Page 14 of Baby Proposal
I still wouldn’t have slept, obviously. But I would have had her skin next to mine, her scent over me, her hair tickling my chin. I would, in short, have had Adi close and that might have filled the cavernous hole in my chest.
Now I know how she tastes—sweet and salt and musky—I can’t wait to have her coming again. But I’m as stupid as a newly-minted goon in a third tier outer London mafia.
This bargain? A whole month of this before I can have her? It’s going to be hard.
Literally.
My cock has been aching since the moment she accepted my offer. It’s mildly amazing I have blood anywhere else in my body given how much seems to be pulsing at my groin.
Seeing her in the morning at the breakfast table, still a bit rumpled and sleepy, was a special kind of torture. She was so incredibly sweet as she stumbled around looking for sustenance. My girl does not wake up without a milky coffee and three slices of toast swimming in butter and strawberry jam.
She let me take her hand as we left the building, and I probably held her a bit too tight on the journey to work, but there was no way I was going to relinquish the soft little paw in mine.
Now she’s in the vestibule office attached to this one. Alone. My desk is set back, so I can’t see her.
What if she’s having second thoughts? She could be swiping on an app, or logging back into that chat with Mr super spunk seller.
Totally unacceptable. We should just get married today. Then there will be no question that she’s mine, going to have my baby, and I’m in this. But I told her this morning over breakfast to plan the wedding however she likes, to spare no expense. Even I know that weddings are a big deal for the bride. Me? I wouldn’t care about getting married in a cardboard box so long as at the end of it I could call her my wife, and she remained at my side and happy for eternity.
But what if she’s getting her hopes up about something totally unsuitable, like a wedding next summer? A wedding after she’s pregnant, perhaps? Or worse still, after it’s born, so the baby wouldn’t have my surname. SoAdiwouldn’t have that signifier that she’s mine.
Oh crap. I didn’t think this through.
“Adi,” I bark into the phone that connects to hers. “Come in here.”
“Yes Mr Cavendish,” she says, then drops the call before I can say anything else.
The fuck?
She has a sunny smile when she walks through the open sliding doors, and I’m blinded. I saw her this morning. I held her hand, and yet she might as well be the sun as I’m thrown out of a dark cave into the light.
“Rhys,” I grumble. “Call me Rhys.”
“You’re my boss. Mr Cavendish.” She blinks innocently.
I sigh. “Where are you at with the wedding planning? If we brought it forwards would that be an issue?”
She tilts her head. “What wedding planning?”
“The wedding planning you’ve been doing this morning,” I say with a touch of impatience. “If we just missed all of the…” I circle my hand in the air to indicate… I don’t know. Sugared almonds and women in hats? “If we got married this afternoon, would that be an issue for what you’ve already planned?”
“I have been replying to emails this morning, because we’re at work. That is what you pay me to do,” she points out in an infuriatingly reasonable tone.
“Didn’t stop you with the jizz procurement yesterday,” I point out.
Two red spots appear on her cheekbones. “Yes. Well. I’m sorry about that. I’m trying to make up for it by being extra productive in my job today, Mr Cavendish.”
“Rhys. And your job is to be my wife.”
“For crying out loud,” she says under her breath. “I am not yet your wife. I am your assistant.”
“And I have told you—remedy that.”
“Do not scowl at me for doing my job, Mr Cavendish.”
I’m not—alright I probably am scowling. With good reason. She’s got the priorities all mixed up. The emails? Fuck the emails. Our wedding is the only important thing. I open my mouth to point out this is a company for money laundering, and none of the business matters, but then shut it.
Hmm.
