Page 21 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

Wait, does she think I put my mom up to this? I mean, she doesn’t know my mom, so I guess it’s possible.

“I didn’t plan this,” I say in my defense, raising my hands in innocence. “Mom's surprise visits are just that—surprises.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, searching mine for the truth. I meet her stare, willing her to see that I'm being honest. Finally, she nods, the tension leaving her shoulders.

“Okay. Just...”

“It won't happen again,” I say, finishing her sentence. But she smiles, giving her head a little shake as her lips purse.

“I didn’t say that. She’s welcome to visit whenever she likes. I’ll let the guards know.” She lifts her shoulders and there's a hint of sweetness in her voice, a softness I'm not used to anymore. Softness she hasn’t really afforded me since I got here. Playfulness, sure. Not soft sweetness.

I nod, wondering if my mom’s treats have opened yet another door for her. I don’t know what she puts in her cookies, but she gets everyone to do her bidding. Come to think of it, that could be a problem.

Lara offers a small smile before opening the door and leaving my office, her heels clicking against the marble floor. I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

Not long after, I’m rolling my neck to work out some of the tension I’m holding when I hear Lara’s voice again.

“Fern, go home,” Lara says, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You need rest. You have a new baby waiting, and I don’t want you worrying about work right now.”

There's a muffled protest from Fern, but Lara cuts it off with kindness.

“It’ll be paid time off, but I’ll make sure it won't affect your accrued PTO. We've got this covered here – go home and take care of yourself.”

I lean back in my chair, warmth spreading through my chest. Lara's compassion, her strength in caring for those around her—it's one of the things that draws me to her even now. One of the things that keeps me here, silently hoping for more than just memories of a past we share.

My pulse races, but for a different reason than it had when she came in and closed the door behind her. Lara never ceases to amaze me. She’s made it to the top, but she won’t step on anyone to get there. And that’s beyond admirable.

Chapter Eleven

Lara

I catch a glimpse of Lark walking past, on some mission that only he knows about for the moment.

He's changed since he first walked into my office; his rough edges have smoothed out even more, but that intensity in his gaze? That remains unchanged from the first moment I met him. Same with his effect on my body. Even now I’m feeling overheated and resist the urge to fan myself or turn the thermostat down.

I notice him walk back by, his nose in a book, giving the words more attention than the subject matter deserves.

“Find something interesting?” I ask, my voice casual as I face him fully. Is it an accident that he’s slowly walking past my office?

“Always,” Lark replies, looking up from the book and pausing in place to talk with me. “But nothing as interesting as the view from here.”

My breath catches and I want to remind him there’s no chance of romance between us… until he gestures past me to the twinkling lights of the city under the darkness of night.

I almost laugh as memories on the plane bring me back to the moment he said the view was amazing and I thought he was complimenting me. This time I’m both disappointed and relieved he’s talking about the view.

His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, it feels like he's not talking about the cityscape at all. I force a smile, my heart thumping a rhythm that's too quick, too telling. It’s that easy for me to be pulled right back into the endless desire for him. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.

“This city has a way of making you feel on top of the world,” I say, shifting the focus back to the concrete jungle outside.

“Or on the edge of a cliff,” he says, moving toward me with slow, deliberate steps.

“Depends on the day,” I say with a tilt of my head, debating if I should stand up and meet him halfway. His presence fills the room, that undeniable energy somehow as compelling as it is alarming.

“Today was a good day, though, wasn't it?” he asks, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“It was productive, at least.” I stand and walk around my desk, maintaining a professional distance, despite the slamming of my heart and the way my body demands I move closer still, until there are no barriers between us anymore. How long can I fight this?

“Productivity is good. Success is better.” His tone is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of truth that warns me he’s not quite where he’d like to be at this stage of his life. I’m right there with him; I plan to keep moving forward and up.

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