My Dad's Rival's Secret Baby

by Jamie Knight

  The massive dining room in this house is yet another thing I will never understand. There’s a chandelier on the ceiling that just makes me think of Phantom of the Opera, and never once have I seen the absurdly long mahogany table actually filled with people. It’s always been just me, Mom, and my father. Today’s no exception.

  When I enter the dining room, it’s just Mom, sitting in her usual place just to the right of the head of the table. I slide into my usual seat on the left, and ask, “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s finishing a business call. Or sneaking a cigar. Probably both.” Mom’s smile is wan. “He’ll be in any minute.”

  I almost wish he wouldn’t be.

  “I’ve done it, Maureen!” That booming voice, echoing around the room as the door opens, makes my jaw tighten. There he is: Barnaby Drive, or, as everyone calls him: “Mister Drive, sir.” I thought his first name was Mister until I was nine years old. I still find it hard and a bit off to call him Dad.

  “Done what, dear?” Mom inquires as he seats himself at the head of the table.

  “That old stick-in-the-mud, Martinsdale. He’s going to sell. Do you know what that means?”

  Neither of us attempt to answer. There’s no point trying to get in the way of one of my father’s rhetorical devices.

  Sure enough, he barely takes a breath. “It means that parcel of land out on the edge of Durham that I’ve been after for two years finally belongs to the company.” He lets out a long, contented sigh. “As I’ve always said, persistence pays! And so will this deal!” His laugh is harsh, devoid of mirth.

  The staff chooses that moment to arrive and deliver dinner: roasted boar with a number of fixings, wine, and more. I murmur a quiet thank you to the two servers.

  “Wesley, there’s no need for that!” he booms. “They’re only doing their jobs, and they’re already grateful for the opportunity besides.”

  “Just being polite, Dad. I’m the guest, after all.”

  He ‘harrumphs’ and spears a chunk of meat onto his plate. “That’s your problem, son. You’re soft. Thanking people like that makes them think you don’t believe you deserve what they’re giving you. Do you think I thanked Martinsdale when he sold to me just now? Or my tenants, when they pay rent, do I send thank-you cards in the mail? Absolutely not!”

  I stare at my plate. This Friday is just like any other Friday, then. Silly of me to think it might end up differently.

  “Dear, it’s fine. Come now, let’s enjoy dinner.” Mom has always tried her best to deflect my father’s barbs, but she always steps in too late, once they’ve already landed. “Wesley, how is that lady friend of yours doing? Catherine, was it?”

  “Catherine is a business associate, Mom. She’s part of the office. And she’s doing just fine. I’ll let her know you asked.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, we can expect to keep seeing you showing up alone for the foreseeable future, son?” Dad chews loudly, and I bite my lip.

  “I don’t date people in my company, Dad. We’ve talked about this, it’s unethical.”

  “Ethical. Hah! If I’d been entirely ethical, your mother would still be a secretary! And I wouldn’t have earned half of the success I have, either. The business, this house, all of it, I built from scratch! By the time I was your age, we were already drawing up plans for the office building downtown. And you don’t even have a date.”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t bring her here.” The mumble slips out before I can stop it.

  “What’s that now?” Dad sets down his fork.

  “Wesley, sweetheart, why don’t you tell us what else is going on in your life? There must be something.” There Mom is again, trying to head off the storm clouds with a shitty umbrella.

  “What’s going on with me?” I ask, throwing Dad’s rhetorical device back at him. “Well, I’m thirty-eight, I’m one of the most successful self-made real estate agents in the city, Forbes put me on their Forty Under Forty to Watch List this year, and I’m not a bitter old prick!”

  My father barely reacts. “Forty Under Forty, huh. What’s that, the poor man’s version of the Top Entrepreneurs list?”

  “Nothing’s ever good enough for you, is it, Dad?! Every single time we have this discussion, you always find something to criticize or belittle. I’m sick of it! I’m leaving.”

  I stand up, tossing my silk napkin on the table. Who the hell uses silk for napkins, anyway?

  “Go ahead then. Go home. Go back to your apartment in the city that you bought with money from the trust fund I gave you. Ungrateful brat.”

  I want to fight him, tell him how wrong he is, that I pay for that apartment, and most other things in my life, with money I make myself. But that’s just a black hole with no light at the end of the tunnel, so I walk out of the dining room instead, fervently wishing that the chandelier above the table would crash down like Phantom of the Opera. That would teach him.

  I head down the hallway towards the front of the house, and hear footsteps behind me. “Wesley, wait!” I sigh, and turn to face my mother.

  “What, Mom? What should I wait for? For him to care? To listen to me? To believe me when I say I’ve earned what I have? Nothing is ever good enough for him.”

  “Don’t talk about your father that way, Wesley. Please, come back and finish dinner with us.”

  I laugh. “You know what, Mom? I have to pass. I have a headache.”

  “Oh, please. That excuse didn’t work to get you out of high school gym, it won’t work now.”

  “No, Mom, really. I have this splitting headache that just won’t go away. I’ve had it for years now, actually, and it begins and ends with that old bastard! From now on, don’t bother setting a place for me at these precious Friday dinners. I’m too old to listen to this shit on repeat any more.” With that, I leave her standing in the hallway.

  Heading back to the city, I do feel the slightest pangs of guilt, but I push them down. If Mom wants to enable Dad’s narcissism, then she can have him all to herself; that’s just the end of it.

  I can certainly find better ways of spending my Friday nights, that’s for damn sure.

  Chapter 4

  Mariah

  I’m still seething by the time I get home. My plan’s only half-formed, but I know the first step. So, I head to my room and pull out the massive suitcase I haven’t used since that school trip to Germany in college. Why do so many schools send students to Germany? I never really got that.

  I’m throwing clothes into the suitcase when I hear the front door bang open and footsteps coming up the stairs. “Mariah! Mariah, where are you?!” I don’t answer my Dad’s shouts.

  He rounds the door and sees me packing. “What the hell are you doing?!”

  “Exactly what it looks like!” I snap at him. “I spent years following you around like an obedient puppy, watching you, learning everything you would teach me - and now you want to marry me off so you can give our business to some guy you just met? I’m out.”

  “You’re out?” For the first time, my dad looks incredulous…and confused.

  “Yup! If you won’t take me seriously, I’ll find someone who will! I’m not just your little girl anymore. I have a business degree, and I’m good at what I do!”

  Incredibly, Dad laughs. With real mirth this time. “Oh, Mariah, I know that. But look at you! You’re so impetuous and immature, is it any wonder I can’t give the business to you?”

  “Immature and impetuous?” I stare at him, fury rising again, along with tears. I hate that. I hate that he’s the only person I’ve ever met who can make me feel so small and so childish.

  “Exactly.” He places his hands on my shoulders and sighs. “I mean, look at you. I offer you a future on a golden plate, and you turn it down and start packing a bag? Come on now.”

  “If I was a man, you’d call this daring.” I stare back at him. “I thought you of all people would take me seriously, Dad. Did you think I was just shadowing you at work, going to the same college, learning
the same things, for fun? I did it so that I could be like you. I thought you knew that. I thought you believed in me! I guess I was wrong. What do I have to do to make you believe that I deserve this?!”

  Dad steps back. Adopts his ‘thinker’ pose - hands clasped behind his back, head tilted up. Then meets my eyes, crosses his arms. “Fine.”

  “What?”

  “Fine. If you want to prove that you can handle this, that you deserve this business… you only have to do one thing.”

  He’s got my attention. I stop throwing clothes in my suitcase long enough to ask, “What?”

  “Simple. Sell a million-dollar house. And do it without my help.”

  “And if I do that, you’ll leave the business to me?”

  He nods. “Yes.”

  I smile so wide that it almost hurts. “Deal?” he asks.

  “Deal.” I stick my hand out, and after a slightly surprised pause, he shakes it.

  “There. It’s official. No take-backs, and definitely no marriage proposals. Charlie can find his housewife somewhere else!”

  I think for a second, and then keep tossing clothes into my suitcase.

  “What’re you doing?” Dad raises an eyebrow.

  “If I’m going to sell a house without your help, I can’t be staying in the same room I’ve had since I was a little kid. If I’m doing this, I’m doing it for real.”

  “You’re leaving.”

  “Just the house, Dad. I was on my own for four years in college, I can handle this.”

  He almost looks… impressed. But just for a split second. Then it’s gone, replaced with his usual stoic businessman face. I’ve seen it a thousand times at the office, in meetings. But never directed at me. Until now.

  “I think that’s a mistake, Mariah. You’ll never make it in this city by yourself.”

  Those words sting. Pride is replaced with anger in my head. “God, Dad! You really don’t think I can do anything, do you? I’m just your stupid little girl who can’t tie her own shoelaces.”

  He doesn’t disagree with me. The silence is somehow worse than if he’d just said yes, or even pretended to deny it.

  “You know what, Dad? I’m going to do it. I’m going to live on my own, and I’m going to sell a million-dollar house, and I’m going to do it without you.”

  I zip my suitcase up, haul it off the bed, and glare at him. “Starting now. Goodbye.”

  With that, I walk past him and out the door.

  Once it closes behind me, I sag against the wall, drained. I have no fucking idea how I’m going to pull this off… but I will. I have to.

  Chapter 5

  Wesley

  I should probably get out of bed. Or off the internet. Or both.

  I ignore that inclination towards responsibility and stay curled up in my four-poster bed, staring at my laptop. You’d think cute animal videos are only for teenagers to text each other about, but here I am, watching a wiener dog and a lion being best friends.

  My dog, Carrie, jumps up on the bed next to me. She’s a sweet mutt, and I reflect, probably the best friend I have. “Aren’t you, girl? Yes, you are.”

  I scratch her ears and she nuzzles up next to me.

  I think about texting or calling someone to go out for drinks. It’s the weekend, after all - shouldn’t people be around and up for something fun? I run down the list of people in my mind.

  Dennis: Married. Moved to Chicago.

  Andrew: Two kids. Ugh.

  Jeremy: In prison for tax fraud. Whoops.

  “Jesus, I really need to make new friends. Or meet a girl.”

  Right. Fat chance of that happening. I’m thirty-eight, and my perfect woman still hasn’t come along. I mean, there are plenty of women out there, and a lot of them are my type, I guess…blonde hair, blue eyes, curves in all the right places. More than that, though…I want someone who can match me when it comes to smarts, and isn’t just a doormat.

  “Maybe I should just post on Craigslist again, huh girl?” Carrie looks at me, then flops her head down on the bed when she figures out I’m not saying any of the magic words: “outside,”, “food,” “toy,” “treat.”

  “Or maybe I should just stop talking to my dog so much. That could work too.”

  As if she understands me, Carrie tilts her head, grunts dismissively, and leaves the room. A familiar fwump tells me she’s settled into her favorite chair out in the main room. “Well. I guess I had that coming.”

  Maybe it’s time to get out of the house, hit the bar scene again. It’s not like I haven’t had my share of one-night stands, and it’s not like I haven’t thoroughly fucking enjoyed most of them, but nothing ever seems to get past that point.

  The last one felt like it might be going somewhere until I caught her on my balcony talking to a girlfriend on her cell about how she was just “going to wait it out until this old guy dies… I’ll be like one of Hugh Hefner’s Bunnies. Hot and rich.”

  Apparently, it wasn’t going as well as I thought – or not for the right reasons anyway. Not that being compared to Hef is the worst thing in the world - I still owe him an immense debt of gratitude for the pile of Playboy mags I stole regularly from our neighbor’s mailbox when I was a kid. Well, him and the kid who lived there, since he’s the one I expect took the blame for the stuff that ended up hidden under my mattress. But, fuck – I wasn’t even that much older than her. Ten years or so.

  That experience taught me not to date younger women, and to be skeptical of ‘relationships’ I think are going well. In fact, I don’t really ‘do’ relationships now. Still, I keep finding myself wanting something more. Someone more.

  The desire’s fueled by boredom, at least in part, and I know that. But on the other hand, what’s wrong with wanting some excitement in life? My friends are all married off, having kids and the like - it’s not like I want that, exactly… I just find myself jealous of the fact that whatever’s happening with either one of them in a couple, they get to share it. I used to think that eventually, that perfect woman would walk through the door and I’d just know it…

  I figure I’d be sitting at my desk, poring over some paperwork for my latest real estate deal, when a knock comes at the door. A young woman I’ve never seen before enters: she’s tall, blonde, curvy… with piercing blue eyes that would make me weak in the knees if I was standing up. Fortunately I’m not, so I keep my composure. She smiles at me cooly, a file held under her arm.

  “Mr. Drive, I take it.”

  “That’s me. Did you have an appointment?”

  “No, but I know that’s not a problem.”

  Normally, I wouldn’t take that shit from anyone… but right now, I’m at home alone on my bed, and the thought of someone standing up to me like that sends charges of excitement through my body. My cock starts to twitch, and I unbutton my pants.

  “It’s not?” I tilt my head back, sizing her up.

  She’s gorgeous, with a wardrobe to match. Her hair is long, falling across both her shoulders and brushing against the fabric of her red dress, which is just long enough to be professional and just short enough to push my imagination into gear. It hugs her hips perfectly, revealing their tempting curves.

  Her high heels look more like they belong onstage at a burlesque joint than in a real estate office, but who am I to complain? This is a fantasy, after all.

  “No. It’s not,” I answer her.

  “We need to discuss the terms of this latest lease your company is handling. It’s for the Machado family?”

  “Ah, the Machados. So that would make you - ”

  “Their lawyer.” She hands me the file. “And the one who caught on to the fact that you’re leasing their home to them at nearly $3,000 more a month than is necessary for upkeep and sustainable living conditions. So, the question is, where is the rest of that money going?”

  Her breasts are heaving just a bit with… passion, I assume? Despite my best intentions, it’s immensely distracting.

  “Listen. We lease
our homes at extremely fair rates - ”

  “I’m going to go ahead and stop you right there. We both know that’s not true, and because I both know that and can prove it, I have just as much power in this room as you do. So what do you say we find a solution to this here and now instead of in the courts?”

  She’s moved closer as she speaks, and now she’s leaning forward over my desk, eyes locked on me. I stand up to match her.

  “I’m sure we can find a… mutually beneficial way to resolve this.” I can smell her perfume now, and it’s intoxicating.

  She comes around the desk. Our faces and bodies only inches apart now. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know this fantasy is akin to the cheesiest 70’s porn out there - but my cock is hard, my imagined perfect woman is… well, perfect, so I don’t give a shit. I stroke my cock, and -

  I can feel her breath on my neck as she whispers, “I’m glad.” and nips at my skin. My hands are on her shoulders now, gripping tightly, and she strains just the slightest bit under my fingers. She bites her bottom lip, but can’t quite keep the low moan of desire inside.

  I turn her around, and she goes to her elbows on the desk without the slightest hint of complaint. Her juicy bottom is sticking up at me, ready to be taken. I run my hands over her wide hips, down to her exposed legs… and pull up her dress. Her panties match it - a vibrant red, and when I slip two fingers between her thighs, she’s already soaked them.

  “You knew exactly what you were doing, coming here, didn’t you?”

  “I always do. And you’d better work something mutually agreeable out with me, or…”

  “Now stop talking and let me do what I want with you,” I command her.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Now she knows who’s in charge.

  Her panties slide down her legs, lying across her heels like lacy, castoff flower petals. With two fingers inside her already, I push in and out, feeling her juices. My cock is as hard as I’ve ever felt it, and with my free hand I undo my belt.