Beautiful Disaster: A Bad Boy Baby Romance

by Rye Hart

  Funny how a breakup will make you see the true nature of a person. All of his flaws were open and on display – like the coffee stain on his white shirt, or how his suit jackets weren't pressed. All little things I used to take care for him. I guess without me, he wasn't sure how to do his own laundry. Jessica wasn't as domestic, I guess? Call me petty, but I had to stifle a laugh once I noticed just how disheveled my ex was looking these days.

  “So you've thought about my proposal, yes?”

  It took me a second to remember what proposal he was talking about. I wrongly assumed it was something to do with the business, but then it hit me – he still thought I'd marry him and let him sleep around with other women to give him the children he so badly wanted. Children he thought I was too broken to give him.

  “There's nothing to think about,” I scoffed. “We're through, and there's no way I'd ever get back together with you. That you would even think otherwise, after what you did, is nuts.”

  His smile fell, just a bit, but he continued staring at me with hope in his eyes. I wasn't about to argue about this – again – so I quickly changed the subject. I wanted us to focus on work, since all we were anymore was business partners. Though, hopefully that was a situation with an end date as well.

  “No, what I wanted to discuss has nothing to do with our relationship,” I said. “It's the company I'm worried about.”

  “We're doing great, Camille,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a cocky grin on his face as he ran a hand over the stubble on his chin and shrugged. “There's absolutely nothing to worry about business-wise. The company is performing better than we'd ever imagined. You were at the presentation the other day, you saw the numbers.”

  “That's not what I meant,” I said. “What I mean is – I don't think it's practical for us to both control the company. Not since we're no longer involved with each other. I think it might make the situation a little too uncomfortable.”

  He cocked his head to the side like a confused dog. “I don't understand, Camille. We make a great team – both here at Zesta and at home.”

  My hands were balled up, and my fingernails dug into the palms of my hands as I fought to remain calm. He was right, we'd always seemed to make a great team, which was why I'd brought him on there in the first place. But, that was the past. Things had changed and there was no way I was interested in continuing to work with a man who'd cheated on me.

  He wasn't getting it. Either because he wasn't very bright, or because he was being deliberately obtuse. So, rather than just beating around the bush any longer, I just spat it out.

  “I want to buy your portion of the company, and work on transitioning you out of the role as CFO,” I said bluntly. “I'd offer you a comprehensive package, positive recommendations, and I'd even work with you until you could find another job.”

  “No way,” Stephen scoffed as he shook his head vigorously. “You're not kicking me out of our company.”

  “To be fair, Stephen, Zesta had always been my company. You didn't come in until much later.”

  He stood up and paced the room, his fists clenched at his sides. His jaw was clenched tight and his face darkened with anger. I feared he might punch something, but I remained seated. I wasn't about to run over and attempt to comfort him. He needed to grow the fuck up and realize the world didn't revolve around him.

  Stephen stopped in front of my desk, hovering over me. He glared down at me, and I caught a glimpse of the temper I'd lived in fear of for so long, building up behind his eyes. It was like watching a particularly nasty and violent storm rolling in from the horizon. I shuddered as he stared at me, but I didn't move or apologize. I was done being the doormat for him.

  “I'm not going to sell,” he said, his voice low and full of rage. “You're not getting rid of me that easily. I put a lot of time and energy into building this company into what it is today, and –”

  “You haven't even heard my offer,” I said, speaking slowly so my voice didn't crack.

  “I don't need to. No amount of money in the world would make me leave,” he said.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at me, and I was half-convinced that they'd be glowing red if they could.

  “Because let's face it, Camille,” he hissed. “You and I are a great team, and sooner or later, you'll realize that you need me – both here at Zesta and in your life. And my offer to marry you still stands.”

  “Like I said last time, Stephen – go to hell,” I said. “You fucked my friend. You broke a trust that can never be repaired. We're done. Period.”

  “You'll regret this, Camille. You'll come crawling back to me once you realize the truth,” he said.

  His voice was calmer now, a knowing look on his face. There was the condescending tone Liv had mentioned the last time we'd talked. The air of smug superiority that hung over him as thick as the LA smog. God, how had I not realized it before now?

  Stephen left, slamming the door behind him so hard, it made me jump. I'd somehow managed to keep it together in front of him, but, I nearly lost it as soon as I was alone. I felt the rage boiling up inside of me, and I wasn't sure I could keep myself cool while sitting there at the office. I needed to get out of there – if only for a little bit.

  I figured that maybe, I could just go for a drive for a little while. Clear my head and get my emotions back under control. A little fresh air and sunshine could work wonders. I grabbed my bag and headed toward the door, walking swiftly out of the building, not bothering to talk to anyone as I passed. By the time I got to my car and pulled out of the lot, I was on total autopilot, driving along without really paying attention.

  The Los Angeles streets eventually turned to curvier, hilly roads as I drove through the glamorous Hollywood Hills. The home Stephen and I had been looking at had been nearby where I was, and I tried to kid myself into thinking that's why I'd driven all the way up there.

  However, without conscious thought, I turned right instead of left, turning away from the home we'd put an offer in on. Thankfully, I'd been able to retract the offer, and a higher one had come in shortly thereafter, so we weren't stuck with a house fit for a family.

  Still, it would have been nice to start a family there. Tears welled up in my eyes as I was, once again, reminded that I likely would never have children of my own. I'd never get to go through pregnancy, of carrying the child of the man I loved.

  There were other options, sure. Adoption was the most likely scenario. I would have been happy to adopt one day, but I felt broken. As if me not being able to have children meant that I was of than a woman and could never be a good mother.

  Obviously though, Preston didn't think so.

  Preston lived in Hollywood Hills, didn't he? Just like his parents had, back in the day. I wasn't sure where he lived now, but the temptation to stop by his home was too much for me to overcome and ignore. Then again, he was probably at work now anyway, so I wasn't going to look like a total stalker if I cruised down his street. I turned toward the clinic without even thinking about it and found myself sitting in the parking lot.

  Damn you, Camille. You're pathetic, I thought to myself. I bit my lip and tried to resist the urge to text him. The clinic didn't open until nine, it was only eight-thirty, and I was the only car in the parking lot. Maybe, we could grab coffee before he started the day?

  No, stop being clingy. It's way too early for you to follow him around like a lost little puppy. To run to him every time you're feeling down.

  After my little demotivational speech to myself, I started the car and began to back out when his car pulled in beside me. I stopped my car and tried to duck down a bit. Too late though – he saw me.

  I put the car back in park and took a deep breath as Preston stepped out of his BMW, a confused look on his face. He walked over to the driver's side of my car and knocked on the window. Feeling the heat flaring in my cheeks, I rolled the window down, but couldn't meet his gaze. Not at first.

  Slowly though, I forced myself to lo
ok up at him and meet his eyes.

  “Yes, officer?” I teased. “Was I speeding?”

  He laughed, but it was guarded and sounded a little forced “Camille, I didn't know you were coming in today. Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, everything is fine health wise. I mean, I still haven't gotten those tests, but you know –”

  “I see,” he said.

  He looked distracted, as if he was lost in thought and not entirely focused on me. He looked at the clinic and then back at me, and I could see the confusion – and a little bit of concern – in his face.

  “So, why are you here?” he asked.

  I tried to think of a logical explanation for my presence there. I got lost on my way to work? I just happened to be in the neighborhood? Sure, except that sounded cliché as hell and rang false even in my own mind. So, instead, I settled for the truth. Not that I had any real choice in the matter.

  “I just wanted to see you,” I said, a smile on my lips. “Is that so bad?”

  His face softened as he leaned into the car window. For a moment, I thought he might kiss me, but instead, he just whispered.

  “Not at all,” he said. “I'm always happy to see you too. I was just surprised, that's all.”

  My insides turned to mush, and my pulse picked it up a couple of beats. All my problems with Stephen were miles away by now.

  “But,” he said, his voice harder than I expected, “I can't have you showing up randomly, especially at work, Camille. I can't let them know that you and I – well, that you and I are anything but doctor and patient. You know what I mean, I hope. It could be very bad for me.”

  A lump formed in my throat. “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to be like that.”

  “I know you didn't mean any harm,” he said, looking around the parking lot as if he expected there to be witnesses lurking in the bushes, binoculars and tape recorders in hand, spying on us. “I just have to keep my personal life separate from work.”

  “I get it,” I said, my cheeks flushing red. “I should have thought about that I'm sorry, I'll be more careful from now on.”

  Preston reached out and stroked my cheek, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. Just then, a car pulled into the parking lot and he stepped back as if I'd shocked him. He stared at me for a long time before giving me an unsure little smile.

  “We'll talk later, alright?”

  “Oh yeah, sure,” I said.

  As he hurried toward the building, he received a phone call. He pulled out his phone and answered it as he walked toward the entrance, talking to someone named Melody. I heard his voice drifting back to me on the cool morning air.

  “Yeah, I won't forget,” he said. “Soccer game tomorrow night. I'll be there.”

  He stepped inside the building and the rest of the conversation was lost to me. The snippet I'd heard confused me though. My heart thundered in my chest at the realization that I knew so little about this man.

  Sure, he was Preston Winters, my friend from high school. The popular kid who'd excelled in everything he touched. The popular kid who'd happened to see me when so many others hadn't. We might have enjoyed geeking out to science fiction movies and Van Gogh, but that was so long ago that it almost didn't even bear mentioning. It was a different life. A different world.

  Who was he now? That's what I really wanted to know.

  Most importantly though – who in the hell was Melody?

  Chapter Eight

  Preston

  Hey you, I texted. I'm sorry about earlier.

  My annoyance at finding Camille at my workplace was weighing heavily on me. After I'd had a chance to think about it, I realized I could have handled it better. I shouldn't have been so cold or blunt when I'd spoken to her, especially, after having had such an amazing night with her. I knew I wanted to see her again, I just wasn't sure when. Carter's soccer schedule was going to keep me busy for a while, and with his birthday coming up, we had a party to plan. I wanted to see her, but I was short on time.

  In fact, I was shopping for said birthday party while I texted Camille. I waited for her response while trying to remember Melody's requests for Carter's birthday cake. I stared at the display, trying to remember her exact words before deciding to text her instead.

  I quickly typed in, Iron Man cake with buttercream, correct?

  I put my phone away and stared at the options again, knowing that Melody didn't always have her phone on her. I could order the cake later, sure, but the bakery we'd chosen usually had a several weeks long waiting list. When I was a kid, supermarket cakes were fine, but Melody had finer tastes than that, she'd always wanted better. Expected it. Demanded it.

  Which was why I was standing in a fancy-schmancy bakery filled with hipsters and wondering if the place could even actually deliver an Iron Man cake, or if we'd have to settle for something more artistic.

  My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out to see a confused text back from Camille. Just question marks.

  “Oh shit,” I mumbled, realizing I'd sent her the text with the cake question by accident.

  I typed out a response, basically saying “Oops. Wrong message! Sorry!”

  The sales associate stepped out of the back before room I could send my question to the right woman. My stomach was churning, and I had the beginnings of a monster headache and I quickly looked over their choices once more. I realized they had way more options than just whipped topping or buttercream, and we could have ganache or even fondant if we so desired.

  Not that either made sense for a soon-to-be-seven-year old's birthday party.

  “Uhh yes, I'm here to put in an order.”

  The girl was a peppy blonde who looked high on sugar. She had a wide engaging smile stretching from ear-to-ear. Her name tag said her name was Holly, and it seemed fitting for her for some odd reason. “What kind of cake would you like?” she asked, her voice almost sing-songy and sickly sweet. I could see why she worked at a bakery.

  “That's what I'm trying to figure out. The birthday theme is Iron Man,” I said. “Do you happen to have any suggestion?”

  The girl looked puzzled. “We could probably work with that, but you'll probably have to purchase the toys that go on top of the cake separately. Typically, we don't normally do themed children's cakes here.”

  “I know, his mom just loves your cakes, and insisted we get it from here,” I said, feeling incredibly sheepish. Next time, I'd let Melody handle the cake. “I'm sure whatever you can come up with will be just fine.”

  My phone continued to buzz with new messages, which I ignored as I went through the options with Holly the cake peddler. We settled on a red buttercream cake with gold accents. I'd pick up a few figurines to put on top later. Holly rung me up and put in the order just as a line of people came through the door. Holly looked up brightly, her smile and glittering eyes both somehow vacant.

  “Would you like a platter of cookies to go with your cake?” she asked.

  “Sure, why not,” I muttered, reaching for my phone as it went off for the millionth time.

  Between Camille and Melody, I groaned, seeing that I had a bunch of texts and a few missed calls. Great. Melody even left a voicemail, checking on the cake, I was sure. She'd never trusted that I could do anything like this on my own and always had to hover over me, checking to see what and how I was doing, ready to pounce if I faltered in any way. Annoyed, I put my phone away and paid for the order, resisting Holly's attempts to upsell me some more. She was persistent, I had to give her that.

  “No, I don't need a cupcake for the road, but thanks anyway,” I said.

  She smiled. “My pleasure.”

  I hurried out the door toward my car when my phone went off again. Melody. Again. This time, I answered.

  “Yes?” I barked.

  “Did you get the cake ordered like I'd asked?”

  “Yes, dear,” I muttered dryly. “Cake is ordered and paid for. Oh, I added a cookie platter to the order as well.”

  “Why w
ould you do that?” she asked, sounding horrified. “You know my mom is making her famous chocolate chip cookies for the party. She'll be completely insulted that you bought cookies from a bakery.”

  I sighed, getting into my car. Typical Melody, nitpick every last thing down to the very last detail. I swear, she always had to have something to bitch about.

  “Fine, we'll just keep the cookies for ourselves,” I said. “She'll never have to know.”

  “Preston, you know I try to limit how much sugar Carter consumes,” she said. “It's not good for him.”

  “So, what do you want me to do, Melody?” I asked, trying to hold my temper in check. “Do you want me to cancel the cookies?”

  “No, I guess not,” she sighed, her voice exasperated. “Just take them into the office or something, I don't know.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I'll do that. Anything else you need me to do while I'm out?”

  I hated asking such an open-ended question. Melody could always find something for me to do – and most of the time, it was tedious and irritating. But, when it came to Carter and making sure his birthday was a success and he was happy, I would have done anything. Even run into the nightmare that was Party City if the need arose.

  “No, I'll handle the rest,” she snapped

  The unspoken part of the sentiment she'd expressed was, “Because you'll find a way to screw things up” or maybe just “I want you to help, but only if you pester me enough so I can play the martyr.” If there was one thing Melody reveled in, it was hanging up on her cross, making other people feel like shit. It was one thing she'd always been good at.

  My eyes were heavy, and it was getting late. I honestly had no desire to argue with her, so I dropped it. I'd be sure to pay for it later, but in the meantime, I just wanted to get home and sort things out with Camille. I needed to apologize for being a dick to her earlier in the day, needed to find a way to somehow explain the text I'd accidentally sent her, and hopefully set up some time to see her. Between party planning and soccer practice, I wasn't sure how – but, I was going to find a way.