Boss Daddy: A Secret Baby Romance

by Black, Natasha L.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “That was just Samantha,” I said. “My best friend from back home. She was calling to let me know that Ethan ran off, and she was worried that he might be headed this way.”

  That afternoon, Jordan brought me back by my house to get ready for work, and then we drove to The Hollow together. We settled into the routine of getting the bar ready for the evening crowds, and I had all but put the incident of the night before behind me when I looked up and saw Ethan walk through the door.

  He looked at me but walked right past and headed for a recently vacated table. I stared at him for a few seconds, wanting to be stunned by his brazenness. But I couldn’t be. This was just the way he was. It would probably have been more frightening if he hadn’t shown up. Then I would have had to wonder where he was and when he was going to appear.

  This way I had the chance to nip this in the bud and move forward.

  Finishing the drink I was working on when he came in, I handed it to the customer and walked around from behind the bar to Ethan’s table. He looked up at me with a smug smile when I got there.

  “Hi, Hannah,” he said.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He looked around, holding up his hands like he was encompassing the bar, and gave me an innocent look. “What do you mean? I just came by to enjoy a beer and check out what I hear is the number one bar in Astoria.”

  “You need to leave,” I said. “Right now.”

  I thought I would be more afraid when I spoke to him, but my voice didn’t even shake. The anger had taken precedence over any wariness or fear.

  Ethan shook his head and plucked the beer menu from where it stood on the side of the table.

  “No, I don’t think so,” he said.

  “What do you mean you don’t think so?” I asked. “Leave. Now.”

  He shook his head again. “No. I don’t think I will. I’m going to just look over this menu and see what this place has to offer.”

  “Ethan, this is the last time I’m going to tell you. Leave. Now.”

  The sickening playful note in his voice that had made my skin crawl as he did his sweet and innocent act immediately disappeared. That had been enough to push him over the edge. He leaned threateningly toward me.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Hannah. I have the right to be here. Just like everybody else,” he said.

  “How did you find out where I lived and worked?” I asked.

  This earned an arrogant smirk, and he leaned back in his chair, assuming a casual pose.

  “It wasn’t very hard at all,” he said. “My private investigator found you in a matter of days. I was just giving you time to come to your senses before I took matters into my own hands. I told you before there was no point in trying to get away from me. You’ll never be able to.”

  A cold shiver ran down my spine, but before I could say anything, a form appeared at the corner of my eye, and I looked over to see Jordan standing there. He subtly pulled me behind him and faced off against Ethan.

  “Get out,” he said.

  No frills. No elaboration. No room for ambiguity.

  “You need to stay out of it,” Ethan said back.

  “I’m one of the owners of this bar, and I’m telling you right now you need to get out of here,” Jordan said.

  Ethan scoffed. “I already know who you are. Do you think that impresses me? You’re the fractional owner of a neighborhood bar. You might think you can push other people around, but I’m not going anywhere until I get my beer.”

  Jordan stalked over to the bar and snatched a cup of beer Ava had just filled for a customer. He brought it over to the table and shoved it toward Ethan.

  “Here. Enjoy,” he said.

  Some of the beer sloshed over the lip of the mug and splashed on Ethan. He stood up sharply from the table, nearly knocking it over. His eyes were flashing, his nostrils flaring. And even though he was several inches shorter than Jordan, I knew from experience this was a stance Ethan expected would intimidate anyone who got in his way. He thought people would simply back down when they looked at him that way, too afraid of what was going to happen next to go any further.

  Not Jordan. There wasn’t even a hint of fear or hesitation in Jordan’s eyes. He stood tall and strong, his chest square toward Ethan and threat in his eyes.

  “Ethan, you need to go,” I said. “Just get out of here.”

  I was on the brink of begging. It was bad enough when it was just me grappling with what to do with his unwanted appearance. Now I had to deal with the potential clash between him and Jordan. I didn’t want to see that happen.

  Ethan faced off with Jordan for another few seconds, like he was considering attacking. Finally, he took a step back.

  “Fine. But I’ll be waiting at your house for you so we can talk,” he said. “This isn’t over.”

  Without waiting for a response, he gulped down what was left of the beer in the mug and stalked out of the bar. I watched him in stunned silence, dumbfounded and starting to feel afraid again.

  19

  Jordan

  Slapping the taste out of Ethan’s mouth would certainly do the trick, I thought. Maybe it would just egg him into a larger fight, but that worked, too, since I would enjoy the vicious beatdown I could give him, taking my time roughing up each side of his face equally. Then, maybe, I’d break one of his fingers. A middle one, just to make sure that he couldn’t grip anything for a while with it. Break the middle one on both hands. It would be the ultimate “fuck you.”

  Those were the only ways I could think of for dealing with Ethan. Not that I didn’t know there were other ways, it was just that every time I thought of his smug face, those were the only logical outcomes of us being in the same room. Any mention of his name brought up an intense desire to rearrange his face like a six-foot Mr. Potato Head.

  I worried about Hannah. She didn’t seem to take too well to my personal brand of protection ideas, and I couldn’t blame her. She was terrified of what Ethan might try, and the idea that I would resort to preemptive violence made me seem almost as bad as he was. I got that. But it didn’t stop the instinctual desire to beat the shit out of anyone who threatened Hannah, much less an ex she was scared of.

  She had been staying with me for a few days. While she seemed to be doing well, I knew for a fact that I was doing a million times better. I slept better than I had in ages when she was with me and waking up actually feeling rested was something that I was greatly enjoying. Plus, every night tended to end up with us tumbling into bed with less and less clothing. That was making it even more pleasurable to have her staying with me.

  We both had the late shift coming up, so our day was free when we decided to head up to the library. She was working on her mural, and I decided that hanging out there and watching her paint would be nice. I was in the kitchen packing a cooler with sandwiches and drinks when she came up to me and kissed my shoulder.

  “You don’t have to come,” she said. “Not that I’m trying to talk you out of it. I just don’t want you to feel obligated.”

  “No obligation,” I said. “I want to come.”

  “Seriously,” she said, her voice dropping a little and making me move my eyes away from the tomato slices I was cutting. “It’s a very public place. Ethan might be stupid, but I don’t think he’s that stupid. I would be fine if you wanted to stay home or something.”

  I scanned her face, making sure that she wasn’t trying to subtly tell me not to go. If that was the case, I wouldn’t make a fuss of it, I would just change my mind and offer her the cooler for herself. But the look on her face was not one of someone telling a person they need space or freedom, but one of an almost pleading hope. She really did just not want me to feel obligated to go.

  “Well, how about I come, and if I start to bug you, you just tell me to get the hell out of there and I’ll go find something else to do for a while?” I asked.

  She smiled. “That’s not going to happe
n,” she said as she pulled me down to her for a kiss.

  “I just feel better being near you, and I like watching you paint. So, if you don’t mind my company, I’d like to be there, but seriously, if you need space, just let me know.”

  “No, I like the idea of you being there,” she said. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to.”

  As we drove to the library a little later, I stole glances of her looking out her window. She seemed content, if a little on edge. I could understand why. Ethan was a dumbass and didn’t get the hint. It wouldn’t surprise me if he showed up at the library, ready for anything. Being there with her made me feel better about her being there, and also it gave me a chance to sit and relax and do nothing.

  I was not good at doing nothing.

  When I was in the desert, there were wide swaths of time to fill between the chaos. When the chaos hit, there was only survival and orders, but between those moments of pure, unadulterated insanity were huge stretches of boredom. I’d hated it then, too. I learned every card game in existence, picked up parts of several languages, enough to communicate basic needs with a number of points on the globe, and did a lot of push-ups. A metric crap-ton of push-ups. What I never got the hang of that some of my other brothers did was how to relax.

  I found relaxing to be agitating. I needed to be moving, needed to be working. When on duty, it was about protection. I needed to be on my guard, just in case. When I was off duty, it was about how I wanted to be prepared to move out at a moment’s notice. Since I had been home, it had been about me being kind of a prick who just couldn’t sit still. This was going to be a test.

  I was going to try to sit down, relax on a blanket in the grass, and literally watch paint dry.

  We pulled in, finding a spot just across from the wall where the mural was going, and I helped her unload her large selection of buckets of paint and various brushes and other painting supplies. The building was white cement blocks, and I marveled at the process she had.

  First, she set out all her paints in a line with the brushes nearby, a bucket of water, and several old towels. Then, she set up a projector and projected the image onto the wall. An easel stood next to the projector with a smaller version of the mural on it, painted on what looked like a sketch of the building. Then she took a large black pencil, the head of which was nearly the size of my fist and drew the outline of the mural design. Moving her ladder occasionally, I worried she was overexerting herself, but she seemed fine, and the one time I got up to help her, she held up her finger, then pointed back to the blanket. She wanted to do this completely on her own.

  The wall had been cleaned and primed the day before, and it sparkled in the sunlight. I could see through the projector image how the final product would look and was in awe of how gorgeous it was. Hannah was incredibly talented, and I wasn’t surprised when small crowds gathered to watch her for a few minutes at a time. It was getting close to lunch when the librarian made her way out to check on her.

  “Oh my, Hannah, this is looking incredible,” she said. Hannah was working on the mural in six sections, completing them before moving on to the next, and the first section was nearly finished.

  “Thanks,” she said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and putting a yellow streak of paint across it. “I think it’s going to come together really nicely.”

  “I am sure it will,” the librarian said, stepping closer. Their voices lowered and their conversation turned to artistic mumble, and I didn’t really catch most of it, but I got the gist. The librarian was extremely impressed, both with the concept and design, but also with her execution as it was thus far. The sparkle in her eyes as she talked about her look was uplifting, and I found myself grinning from ear to ear along with her.

  Happiness looked good on her.

  After the librarian stopped, we took a break and ate. The sandwiches I made were seemingly a big hit, even though I silently smacked myself for forgetting the bacon. It was still at home, on a plate next to the stove. I was in such a good mood that I guess I got forgetful as we walked out. We had just finished eating, and Hannah had returned to the mural while I picked up and tossed our trash when Becca showed up.

  “Hey!” she said as she approached Hannah. There was a weird dance where Becca made to do the friend hug and then thought better of it.

  “Hey, sorry,” she said, indicating her shirt. “I’d hug you, but I don’t think you want this paint all over you.”

  “You would be correct,” Becca said jokingly. “This is looking great, though. You are amazing.”

  “Thanks,” Hannah said.

  “Hey, Jordan,” Becca said, turning to me and dropping her voice in a weirdly conspiratorial way.

  “Hi,” I said awkwardly. “Dropping off some books?”

  “Oh,” Becca said, looking down as if just noticing she was carrying a stack of four or five books in her arms. “Yes, actually. I had some ideas, and I wanted to do some research for the bar expansion.”

  I grimaced. “Cool,” I stuttered out.

  “So I heard what happened the other day with your ex,” Becca said. “How horrible of him to just drop in where you work.”

  “It wasn’t fun,” Hannah admitted. “He’s like that, though. Rude, demanding, and no sense of propriety at all.”

  “Sounds like he was a blast to date,” Becca said sarcastically. “Seriously, though, I am glad you got out of that relationship. Guys like that aren’t worth your time.”

  “Thank you,” Hannah said, a streak of red crossing her cheeks. It was adorable when someone complimented her for any reason and that blush would fill her face.

  “It’s a good thing you had Jordan there with you,” Becca said, turning a glance at me. “I heard you were rather insistent on him leaving, weren’t you?” she asked me.

  A pained smile came across my face, matched by a sunny “what, me?” smile on Becca’s. She was going to try talking me up, I could feel it. I didn’t need a matchmaker when we were already sleeping together—not that she knew that. Yet, I thought.

  “He’s been very helpful,” Hannah said, and I turned to her. She was smiling at me in a somewhat devious way, and this time it was my turn to feel a rush of color cross my cheeks.

  “I’m just glad you have someone watching over you. But anyway, I have to get going. Jordan, would you do me a favor and carry these books in for me? I hurt my wrist yesterday, and these things are heavy,” Becca said.

  “Sure,” I said, taking them. They were light, even for Becca. “I’ll be right back, Hannah.”

  As soon as we were out of earshot, Becca held out her hand, and I gave her back the books.

  “Well, that healed quickly,” I said.

  “Should I tell Mom?” Becca giggle-whispered.

  “Tell her what?”

  “About you and Hannah,” she said, and never more so in that moment did I feel the kinship of an annoying little sister with Becca.

  “Stop,” I said. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We’re just enjoying the moment for right now. No labels. It’s hard enough navigating the whole dating while working together thing.” One of Becca’s eyebrows curled up, and I immediately jumped back in. “If you would consider this dating.” I sighed. “No labels,” I said defeatedly.

  Becca put one hand on my shoulder and stuck out her bottom lip. “Poor boy. You have it bad, don’t you? Well, regardless, I am happy for you. For whatever that is. No labels.”

  Laughing, she walked away to the front desk, and I turned to go back to where Hannah was standing near the top of the ladder, looking for all the world like she was one wobble away from destroying every adorable bone in her body.

  20

  Hannah

  It was one of those rare quiet days at the bar when it seemed like maybe we would all get a chance to breathe a little bit during our shifts. Those days were getting fewer and further between. Even since the time I had been working at The Hollow, I’d noticed it getting busier and more popular.<
br />
  While it had never been a place I would consider slow, there were plenty of days that were less overwhelming than others. Particularly during longer stretches between the theme nights, the crowds thinned out a little bit and we might be able to get a breather. That wasn’t so much the case recently.

  Even on days when it had been a few weeks since a special themed night, the customers packed in and kept us going basically nonstop from the time the doors opened until we had to lock them behind the last customers. I definitely preferred it that way. As much as my feet hurt and I was exhausted sometimes, I would much rather it be busy and have way more than enough to do than to get bored or have to worry about the bar not doing enough business.

  The doors were already open, and a few customers had trickled in for dinner, but things were still quiet. With Tom back in San Francisco, all the other brothers were in the bar. They were taking advantage of the quieter night and using it as an opportunity to have a meeting. I had just brought one of Tyler’s famous burgers to a table when Jordan came out of the office.

  He did not look happy. The other men trailing behind him didn’t look particularly thrilled about whatever was going on, either. Not acknowledging them or saying anything else to them, Jordan walked away from his brothers and came over to me.

  “Do you have a second?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I’ve taken care of my customers. I can probably snag a second for you.”

  I offered him a playful smile, but the upset expression on his face didn’t lessen any. We walked to the back of the bar and the small area with a view table we usually reserved for our own use.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

  Jordan paced back and forth for a couple of intense seconds, then looked into my eyes.

  “We just got off a call with Tom,” he said. “He has made the final decision and will be sending Matt and me to Portland to start getting the new place ready.”