Page 146 of Baby for the Bosshole
He puffs out a breath, his eyes going impossibly dark. “That’s playing dirty.”
“What are you going to do? Spank me?” I lick my red-tinted lips slowly.
For once, my husband is at a loss for words. Yes.
“Like I said—just one time. If it doesn’t work, I won’t ask again.” But I’m pretty sure it’s going to work. I’ve been tracking my cycle very closely over the last three months.
“And, uh, if I say no…”
“Then I guess I’ll just have go put on some other outfit. Something boring and with much more material.” I sigh. “And we’ll go swimming.” I give him a pouty look. That would be such a shame.
His Adam’s apple bobs once. His eyes look feverish, probably from desire, but also from trying to calculate the possibility of me getting pregnant from just one time. But the deciding body part is none too well hidden by the towel.
“Okay,” he says finally.
I smile triumphantly. “Perfect.”
I jump on him. His mouth crushes mine as he lifts me and carries me backward to our bed. Gotta make this count.
Chapter Sixty-One
Amy
–Dad: How are you doing, sweetie pie?
I smile as I wait for the elevator in the GrantEm lobby at two. He hasn’t changed, not even a little, even though he’s retired in style. He moved into the place Emmett bought for him in Malibu, so we see each other more often. But he always acts like it’s been ages.
–Me: I’m doing fabulous! Here.
I take a quick selfie and send it to him. And because he’s awesome, I also attach a photo of Monique and Emmett playing from this morning.
–Dad: Look at all of you! You look great together!
–Me: Thanks! You’re coming over this Saturday, right?
–Dad: Yup. Can’t wait.
–Me: Me either. Love you.
–Dad: Back atcha. Have a great day!
I smile and start to put the phone away. The elevator doors open, and I step inside.
My phone buzzes.
–Emmett: Yes or no?
I almost laugh at how blunt he is. He’s probably dying right now. For some reason, the two pregnancy tests I bought gave opposite results. I told him we should buy more, in case the ones we bought were defective, but he insisted on consulting a doctor to be sure.
–Me: I’ll tell you in person.
–Emmett: You’re killing me.
I smother a laugh.
–Me: Relax, I’m already in the elevator.
The elevator doors open with a ping. I put on a serious expression and start toward his office. Emmett, of course, is outside the door. Mr. Impatient.
