Page 24 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

“Good job with the setup,” I say to him, warmth swelling in my chest for his support. “You’re the best uncle a kid could ask for.”

“Anything for my nephew,” he says, a hint of pride in his tone.

“Alright, little man,” I say, as Win pops back into view while rolling up my sleeves. “Show me how it's done.”

He leads me off and I drop to my hands and knees, the marble floors cool against my palms. Together, we crawl under the dining table, transformed into a mountain tunnel. I’m not dressed for this, but I don’t give a damn. I love these moments with my son. They make everything else worth it.

“Come on, Mommy!” my son's laughter trickles from the other side. He's quick, darting ahead with the grace of a child used to a lot of movement.

“Slow down,” I say, a teasing note in my voice, but there's no stopping him; he's across the makeshift bridge of couch cushions before I've even cleared the mountain tunnel.

“Your turn!” He turns to me, eyes wide with excitement, a challenge in his adorable grin.

“Alright.” I eye the "river" – a sea of blue blankets spread between us. With an exaggerated leap, I land on the other side and he grabs my hand as if to keep me from falling. “You saved my life!” I say, squeezing his hand.

His little hands clap, pure joy radiating from him.

“Great jump, sis,” Damon says from his chair. He’s playing referee in our game of make-believe with a warm smile and encouraging nods.

“Thanks for this, Damon,” I say, catching my breath as Win continues on. “He loves it.”

“Of course,” Damon says, as if he’s surprised at my comment. I chase after my son as he weaves through the labyrinth.

“Gotcha!” I scoop up my son as we tumble into the fortress of pillows, his giggles infectious and punctuated with a sneeze. These moments are the ones that make all the hard work worthwhile. Hearing his giggles, playing with him, watching him learn and grow. These are the memories that get me through the tough moments.

Chapter Twelve

Lark

She hasn’t been at work for three days now.

I don’t know why she’s not here and it’s driving me crazy.

I tap my pen against the notepad, giving up even the pretense of pretending to work. The space is too quiet, and people are too subdued without her around. Her absence has an effect on everyone, and it’s not good.

Standing up, I make my way to the painting that hangs on my wall. It’s an abstract flurry of blues and grays, like a storm captured on canvas. With a sigh, I make my way to the window, watching people far below scurry about their lives. An hour slips by with me trying to imagine where Lara is instead of tackling the mountain of paperwork.

“Tell me,” I ask the empty room, “what's keeping you away?”

Of course, the room doesn’t answer or offer any sympathy for the frustration and fear running circles in my mind. What if she’s hurt? What if it’s something serious? Why wouldn’t she call me?

“Maybe she's just busy,” I say, taking a few steps to stretch my legs and hopefully shake off the restlessness.

Or maybe she's avoiding you, the skeptic inside me counters. Maybe bringing her food was too intimate. Maybe I’d crossed a boundary I didn’t know existed.

I shake my head, refusing to entertain those ideas. She wouldn't run. Not again. Not from her own company. She’d fire me if she needed an escape.

I sit down and try to focus on work once more, but my thoughts keep drifting back to her and worrying. It's no use.

The clock ticks too loudly, a steady beat that annoys my distracted mind. I swipe through screens, watching the data blur as my eyes unfocus to think about her instead. Emails go unanswered. I swear the silence grows teeth.

I don’t know how she has this effect on me. I went five years without seeing her. Now it’s been a few days and I’m falling apart. She's just... gone. No good mornings exchanged, no quick glances that linger too long. Nothing.

The keyboard feels alien under my fingers. Numbers and projections all blend into a meaningless mess my brain can’t decipher.

“Damn it,” I say, pushing away from the desk. My chair lets out a squeal of protest.

I grab my jacket, the office walls closing in on me. I want to tell her to get out of my head, but I know that’s a losing battle – she won’t listen. She never has, not since that first meeting on the plane.

---