The Baby He Wants: A BWWM Pregnancy Romance

by Etan, Cher

  “Mew,” he said.

  *****

  "You're incorrigible."

  Tristan stuck his head out of his bedroom. "Is that Jensen-speak for 'oh my, Mr Carrington you're so devastatingly attractive I don't know how the girls resist you'?"

  Jensen arched an eyebrow.

  "I'm taking that as a yes," Tristan called, ducking back into the bedroom to put on his pants and shoes.

  When he emerged, it was with his jacket over one arm, his bow tie in his hand, and a strip of candy in his mouth. "I need some help with this tie."

  "You need some help, period," Jensen muttered.

  Despite the eye roll, he crossed the room to help out and Tristan let out a muffled protest when Jensen yanked the dangling strip of candy out from between his lips. "Hey!"

  Jensen tossed it over his shoulder and into the trash and Tristan chomped down his current mouthful of sugary deliciousness before complaining, "I was eating that."

  "'Was' being the operative word." Jensen fixed him with a stare. "You're going to be at the gala in twenty minutes. You can hold out 'til then."

  "But I don't want to," Tristan said. "I'm a multi-billionaire. I should be able to eat candy whenever I want."

  "And yet you pay me a ridiculous salary to stop you from eating candy whenever you want," Jensen said, taking the jacket from his arm and holding it out for him to slip into. "Your mind is an enigma."

  "Wrapped in a taco, wrapped in a Jensen-shaped cage of denial," Tristan filled in. "My life is so hard."

  "Someone should hold a telethon," Jensen deadpanned, straightening the sleeves of his jacket and then turning Tristan around so he could check the front.

  Tristan opened his mouth.

  "No, I'm not holding a telethon for you."

  Tristan closed his mouth and pouted. "Way to crush my dreams. I don't remember that part of your job description."

  "Oh, it's there," Jensen said breezily. "Crushing your dreams is somewhere between helping you dress yourself and making sure a gold digger doesn’t clean you out." He brushed the lint off Tristan's shoulder. "Ignoring your shady wit is something I throw in for free."

  Tristan sighed. "You don't feel like quitting that any time soon, do you?"

  "Nope." Jensen tilted his head and pursed his lips. "I question your taste in jackets."

  Tristan spun around in a circle. "Huh? This is perfectly tailored."

  "I know," Jensen said. "I hired the tailor. I'm talking about this." He flipped the corner of the jacket over to reveal the bright green lining.

  Tristan had picked it out himself.

  "Were they out of decent colors?" Jensen asked. "Were you forced to skin and boil Kermit the frog to produce a dye?"

  "I like it," Tristan said cheerfully. "It matches my eyes." Jensen snatched the bow tie from his hands and Tristan gulped. "Please don't strangle me."

  Jensen rolled his eyes. "Do I look like Savannah?"

  Lifting his chin to let Jensen fix his bow tie, Tristan winced at the memory of the time Jensen was referring to. Savannah and he had been at a party when her friend Bunny had gotten a bit too tipsy. Tristan had rescued her from a handsy guest and offered to take her home but Savannah had overheard them. She’d taken it all wrong and had literally tried to strangle Tristan with his bow tie. He had only been saved from certain death by the eerily efficient Jensen, his assistant.

  "You definitely do not look like Savannah," he said with a grin. "The lack of murderous intent sets you apart."

  "I'm flattered," Jensen said, putting the finishing touches to Tristan's bow tie.

  "You should be," he agreed. Jensen stepped back and Tristan looked him up and down in appreciation, taking in the neatly pressed lines of his tux and the pink bow of his lips. "Did I tell you how incredible you look tonight? How do you do it? It's like...a gift"

  "You said it, not me," Jensen pointed out. "Now are you ready because your mother will not be happy if you’re late."

  "Yeah, yeah. Mama dearest mustn’t get mad," Tristan mumbled. "I get it. It gets old though. Tiring."

  "I'll make you a doctor's appointment for that," Jensen said calmly. His phone beeped in his pocket but he didn't even need to look at it as he said, "Your car's waiting."

  Tristan held his arm out with a flourish. "You need to teach me your secret."

  Jensen took one look at him and promptly turned away to gather the rest of their necessities.

  "If I taught it to you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore," Jensen said coolly, grabbing a set of keys and holding the door open for Tristan to exit. "You know what they say about two can keep a secret and all that."

  "But we could-"

  "No."

  Jensen shepherded him through the door and locked it behind him while Tristan took a moment to admire his efficiency. "How about-"

  "No," Jensen said again, firmly. "Would you like me to put it in Tristan-speak for you? Get your own cool."

  Tristan's shoulders slumped.

  Jensen patted him on the arm. "Suck it up, buttercup." The pat turned into a grab as he led Tristan over to the elevator. "Your adoring public awaits."

  *****

  Tristan had been to plenty of parties where the host had an assistant with him at all times. They were there to whisper in their ear, giving names, details, business updates, and anything else the host needed to know to appear polite and well-informed. It was always obvious what they were doing and Tristan was appropriately judgmental of hosts who took that approach.

  Luckily for Tristan, he was spared that dilemma. Jensen was awesome enough to have invented some handy ear buds to save him any embarrassment.

  "Nabeel Ahmed."

  "Nabeel," Tristan greeted with a smile. "Good to see you again."

  Across the room, he could see Jensen's lips move and he heard his voice through the ear bud. "He runs a hedge fund in Dubai and made forty million last quarter. Has a wife and three kids and is into tennis."

  Tristan cleared his throat as subtly as he could.

  Jensen sighed. Tristan had once seen Jensen cut himself on a lawn mower (which was not something he ever, ever wanted to experience again) but he could've sworn he sounded even more pained now as he muttered, "He likes Lord of the Rings. The book and the movies."

  Tristan grinned as he shook his guest's hand and launched into conversation, "Y'know, I've been hearing awesome things about the new Hobbit movie."

  He heard another quiet exhale through the ear bud. He was pretty sure that was the sound of Jensen dying inside.

  *****

  "So the Reichenbach Group was able to make money hand over fist during the so-called financial crisis of ’08. It's all about staying observant and reading the signs of the times," Tristan said as he nibbled on a delicious prawn-pastry hybrid. He made a mental note to get the recipe later. "I'm sure you'll be more than happy with what my team comes up with, Dr Cortese."

  The doctor raised her champagne glass with a smirk. "I'm sure I will."

  "And the thing about our team is-"

  A hand came to rest on his shoulder and Tristan looked down as Jensen addressed the two women Tristan was talking to. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, ladies, but Mr Carrington is needed for a moment. I'll return him to you as soon as possible."

  "It was great to catch up with you," Tristan said quickly before Jensen could pull him away. "We should schedule a golf game one of these days."

  Dr. Cortese smiled and turned to her girlfriend as Jensen coaxed Tristan away. He made a stealthy lunge for a tray of hors d'oeuvres but was smoothly intercepted by Jensen before his fingertips could brush another tasty prawn thing.

  "I arranged for any leftovers to be delivered to the penthouse tomorrow morning," Jensen said before Tristan could ask, "and the cook's agreed to provide you with the recipe."

  Tristan sighed happily at the thought of all those pastries waiting to be eaten. "How would I cope without you?"

  "Terribly."

  Tristan laughed. "Wow, don't sugar coat it or any
thing." He let Jensen bring him to a stop in the hallway and asked, "What's up?"

  Jensen looked perturbed. "We have a situation."

  "Do tell."

  "There is a young lady of dubious background in the lobby. She doesn’t have an invitation but she says she knows you,” Jensen said watching Tristan carefully. “I have a feeling she’s here to cause some sort of trouble."

  "What’s her name?" Tristan asked with a lift of his eyebrow. "And why are you looking at me like I planned this?"

  "She says her name is Ava Richards and the two of you met a few weeks ago?"

  “Ava?”

  “Yes. An African American woman. She doesn’t look like your usual type.”

  "People like something different once in a while." Tristan held his arms out with a smile. "And I don’t have a usual type."

  "Uh..huh," Jensen murmured under his breath.

  "Did she say what she wanted?" Tristan asked. "And maybe why she’d show up here?"

  He grimaced as he pictured the awkwardness of it; wondering if Ava was in a Grateful Dead t-shirt and maybe some distressed jeans.

  Jensen shook his head.

  "Fine," Jensen said reluctantly. "Maybe you should go and see her? Heaven knows what she might do if you don’t. However, I feel I should come with you to provide back up. And you can’t stay long, you have your speech to give."

  Tristan saluted. "Yes dad."

  Jensen rolled his eyes and then took his position in front of Tristan. “Let’s go,” he said.

  They descended to the lobby of the building using the escalators and walked to the reception desk. It was definitely Ava; in a bright yellow sleeveless maxi dress that outlined her figure to perfection. She had on gold hoop earrings and her curly hair was piled on top of her head in some deliberately untidy way.

  “Hi Tristan,” she said as he came up to her. She wasn’t smiling. Tristan just stared at her in surprise.

  “Can I help you with something?” he asked.

  Ava shrugged, “Probably not but I thought I’d come by and give you some information anyway.”

  “What information would that be?”

  Ava’s eyes cut to Jensen.

  “Is there any way we can talk alone?”

  Tristan also looked at Jensen, “Jensen is a friend.”

  Ava took a deep breath and sighed. She opened her mouth and then closed it.

  “I’m sorry. This was a mistake,” she said turning toward the door. Tristan frowned.

  “Ava!” he called.

  “I’ll text you,” she called back as she hurried out the door.

  Chapter 6

  "A big thank you to the wonderful chef, who's been keeping me so well-fed all evening," Tristan announced. "And I guess feeding all you guys too."

  Polite applause filled the ballroom and Tristan looked over to see the chef emerge from the kitchens to give the guests a wave of thanks. He ducked back inside before the applause had fully died down and Tristan addressed the crowd again, "And finally, on behalf of Reichenbach Group, I want to thank all of you for coming out here tonight. It's been great to see every single one of you and I really appreciate your support." He scanned the ballroom and his gaze landed on Jensen as he said with a grin, "I couldn't do this without you."

  The applause rose up again, about as loud as Tristan would have expected from a room full of people who'd spent the evening eating and drinking to their heart's content. Taking a bow, Tristan strolled back and forth as he waited for the room to settle again.

  "Now, ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy the rest of your evening. Personally, I will be making a fool of myself on the dance floor with my glamorous fiancé Savannah, but please don't let that ruin your dinner."

  Laughter rippled through the seated guests and Tristan smiled as the band started up. "Thank you again, folks!"

  The bustle of movement from the guests warred with the music from the band as they kicked into action, and Tristan surveyed the room with satisfaction for a moment before turning to search for Savannah.

  He didn't need to look far. She was standing on the edge of the dance floor with her arms folded across her chest. The overall impression was somewhere between grumpy toddler and stern principal, which left Tristan in the awkward position of being amused and kind of repelled at the same time.

  Savannah didn't blink as Tristan headed toward her, skidding across the smooth surface of the dance floor. He came to a stop in seconds and held his hand out with a flourish. "May I have this dance?"

  Savannah didn't budge. "Glamorous fiancé? I thought we were keeping that under wraps for now."

  "I’m sorry, I got carried away."

  Savannah glowered at him.

  "Too far?" Tristan asked with a wince. "Look, I'm sorry. Will you dance with me and let me make it up to you?" Conscious of the eyes on him, he pleaded, "C'mon, Savannah. Please? Look at this face. How can you say no to this?"

  He barely resisted a shout of triumph when Savannah reluctantly took his hand.

  "You know you're not actually a puppy, right?" she said as Tristan led her out onto the dance floor. "Your face is not that persuasive."

  Tristan shrugged, resting his hand at Savannah’s waist and sweeping her around in a circle. "It worked on you, didn't it?"

  "I've been hanging with you for years," Savannah said. "My immune system is already compromised."

  Tristan's eyes widened. "What? Your immune-" Halting the sudden rush of memories of the frizzy brown hair and a yellow dress, and why he couldn’t seem to stop wondering what it was she’d wanted to tell him, he said sheepishly, "That was a metaphor, wasn't it?"

  Savannah's pitying stare was short-lived, and Tristan went where she led him as she re-positioned their hands and forced him to move more appropriately to the music. "If we're going to do this, we can at least do it right."

  Too busy processing Savannah's 'immune system' comment, Tristan asked, confused, "Wait, did you just tell me I was wearing you down?"

  "No, I told you that you dance like a giraffe on painkillers and should probably try to move more gracefully," she said. "Except I phrased it more diplomatically the first time."

  "No, no, before that," Tristan said. Accusations of giraffe dancing were nothing new. "You said I compromised your immune system! That's Savannah-speak for ‘there’s possibly a chance I might want to marry you in spite of your inability to conceive'."

  Savannah grimaced. "I promise I have never expressed those sentiments."

  "But you want to!" Tristan said triumphantly. "You want to hit this like it's going out of style."

  Savannah closed her eyes. "Oh God."

  "You want to ride this like a pony."

  "Please stop."

  "You want a first class ticket for this love tra-"

  Savannah's lips were on his before he could finish.

  Of all the ways Tristan had pictured kissing Savannah again, none of them had involved being knee-deep in euphemisms for sexual attraction. Savannah had pulled away by the time Tristan got his head back in the game and he was left gaping as Savannah started to guide them around the dance floor again.

  "I- Did you just kiss me?"

  "Nothing gets past you," Savannah deadpanned.

  His lips quirked up in a smile, however, and Tristan spun them to a stop before leaning in until their noses were almost touching. "You just kissed me. You. Ms, Perfect."

  "Ms. Leicester."

  Tristan smiled. "Smartass." He slid his hands around to give Savannah's ass a quick squeeze and asked, "So kissing is something we do now? What changed your mind?" He paused. "You’re not playing with me are you? This mean what I think it means?"

  "What do you think it means?" Savannah asked "This has been coming for a while now."

  Tristan blinked. "Really?"

  "I guess I shouldn't be surprised you never noticed," Savannah said. "I mean, the whole city's in love with you. What's one more?"

  "But you're Savannah," Tristan said, dumbfounded. "You're not sup
posed to be in love with me."

  Savannah looked like he was trying to contain a smirk. "What am I supposed to do?"

  "Honestly? Judge me for my life choices."

  Savannah did smile at that as she reached up to straighten Tristan's bow tie. Looping her arms around his neck, she leaned in close and murmured, "I'm very good at multi-tasking."

  "I think we should test that."

  Savannah hmmed in agreement. "Thoroughly."

  "You know how much I like experimenting."

  That time Tristan actually managed to get his sentence out before Savannah tugged him down for a kiss. It was crazy because as much as he’d hoped for this, and wished for it and wanted it to happen, he still couldn’t get that yellow dress and big hair off his mind. What had she wanted? He almost stopped kissing Savannah to run out the door and find out.

  Just then, she let out a happy sigh against his mouth and Tristan let his tongue slip past the barrier of Savannah's lips and explore her mouth. He could feel people's eyes on him in the middle of the bustling dance floor, and wondered what they were thinking. Especially his mother. This must be making her very happy.

  He ran his hand down Savannah's spine, trying to span as much of her as he discreetly could. He wanted this to be real to him; his present, his future. This woman was the one he was expected and expecting to marry.

  Why did Ava come?!?

  He couldn’t get rid of the curiosity he felt and that mad urge to just run off after her. He deepened the kiss in consequence. Savannah hadn’t shown any interest in making out with him since he’d made his announcement. The fact that she’d come on to him was huge.

  Savannah's skin was warm under his hand and Tristan was gratified at the realization that he was feeling Savannah blush. They were here in the middle of a crowd of friends, clients, and dignitaries who definitely hadn't come to watch Tristan kiss Savannah, though they were probably thrilled to have something to talk about for the next week at the club. Savannah Leicester and Tristan Carrington, finally making it official.