How to Knock Up Your Nurse: A Billionaire Secret Baby Romantic Comedy

by Melinda Minx

  I was on my knees in front of him. Bent over. Wearing a skirt with pantyhose...and a pig mask.

  Toya held her hand up to my face, shoved it over my mouth, and giggled. “Miss Piggy is still hungry! Oink oink oink!”

  I oinked back. Just one time, because my whole face was burning red. In fact, I was pretty sure that every pint of blood in my entire body had somehow moved to my face. That’s how hot it felt. It was a perfect mix of the most embarrassed and most aroused I’d ever felt.

  I stood up, and only then did I notice this perfect specimen of a man was holding a little girl’s hand.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Miss Piggy, but is this Reading Hour?”

  His voice was deep and smooth, intensely masculine, but soft at the same time. He wasn’t a man who needed to speak loud to be heard.

  He was still smirking at me. I grabbed the mask and ripped it off as fast as I could. A horrible pain ripped across my ear lobe. The elastic band of the mask had tangled up in my earring and was tugging on it, and on my ear.

  It took every ounce of willpower in me to not swear in front of all the children. I think I managed to get out an “Owie!” but that was not even close to the right word for this situation.

  Before I could so much as move, the perfection of a man was leaning into me. He brazenly placed his hand on my shoulder, his thumb resting right up against the soft and sensitive skin of my neck.

  I froze, partially because I knew if I moved again I might actually rip my earlobe off, but mostly because he was touching me.

  “Don’t move,” he said, “it’s bleeding.”

  God. First he had to see me oinking and pretending to eat slop out of a trough fed to me by a four-year-old, and then this? He must have thought I was the most pathetic woman he’d ever seen.

  I could only see him from the corner of my eyes, because he had taken charge of the situation and turned my head away from him to get a better angle on my ear. He had one hand on my shoulder to keep my still, while his other hand worked at the elastic band stuck in my earring.

  “Does this Miss Piggy mask mean a lot to you?” he asked, his voice was even softer since he was right next to my ear, but it was still intensely deep and masculine.

  “No, why?”

  “I’m going to break the band.”

  “Go ahead.”

  He touched gently against the cartilage of my ear. I bit my lip and imagined he was just holding my shoulder and touching my ear like that, whispering something into my ear other than “Does this Miss Piggy mask mean a lot to you?” I imagined him whispering something seductive instead, something that a man like this would never say to a woman like me.

  There was a slightly sharp pull on my earlobe, and then the pressure was gone. I saw the glint of a knife as he put his pocket knife back into his jacket pocket, and then I was ready to move away.

  “Hold on,” he said, as soon as I tried to move back. “Let me take this off.”

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  I don’t know what came over me, but I went from embarrassed and aroused to purely aroused. He was touching me with both hands, and had one hand on my ear. Whoever knew that my ear was this sensitive? It’s not like he was touching me between the legs, but he might as well have been for how good it felt.

  His fingers moved across my face and tucked stray strands of hair behind my ear. I felt his breath hot on my ear as he gripped it gently between his thumb and index finger. The earring came open, and he took it out.

  He took some piece of cloth out of his jacket pocket—that looked expensive too—and he blotted it against my ear. God, I was staining his expensive handkerchief thingy with my blood?

  When he was done with the handkerchief, he didn’t just let go of me, he put a hand on my cheek and guided my face toward his. Surely he would just let go after that—but no, he slid his finger along my chin, and his grin broke into a devilish smile.

  “There you go,” he said, holding up the earring.

  It was an earring that looked like a wing made up of dozens of tiny little leaves. The band from the mask had completely tangled up within the little leaves. I’d probably have to spend a few minutes with a pair of scissors to get it off without ruining the earring.

  “Thank you,” I muttered, taking the earring from his hand. I trembled a little when our palms touched.

  “I’m Noah,” he said, “and this is Naomi.”

  I looked down at the little girl. She wasn’t holding his hand anymore, but she smiled up at me from behind his leg.

  I tried to be stealthy and look at his hands for a ring, but he splayed his fingers and gave me a clear look at his ringless fingers on both hands. “She’s my daughter.”

  I bent down so I was close to level with her eyes. “Are you here for Reading Hour?”

  It helped a lot to talk to her and break my gaze away from Noah. Naomi looked like she was around four years old, and just looking away from Noah and having anything else to focus on helped a lot. My cheeks—and a few other places—still felt hot, but looking away from him was like stepping into cool water after being out in the sun all day—it gave relief, but I could still smell the sun on my skin.

  Naomi nodded to me.

  “I’m Miss Lacey,” I said.

  “Well, Miss Lacey,” Noah said, “I’ll let you get back to the...oinking.”

  I laughed nervously and threw the pig mask back into my bag. “I think we’re done with that part. We’re going to read some books now.”

  Noah sat down at one of the tables. I expected him to pull out a laptop or phone and start working, but every time I looked back up, I saw him watching me intently.

  I’d collected all the animal masks and put them back into my bag.

  “What books do we want to read today?” I asked the kids.

  “The Pout Pout Fish!”

  “Chicka Chicka Boom Boom!”

  They all started shouting out requests. I waited for their voices to die down a bit, and then I pointed to Naomi. “Naomi is new here, why don’t we let her choose the first book we read?”

  “Umm,” she said. “Can we read a Little Gobblegurt book?”

  My jaw dropped. The Little Gobblegurt was the series of children’s books that I had written and illustrated. Just over five years ago I’d been lucky enough for a small publisher to pick up a book I’d done for fun, and for just under two years I’d released a new Gobblegurt book every few months. It was the best thing that had ever happened to me...and then Blackwinters Publishing bought out the little Indie Press that had been so good to me. They renegotiated my contract in a way that made it so I was making pennies on the dollar compared to what I’d made before. My brother told me to sue their ass in court, but I was broke by that point, and I knew I’d lose.

  Now I carried a few of those Gobblegurt books around in my backpack every Tuesday and Thursday, pathetically hoping that a kid would actually ask to read one of them. I was too self-conscious to tell them I’d written a book and read it for them. I was afraid the parents would think I was full of myself or something for reading my own books. Besides, even if the kids all liked it and bought the book, 95% of the money would go to Blackwinters Publishing, and it wouldn’t even give me enough money to buy a coffee. Mr. Black would just see a few extra dollars trickle into the billions he already had. He wouldn’t even see it, I’m sure. It was just more money to pile into his vault full of it. A few more dollar bills to swim around in, just like Scrooge McDuck.

  I’d carried those books around with me for over a year, ever since I started doing the Reading Hour, and Naomi was the first kid to ask to read them.

  “We can,” I said, smiling at Naomi. “How about The Greedy Little Gobblegurt Doesn’t Want to Share?”

  She nodded enthusiastically.

  This was the last Gobblegurt book I wrote. The one that I wrote after Mr. Black screwed me over.

  I’d always drawn the Gobblegurt to look like a mix between a Goomba from Super Mario and some kind of cut
e little goblin. In this final book I made him look a little bit meaner than usual.

  I started reading. “Today was the greedy little Gobblegurt’s birthday, and—”

  “Miss Lacey!” Dmitri shouted, “you forgot to say who wrote the book!”

  I bit my lip and blushed. I always made a big point to read out the title and author name before we read a book. I had skipped over it just now because I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

  “This book is by Lacey Larsen,” I said, mumbling it quickly. “It was the little Gobblegurt’s birthday, and—”

  “That’s the same name as you, Miss Lacey,” Toya said.

  I laughed nervously, and I accidentally looked up at Noah, who was raising an eyebrow at me. God, I had the book in my backpack. What was he going to think about me if I carried my own failed children’s books around with me?

  “Let’s keep reading,” I said.

  “Are you Lacey Larsen?” The 7-year-old asked. “That book was in your backpack. Did you write a book, Miss Lacey?”

  “Um, yeah,” I muttered.

  I glanced quickly up at Noah, but he was on his phone now. I sighed relief. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

  The younger kids didn’t seem to really notice much, but some of the older kids were telling me that it’s cool that I wrote a book, and they asked me if I drew all the pictures too.

  Naomi stared up at me with wide eyes. “I love the Gobblegurt. You’re Miss Lacey Larsen?”

  She looked starstruck, but I just nodded meekly to her. “Well, let’s read it then, okay?”

  I read the book, and the kids all made me read another Gobblegurt book. I had two others with me, which I read out loud to them.

  After I finished, a few parents came up to me and were very nice to me about the books. They wondered why I’d never read them, and asked where they could buy a copy.

  As I looked up from talking to Toya’s mom, I saw Noah towering over me, a smug grin on his face. “You’re the Gobblegurt author. You’re Lacey Larsen.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “That’s Naomi’s favorite book. The Greedy Gobblegurt Doesn’t Want To Share. We’ve read our copy at home so many times that it’s nearly falling apart.”

  “Can she autogram it for us?” Naomi whispered up to Noah.

  “Autograph,” he said. “I’m sure she can. We’ll bring our books with us next week.”

  “Of course,” I said, blushing.

  I felt this huge wave of relief and excitement when I realized that Noah would come back again next week. I already looked forward to Tuesday the most out of every day of the week, but now I’d have another big reason for it to be my favorite day: Noah.

  “Are, uh, do you two live on Staten Island?”

  My “you two” question was intentional. I wanted to see if he’d mention a wife.

  I knew it was silly, because a man like this wasn’t actually going to be interested in me, but it would be more fun to swoon over him and construct elaborate—and unlikely—fantasies in my head if I knew he was single.

  He shook his head. “We live in Manhattan.”

  Of course. In some multi-million dollar penthouse. His wife was probably in charge of some kind of charity. She was probably French. Beautiful and sophisticated. They probably drank wine together on their rooftop garden while some violin virtuoso gave Naomi private lessons.

  I looked down at my feet. “What brings you here?”

  “We heard this was the best Reading Hour in the city.”

  “Oh.”

  He smiled at me. “I didn’t know it was you. Lacey Larsen. I’d have come sooner if I’d known.”

  I looked up at him with what must have been the most confused and dopey expression, because I had no clue why he would have any idea who I am. Then I remembered the Gobblegurt. Right, he hadn’t realized I was the author.

  “Well,” I said, “those books were kind of a long time ago. I don’t even really remember them.”

  “You carry them around in your backpack,” he said.

  Dammit. Why did he have to notice that?

  “Can you make her write some more, Daddy?” Lacey asked.

  He smiled. “I’m going to try, sweetie.”

  “Make me?”

  He held his hand out to me. I didn’t know why he wanted to shake my hand right now, but I was happy for any excuse to have him touch me again. I reached out and took his hand. His grip was firm, but he was gentle with me. His warm grip was just strong enough to hint at his strength, but not enough to put any real pressure on my hand.

  “I didn’t fully introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Noah Black.”

  Oh. Oh.

  My smile curdled like spoiling milk, and I pulled my hand away. “Noah Black. From Blackwinters publishing?”

  I remembered the name from reading my new contract. The one that fucked me over so badly.

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “The Blackwinters Publishing who bought out Panda Press, then fired all of their employees?”

  He winced a little as I said that, but nodded.

  “The Blackwinters Publishing who took my contract, which allowed me to almost live off my royalties as a children’s author, and completely messed it up so that I could barely use a month’s royalties to go out to dinner? You realize I work three jobs now? I carry those books around in my bag because they remind me of what I almost had, before you took it all away from me.”

  I looked down and saw Naomi frowning. Suddenly I felt horrible. Noah Black might have been a monster, but to Naomi, he was still her dad. I may have hated him for what he did, but I shouldn’t do this in front of his daughter. Still, I’d often dreamt of telling this greedy bastard off to his face.

  “Naomi, sweetie,” I said. “I left the Gobblegurt book over there. Could you please get it for me? I’ll sign my copy for you.”

  She smiled and walked over toward the little table I’d left the book on.

  I reached into my bag and pulled out the pig mask. It was still tangled up with my earring, but I handed it to Noah all the same. “If you come back next week, you can be the pig.”

  “Those were business decisions,” Noah said, “I didn’t think—”

  “Of course you didn’t. To you it’s all just numbers. You did what made you the most money, and who cares what happens to a bunch of people you never even see?”

  I looked over to see Naomi picking up the book. I leaned in to make sure she couldn’t hear me. “When I wrote that book I was thinking of you, Mr. Black. You’re the Greedy Little Gobblegurt!”

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