Page 20 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

My colleagues dart past my door like a school of fish in the vast ocean. They're always moving, always busy. It's a relentless pace here, but it's exhilarating. There’s always some sense of hurry and excitement, from whispers of a merger to the hush-hush of something new on the horizon. Each person here is a cog in an intricate machine, and I, arrogantly, consider myself irreplaceable already.

“Another late night, Lark?” Lara’s voice is warm with concern, an emotion that has my stomach tightening and my brain setting off all kinds of alarm bells. I can’t let her kindness break down the barriers we’ve so carefully erected between us.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say, finally raising my eyes to meet hers. She’s breathtaking, having traded the sundresses I remember for killer designer dresses that hug and compliment her form so much I instantly jump to memories of her naked in my arms. Her arms are crossed, but there’s a playful hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Careful, or you'll turn into part of the furniture.”

“Then I'd be the most handsome piece in the room,” I say, leaning back in my chair and allowing myself a moment of humor and fun without the press of spreadsheets and projections. She laughs, a sound that lingers in my mind like a song I can’t get out of my head.

“Arrogance suits you,” she says, though there’s more playfulness in her voice than anything else, and the twinkle in her eye suggests she finds it more endearing than she lets on.

“Confidence,” I say, correcting her, but it's a half-hearted statement. We both know the line between the two is paper thin.

I wish she’d just step in, close the door behind her with a click, to give us a moment alone. But I also worry a moment like that might spiral out of control like we had on vacation. I’m happy to keep up this playful banter and never let her get too close, because that’s not safe for either of us.

When she leaves, I find myself both relieved she’s gone and missing her all at once. As she goes, I notice the way Mark’s gaze lingers on her ass a little too long, his eyes tracing her every move as she crosses the office.

His attention on her sends a jolt through me, a primal urge to protect her. I push back from my desk, fingers curling into fists at my sides.

“Mark,” I call out, my voice low but firm. He startles, tearing his eyes away from Lara to look at me as if he had no idea he’d been so obvious staring at her. “A word?”

In my reasonably secluded office, I fix him with a stare that has made seasoned investors flinch. “She’s my boss. She’s your boss. You want to get canned?” That’s not the real reason, but he doesn’t need to know about the jealousy churning in my gut.

He swallows, nodding quickly. “You’re right. Won't happen again, Lark,” he says, his voice out of breath as if he knows his livelihood – and life – are on the line.

“Good.” I pat his shoulder, a mock-congenial gesture designed to draw attention from the steel in my tone. “Wouldn’t want you to get fired, Mark.”

He nods, then hurries off.

As I sit down behind my desk again, I hear some kind of a commotion coming from the main office. My first thought is that little Marky-Mark must have run and told on me for my little warning. But as I make my way to the door, I’m proven wrong instantly.

My mom smiles at me, offering a package of her homemade cookies to me. They’re still warm, and gooey chocolate clings to the plastic wrap. “How did you get in here, Ma? The place is guarded like Fort Knox.” That’s an exaggeration, but I still wonder how she got past the guards.

“Your mom is a smart cookie,” she says, elbowing me before making her way to Lara with a huge basket of assorted baked treats. Lara’s eyes light up as my mother offers her the basket of treats. “You can share them or keep them to yourself. But I did make an extra package just for you,” my mom says, handing her another little package.

“That’s so kind,” Lara says, glancing at me, then at my mom.

“This is my mom, Carol Carlyle.” It seems like now is the time for introductions.

“Mrs. Carlyle, that's so kind.” Lara's voice is genuine, her smile wide as she takes the basket and the extra package. She turns and offers the basket to Shana, telling her to please put them in the break room, and Shana hurries off with a nod of her head.

I watch several employees sneak into the break room, no doubt wanting cookies while they’re still warm.

But Lara and my mom are still standing close. My mom leans in, whispering loud enough for us to hear, “He really is a good man, despite the tough exterior. Thank you for giving him a chance.”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment, but Lara chuckles, her laughter soothing the emotions bubbling up within me. As Mom makes her rounds, meeting my coworkers and learning as much as anyone can share, Lara slips into my office, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

It’s not quite how I hoped this fantasy would play out, but I’ll take it.

“Your mother is sweet,” she says, leaning against the door, both palms pressed to the wood framing frosted glass. There's an unreadable expression on her face, one that has my heart skipping a beat.

“Too sweet for her own good,” I say, trying to mask my discomfort with humor. “She means well.”

Lara nods, her hands smoothing her hair as if a single shining lock would dare to be out of place. The room feels smaller with her here. She steps closer, and I can see the depths of gray-blue in her eyes. There’s a warmth there that I've come to associate with Lara.

Her gaze pins me to my spot behind the desk, and I sense there’s something she wants to say, but isn’t vocalizing for some reason.

She inhales, as if finally finding her words, but the way she speaks has me wondering if she changed her mind last second. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but don’t,” she says, her voice offering a soft warning.

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