by BJ Harvey
“Shopping?”
I lean in to my elbow on the table. “Lots of shopping.”
“I guess that means we need to go choose paint colors this weekend.”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum in appreciation of the amazing bite of Bolognese-stuffed cabbage I just ate. “Oh my God, you’ve got to try this.” Taking my fork, I spear a small piece of the flavor-explosion appetizer and crook my finger at my date. “C ’mere, baby daddy. There’s nothing better you could have in your mouth right now.”
His eyes twinkle with humor. “I can think of a couple of things,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to my mouth then to the low dip of my dress between my breasts.
I clear my throat, fighting against the lust-induced haze he’s creating. “Open up, Ez.”
Gaze locked with mine, he parts his lips, and I slowly place the cabbage bite on his tongue.
I sit there watching the muscles in his throat work as he chews and swallows. His eyes widen as I imagine the flavors hit his senses. “Damn. That is good.”
“I told you,” I say with a smirk. “So good, I don’t think I want to share the rest.”
He leans back in his chair, an amused grin playing on his lips. “Have at it. You’re growing our son. Whatever you want is whatever you’ll get.”
My brows lift. “Really? I might have to remember that.”
“Your mind is particularly dirty tonight,” he muses. “We can entertain all of those thoughts later, sweetheart. For now,” he says, looking over my shoulder then back to me, “let’s enjoy our pasta and have some scintillating conversation while we’re still double-income, no kids.”
I narrow my eyes at him, pointing my empty fork his way. “Who are you, and where is Ezra Baker?” I tease.
“He’s reevaluating his life and where he wants it to go.” His expression turns serious. “And he’s also looking at his future sitting opposite him, looking gorgeous and happy and a little more relaxed than she was yesterday.”
“You’re good for me.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, but I think you’ll find it’s entirely the other way around.” His smile is so sincere, so earnest, so one hundred percent genuine that I’m kicking myself for not falling in love with this amazing man sooner.
“So, was there a particular reason for our impromptu date night?”
“I like changing it up now and then.”
“I’ve noticed,” I reply. “But what if I want to surprise you for once?”
He leans back in his chair, resting his hands on his head. He nods toward my baby belly. “Well… you kind of have me beat there already.”
I tilt my chin and look up at him, a sly smile on my face. “You played a big part in that too, Ez.”
“Best twist of fate ever,” he says softly. “It was the kick up my ass I needed to see what was in front of my eyes—or in my bed—all along.”
“To be fair, it was mostly my bed.”
“Touché. That was mainly because you were playing hard to get.”
“That’s ’cause I like my house.”
“Good because I like it too.”
“Wanna move in with me?” I ask, just as he says, “I think I should live with you.”
Our mouths both slam shut. Our expressions are mirror images of shock. Did that really just happen?
“Holy shit. Really?” he says, laughing as he does it.
I can’t wipe the grin off my face despite those stupid damn pregnancy hormones filling my eyes with tears. “Just don’t propose to me anytime soon. I’m not planning on going anywhere. I kind of love you.”
Ezra’s lips twitch as he slides his chair back, stands, and moves around to my side of the table. He leans down, his expression is intense, full of all the love and devotion any woman would dream to have given to her by a man—by this man.
He lifts his hand to cradle my jaw while tilting my chin up and dipping his head down. “You want to live with me?”
I quirk a brow. “Do you want to live with me?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” he mutters before his lips are on mine, and I’m gripping his shirt like a hooker holding her pole, never wanting—or planning—to ever let go.
His ex-wives may have been idiots, but I’m not. I know what I’ve got, and I know what he gives me, and it’s everything I’ll ever need or want.
“You ready for some pasta now?” Ez asks with a half-smirk.
“Your son is,” I retort.
“And what our boy wants, our boy gets.”
With one final hard and fast kiss, he strokes his thumb over the apple of my cheek and shoots me a wink before straightening and returning to his side of the table.
To his credit, the waiter doesn’t say a word—he just grins at both of us.
And, for the record? Best. Pasta. Ever.
18
Gilly
I expected to be hit with a wall of tiredness the second I crossed into the third trimester, but surprisingly, I’m feeling okay. At least my attempts to reduce stress and take the time to not do everything by myself has meant even my naughty uterus has been behaving.
Work has been busy as per normal, but with so many other things to look forward to on the horizon, I count the hours until I can come home more than I ever did.
Ezra has a lot to do with that, and what’s more exciting is that from tomorrow, my house will be his house, and it will be our home.
Ezra and his dad have spent the past two weekends painting the first floor. The nursery is still empty though, as with everything else going on, and a one-day Lamaze class last Saturday, plus a baby-wearing class Ezra insisted we do the Saturday before that, we haven’t had time. But that is going to be my focus once we’ve gotten past the imminent combining of households.
There’s still one thing left to settle before I start my last six weeks and begin maternity leave. That’s why I have arranged a late afternoon meeting with my father.
Gilly—Wish me luck. I’m about to walk down the corridor to what might be the execution of my career.
Ezra—Sweetheart, whatever happens, I’m here. I’ll drink all the alcohol on your behalf. You can scream and cry and break anything you want, and I’ll still be there for you.
Gilly—Any woman that let you go before you met me is a complete idiot.
Ezra—Um… thanks? I think…
Gilly—I’m serious. You’re a complete catch. I wish I’d met you ten years ago. We could’ve had five kids by now.
Ezra—Gimme a minute… I’m calculating if I can swing five college funds.
Gilly—I’m not saying I want five kids NOW!
Instead of a text message like I expect, my phone rings against my desk.
“Hello,” I say with a giggle.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack then.”
My brows knit together as I check my watch and see I still have five minutes until my meeting. “Why?”
“Because I love you and will give you anything within my power, but five kids might be two more than even I can deal with.
A snort escapes my mouth. “Aww, but I really had my heart set on five. We’d start with this boy,” I say, rubbing my belly instinctively. “Then a girl, another boy, and then twins of either gender.”
He coughs, sounding like he’s choking. “You’re not joking?” he rasps out.
I bite my lip. “Oh, I’m totally messing with you now.”
“Thank fuck for that. Sorry, sweetheart, but damn. Five? I’m nearly thirty-eight; that would take me through till at least forty-five with a newborn in the house, and I can’t have my girlfriend the way I like to have my girlfriend with five kids. The fact I don’t think we could extend your house to fit five kids and us, notwithstanding.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I’m a lot funnier without the thought of five kids—including twins—in my future.”
“I love you,” I say with a giggle. “I better get going. My meeting with Keith is in five minutes.”
“I wish you’d
let me be there with you.”
“It’s effectively about employment issues, first and foremost, and daughter issues second,” I say gently.
“Even still, Gilly.”
My heart swells. “Just knowing you’d be here if you could be is all the support I need.”
“Want me to pick you up afterward? I’m in the office today.”
“If you’re sure it won’t be a hassle.”
“Sweetheart…” he growls. “I’d drive across the state for you, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”
My lips twitch. “Only the state?”
“Yeah, baby. A foot into Michigan is my limit.”
I grin. “I thought for sure you would’ve said Wisconsin, being a Cubs fan and all.”
“Milwaukee city limits.”
“I’ll have to keep that in mind if I ever decide to run away.”
“Oh, runaway rules are different,” he says, matter-of-factly, like we’re talking about the weather instead of how far he’d hypothetically chase me across the state or country.
“There are variances?” I ask in disbelief.
He sighs. “Of course. If you were on the run for robbing a bank, I’d need to know why you committed the crime to determine how far I’d be willing to go, but if you were escaping for your life to keep you and our son safe from the zombie apocalypse, there’d be no limits whatsoever.”
My mouth drops open because he almost sounds deadly serious.
Then a chuckle in my ear breaks the dead air down the phone. “I’m totally messing with you.”
“I’d totally hit you, then kiss you if you were here.”
“Feel free to do whatever you need to do to me when I pick you up.”
I only focus on one part of that comment. “Anything.”
“God, I love pregnancy hormones,” he says.
“You can show me just how much once we’ve finished packing your kitchen.”
“You sure you’re going to be up for that? I can always call Mom and see if she can come do it tomorrow. I’m sure my new tenants will—”
“You will do no such thing, Mr. Baker. How can I pick and choose my way through your belongings if I don’t pack them myself?”
“Have at it then, baby mama. I’ll let you go—just remember there’s only one thing to focus on during your meeting, and that’s not to let him get to you. You’re the one with the power here. It’s your job, your life, and your child to raise how you see fit. No one can strong-arm you because any decisions about our child are for us to make, not the almighty Nelsons.”
“Have I told you how much I love you today?”
“Probably not. You make it so hard to know how you feel about me,” he says, teasingly. He’s so full of shit.
“Oh well, I won’t tell you that you’re one of the best men I know.”
“And now she’s saying things that make me wanna kiss her.”
A good kind of shiver courses through me. “T minus half an hour till you can do whatever you want.”
“Knock him dead. Well, not literally—I’d rather you avoid any criminal proceedings before the birth,” he replies, his voice full of mirth.
“I’ll do my best. See you soon then?”
“Yeah. I’ll meet you downstairs in case it doesn’t go well, and we do have to go on the run.”
I’m smiling huge now. “Deal. Bye, baby daddy.”
“Go get him, tiger. Love you.” Then he’s gone, and I’m staring at the clock approaching three-thirty, the time for my meeting.
With a deep breath, I look down to my stomach and cradle my bump. “Wish me luck, peanut. Something tells me I’m going to need it.”
I knock on my father’s open door. He looks up from his desk, a professional smile plastered on his face.
“Gillian, come in,” he says, rising and sweeping his arm out toward the chair opposite him.
I nod and walk across the large corner office with a view over the lake, then ease myself down into the seat.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, sitting himself.
“I’m great.”
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted Louise from Human Resources to sit in on this meeting, but she is on standby if we need her.”
I tilt my head. “Do we need her, Keith?”
He leans back, studying me like I’ve seen him do many times across the boardroom table. “Honesty, Gillian, I’m not sure. You’re somewhat… unpredictable right now.”
“You mean pregnant, right?”
“No,” he says, stoic in his defense. “I’m talking in a professional capacity. This is not a typical father-daughter conversation, is it?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure we’ve had a typical father-daughter relationship since I was sixteen.”
His lips twitch in an uncharacteristic show of amusement. “I guess you’re right about that.”
“Or since I supported Ronnie’s decision to live her life by her own terms.” The humor disappears like a receding tide.
“Veronica is and always will be entitled to make her own choices. As are you.”
I pause for a moment, and we lock eyes, neither one of us seeming willing to end the deadlock.
Surprisingly, Keith breaks first. “Have you thought any more about the changes I proposed?” Shortly after announcing my pregnancy to my parents, my father came into my office and offered me unlimited paid maternity leave and the choice to come back—or not at all. It was framed as a ‘supporting you to stay at home’ situation, when I took it as being a case of ‘you can’t take care of yourself and neither can your baby daddy, so we’re making it easy for you.”
What my father—and in turn, my mother—forgot about was my determination not to have anything handed to me on a plate. If I don’t earn it, I don’t want it.
“I have, and I must respectfully decline.”
His entire body locks in response. “Gillian. You need to think this through.”
“I have. I’ve also discussed different options with Ezra, and—”
His brows knot together. “I’m not sure what this has to do with the father of your illegitimate child. Your mother and I are simply trying to—”
“I’m going to stop you there, Keith. Ezra does have a say in this decision as it will have an impact on our household and family moving forward.”
My father’s head jerks back. “Your household? He’s living with you?”
“He will be. He moves in tomorrow.”
Keith opens his mouth to say something back; I beat him to the punch.
“And no, there is no agreement between us to protect my assets—or his—because I trust him, and he brings just as much to the table as I do. It is an equal relationship in all ways. There are no secrets; there are no lies. It is something pure and good, and we are both focused on creating a strong family unit for our son when he arrives.”
Keith’s body language is no longer relaxed and is definitely not controlled. But I am, which is why I decide to stop this professional meeting and offer my counter-proposal.
“I do not want to continue on your payroll while I stay at home with my son. Thank you for your generous offer. Someone else in my position may have taken you up on it, but if you knew the woman that I am—the woman I have become—then you would know that it was never going to be acceptable to me. I also believe that not only can the firm not sustain that liability without my billable hours bringing in revenue, but I have never wanted to be a kept woman, and I’m not willing to start now.”
He sits there deathly still, as if in shock.
When he doesn’t offer any rebuttal, I continue. “Honestly, having had time to reflect on my career and where I wanted it to go, it was never in corporate law. My passion was always in helping people—helping families.” I feel compelled to soften the blow before I drop the hammer, driven by the memory of the dad I used to have back when Ronnie and I were children, before the weight of expectation was dropped on our shoulders by my mother as the dictator and my father as h
er dutiful husband. “I do appreciate all the opportunities you and this firm have afforded me in helping me establish my career and build my reputation,” I say softly. “But I would not be the woman you raised me to be if I didn’t stand up for what I believe in. I’m a thirty-five-year-old woman whose focus has changed due to circumstances but also because they needed to.”
Keith braces his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers in front of him. “Are you saying you wish to return after your twelve weeks’ maternity leave?” The one surprising thing about our firm is the generous parental leave benefits. It’s something I fought hard for when I became an equity partner, and my father begrudgingly acquiesced, seeing the wisdom in supporting staff with families to foster good morale and loyalty.
“No. I think the time has come to put some separation between myself, Mom, and you.”
His entire body jolts. “You’re leaving? Is this because of that man you’re seeing? Gillian, your mother is concerned about the influence those boys have had on our daughters, and this decision has me thinking her concerns might be valid.”
I bite my lip, trying hard to retain my composure. When his eyes narrow on me, I know I’m wearing absolute disbelief on my face, and I give up the fight, covering my mouth and laughing.
I push up out of my chair and slowly stand, leaning my hand into the desk. “There is not one thing that the Cook and Baker families have taught us that I would ever say was bad. In fact, they are the best things that have ever happened to me and to my sister. They all support each other and love each other unconditionally, and Ezra Baker is the best man I have and will ever meet, present company included.”
His mouth gapes open, but I’m done. I didn’t plan to lose my cool, but my hormones are unpredictable at the best of times, and there’s one thing I promised myself I would never let stand—criticism of myself or Ronnie or our new extended family.
“You will have my formal letter of resignation in your email within the next ten minutes. I will continue working until the Friday of my thirty-fifth week, and I will forfeit any projected profits owed to me after this quarter.”