Saving Her: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance

by R. R. Banks

  He shrugs. “Among others,” he says. “There are good people in this company. Smart people doing some amazing things. And they only wanted you to be aware and knowledgeable about what's happening.”

  I sigh and sit back in my seat, taking a long swallow of beer. I can't believe what I'm hearing. Although, it makes perfect sense now that Thomas has let the cat out of the bag. My parents were always trying to teach me lessons. Always doing things like this to make a point.

  “That's a lot to digest and I'll have to think it over some,” I say. “I'm not entirely sure how to process it all just yet, hoss.”

  “I wouldn't expect anything less,” he replies.

  “But that still leaves us with the other condition,” I say. “And that one could prove a little more troublesome than the first. That's not about learning a lesson.”

  Thomas shakes his head. “No, it's not,” he replies. “But they believed in the stability a marriage can provide. They believed it reshapes one's priorities.”

  “Yeah, Tiffany is a great reminder that my father always had his priorities straight,” I say, completely deadpan.

  “That – was a mistake,” he says. “A mistake he never forgave himself for making. Believe me, I saw how badly he punished himself for it firsthand. But he and your mother – though they had their ups and downs – learned to get over it. Put it behind them. Because they had a stable marriage and never lost sight of their goals or priorities. And that's what they want for you, Brady.”

  “Which is great and all,” I say and grin. “Except for the part about having a wife. I have no prospects, hoss.”

  He sighs and grimaces. I can tell he's about to say something he either doesn't approve of or something he doesn't like because he looks like he just ate a rotten lemon.

  “Marie and I have been married a long time,” he says, looking at the framed picture on his desk. “A long, long time. We're partners in everything.”

  I nod, not sure where he's going with this.

  “But not every marriage is like ours,” he says. “Other marriages are – well – different.”

  “I'm not sure what you're driving at, hoss.”

  He sighs and runs a hand over his closely cropped hair. “I'm just saying that I have a lot of respect for the institution of marriage. A deep belief in it.”

  I nod slowly, still not understanding. “Okay, I get that, but you're losing me here.”

  “I guess I'm having trouble spitting it out only because I personally detest the idea,” he says.

  “Let me guess, this is an idea suggested by a certain burly lawyer friend of ours,” I say.

  Thomas gives me a wry grin. “See? You are a lot brighter and more intuitive than you give yourself credit for,” he says. “Our burly lawyer friend and I were spitballing recently –”

  “And by spitballing, you mean trying to find a suitable woman to throw in my path?”

  He grins. “Something like that.”

  “And? What did you two Cupids from hell come up with?”

  “Well, I still believe that in two years, you can find a suitable match,” he says. “But during our discussion, a point was raised that there are marriages that are more like – business partnerships.”

  “Business partnerships,” I say flatly.

  Thomas nods. “Oh, I can think of a few prominent political couples whose marriage was little more than a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  I rub at the stubble on my chin. “Huh,” I say. “So, you think I just need to find a girl and propose a business arrangement? A little you scratch my back, I scratch yours deal?”

  That look of distaste appears on his face again. “I'm not suggesting any such thing,” he says. “All I'm saying is that some believe it's – an option. And with time beginning to run short, perhaps it's an option you shouldn't remove from the table entirely.”

  I can tell he's uncomfortable with even throwing that out there as an option. Thomas is a good man who values marriage and family above everything else. I can tell the very idea of a sham marriage to satisfy a requirement for my inheritance turns his stomach and goes against everything he believes in. But he had to be the one to float it out there because Kendrick couldn't, given his position.

  The fact that he floated it out there at all though, tells me just how serious the situation is. Or at least, how seriously they're taking it.

  “All I know is that this company cannot fall into Tiffany Greene's hands, Brady,” he says. “This is your father's legacy. Your legacy. And if she wins, she'll destroy it all in a heartbeat. And she will hurt a lot of people in the process.”

  “I understand,” I say. “I just need a little time to think.”

  “I'd expect that you would.”

  I put my hat back on and get to my feet. Thomas comes around and pulls me into a tight embrace. A moment later, he steps back and gives me a smile.

  “I haven't been keeping that chair warm for the last couple of years,” he says, “just to let some spiteful, greedy little girl sell it off to the highest bidder.”

  “I know you haven't, hoss,” I say. “And I'm going to do everything I can not to disappoint you.”

  Thomas nods. “That's all I can ask.”

  I leave the Keating building and feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. The lives and livelihood of more than fifty thousand people rests on my ability to meet my two obligations – which are getting married, and apparently learning to ask for help.

  My mind is swirling in a million different directions and I'm not entirely sure what to think. It feels like there's a hellacious storm brewing. It's out on the horizon, still two years away, but it's like I can see the thunderheads already gathering. The clouds are pitch black and promise to bring ruin and destruction.

  Unless I can somehow manage to head it off.

  The driver holds the door open for me and I slip into the back seat, lost in thought. But as he pulls away from the curb, an idea begins to form in my mind. And by the time we're halfway home, I'm feeling really good about it.

  “This can work,” I say. “This can really work.”

  Chapter Ten

  Amanda

  I climb the stairs to my apartment after another fruitless day of job hunting. I don't have enough experience for this place. I don't have the right kind of experience for that place. Everywhere I went, all I got were doors slammed in my face. It's all so frustrating and scary, and all I want to do is cry.

  “Amanda.”

  The familiar voice freezes me in my tracks at the top of the stairs.

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  Snow and the 7 Hunks (Sample)

  A Contemporary Fairy Tale Romance

  By R.R. Banks

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  *174 Customer Reviews – 4.8/5 Stars

  Do you ever get tired of being a good girl?

  I know I do, with a name like Snow I guess it’s expected.

  But there is nothing good about my boss’ new wife.

  That witch took over the office.

  And she’s determined to turn my fairy tale into a living nightmare.

  Hello, Enchanted Woods, an exclusive retreat for worn-out girls like me.

  The retreat has a saying:

  “True love’s kiss will fill your heart with love, but it’s his c*ck that will make you cream.”

  Who knows? I might even find a prince there to give me a happy ending.

  There’s no room for grumpy, sleepy and dopey in my life,

  not when I can have horny, cocky and lucky.

  A cowboy, an athlete, and a biker... maybe even a billionaire too.

  Seven is my lucky charm. Let’s see which one is my happily-ever-after.

  Chapter One

  “Do you think that his dick is all shriveled up like the rest of him?”

  I glared across the table at my best friend Robin, who was in turn staring wistfully at each of the waiters that swept past him without pausing. It was dessert n
ight at The Wishing Well, our favorite hangout for as long as I could remember, and while the table in front of me was scattered with all of the sparkly, sugar-coated and cream-filled delights that I had ordered, they had somehow managed to miss everything that Robin had requested.

  “I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that,” I said, reaching for one of my treats.

  Robin sighed and looked back at me.

  “I do. I mean, it wouldn’t make sense for the rest of him to look like one big dangly sack now that he’s ancient but for his actual dick to still be all smooth and youthful.”

  Another waiter swung past with a tray held high above his head, and Robin looked hopeful, only to be crushed when the man kept going right by.

  “He’s a really nice man,” I said, feeling the urge to defend my boss.

  “Does that change the fact that he’s a thousand years old and has more folds on him than an origami Shar Pei?” Robin dipped the tip of his pinky into the shallow dish of chocolate sauce beside one of my plates and licked it off. He looked at his finger contemplatively. “If it is all wrinkly, do you think that it stays that way when he gets hard? I mean, is it like an accordion-type situation where it smooths out, or does it get hard and still have all the wrinkles and stuff?”

  I grimaced as I took the churro from my mouth before taking a bite and settled it back onto the plate in front of me, draping a napkin over it to cover the ridges that were no longer as appealing, even covered in sugar and cinnamon.

  “I really wouldn’t know,” I said.

  Another waiter started toward our table, making Robin’s eyes light up, but just before he arrived, he took a sudden turn and presented a nearby table with an elaborate spread of sweets. Robin turned back toward me and sagged against the table.

  “Someday. Someday my blintz will come,” he said. He pouted for a few seconds and then looked at me like he had just heard what I had said. “Of course you don’t know,” he said. “You’re as pure as the driven…”

  “Please, don’t.”

  “Snow.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry. I was already committed. I had to finish it.” I glared at him, not willing to let this one slide. “OK, so that probably wasn’t the best idiom I could have gone with.”

  “You’re an idiom,” I muttered.

  I couldn’t blame Robin entirely. When you have a name like Snow it’s kind of hard to make a purity comparison without it coming across as incredibly heavy-handed. He might as well not pussy-foot around it and go right for the brutally clichéd kill.

  “Blintz?”

  Robin and I looked up at the waiter who had appeared at the edge of our table and blinked at him, somewhat stunned that he was actually there. He stood staring back at us, holding a plate of cherry cheese blintzes in between us, the three of us now locked in some awkward tableau of bad service. Finally, Robin nodded and the waiter lowered the plate to the table.

  “I’m really not as pure as all that,” I said. I had hoped that the waiter was far enough away from us at that point not to have heard the declaration, but by the way he glanced back at me over his shoulder I figured that I didn’t have that much luck. I leaned forward on the table so that I could speak to Robin in a more conspiratorial tone. “It’s not like I’m a virgin.”

  Robin looked up at me as he deconstructed the carefully folded blintz so that he could smear the cherry sauce inside rather than eating it like a civilized human being worthy of the dainty desserts.

  “You’ve had sex with exactly one person, Snow,” he said. “One. I don’t even think that counts as not being a virgin. That’s like training wheels.”

  “I don’t think that’s accurate,” I said. “How many do you think it takes?”

  I didn’t necessarily want to hear the answer. Robin might look sweet and innocent, but I knew very well that he was far from as pure as the driven anything. Upon further thought it might be because he looked so sweet and innocent. There could be some appeal there.

  “At least three to be a bit dingy,” he said. “Eight to be really, really dirty.”

  I thought about that for a moment, trying to come up with eight men whose name I could even think of, much less who I could imagine having sex with. I was unsuccessful. I returned Robin’s gesture with my chocolate sauce by swiping some of the cherry juice left on the plate. It was bright and tart, less sweet than I would have expected.

  “So, what got your brain into the disturbing place where you started comparing my boss’ undercarriage to instruments and puppies?” I asked.

  Robin’s eyes widened and he looked like he regretted the huge bite of ricotta cheese and cherries that he had just shoved into his mouth. He chewed frantically as he leaned back and lifted up his hips to dig his phone out of his pocket. I watched as he swiped through a few screens and then turned the phone toward me. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I reached for the phone and pulled it closer to me, not taking my eyes off the screen. Robin swallowed hard.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t know,” he said.

  I looked up at him and then back at the screen, and then up at him again.

  “What the hell?” I asked.

  “Yep,” he said. “That’s a thing.”

  I looked at the screen again, hoping that it would have changed since I first looked at it. It hadn’t. Mr. Royal, the origami Shar Pei, was smiling up at me from a wedding announcement splashed across the front page of the social page of a blog. He looked so happy he was virtually glowing from above the garish red and blue bowtie tightened around his neck. The bride looked decidedly less enthralled by the entire situation. She was smiling, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. She stood beside him, hands gripping a red rose bouquet in front of her. The matching satin dress that she was wearing was decidedly not bridal, but I was more concerned with her face.

  “How did she manage to weasel her way into his life?” I asked.

  “You know her?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You do, too. That’s Lucille Verne.”

  “Are you serious?” he asked, snatching the phone back from me so that he could look at the picture of Mr. Royal and Lucille again. “That’s her?”

  “Yep,” I said.

  I took a sip of my coffee, wishing that I had gone a bit more on the Irish side with it. I had a feeling I was going to need some of the whiskey o’ the Irish to get me through the rest of this evening. Maybe not to the Erin-go-braless point, but definitely until I could see myself dangling upside down to kiss a guy named Blarney. Robin started laughing and I slammed my mug down to the table with a little more intensity than I had intended.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “Come on, Snow, you have to admit that it’s at least a little amusing. This chick trailed your ass all the way through college and graduate school and has done everything that she could think of to beat you in the advertising industry. Now she’s married to the owner of the company you work for. That’s some serious deviousness right there.”

  “I don’t think that her marrying him had anything to do with me. She wouldn’t go that far just to try to one-up me.”

  Even as I said it, though, I wasn’t entirely sure that I was convincing myself. There were a lot of words that I would use to describe Lucille and devious was definitely one of them. The others are ones that wouldn’t be appropriate to say in front of pastries.

  “If she did, she sure is willing to take one for the team just to piss you off.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Robin grabbed the napkin and whisked it off of the plate with flourish, revealing my abandoned churro.

  “That woman is like a third his age. The only reason a woman that young would marry a man that old is because he’s wealthy and she’s hoping she can kill him off before too long, and the only reason that a man as old and as wealthy as Mr. Royal would marry a woman like that is if he’s hoping that if he does die any time soon it will be because she fucks him to
death.”

  “Well, that was a touch more graphic than I think was necessary.”

  Robin shrugged.

  “I speak the truth.”

  I sighed and picked up a fork to poke part of a petit four on a plate in front of me.

  “It does hurt a little that I wasn’t even invited to the wedding,” I said. “I thought that we were closer than that.”

  “The man is grooming you to be on the board of the advertising agency,” Robin said. “He’s not adopting you.”

  “But still. I’ve worked with him since I graduated. I’ve spent more time with him in the last few years than I’ve spent with my own family. Besides, aren’t the weddings of socialites supposed to be the events of the season with guest lists that are a couple thousand people long? I didn’t even get to sit at the table beside the kitchen and look at them through binoculars while people they barely know make toasts about them?”

  “Apparently there wasn’t a table by the kitchen,” Robin said, looking back at the screen and reading through the announcement. “There wasn’t even a reception. There was barely a wedding.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Poking the cake had made me want a bite and I moved it around on my tongue so that he wouldn’t call me out for talking with my mouth full.

  “It says that they had a spontaneous destination wedding on his private island.”

  “Does that mean that she smuggled herself onto his jet and then plied him with little umbrella drinks until he agreed to marry her?”

  “I think it might. That would explain the red dress.”

  “Maybe. Of course, if she had tried to put on a white dress it would likely have burst into flames before she could get all the way down the aisle.”

  “Ah. So, our friend Lucille is in the Dirty Eight Club?”

  “She makes the Dirty Eight Club look like a Carmelite nun drum circle.”

  Robin got an expression on his face like he was thinking through what I had just said.

  “I think that we just found our Halloween costume for this year.”