The Baby Promise

by Tia Wylder

  Ryan frowned. “She’s a bitch, yeah,” he said. “But come on, man – you weren’t exactly jumping at the bit. Maybe she sensed that…you know, women’s intuition and all.”

  I stared at him. “You’re kidding,” I said flatly.

  “No,” Ryan replied. “Hey, don’t get mad – it isn’t about that. I just…” He trailed off, frowning. “Sorry, man, I know this is one hell of a situation.”

  “She won’t leave me alone, either,” I said, pulling out my phone. Sure enough, the screen was covered in notifications from Pamela. Calls and texts and snap pictures…everything.

  “So, talk to her,” Ryan said. He shrugged. “Tell her to fuck off. Or not,” he added. “I mean, what do you want?”

  “I want to go back in time and never ask Pamela Green on a date,” I said miserably. Reaching for my whiskey, I poured the whole shot down my throat at once. “That’s what I wish.”

  Ryan gave me a sympathetic smile. “It’ll be okay, man,” he said. “Have you told your old man?”

  I narrowed my eyes and frowned. “No,” I said. The truth was, I hadn’t even thought about telling my father – I was sure that Pamela’s indiscretions wouldn’t be the reason for him to give me any leeway. My father was rigid and uncompromising, even the face of things like this. Hell, if anything he’d probably tell me to get used to it – that women cheated, especially women like Pamela – and that I should just suck it up.

  “Maybe you should,” Ryan said sulkily. He elbowed me in the side. “Man, what a babe,” he said, looking at the bartender as she moved swiftly around behind the bar. “Chicks with tattoos, not normally my thing…but damn, she’s hot.”

  I shrugged. “Not my thing,” I said. “I don’t really like chicks who are only nice to you because you’re paying them.”

  Ryan threw his head back and hooted with laughter. “Oh, man,” he said. “You are so fucked! What do you think Pamela was doing, hanging around because she liked your eyes?”

  I growled. “Hey, shut up,” I said in a low voice. “It isn’t my fault I have money.”

  Ryan frowned. “I know,” he said. “God, I was kidding. Relax, Peter. You’re turning into an uptight prick.”

  I flagged down the bartender and signaled for a whiskey refill. She caught Ryan’s eye, and I groaned as the two flirted, completely ignoring me.

  Maybe Ryan was right – maybe this breakup was starting to wreak havoc on me in ways I’d never even contemplated. Maybe I just had to get back out there and meet someone. Turning on my stool, I looked around the bar. It was filled with pretty girls, chattering and laughing and sipping pink wine.

  “Hey, man,” Ryan said, turning to me and smirking. “Trish gets off in ten minutes, we’re going to grab some Thai food. You want?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

  I rolled my eyes. “No,” I said. “Have fun, I’ll stay here.”

  Ryan laughed. He leaned in close and put a hand on my shoulder. “This place is crawling with babes,” Ryan said. “You can find another one, just like that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

  “Yeah,” I groaned. “It’s that easy, right? Just pick one and marry her?”

  Ryan snickered. “Exactly,” he said. “Have fun, mate.” He gave me one last smirk before hopping off his stool and sauntering out of the bar, arm in arm with the tattooed bartender.

  I frowned. Just as I was about to reach in my wallet for enough cash to cover Ryan’s tab, a pretty redhead walked over to me with a shy smile on her lips.

  “Hi,” she said. “Um, this is embarrassing, but my friends and I have a bet going on. Are you on Dynastic Families?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”

  The redhead flushed, showing an attractive sprinkling of freckles over her head. “The soap opera,” she said. “Um, you know – it’s like the most popular show on TV right now.”

  I snorted. “No,” I said. “I work in finance.”

  The girl perked up. “That’s even better,” she said enviously.

  “Let me buy you a drink,” I said – the words came out before I’d thought of them. “What’ll you have?”

  The girl blushed hot red, biting her lip. “Um, I don’t know,” she said helplessly, gesturing to the light beer in her hands. “It doesn’t matter, I guess.”

  I frowned. “You should be more discerning,” I said. Her lack of confidence in herself was incredibly unattractive – despite her killer figure, I was already bored with her.

  “I’ll have a beer,” she said, trying to project confidence.

  The redhead hopped up next to me. I could tell she was curious about my life – she kept eyeing me and biting her lip whenever I caught her staring.

  “I’m Peter,” I said, holding out my hand. “And you are?”

  The girl giggled. She limply pressed her hand against mine in a weak imitation of a handshake. Pamela would eat you alive, I thought. She’d open her jaw and swallow you whole

  “I’m Marisa,” she said. “I work around here, in the gallery off Fifth.”

  I nodded. “I see,” I said. “And you’re with your friends?”

  Marisa blushed again – it was annoying, I could barely say anything to her without her cheeks turning red!

  “Yeah,” she said softly. “They kept telling me this bar was full of hot guys. They were finally right about something,” she added shyly.

  I relaxed a fraction of an inch. That’s better, I thought. Talking to new people was exhausting – I’d forgotten how stressful it felt.

  “I met my friend, Ryan, but he left with the bartender,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Oh,” Marisa replied. She gnawed on her pink lower lip. “And what about you, do you have someone special? A girlfriend?”

  “I had a girlfriend,” I said dryly. “But I caught her fucking someone in our bed, so I threw her out.”

  Marisa’s eyes went wide, and she gasped. “Oh, my gosh,” she said. “I can’t imagine how horrible that must have been!” She put her hand on my arm and pressed lightly. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “I’m just peachy, Marisa.”

  “Well, I’m, um, single,” she said softly. “You know – if you wanted to go out with anyone.”

  I stared at her for a long moment. She was pretty, all right – the kind of conventionally pretty that made me think she glued herself to the pages of a new woman’s magazine every month. She was wearing a nice dress, but I could tell it was made cheaply – she’d probably picked it up at a discount store. Her shoes were scuffed, and her makeup was worn off after a long day.

  Pamela never would have let herself look so sloppy in public.

  “It’s nice of you to offer,” I said, getting to my feet and stretching. “But I should be getting home. I’ve got some work to do.”

  Marisa frowned. “Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No,” I said. “Have a nice night.”

  I grabbed my briefcase and headed out of the bar, muttering under my breath. It wasn’t Marisa’s fault that she was boring – hell, I’d have bet any amount of money that the rest of the girls in the bar were just as plain and simple. But I couldn’t settle for that.

  I had to find someone with a life, someone with a vital spark, someone that ignited passion inside of me. I’d never believed in love – and dating people like Pamela didn’t do much to disprove my lack of belief – but I had believed in lust. And if I didn’t even feel that when I was dating someone, what the fuck was the point?

  I stayed in a black mood the whole way home. By the time I got back to my condo, I was practically seething with anger and boredom. I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing Pamela riding Andrew, moaning and humping him like a porn star. The worst thing was, I wasn’t even angry anymore. I just felt used, and embarrassed.

  And I hated feeling that way.

  I opened my fridge and pulled out a cold beer and a tub of Vietnamese noodles I’d picked up over the weekend. They
were cold and crunchy, but I couldn’t summon the will to eat, and I stood there poking at my food with a pair of chopsticks until eventually I grabbed the whole thing and tossed it in the trash.

  I’m a fucking failure, I thought, glancing at my reflection. Peter Anastas, prime chump.

  Just then, my phone buzzed. I groaned. “Pamela, leave me the fuck alone,” I growled, glancing down at the screen and expecting to see her name. I blinked – it wasn’t her, Ryan’s name was scrolling across the front of my phone as it vibrated obnoxiously across the counter.

  “What’s up, man,” I said, holding the phone to my ear.

  “Man!” Ryan yelled jubilantly. “You should’ve come, this girl is a trip!”

  “Stop bragging,” I said sourly. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

  “No, don’t hang up!” Ryan said loudly. “I had an idea, and man, you’re gonna love it! It’s totally gonna save your hide, and your company!”

  “What,” I asked dryly. “You want me and the tattooed bartender to pretend date while you fuck her on the side? Not gonna happen, bro,” I said. “So, don’t even get your hopes up.”

  “You are so dumb,” Ryan said, laughing. I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was deeply inebriated. “You need to have auditions, you know – like for a wife!”

  “What?” I blinked. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Auditions,” Ryan repeated. “You know – like for your new girlfriend. Make sure you lay it all out – she’s gonna be having your kid, and you can pay her, and stuff. But like, it’ll be awesome, man! You’ll get so many women!”

  I frowned. “I don’t know,” I said. “That seems highly unethical, Ryan.”

  “It’s perfect!” Ryan crowed loudly. “But you gotta call me before you hold them, man, okay? I’m dying to see all those babes!”

  I blinked again, pulling the receiver away from my ear and staring down. Hold auditions? For the woman who would bear my child – and save my company from being given away to my useless sister?

  It was too much. “No,” I said firmly, shaking my head as if Ryan were standing in front of me. “I won’t do that.”

  “Oh, come on, I know you didn’t score at the bar tonight,” Ryan said. “If you’d brought home some babe, you wouldn’t have answered my call. Time’s running out, Peter! You’ve got what, a year and a half? You can do this, man,” he said in an encouraging voice. “You’re Peter fucking Anastas, you’re like a king of New York!”

  I frowned. I didn’t like the idea, but what if Ryan was right? What if this were the only chance I’d have to meet someone before my father turned the company over to Agnes?

  “I’ll have to talk to my lawyer,” I said in a low voice. “Because I’m sure as shit he’ll have something to say about this.”

  “Yeah, man,” Ryan slurred drunkenly. “Talk to him and set up ironclad bullshit contract, you know – this way, you stay in control. No more Pamela for you!”

  Oddly, the idea of spiting Pamela was the most appealing part of the idea. I grinned when I closed my eyes and pictured how angry she’d look when she found out. You could have had this, I practiced saying to Pamela. But you were stupid, and you threw it all away, so I had to replace you.

  “Okay,” I said after a long pause. “I’ll talk to Marty over the weekend and set something up for next week.”

  “Excellent, man,” Ryan crowed. “This is huge! You’ll see, you won’t regret this!”

  “I’d better not,” I said sharply as I hung up the call and slipped my phone back in my pocket.

  I had no idea if Ryan’s plan was stupid or the most brilliant thing I’d ever heard, but regardless, I knew I had to try.

  Chapter 6

  Peter

  The very next morning, I called my lawyer, Marty Kostas. Marty was a family friend – he and my father had grown up together, attended college together, even worked together before my father founded Spyros Magnate.

  Marty told me to drop by his office over my lunch break, so I picked up a bottle of expensive Scotch and had my driver take me by his building. Marty’s secretary smiled at me and told me to go right in.

  “Peter, you’re looking so well,” she said. “Marty and I haven’t seen you in a long time!”

  I forced a smile. “I know,” I said.

  “Your father tells us you’ll be getting engaged soon,” she continued. “That’s so wonderful!”

  I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “Yeah,” I said. “Um, thanks. Is Marty free?”

  The secretary blushed. “Of course,” she said. “Forgive me, I just miss seeing you around!”

  I walked into Marty’s office and shut the door behind me. “Whatever I tell you have to stay completely between us,” I said, holding a hand in the air. “You got that?”

  Marty nodded. He frowned. “Peter, what’s the matter?”

  I sighed and flopped down in his chair. “When I tell you, you have to promise to keep this from my father.”

  Marty nodded. “Of course,” he said. “What’s the trouble?”

  I launched into an explanation of everything – from finding Pamela in bed to learning that my father was serious about revoking the company from my control. When I was done talking, it felt like a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

  “Wow, Peter,” Marty said. He leaned back in his chair and whistled. “You weren’t kidding.”

  “No,” I said sourly. “And now I need to find someone else, before the deadline.”

  Marty nodded. “Okay,” he said. “If you’re serious about this, I can help you with the contract. But I have to warn you, sometimes even the most ironclad of pre-nuptial agreements can be overturned with the right judge.”

  I sighed. “What does that mean?”

  Marty frowned. “It means you’ll have to be very discerning,” he said. “And make sure you choose a woman who’s right for you.”

  “You mean, stay away from the crazy bitches,” I said, blowing out a stream of air.

  Marty nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Perhaps you could suggest a mental health consultation as well as proof of fertility,” he said. “And you’ll want to get everything out of the way up front. Custody laws are very tricky, and if this woman decides she wants to remain in her child’s life, well, I’m afraid we’ll have a huge legal battle ahead.”

  I sighed. “If I don’t do this, I lose everything that I’ve spent my life building,” I said. “I have to try.”

  Marty stared at me for a long moment before nodding his head. “I see,” he said. “Well, Peter, then I’m more than happy to help you make the arrangements.” He pushed a pad of yellow legal paper towards me. “Why not write out everything absolutely necessary, and I’ll get to work drafting a contract this afternoon.”

  I nodded. “I was hoping to have the auditions on Friday,” I said. “Do you think that would be possible?”

  “If we work quickly,” Marty said.

  I glanced down at the empty pad in my lap. Taking a pen in my hand, I began to write.

  “1. Must arrive at the appointment with a proof of fertility, a clean STD record, and a proof of solid mental health.

  2. Must be willing to prove college education.

  3. Must be comfortable with no fewer than six social obligations, while pregnant, with client and client’s family.

  4. Must be willing to sign total custody over to client at the end of pregnancy.”

  I paused, chewing the end of the pen. I felt like something was missing. Finally, I added:

  “5. Must be willing to accept one lump sum of no more than ten billion dollars in exchange for surrogacy, marriage, and divorce.”

  “Here,” I said, passing the pad to Marty. “Does this look okay?”

  Marty narrowed his eyes and pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket. He put the glasses on, then took the pad from my hands and nodded slowly as he read.

  “Peter, you’re being very generous,” he said. “Ten billion, really? I’m s
ure some women would do it for less.”

  “That’s exactly the point,” I said smugly. “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone who would accept less.”

  Marty frowned. “Okay,” he said. “I can get to work. Thanks for stopping by, Peter.”

  “And Marty?”

  Marty glanced up. “Yeah?”

  “If you tell my father about this, you’re dead,” I said, getting to my feet and taking my briefcase in one hand.