Page 19 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

I crave predictability and order. So why did I invite the chaos that is Lark in? The true disorder is this tangle of restless emotions stirring within me since sitting down with Lark.

I pivot slowly, taking in every detail of the space I've created. This is my space, my home, my safety. This is something I’ve created through hard work, sacrifice, sleepless nights and too many tears to count. It's not just an office—it's a part of who I am, a success, calm, controlled, and well-cared-for.

Ready or not, this is where I find out what I’m really made of.

I tap the pen against the contract, each click echoing my racing heartbeat. The ink on the dotted line is an offer for me to seal this choice with a sense of finality. But given that I’ve read and re-read the contract and my lawyer’s notes about it over a dozen times and remember nothing about the deal, I can’t sign. Not yet.

“Am I crazy?” I ask myself, my gaze drifting to the photo on my desk. It's turned away from prying eyes. It might be smarter to hide it in a drawer, a protective measure, like all the others I've taken.

The office around me is silent, save for the distant hum of the city beyond my windows. I need to get my head on straight, because I’m already losing myself and Lark hasn’t even started yet. What is wrong with me? I’ve always found solace in this space, but now I just feel caged.

I need to focus. I force my gaze back to the laptop screen. Numbers and projections play out before me, but they might as well be in another language. My mind rebels, slipping away to thoughts of Lark; his careless charm, his rare smile, two nights that never faded from my memory.

“Stop it,” I whisper to myself, shaking my head as if to rattle away the memories. “I need to work.”

But even as I try to concentrate, my vision blurs with the weight of what-if's and could-have-beens. The email that confirmed his hiring glares at me as if asking me what I’m thinking. I have no idea at this point. That he’s an asset to the team?

“Can you keep a secret?” I whisper to the empty room. The irony isn't lost on me—I'm asking an empty room a question meant for the man who doesn’t even know he has a son. A son with his eyes, his smile, his little mannerisms.

That’s enough. I stand abruptly, my chair scraping against marble.

There’s nothing more I can do tonight. But I’m betting that, after I sleep on things, all these problems will vanish or become clearer by morning. I can handle this, I’m sure of it. I just need to have faith in myself and to be smart about how I approach him as an employee.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll face things with a rested mind and time spent preparing myself. But right now, I’m going to go home to the two people I love more than anything in this world.

The door swings open and two tiny arms envelop me in the world's biggest hug. “Mommy!” I inhale my son’s scent, remembering that everything is worth it for him. I can get through anything for him.

“Hey, buddy!” I scoop him up as his laughter chases away the day's worries. “Where’s uncle Damon?” I ask and my son points to the living room. As he does so, music starts playing, Win’s favorite song.

“Look, Mommy, like this!” Win’s little feet patter on the marble floor of my luxury penthouse, a little dance of pure joy.

We’d needed space before, and now we have it.

I mimic my son’s moves in an exaggerated and goofy manner, earning a string of giggles. His green eyes shine bright, that usual intensity melting into delight at my antics. He throws his head back, all untamed happiness, and starts belting out the words – or what he thinks are the words – to the song.

I watch him spin in place, still singing, a squeal following the movement.

“Round and round we go!” I say, watching our reflections in the window turn into a dizzying blur of smiles and pure, undiluted joy.

He’s still singing and dancing, his little body feeling the music so deeply I can’t help but be jealous at the depth of his enjoyment. Right now, he has no stress, no worries of adulthood. He gets to be a child, to have fun, and for the moment, so do I.

He puts both arms out, running in a little circle like a plane. I follow his lead, making plane sounds as he continues singing at the top of his little lungs. The dance changes to steps that suspiciously remind me of the hokey-pokey, but I’m not about to call him out on his artistic style.

When the music finally ends, we collapse together onto the floor, a heap of giggles and tangled limbs. He nestles into my chest, small breaths evening out as the last notes fade away.

“I love you, Mommy,” he says, eyes closing.

“I love you more, my little man. To the ends of the earth and back.” My heart swells, bigger than the skyline, the city, or even my fears. Being his mom is the greatest gift I could ever hope for. And in this moment with him, nothing else matters but us and that means everything to me.

Chapter Ten

Lark

My gaze crosses the glow of the laptop screen before me, cursor blinking on the last sentence of the report. Beside it, the second monitor displays fluctuating graphs, numbers ever shifting and warning of highs and lows in our industry.

There’s a coffee cup to my right - dark roast, two sugars, no cream - nearly empty, just a cold puddle at the bottom of the paper cup. My gaze travels from the cup to the windows. The city sprawls below with people living their lives far removed from us and our work. I'm perched high above it all, the glass walls of my office granting me a different kind of oversight. The hum of the city – honking cars, the rumble of vehicles, the shouts of people communicating - is silent at this altitude.

The sound of footsteps clad in all manner of professional shoes, from loafers to high heels, all the steps are quick and full of purpose.

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