Page 13 of Flirting with my Billionaire Boss

“That sounds like a good idea.” I could go for a nap right about now, but I need to work. That was my future. Hard work. Putting the baby in daycare. Fighting to make ends meet. This job doesn’t pay an incredible amount of money, but it’s enough to put together an apartment.

I’m not sure how Weston will feel when he finds out I’m pregnant. Will he allow the baby to live in the house too? Does he even like babies? I have about a million other unanswered questions, but I have to remind myself that I just got the job, and I have eight more months to figure out all the answers. I just hope Weston ends up liking me enough that he won’t fire me when I start getting huge and waddling around. I know there are laws against discriminating against an employee like that, but these rich guys are great at finding loopholes and getting away with everything. I would know. I was married to a guy just like that. Am married. I have to remind myself that I’m still married to that bozo.

Hopefully, that won’t be the case for long. I’ll have to let Weston know what’s going on eventually, but I want to keep my drama confidential for as long as possible. I need to keep this job.

“Are you coming down with something?” Weston asks as we head back to the house.

“I don’t think so,” I say honestly. “I just have a sensitive nose, and that horse manure got a little overwhelming.” That isn’t entirely untrue. I just left out the biggest part where I’m impaired because I’m growing a little human inside me, and it’s messing with my hormones and turning me into a crazy person. Eventually, it will become impossible to hide the fact that this little stinker is hiding out in my tummy and growing bigger every day. But I’ll deal with that problem when it happens. For now, I have to keep from puking every time I smell something bad. It's a wonder I didn’t throw up this morning when Skipper peed on my foot.

It's also lucky that I didn’t fall flat on my face when I tripped earlier. I could have lost the baby from a fall like that. It’s good that Weston was there to catch me. And that memory causes my brain to glitch because who wouldn’t have a glitchy brain with so much hotness around? Weston steals the breath from my lungs. How am I supposed to work for him and keep a serious face when I feel like constantly fanning myself?

He's so attractive it should be illegal. And he’s overflowing with wealth on top of it. No guy should be allowed to be that perfect. Most billionaires were crotchety old men. Not young guys with stylish haircuts, chiseled jaws, and bulging biceps. Weston is gorgeous enough to be a model. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s appeared on the cover of a magazine before. He probably has one lying around his office somewhere.

It seems like there might be something between him and Jenni. I don’t have any concrete proof, but she’s gorgeous. There’s no way he’s not into her. She seems like his type, all wealthy and perfect. I can’t help the twinge of jealousy that sparks inside me when I think of them in each other’s arms. But it’s ridiculous. I have no right to feel anything toward Weston. He’s my boss. It shouldn’t matter who he dates.

We get back to the house, and after removing my disgusting shoes, I make a beeline to the bathroom attached to my room. I wash off my face and then brush my teeth. Because who wants to be around a girl who just puked and didn’t clean up properly afterward? Ew. Just ew. Weston will probably never be attracted to me now.

Where did that crazy thought come from? He’s my boss.Get that in your head, Callie.That’s all he can ever be. Because I’m way too big of a mess for him to be anything else. And I don’t like wealthy men anymore, right?

6

WESTON

Martha opens the door. It’s my mom and Jenni again.

“Hi, Mom. I’m crazy busy with work right now. What’s going on?” Why is she over here with Jenni again? I have this creeping feeling that she’s still trying to set me up with her, and she’s finding every possible excuse to bring her over. Like if Jenni comes over enough, I’ll magically fall in love with her, and a long line of babies will spontaneously pop out of Jenni’s midsection.

I can’t tell if Jenni is interested or if she’s just placating my mom for whatever reason. My mom constantly reminds me about how it would be beneficial to both our families for us to be married.

There’s nothing wrong with Jenni. I actually really like her. There’s just no spark. She’s too much like a sister to me. I can’t bring myself to feel anything but brotherly love toward the woman. Kissing her would be like kissing a family member.

I’ve tried telling that to my mom, but she doesn’t seem to want to accept that answer from me.

“Jenni is here to help you with your work project,” Mom says. “She has a list of connections that you need. It’s a partnership destined to be.”

Jenni smiles up at me. “I do have a list of properties in Belgium you could acquire that would be a big help to the company. I’ve been in contact with the seller, and it sounds like they’re motivated.”

Now this is actually helpful information. “Callie, can you come take some notes for me?”

She comes into the room and pulls out her phone. “Mind if I record the conversation?”

“Not at all,” I say. Then the three of us sit down, and we launch into the information. My mom disappears at some point to socialize with Martha. The two of them have been friends for a long time.

After an hour of discussion, my stomach growls and I stand. “I could go for some lunch. Are you two hungry?”

“Sure,” Callie says.

“I could eat,” Jenni says, kicking off her heels next to the couch.

We all go into the kitchen where Martha has prepared ham and cheese sliders with pickle spears.

We settle around the table, and Martha backs up with a tray of sandwiches to bring it to the table. Skipper is at her heels licking his chops, hoping to snatch one of the sandwiches for himself. But Martha doesn’t see him and trips over him. The pan goes flipping through the air, and the sandwiches fly everywhere across the kitchen.

Martha spouts off a string of Spanish, likely curse words, and Callie laughs.

“Do you speak Spanish?” I ask.

“My parents are Puerto Rican. I don’t speak it fluently, but I know enough to know she could burn the ears off a sailor with that kind of talk.”

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