Page 5 of Surprise Baby for the Don

More silence.

“Play baseball here?” I try, looking pointedly at the baseball bat.

Red’s eyes flicker to me, but he doesn’t respond, just keeps his gaze fixed somewhere just over my shoulder. Bats barely acknowledges me, his attention fixed entirely on the bat in his hands, a dreamy sort of detachment on his face.

“Are you big Cubs fans?” I try again, hoping to bring some levity to the situation.

This time, Bats looks up, blinking at me as if I’ve asked him to recite a sonnet. Red gives a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, like he’s annoyed I’m even trying to make conversation. Not much for talking, I guess. Great.

I’m about to give up when the door opens, and an older man steps in. He’s in his seventies at least, with sharp eyes that hold a kind of weary wisdom. He has an air of authority, and I get the impression he’s seen more than I could imagine.

He just stands at attention near us until my father exits Mr. Rossi’s office and shuts the door behind him.

“The job is yours,” Dad says with a relieved smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

There’s more to the story that he isn’t telling me, and I want to push, but not here where we have an audience. The audience gets a little smaller as the older man goes into Mr. Rossi’s office, but Red is still staring at us, his expression unreadable.

“What do you mean the job is mine?” I whisper harshly. “What is the job, exactly?”

“You’ll discuss it all in detail, I’m sure,” he answers nonchalantly and it frustrates me.

“Miss St. Croix,” a voice says, and I turn to see the older man standing at the office door. “Rex. Please follow me,” he says, gesturing for us to follow him into the office.

I glance at Red and Bats one last time before I stand, feeling strangely relieved to leave the silent men behind. Bats gives me a lazy wave with his bat, like he’s saying goodbye, and Red’s expression doesn’t change at all.

As I follow the older man into the office, I’m suddenly hit with a mix of nerves and anticipation. I’ve never met Mateo Rossi, but everyone knows who he is. He’s the man running the Rossi empire, the one whose reputation is whispered about behind closed doors. I don’t know who I expect to see, but from past knowledge I was hoping it was as good as I heard. Walking through the door dissipated all the stress from my body and my mind went blank. The rumors did not do him justice.

Mateo Rossi is not what I expected. He’s tall, lean, with a presence that dominates the space without him even trying. His suit is perfectly tailored, his dark hair swept back in a way that manages to look effortless yet meticulous. His face is striking, equipped with equally stunning dark eyes and fresh stubble giving gravity to his maturity. Handsome, yes, but there’s a hardness to his features, a sharpness in his gaze that makes it clear he didn’t just inherit his position. He’s earned it.

Then he looks at me, it’s not with the look of someone who’s interested in hiring a designer. There’s an intensity in his eyes that makes my pulse quicken.

“Mr. Rossi,” my father says, his voice nervous as he glances between us. “This is my daughter, Ginny. As I mentioned, she’s an interior designer. She can help you with your… renovations.”

I don’t like the way my father pauses, the way he seems to be speaking to Mr. Rossi in code. It furthers my suspicion that there’s more happening here than a simple job.

Mr. Rossi’s gaze shifts from my father to me, and I feel pinned under the weight of it. It’s like he’s assessing me, stripping away every layer with just one look. I swallow, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.

The silence stretches on. Unease quickly makes it way back into my body, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s just going to dismiss me, wave me away like an inconvenience. But instead, he gives a small nod and speaks, his voice low and even. “So, you’re Rex’s daughter.”

I nod, struggling to keep my voice steady.

“I am,” I answer in a small voice. “His youngest. I have an older sister who runs a diner and—”

Dad coughs and elbows me gently. I realize I’m rambling, and I immediately close my mouth, feeling embarrassed.

He gestures to the room, his expression unreadable. “What would you do with this space?” he asks pointedly.

For a moment, I’m taken off guard. I glance around the room, taking in the impersonal décor, the lifeless furniture, the stark white walls. It’s all cold, efficient, like someone picked items out of a catalog without any real thought. It’s a beautiful space, but it lacks warmth, personality. I almost hesitate to say anything, but then I remind myself that this is my chance. If I want this, if Iwant to be taken seriously, I can’t hold back.

I take a breath, gathering my thoughts. “This room is beautiful, Mr. Rossi, but it feels empty,” I say as confidently as I can muster. “Lifeless. It’s too sterile, too impersonal. I’d add texture, maybe some darker wood finishes to bring out the natural light. Some statement pieces, maybe, that have a story or meaning. The space needs warmth, something that feels lived-in, rather than just staged to show power.”

I glance back at him, expecting some kind of reaction. Instead, Mr. Rossi just watches me, his expression unreadable. The silence stretches on, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped, if I’ve somehow insulted him without meaning to.

Beside me, I can see my father slightly slumped, like he’s afraid.

But then, Mr. Rossi’s lips curve into the slightest hint of a smile. “Are you always so blunt?” he asks with some mirth in his voice.

I feel my cheeks flush, but I meet his gaze, refusing to look away. “Are all your properties this boring?” I shoot back, internally kicking myself as soon as the words leave my mouth. I had a death wish apparently.

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