Page 8 of Baby Daddy

CHAPTER 5

Drake

Isurvived Bring Your Kids to Work Day and my father told me Gunther Saxton was impressed by my presentation to the kiddies. Fortunately, there was no repeat of last year’s food fight, and the kids were so well behaved you would have thought we got them from Central Casting. We were one step closer to making the deal happen.

The rest of the day went by without a hitch. With pitch season around the corner and the pending acquisition of my father’s company by Saxton Enterprises, I spent most of my time out of my office…meeting with in-house character designers, storyboard artists, story editors, and animators as well as with ZAP!, the cutting-edge ad agency that was putting together a sizzle reel to show to network development execs. One thing worried me: while we had a full development slate, none of the shows we had in development felt like the next big hit. Both my father and Gunther were counting on me to find that needle in the haystack.

My temp, Dee, was doing a great job holding down the fort while I was in meetings. In fact, she was perfect, attending to my every need and whim, from keeping me on schedule to running to Starbucks to get me a much-needed Vanilla Ice Blended and warm chocolate chip cookie in the middle of the day. I, on the other hand, wasn’t doing such a great job suppressing my feelings about her. While her behavior toward me was very professional and not the least bit flirtatious, something about her fucking turned me on. My dick was twitchy, especially when I caught sight of her taking off her sweater and unbuttoning the top buttons of her blouse, which exposed just the tiniest bit of her lace bra and made me fantasize about what lay beneath. From the way they pressed against the silky fabric of her blouse, I could tell her tits were full and firm with nipples that I imagined were succulent and rosy.

I hadn’t been this turned on in ages. Maybe it had to do with my recent self-imposed period of celibacy, but I’d seriously never had so many fantasies about a woman. Most chicks were just one-night hook-ups that fit into the find, feel, fuck, and forget category. But Dee, ever since that barfing incident, had lingered in my head. I fantasized about her kneeling at my feet and giving me head, fucking her on the floor and over my desk, then banging her against a wall. She didn’t wear any kind of wedding band, so I assumed she was single. I refrained from asking her because I didn’t want to know she was off limits and have to say adiós to my fantasies. Plain and simple: I didn’t bang married ladies; that’s where I drew the line. Maybe I was a little bit of a manwhore (okay, understatement) and marriage-phobic, but I at least respected the institution. Enduring their share of ups and downs, including one horrific tragedy, my parents had stayed together for almost forty years and were still madly in love. Not a small feat by Hollywood standards. The number of celebrity divorces in this town had made my best bud Brock Andrews a millionaire. And somewhat of a celebrity in his own right.

Before I knew it, it was six o’clock. While I usually didn’t leave the office until seven and sometimes later, tonight I was meeting Brock at the LA Kings Valley Ice Center for our bi-monthly hockey game. I grabbed my laptop bag and headed out of my office. To my surprise, my new temp was still at her desk. Her eyes glued to her computer screen, she glanced up at me. She looked a little tired.

“Hey, you don’t have to stay late.”

She quirked a sweet little smile. “It’s okay. I was just studying the “To Do” list your regular assistant was kind enough to send. I’ll make sure I have your schedule for the rest of the week printed out and on your desk before you get in tomorrow.”

“Thanks. See you in the morning.”

“Night,” she replied, her eyes already back on the screen.

I lingered, tempted to ask if she wanted to come watch me play hockey.

“Hey, do you have plans for tonight?”

“Yes, I’m going out later.”

I hardly knew this girl, yet I felt a little dejected and rejected. I shouldn’t have been surprised by her response. Cute, single chicks like her didn’t stay home at night. If she didn’t have a boyfriend, I bet she had a hot date every night.

I inhaled a breath while she ignored me, then bid her good night one more time and split.

Friends since kindergarten, Brock and I had both been playing hockey for as long as we could remember and now belonged to an amateur team known as the Mighty Dicks. The name of the team suited us well; combined, we were a bunch of spoiled rich pricks, who were determined to win and had enough testosterone among us to melt the ice. Suited up in my padded uniform and a protective helmet, it felt good to be on the ice. After a stressful day, it was my way of chilling and using my big stick to score goals. It was also my way of releasing my pent up sexual energy. And I had a lot of it. Not so much because I hadn’t used my God-given big stick for over a month, but because ever since my sexy temp stepped into my office, I had the burning urge to bury it in her pussy and score a goal of another kind. My hormones were raging.

Tonight, we were playing the best team in our league. Our fiercest competition—the Manchots, which was French for penguins. The Canadian ex-pats, who composed this team, thought they were hot shots and born with pucks between their legs. So far this season, they were undefeated. Fuck them, I thought as the game went into sudden death overtime. My heart was racing, my focus on the puck. The puck flew across the ice to the other team, but one of our defensemen blocked it, hitting it straight to Brock, my fellow forward. Through our helmets, we made eye contact, and in a split second, the puck was mine. It was a long shot, but I had to take it. Without wasting a second, I whacked the puck with my stick and watched as it swept across the ice straight past the Manchots’ stunned goaltender into the net. The score: 2-1. Victory was ours! Cheers and man hugs all around.

Brock high fived me. “C’mon, man, let’s go out and celebrate.” And get laid. “I’ll buy.”

I thought about his offer. It had been a while since I’d been out on the town. Gunther Saxton, whose holdings included amusement parks, electronic games, and pre-school brands, had made it crystal clear to my father that if I was going to take over and run his animation company I needed to change my image. “Form equals meaning,” he’d stressed repeatedly. “I can’t have someone like your son running an animation company who’s out screwing every starlet and supermodel in LA. A family brand needs a family man. Someone who is settled down with a wife and kids.”

Every time he mentioned the wife and kids part I inwardly cringed. Settling down was the last thing on my mind. I was just not the marrying type, let alone the family man. And, of course, the mention of kids always reminded me of all the kids that might be mine as the result of being a sperm donor. I hated to think about the consequences if that secret ever got out. Whoof.

My past aside, the deal was majorly important to my father so I agreed to low key it for a while…stay away from the Hollywood scene and stay out of the tabloids. At first, it sucked balls, but I’d actually gotten used to it, and to my astonishment, I found myself not missing the meaningless hook-ups night after night or the superficial nightlife. Though this was the longest dry spell I’d endured in my adult life, I felt rested and productive. A sabbatical. Yet, despite my commitment to living a temporary celibate life until the deal was done, my buddy Brock managed to sweet talk me into going to a new Hollywood hot spot to celebrate our victory.

“Man, I think I’ve gotten too old for this shit,” I grumbled, taking in the five-people deep bar.

“Bro, you’ve got to get back in the game. Your dick can only last so long without being laid. It can even fall off.”

Mentally, I rolled my eyes. In his office, Brock thought with his brain; he was one of the sharpest, shrewdest attorneys in LA, specializing in high profile, sticky divorce cases and family law. But once outside his glass-and-steel tower, Brock thought with his dick. He didn’t just check out attractive women. He checked out women. Fat ones, skinny ones, tall ones, and short ones. Women of all color though the equal opportunity player had a predilection for leggy blondes whereas I was an ass-man. He approached the opposite sex no differently than one of his high-profile cases—no risk, no gain. Score a win. His eyes roaming, he was already on the prowl. Brock the Rock had earned his name.

“Maybe you’ll meet Miss Right here tonight,” he chuckled, giving me a man pat on my back. “And make your old man happy.”

“Yeah, right,” I retorted, the sarcasm dripping. All skin, sex, and heat, this was no place to meet your future wife. Nor was I looking for one.

“Check out that babe at eleven o’clock,” he said, pointing in her direction. “She’s hot as shit.”

My eyes followed his and landed on a tall, lithe blonde in tight-ass jeans standing at the bar. Yup. He was right. A margarita in her hand, she was definitely off the charts hot. The face and body of a goddess with radiant waist-length hair, mile-long legs, and spectacular tits that spilled out of her low-cut halter-top. But what really grabbed my attention were her defined, full lips. As she made eye contact with us, she took a long sip of her drink and then licked them. I felt my cock stir.

“Fuck,” muttered Brock under his breath. “I saw her first. She’s mine.”

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