Page 6 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

Her.

“Look,” I start, suddenly way too sober, “I didn’t know who she was.”

“You should’ve. You think this is a joke? Life is not a casino, Alessio. There's no jackpot waiting at the end of this mess. If this hits the press before the merger finalizes—”

“It won’t.” I sound more confident than I feel.

There’s a long pause. Heavy, barely restrained fury in Valentino’s silence.

“You’ve got one shot to fix this. Prestige boardroom. Now.”

The call ends with a sharp click, like a damn execution.

I stare at the phone for a second longer, then toss it onto the bed, right between my two regrets from last night, who stir as if they can sense the mood has shifted.

The brunette—Jenna? Janet? Jessica?—blinks up at me first, hair a halo of tangles and mascara smudged like war paint. “That didn’t sound like a morning-after playlist.”

“Work call.” I grab my watch off the dresser and strap it on like armor.

Cassie, Courtney, or whatever the blonde’s name is, stretches with a feline smile. “You’ve got that ‘uh-oh, Daddy’s mad’ look.”

I laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “Daddyismad. And unfortunately, he owns half the sandbox.”

Jenna-Jessica props herself on an elbow, watching me dress with amusement. “Anything we can do to relieve your stress?”

I shoot her a wink. “Maybe later.”

But I already know that if I have any say in it, I’ll never see them again.

They giggle like this is all some kind of sexy sitcom, and for a second, I let them think it is. But inside, the knot in my gut is tightening.

I put on a black button-up and shove my feet into leather loafers.

I might play fast and loose, but I don’t show up looking like it.

Valentino’s last words echo in my head. I have one shot to fix this. Which, knowing him, is already one more than I deserve.

And he is right. I don’t deserve any of the chances my family keeps giving me.

I grab my phone, keys, and the last shreds of my dignity.

“Walk yourselves out, will you, ladies?”

I head for the door not waiting for a reply.

The elevator doors slide open, and I stroll into the Prestige building like I own the damn place. Confidence, even when it’s fake, is half the game.

The receptionist doesn’t even try to stop me. Smart girl. She probably got the memo: Marchetti incoming. Handle with care.

I push through the glass doors into the boardroom and every head turns.

Valentino’s already seated, as are Denver and a couple of suits from PR and finance.

But standing near the window, arms crossed, eyes full of disappointment and fury, is my father.

He must have flown in after hearing the news.

Valentino doesn’t say a word. Just pins me with a look that says, “Say something stupid and I swear to God.”

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