Tell Me No Secrets: Secret Baby Romance Collection

by Jamie Knight

  I turned on my side to cuddle with my Scarlett, the two of us falling asleep in one another’s arms.

  My life finally felt like my own once again.

  THE END

  My Mentor’s Secret Baby

  Copyright © 2020 Jamie Knight Romance

  Jamie Knight –

  Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter One - Hazel

  I was at home, writing on my computer, or trying to, growing more frustrated by the minute. I had been suffering from writer’s block for years, unable to even form a decent thought or idea, let alone write a sentence. Finally, I had to push my keyboard away in frustration. Getting up from the desk, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. After I drank it, I went back to my computer, but I couldn't bring myself to sit down. Just starring out my window, I bit my lip anxiously.

  It was no use. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't write anything. I couldn't concentrate. It was like I had lost my inspiration or my desire to write. This was supposed to be my next book, the sequel to my first smash hit. I had planned on making this one spectacular, but my ideas just swirled around in my head, resisting the paper.

  I kept looking out the window as I remembered my first book with a certain fondness. That book was my baby, my passion. I wrote it five years ago with the help of Alex, my first love. Maybe that's why I hadn't been able to write anything since. Writing was something that Alex and I used to do together. It just hasn't felt the same since then. Nothing has.

  Alex Anderson was my father's best friend and one of the most talented science fiction writers ever. I used to love reading his books. In fact, Alex inspired me to become a writer.

  Despite the fifteen-year difference in our ages, we used to sit for hours on the back deck of my childhood home, discussing stories. I would relate to him ideas that I had for my own little books, and he would always praise me, telling me, “What an imagination!” With his help, we turned one of those ideas into my first published book. I was only eighteen at the time.

  I remembered how nervous I was when I was waiting to hear back from the publisher. Alex was right there beside me. I still think of his words to this day.

  “Relax, it's going to get published. You're a brilliant writer, and it's a great idea. These things just take a lot of time. That's how it is in this industry.”

  I was in awe of the attention and care that he showed me. I was a nobody, and he was famous — almost a god in my eyes.

  Things escalated quickly between us. My dad was a doctor and a single parent, often at work. Alex would visit in the afternoons when I was alone in the house. We became closer as we spent more time together. I loved being around such an intelligent, older man, and I loved writing. Even then, I was already planning a second book.

  The day my book was published, I received a copy in the mail. Excitedly, I ran into my father's den. He was having drinks with Alex.

  “Congratulations!” my father said proudly as he sipped his scotch.

  Alex and I shared a long look before he congratulated me as well. My excitement was at its peak. This was a dream come true for every aspiring writer, and I had Alex, my mentor, to thank for making it happen.

  That night, I had already showered and put on my comfy pajamas. I was in the kitchen looking for an after-dinner snack. Hearing footsteps, I turned around with curiosity. It was Alex, putting dishes in the sink.

  “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” he apologized. Despite his notoriety, he had always been very kind to my father and me.

  I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and shut the door. “That's okay, I thought you had left already,” I told him as I reached for a spoon from the drawer.

  “Nah, just having an intense conversation with your dad,” he explained.

  I set my yogurt and spoon on the counter then leaned against it.

  “So, still excited about your book?” my mentor asked, teasing me.

  “Is it that obvious?” I replied, blushing a little. We both took a few steps closer, so we were leaning across the counter, our faces inches apart. “Actually, I owe it all to you. You are the one who convinced me to go through with everything,” I told him.

  Alex smiled, shrugging at my compliment. “I had nothing to do with it. Besides, I already told you what I think about your writing.”

  I giggled and said, “That's what I like about you. Even though you are this big-shot writer, you are so down to earth.”

  His deep-brown eyes took on a different sparkle as I said that. “What you like about me?” he prompted curiously.

  Looking up, I took in the width of his strong shoulders and the way his torso slanted down to a narrow waist. In his early thirties, Alex was a well-built man and muscular. Many fans commented on his rugged looks, from his square chin to the mop of unruly brown hair that refused to lay straight no matter what he did.

  But the thing I liked most was Alex’s hands, think fingered and manly. Still, he could type faster than anyone I knew, making it look like he was caressing the keyboard with his fingertips.

  After a few seconds, “I replied, “Yeah, like.”

  We remained frozen, just looking at each other. Suddenly, we both leaned in. It was an innocent kiss that seemed like it happened too fast. It was also my first.

  All I remember after is that my father grabbed me by the arm and pushed me behind him. “What do you think you're doing with my daughter?” he yelled at Alex. Alex looked at him in shock, neither of us knowing what to say. “Just get out of my house! I don't want you anywhere near my daughter or me again!”

  My mentor turned to look at me, giving me a final wave, and I felt my heart break in two. I lost my first love, my best friend, and my mentor in that one moment.

  Shaking away the memories, I turned from the window, sat down, and focused on my computer. Taking a trip down memory lane wasn't going to help my writing. I needed to be inspired.

  Picking up the newspaper, I thumbed through it. Maybe I'd find an interesting headline or juicy story. I spent thirty minutes studying it from cover to cover, then threw it down on the desk in frustration.

  Feeling myself getting angry, I took a moment to breathe deeply before I was calm again. About to walk out of the room, I glanced at the paper again. There it was. I couldn't believe my eyes. There on the back page was an ad about writing. I carried it to my desk and sat down to read it.

  Put some zing back in your writing with our three-month retreat! We’ll help you surrender all your distractions and guarantee to have you writing in no time — Lakeshore retreats, where greatness begins.

  Honestly, I thought the ad sounded a little cheesy, but I was desperate to put all this stuff with Alex behind me and get started on my next book by myself. Without hesitation, I visited their website to sign up. Once my reservations had been made, I put my head down on my desk.

  What have I just done! I can't believe I agreed to hand over my phone and any connection to the outside world just so I can enter this writers’ retreat.

  This sounded like it was going to be the longest three months of my life. Well, it would be worth it if it could help me get back on track with my novel. I hoped it would be the kick in the pants I needed to ditch the writer’s block.

  Chapter Two - Alex

  Lakeshore Writers’ Retreat was supposed to be the best, and I needed the best. It took every penny that I had, but I had to do something to turn my life and career around. I couldn't keep wasting my time away. This retreat was the last chance I had at writing another bestseller.

  In five years, I hadn’t been able to write anything. Ideas were illusive. My stories were lackluster. Everything in my life had changed in one terrible moment, and in that moment, I lost it all, my desire to write, my best friend, everything.

  It all happened the day that I kissed Gary’s daughter. A piece of me died that day when my best friend threw me out of his house and told me
to never talk to him again. I didn’t. Then two years later, he died of cancer. The idea of not being at his bedside ate at me, but he didn’t want to see me. I had made a huge mistake — one I couldn’t take back.

  My life took a downward spiral after that. I lost my will to write. I couldn't even get out of bed most days. When I wasn't sleeping, my free time was spent drinking. I also fell heavily into drugs, almost overdosing many times. That one kiss changed my entire world, and my life had been rock bottom ever since. My fortune was gone. I was nearly broke.

  The writers’ retreat presented a once in a lifetime opportunity that I desperately needed. After I saw the ad in the paper, I spent a few days debating what to do. I knew I couldn't really afford the trip to Colorado, but what other choice did I have? I hadn’t written anything or worked in years. I was a disgrace because of my drug and alcohol use. No one wanted to hire me, not even for the tiniest, most insignificant jobs. I didn’t even have an agent anymore.

  I remember the worry I felt as I sent in the deposit for my trip, but I had to do it. Moving on with my life was the only choice.

  Pulling my old, worn suitcase from the closet, I filled it with my tattered clothes. All my money went to the retreat, so there would be no new wardrobe on the trip. The day before I was supposed to leave, I was able to sober up for a while, spending the morning in the bathroom of my small apartment, giving myself a shave and a haircut. I couldn't afford to go to the barbershop, but I wanted to look decent for the trip. Afterward, I devoted the afternoon to checking my travel information and organizing my luggage.

  I knew getting sober was going to be difficult. I had been drinking for so long that I didn't know if I could function without alcohol, but I also understood the importance of this trip. It had the power to change my whole life for the better, and I sincerely hoped that's what was going to happen.

  I grabbed my luggage and took a cab to the airport. I avoided talking to people during my time at the airport. I wasn't there to make friends. I'm used to flying coach, so that's where I ended up. Closing my eyes, I slept the whole flight. It made the time pass faster. A trick I had learned back in the heyday of my career.

  I dreamed of becoming what I once was, a highly successful author. Maybe that was a glimpse of my future, but I seriously doubted it because I didn't believe in things like fate or destiny.

  The plane landed smoothly. I grabbed my carry on from the overhead bin, joining the line of passengers waiting to get off the plane. We moved slow, like a herd of cattle. This made me wonder about the other authors at the retreat. What kind of genres did they write? The industry could be extremely competitive, and the high stakes made people mean. This had me worried because it had been so long since my last book. I tried to stay up to date on the latest science fiction novels, but with almost no income, that was pretty difficult to do.

  Once we were off the plane and inside the airport, I made my way to the baggage carousel. My tattered suitcase stood out amongst all the other luggage. I hurried to grab it and then looked around. Needing to find a way to get to the fancy hotel where the retreat was being held, I walked up to the information desk and inquired politely from the girl there.

  “Yes, a shuttle goes out there. If you hurry, you can catch it,” she informed me with a polite smile. She pointed me in the right direction before turning her attention away.

  I grabbed my bags and walked off, used to being treated that way. People had been looking down on me for years. Women avoided me like they could sense my failure and despair. Life was lonely.

  I found the shuttle and managed to get a seat. It was filled with couples and family members. I avoided everyone, and they avoided me. I think I actually let out a sigh of relief when the shuttle stopped outside of the hotel. I hurried out of there as fast as I could. The door slammed shut behind me, and the little bus drove off.

  I paused briefly to look at the hotel, needing a moment. As advertised, it curled around a small Gary. The Broadmore was expansive. Rolling green hills, spotted with trees, flanked it on the East and West. There were more buildings than I could count, but nothing was run down at this historic resort. The tannish-pink walls were topped with red tile roofs, with little hints of brick here and there. All in all, it was fancy and lush. Just being there made me feel rich again.

  I hoped I was ready for this. I needed to be prepared. This was my moment to reinvent myself. I grabbed my suitcases and walked inside the opulent lobby. This place could undoubtedly inspire the right writer.

  There was a line at the check-in desk that ended with a young woman — early twenties, from what I could tell of her perfect backside. I couldn't see her face. I waited in line behind her, trying to not stare at her hourglass shape and round ass.

  The girl was on her cell phone. I could hear pieces of her conversation. Her voice sounded very familiar, but that would be crazy. I had never been to Colorado before. The more she talked, the more I listened.

  The stranger hung up as she reached the desk. Hoping to hear her every word, I tried to act nonchalant as I hovered too close to her.

  “Yes, the writers' retreat. I have a reservation,” she explained to the concierge.

  I strained to listen but couldn't hear a name. I pretended not to be watching as she was handed a key. She turned to grab her luggage off the floor. As the woman bent to grab her bags, I saw her face. It was Gray’s daughter, Hazel.

  My heart stopped. I began to sweat. There was no way this could be happening, yet I couldn't doubt it. I had seen that face every day that I was at their house. It was Hazel standing in front of me.

  Seeing her brought up so many memories. I started to think that maybe this trip had been a mistake. I couldn't deal with something like this, suddenly craving a drink so bad. I wondered if I should just pick up my bag and walk off. Yes, I would miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime, but I wouldn't have to deal with Hazel and all that guilt.

  Chapter Three - Hazel

  The plane ride out to Colorado Springs from Kansas was a lot shorter than I had expected. I spent the entire flight reading rather than sleeping. Far too excited to close my eyes. I had never been to Colorado before, but I did some research online before the trip. I also had a travel brochure, as well as a couple romance novels with me on the plane.

  This trip was meant to be the turning point in my career as a writer. I looked through the novels I had brought with me and started to read one. These were actually pretty steamy. That made me wonder which genre I should write.

  I had been interested in science fiction because of my feelings for Alex. Yet, perhaps I should use this trip as an opportunity to grow in my desired field and experience new things. Maybe I could try writing a romance novel or something that I would be proud to call my own?

  Obviously, I was proud of my first book because it was the first thing that I had published, but it brought up a lot of painful memories every time I looked at it. I finally locked my copy away in a drawer in my desk at home, out of sight, out of mind. My second book would be different.

  After the short plane ride, we touched down at the airport in Colorado Springs. It was a lot larger than I expected. I grabbed my bags and hurried to find a mode of transportation to get to the hotel. I found out that it was on the outskirts of the city, which was good. Even though it was supposed to be a retreat, it was a comfort to learn we would still be close to a major urban area.

  I was able to locate a taxi outside the airport. The driver was friendly and helped me load my bags in the trunk. When I gave him the address to the resort, he asked, “Here on vacation, huh? Well, I hope you enjoy your stay at the Broadmore!”

  “Thank you! That's very kind of you!” I replied, which it was.

  It was a short drive to the hotel, but the driver talked about local tourist spots and places I should visit during my stay. When we arrived at the main building, he helped me bring my bags inside. I paid him, along with a generous tip. He gave me a big smile and drove off
.

  I walked inside and looked around the lobby. I couldn't believe I was already here. Liking the place immediately, I waited in line to check-in.

  “Hello, I have a reservation, I'm here for the writers' retreat,” I said to the attendant. I waited as they checked my information and got my room ready.

  Loving the fancy hotel, I started toying with the idea of having my next book take place there. I could already feel that this trip was definitely going to help me.

  Making sure to leave the attendant a tip after he handed me my room key, I turned to pick my bags up off the floor. A man was standing behind me. I didn't know a line had formed and worried that I had taken too long. As I stood upright with my bags, I got a good look at the man. Unable to walk away, I stared hard at his face.

  “Oh my gosh, Alex?” I yelled.

  I hadn’t seen my mentor since our kiss. He never tried to change my father’s mind or makeup. Even when Dad passed, there was no word from Alex, and he didn’t attend the funeral. When his books stopped being published, I worried that the man I idolized was dead.

  He looked away uncomfortably. I knew that it was him. I'd recognize Alex anywhere. Bags in hand, I ran up to Alex and hugged him. He stood there, stiffly in my arms.

  “Oh my gosh, I can't believe it's you. I had heard rumors that you were dead, but I'm so excited to see you!” I couldn't keep the joy out of my voice.

  I really was so happy to see him. Alex was a familiar face for many years, and his appearance was comforting.

  Yet, his next words were not what I expected to hear. “Please get your hands off of me,” he asked coldly. He was trying to be polite because we were in public, but I could see that he wasn't happy to see me at all.