Knock Me Up, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance

by Juliana Conners

  “Well, I have to go deliver these files to Cameron,” she says, holding onto the files she had gathered while I was in his office.

  “Uh huh,” I tell her, with a teasing grin. “You mean you have to go deliver yourself to him.”

  She giggles and says, “Maybe,” as she leaves.

  I reach into the small bag with a shoulder strap that I carry with me and retrieve my vape pen. I’m not supposed to do this at work. But I’ve had quite the day. First I get to see the man I’ve been crushing on, fantasizing about, since I met him. Then I find out he has it out for my only friend here at the firm. I think I deserve a little hit.

  But as soon as I take one, I hear someone clearing their throat at the entrance to the file room. I jump and then shove the vape pen into my pocket.

  Turning my head, I see that it’s him. Damien.

  I had a feeling it was.

  I don’t know if he saw what I had been doing or not. But he doesn’t look too happy.

  I remind myself that it doesn’t matter because I’m not too happy with him either. One look as his muscular build and tall stature is enough to make me wet, and embarrassed, remembering how I touch myself thinking at him when I’m at home alone. I have to keep my wits about me.

  “I came to talk to you,” he says.

  “Well that much is clear,” I can’t help but snap back at him.

  At first he looks a little wounded but then he looks defiant.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asks, shutting the door to the filing room behind him.

  I can’t help but feel a little excited. Why did he close the door? What does he want to do to me?

  “Nothing,” I respond.

  “I want your phone number,” he says.

  As he says it, he reaches out and grabs my ass. I straighten up, my head and my heart at war with each other. Logically I think I should slap him or scream. But emotionally I want him to keep doing it.

  “My phone number?”

  “Yes,” he says, looking as surprised as I am that that’s what he’s asking for. “Your phone number.”

  He puts his hand back on my ass.

  “You can’t have it,” I tell him.

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t like Ruby.”

  “What?”

  He looks at me like I’m insane. And maybe I am.

  “You want her canned.”

  “I do not.”

  “Yes you do. I heard you.”

  “She’s not my favorite person in the world and I want her out of my private information but I don’t want her canned. Who Cameron decides to employ— or fuck— is none of my business.”

  When he says “fuck” he looks me straight in the eyes. My panties get even wetter than they were.

  But I’m determined not to give into him. I’m no pushover. And I don’t trust him. Even though I want him.

  He leans in, bends down and kisses me. I kiss him back, despite telling myself not to. His grip on my ass gets stronger.

  I want to kiss him forever. But I know he’ll respect me more— and I’ll respect myself more— if I don’t.

  I break free from his tongue, which requires all the will power in the world.

  “It’s the end of the day and I need to go home now,” I tell him, as if to remind him how much younger than him I am. “My dad will wonder where I am.”

  And just like that, I walk away from him, telling myself to forget all about him, but knowing that I’m not going to be able to.

  Chapter 9 – Damien

  ONE WEEK LATER

  My heart sinks as I pull into the home for developmental disabilities where my mom resides. It’s been over a week since I’ve seen her so I’m making myself visit but I don’t fucking feel up to it.

  It’s also been over a week since I’ve seen Katie and I know my bad mood is tied to that fact. I can’t believe she wouldn’t give me her number just because I’m not particularly fond of her friend who hacked me.

  What a little brat.

  She enjoys defying me.

  I shouldn’t even be this into her. I know that she smokes pot— it was obvious that she was even doing it at the office— and that’s usually not my type at all. My upbringing was so chaotic that I had to teach myself strict discipline and mental clarity in order to not turn out like my poor mother. There’s no place for weed or other drugs in that scenario and there’s usually no place for women who do them.

  But that hasn’t stopped me from fantasizing about Katie.

  I know she liked how I kissed her and grabbed her ass but she wouldn’t let me do anything further. She wouldn’t even let me get her number when I rarely want womens’ numbers. What I usually want is for them to stop calling me but I want to call Katie so I can see her, and kiss her more and fuck her, but she won’t even let me.

  She needs to be punished.

  My cock gets hard just thinking about it so I try to focus on something else, since this isn’t the time or place. As I walk through the sterile, bright front doors of the home I try to take a tally of my business holdings and inventory.

  My plastics company is doing well. The real estate holdings are good. It’s just this damn toy company and its lawsuit driving me nuts. I hope Asher and Ron can fix the problem for me.

  My mind is soon inundated with numbers and details of my businesses, which are secure, concrete things I can always hold onto during times of emotional turbulence.

  I didn’t get to where I am in life— billionaire CEO of several different companies— by letting distractions get in my way. I can’t believe how hung up I’ve been on this little, bratty girl.

  No one has ever fucked with my head this way— for a long time, anyway. I haven’t let them. I’ve learned my lesson in the past.

  “Damien!” My mom calls out, as soon as she sees me walk into what they call the “community living” center. She had been playing dominos with another woman.

  I’m glad she’s lucid and recognizes me.

  “Hi, Mom,” I tell her, giving her a hug. “Sorry it’s been a while.”

  “It’s fine,” she tells me, patting the empty seat next to her. “Sit down and talk to me for a while. It’s always so nice to see you.”

  “How have you been doing, Mom?”

  “Just fine. I’ve been working on the books. They like when I do that for them.”

  She closes her eyes and starts counting out loud.

  “One, two, three, four, five, six…”

  Then she squints up at the ceiling.

  “Two hundred and nine, five hundred and sixty, eight hundred and four. Eight hundred and four and then what? Damien, why can’t I remember all the numbers?”

  “It’s fine, Mom,” I tell her, squeezing her hands. “You can take a break from that work for right now. I’m sure you mind must be tired.”

  “I do work hard all day,” she says, leaning her head on my shoulder. “You’re such a nice and caring son to look out for me.”

  I’m just glad she stopped counting. Sometimes when she’s in that state she can continue for hours.

  I feel so bad that she thinks I take such good care of her when really I’m too fucking busy with my own life to stop by more than once a week lately.

  “Hello, Mr. Hudson,” says her doctor, as he approaches me. I hadn’t seen him come in.

  “Hi, Dr. Madison,” I say, standing up to shake his hand. “Thanks for coming out here to say hello to me.”

  “Of course,” he says. “I enjoy visiting patients in the community living center and seeing how they’re doing. And it’s nice to see you here when I do. Your mom is always in great spirits after your visit.”

  This only makes me feel even more fucking guilty. I guess he can tell by the look on my face because he adds, “Of course, there’s only so much any of us can do to affect her moods one way or the other.”

  I know this. He’s told me this. But somehow, I still always feel responsible. As if I should be doing more. Ever since everything hap
pened all those years ago, I’ve felt I’ve needed to make up the past to my mother.

  “Has she been having good days?” I ask the doctor.

  “Mostly, yes,” he says. “The numbers and the counting come and go but it rarely pre-occupies all her time like it used to. The new meds are helpful for that. As are your consistent visits, and of course the activities you bring her to do.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Madison. That’s good to know.”

  He nods and pats my mom’s shoulder and says, “You have a good day, Ms. Hudson,” before walking off.

  I know that he’s probably just telling me I make a difference to make me feel better. But it does make me feel better all the same.

  Speaking of activities, I pull a wooden box out of my pocket and set it on the table in front of my mom.

  “Look, Mom,” I tell her, as I open the box. “I made this game for you.”

  “Wow!” she says, as she spills the contents of the box out onto to the table. They are wooden pallets with holes in them, not incredibly different from the Dominos she loves to play with in her spare time— the ones she was playing with when I came in— except smaller and collapsible, so that she can carry this box with her wherever she wants to go.

  “Each hole that is drilled into the block can represent an increment of ten, or one hundred, or one thousand,” I tell her. “Any number you want, really. You can stack them, or arrange them, to build larger combinations, or multiples. Like this, for example.”

  I stack up ten blocks on top of each other.

  “See? This entire stack here could represent one thousand. Or one million. Or ten. It’s up to you.”

  “Cool,” she says, sounding like a small child, which she sometimes has the tendency to do.

  She flicks them with her finger and laughs with glee as they all fall down. Then she begins stacking them up again, her face scrunched up in a mixture of concentration and joy.

  The toys and games my company makes are usually made for kids but they work well for anyone with disabilities or mental issues. I’m always inspired to make new ones that my mom would like, and I get letters from parents and caregivers all over the world, telling me how much my products have helped.

  “Each one is the number fifty-six,” she tells me, pointing at the stack of ten blocks she’s built. She stacks ten more beside them. “Now they equal one thousand, one hundred and twenty.”

  “Good job, Mom,” I tell her.

  I’m proud of her but I fear that the toy I’ve made is too easy for her. I’ll have to try another model, with irregularly spaced holes or that have high numbers written on them.

  My mom’s mind is always really sharp when it comes to numbers, no matter what else may or may not be going on in there. I try to make challenging toys and games that keep her mind occupied so that she doesn’t get upset when I’m not around.

  This one might be too simple but at least it’s a start to a new idea—the first one I’ve had in a while since this whole patent lawsuit started. Worrying about what would happen with the lawsuit— and how my truly meager toymaking company could afford to pay for me— was stifling my creativity and ingenuity.

  But ever since I met Katie, I’ve felt more alive, more productive. I’ve finally been able to work out this new idea.

  That’s it. I need to get Katie’s number and more than that as well. I’m not going to let anything stop me.

  I’ll let her know that Ruby’s job is safe— but I can’t say the same for Katie’s heart, or mine either. I’ve never felt like this about a woman I haven’t even slept with. Hopefully I just need to get that out of my system and everything will return to normal.

  I can start chasing other women again and get Katie out of my head. Or at best, she’ll be my pet for a while and then I can move on to the rest.

  I’ll fool myself by thinking that, just like Dr. Madison fools me by saying I really make a difference in my mom’s moods or treatment.

  I decide to go to Asher and Madilyn’s wedding and do whatever it takes to get with Katie Finnegan. I have never been one to let anyone’s “no” stop me, and I’m not going to start with hers.

  “Okay mom, I have to get going,” I say, standing up and giving her a kiss on the head.

  “See you later, crocodile,” she says, still enthralled in her game and obviously slipping out of lucidity.

  Oh well, I think, smiling down at her. At least she knew who I was when I first got here. And at least she likes my new game, even though I have big improvements to be made.

  Also, at least I was able to work some things out for myself during this visit. Such as the fact that I am going to go get Katie Finnegan no matter what it takes.

  Chapter 10 – Katie

  ONE WEEK LATER

  This is it. Madilyn’s big day. Her wedding day, where she marries the founding partner of the firm, Asher Marks. And its Valentine’s Day as well.

  As the officiant pronounces Madilyn and Asher as man and wife and announces them as Mr. and Mrs. Asher Marks, all of their many guests, including me, clap and whistle and blow bubbles. They walk down the aisle, Madilyn looking exuberant and Asher looking proud.

  I’m happy for them. Even though I would never, ever, ever get married, it’s what they want, so good for them. And they sure do know how to throw a party.

  As the guests are ushered to the reception, Ruby and I take in the wonder that is a fancy schmancy wedding thrown by very rich people.

  I say hello to my boss Jim Reed and look around for Madilyn so I can properly congratulate her. I can’t find her. I’m sure she and Asher have snuck off somewhere to take pictures— and to do other not so top secret things, knowing those two.

  I can’t get over what a big, beautifully decorated ballroom they’ve rented in the resort for all of their wedding guests to celebrate with them. And I just so happen to notice Damien Hudson talking to Ron Sanchez, Asher’s best man.

  Immediately my heart starts to race and my panties feel damp. I swallow, hard, telling myself not to have any visible reaction.

  But Ruby still notices.

  “Katie, Katie, Katie,” she says. “I thought you were over him. At least that’s what you’ve been spending the last two weeks telling me every time we’re on a break in the filing room.”

  “I know,” I tell her, mortified that I can so easily flip flop.

  But my heart is doing somersaults and cartwheels that my head can’t keep up with.

  “It’s okay,” she whispers, squeezing my hand. “I know exactly how it is.”

  Shit.

  I’m so fucked.

  Eventually Asher and Madilyn emerge and are announced again as they make their grand entrance into the ballroom. There are toasts, speeches and congratulatory remarks throughout a dinner that actually tastes pretty good, for catered wedding food.

  There is Asher and Madilyn’s first dance, where they look into each other’s eyes with sickenly sweet devotion and love. And then the real party gets started.

  “Congratulations,” I tell Madilyn when I’m finally able to make my way over to her. Ruby hugs her as well.

  “Thanks, ladies,” she says, smiling at all of us. “This is the first time I’ve been able to relax since everything started earlier today. I never knew that getting married could be such a stressful event.”

  Just wait until you’ve been married a few years, I feel like telling her. From what I’ve seen first hand, after the honeymoon and the wedded bliss wears off, there’s nothing left but stress and fibromyalgia.

  Of course, I don’t say it out loud. Not even to Ruby. A wedding is neither the time nor the place for my cynicism.

  I wish I weren’t so skeptical but I have seen what happens after people get married. I grew up with it. And I have no idea why people even believe in love, if they have ever seen the reality of a committed relationship up close.

  But this isn’t about my thoughts and feelings about marriage. This is about Madilyn and her wedding day. So, I knock back the glass of
champagne she hands me— apparently having a lot of money can buy a wedding reception where they don’t card guests— and say, “Here’s to the best day of your life!” with genuine (if not a bit ironic) sincerity.

  “Help me celebrate, ladies,” Madilyn says, as the DJ begins playing the Cupid Shuffle.

  Ruby and I hit the dance floor with her, going “to the left, to the left, to the right, to the right, to the right,” kicking and shuffling and walking by ourselves, just like everyone is supposed to do at a wedding reception.

  Suddenly I see a tall, formidable creature on the dance floor. The only guy among a sea of ladies. It’s Damien, of course. And everyone except for me seems to love that he’s joined us for the Cupid Shuffle.

  Some of Madilyn’s fellow associates, which she jokingly refers to as “The Barbies” are smiling and batting their eyelashes as Damien.

  “Look at those shameless hussies,” I say to Ruby, not even trying to hide my annoyance.

  Damien’s only looking at me though: getting down and doing his dance and singing “now come on, baby, kick” right in my direction. I have to pretend I’m having as much fun as everyone else so I smile while I shimmy and shake. And then I have to admit to myself that I actually am having fun.

  “Yeah, Madilyn, why’d you invite the Barbies?” Ruby demands, as the three of us dance side by side in a line.

  “Shhhh,” she says, laughing. “They obviously don’t know I call them that.”

  “You’re not exactly fond of them,” Ruby says, referencing Madilyn’s early days at the firm and when she first started dating Asher. Apparently, those other new associates were quite mean to her but she got them in the end— by getting Asher.

  “Oh, you know,” Madilyn says, shrugging. “Happiness is the best revenge, and stuff like that.”

  “You just want to rub it in their faces and make them jealous, don’t you?” Ruby asks.

  Madilyn laughs and says, “Well yeah, that too.”

  “Well good job,” I tell her. “This is a lovely wedding. And very extravagant too. I’m sure they’re going to go home alone and cry into their pillows tonight about their lack of good fortune.”