Page 87 of Boss Daddy

“Good.” That’s all she says, her tone cold.

I text James back.

How are you?

Fine. Just some stitches.

Good. Drinks are on me for the next week.

And maybe a raise while you’re feeling generous.

I laugh out loud before responding.

We’ll talk.

I sit still and quiet for a time, the reality of what’s happening dawning on me.

“You alright?” she asks.

“Just… thinking.”

“The good kind of thinking, or the bad kind of thinking?”

I’d been so wrapped up in the worry that something bad had happened to her that I hadn’t processed the actual news. Now it’s hitting me.

She’s pregnant.

I reach for her, cupping her face in my hands as I pull her in for a kiss. When we pull back, her forehead rests against mine.

“I love you,” I whisper, my voice rough with emotion.

“I love you too.”

Despite everything—the fear, the worry, the danger—in that moment, everything’s perfect.

Epilogue I

Erin

Seven months later…

“Jess, clear table seven and reset it!” I shout over the music. “Logan, we need another round of martinis at the VIP table, and don’t forget to make the one for the guy in the red blazer extra dirty! Dani, refill the garnish trays; we’re running low on limes. Hell, we should’ve been stocked up before the shift started. What’s the story?”

Dani, our new assistant bartender, a cute blonde in her mid-twenties, looks at me with an expression of total terror. “More limes next time, boss!”

“That’s what I like to hear!”

The club is packed, a wall of sound and motion that would overwhelm most anyone else. But for me, this is my kingdom. I’m in my element, barking out orders like a general commanding troops.

My staff hustles to follow my commands, moving like a well-oiled machine.

I take a quick breath, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. Being the front-of-house manager is no small task, especially on nights like this, but I thrive in the insanity. Every inch of this place is mine and I love it.

An older guy nursing a scotch stands at the bar. He catches my attention as he grins and raises a hand. “Hey, Erin,” he calls, his deep voice cutting through the noise. “When’s the little one coming? Or are you planning to deliver behind the bar?”

I place my hands on my hips and raise an eyebrow, giving him a mock glare. “If I do, Patrick, you’re cleaning up the mess,” I shoot back, smirking when the people around him burst into laughter.

“Fair enough!” he says, tipping his glass toward me in a toast.

---