill me, but I’ve started to grow tiresome of her antics.
“Can I please have my phone back?” She clasped her hands together in prayer formation as her eyes slid to my hand.
“I’ll make a deal with you, little lady. You find me the best private investigator, and I might consider not canning your lazy bum.” My body lingered in the doorway as I let her phone dangle between my fingers. She let out an exasperated sigh and slumped her shoulders as she turned toward her desk.
“I’ll email you my requirements for the PI. Complete the task by the end of the business day, and your name tag will still be there come tomorrow morning.” Her hands extended as her phone flew toward her, and a smile stretched across her freckled face but was displaced as a growl escaped my throat.
“End of business day,” I repeated once more before letting the door slam behind me.
I checked the time on my watch. It was a little after 2 PM, and I still had a shit ton of work to get done before I headed home. I had a long list of unanswered emails, ten missed calls, three more meetings to attend, and a client to meet, yet none of that shit mattered. I didn’t fucking care about any of it. The only thing my brain could do was grab my tablet and pull up Youtube in a desperate attempt to get Remy back in front of my eyes.
When her sweet little voice oozed through the speakers, I melted and leaned back in my leather office chair. My phone chimed, followed by a wave of ‘dings’ and other notifications. I swiped up, swiped away, and bluntly ignored them all. Remy's luscious curves filled my screen, but my gaze stayed glued to her large baby bump.
I nearly had a heart attack when I saw it. Worried that it could be mine, and even more worried if it belonged to someone else. Now watching her waddle through the staged kitchen with flour-smudged cheeks and a messy bun, the only thing I wanted was to be standing next to her. I never wanted children, but seeing that growing bump made me want to be the one holding her hand when she popped it out. Father or not.
Hours had passed, and before I knew it, the office was silent, the lights dimmed, and my driver’s name was sliding across my phone screen. I packed up my bag and headed downstairs. A long back SUV sat idle outside the French glass doors with the passenger door propped open.
“Good Evening, Mr. Brett,” my driver said from the front seat of the SUV.
“Earl, you know I don’t like it when you call me Mr. Brett.”
As I met his gaze through the rearview mirror, a smirk spread across his withering lips.
Earl’s been a driver for my family for years. He’s always lent an ear whenever you needed one and listened more than he talked, which said a lot. He’s been the father figure in my life since the day my sperm donor became too busy to give a damn. He dropped me off, picked me up, and shuffled me around until I could drive. He was a damn good lad, but he was getting older, and it was killing me knowing his days were numbered before he gave me his resignation.
