Page 6 of Surprise Baby for the Don

There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes, and then he laughs, a low, rich sound that somehow manages to send a shiver down my spine. Next to me, my father’s face pales, his eyes widening in alarm.

Mr. Rossi holds my gaze, his smile fading, replaced by something more intense, more focused. “You’re not what I expected, Miss St. Croix.”

I tilt my head slightly, trying to keep my tone steady. “What were you expecting?” I wonder aloud, matching his posture.

His smile returns, with unabashed amusement. “I suppose I didn’t expect you to be so outspoken,” he admits. “Do you speak to all of your clients this way?”

My face flushes and I have a split second to consider my answer. Truthfully, I haven’t had many clients.

“I like for my clients to know where we stand,” I finally manage, toeing the line of honesty. “If we’re going to work together, I think it’s important that we understand and trust each other. Otherwise, it would never work.”

I glance at my dad, who looks like he’s about to pass out. His face is pale, his hands twisting nervously as he watches this exchange. I can see the warning in his eyes, telling me to be careful, to tread lightly.

But Mr. Rossi’s gaze holds me, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking a fine line between intrigue and danger. Part of me knows I should be more careful, that I should defer, keep my head down. But the other part of me, the part that’s desperate for a chance, for something more than scraping by, for a way to escape the suffocating weight of my father’s debts, won’t let me back down.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Mr. Rossi says, his grin growing wider by the moment. “And if we are going to be working so closely together, I think it’s only right that you call me Mateo.”

“In that case, Mateo,” I say, though his name feels almost forbidden on my tongue, “I suppose you can just call me Ginny.”

4

Mateo

She’s nothing like I would have guessed. Ginny St. Croix has a lot of fire in her, something unexpected for someone tied to Rex, a man who’s got the spine of a wet paper towel. She’s got moxie, determination. And it’s refreshing. Very few people in my life speak to me with such frankness, such confidence. She knows her stuff and that bodes well.

Generally speaking, I’m not the kind of man who takes someone’s daughter as payment. That’s the sort of leverage you reserve for the lowest kind of desperate, and though Rex fits that description perfectly, I’m not so ruthless as to drag someone like Ginny into her father’s mess without offering her something she wants in return.

Hiring her is a no-brainer, and I’d probably give her the job even without her father’s debt looming over her. She’s clearly got an eye for design, and she’s unafraid to voice her opinions.

I can use that. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like her attitude.

Her gaze flicks up to meet mine without a hint of hesitation. There’s a spark in her eyes, a readiness. I let my gaze linger on her a moment longer than necessary, the corners of my mouth lifting in a faint smile.

“Well, Ginny, I think you could certainly breathe new life into this place,” I tell her, though until this moment I didn’t care one lick about the design choices in my home.

Her eyes widen in surprise, betraying the confidence of her tone. She’s nervous, but not in the same way her father is. She isn’t afraid because she owes me money, or out of self-preservation. Despite her bravado, it occurs to me that she’s not as experienced as she presents. I go on.

“I want you to redo this entire wing of the house,” I say, gesturing to the lifeless walls and pristine, empty decor surrounding us. “Just as you described, with your ideas, your suggestions. If I like the work, I’ll hire you to do the same for more of my properties.”

Her eyes light up with interest, and I can see her mind working overtime, imagining what this could mean for her career.

I also notice Rex’s smug face, and I wish I could wipe it off. He doesn’t deserve to feel joy about this. This honor should belong solely to Ginny, not to him.

“How many properties are we talking?” she asks calmly, her voice trying to mask the excitement and intrigue her face betrays.

I smile, leaning forward, full of a ridiculous desire to impress her. “If you went up on the roof and looked out on the city, from Wrigleyville to U.S. Cellular, most of what you’d see would belong to me,” I tell her proudly, satisfied when I hear her breathcatch.

Her expression shifts, surprise and something else, perhaps admiration, coloring her features. She recovers quickly, though, her gaze leveling back to meet mine.

“So you’re saying you’d be a regular client, then,” she responds coyly.

“You could say that,” I reply, enjoying the way her confidence strengthens, the realization that this job could be huge for her career.

There’s something else, though, an electricity crackling between us that I’m sure she must feel. I can see it in the flush of her cheeks and the light in her eyes. What’s most surprising is how much it’s affecting me.

“There is one condition,” I say, watching her reaction closely. “If you’re going to be doing this work, you can’t just come and go whenever you please. Security is of utmost importance in my house, and it’s not safe to have people walking in and out all the time.”

She crosses her arms, her expression guarded but curious. Rex smiles in satisfaction. He’d expected this, of course. He’s put her up as collateral, of course he doesn’t mind if she stays here, the bastard.

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