Page 2 of Baby Proposal
Rhys huffs with irritation and strides around my desk to look over my shoulder. It’s not unprecedented. I don’t usually mind, except Ireally do mindwhen I’ve been doing something that not only I shouldn’t, but is utterly humiliating. Sad. Pathetic.
I was looking at asperm donoron my work computer. Not even a discreet medical-ish place. Nope.
I click more, panicking. And then—there—suddenly, that’s the right appointment.
“Five o’clock!” Yes. Phew. I’m okay. “Do you need me to change it?”
It’s all going to be fine.
Jabbing at the screen with my finger, it’s only then I notice that in my frantic bouncing around, I’ve somehow brought up my internet browser window and it’s in the background, behind the calendar.
“Are you alright, Miss Blake?” Rhys Cavendish is leaned over my desk, close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheek. And he’s not looking at the computer screen, he’s looking at me.
“Yes. It’s really warm in here.” I fan my face ineffectively.
I’m beetroot. Tomato. I’m going to send the city into a heatwave so intense Londoners will think they’ve been teleported to Dubai.My cheeks are glowing so hot I’d be able to get a job as one of those red lights that are on the top of masts. In fact, that seems like a really excellent career choice as Rhys slowly turns his head.
“If the meeting runs on, I’ll need you to…”
The air changes. Crackles.
He’s seen it. I know he’s seen the line of tabs at the top of the window.
Super Sperm Supply.
The little icon is a baby pink and pale blue tadpole. It’s not at all subtle.
“What’s this?” His voice is hard.
“Nothing.”Way to sound guilty, Adi.
“Show me,” he orders, eyes not moving from the screen. “Since it’s nothing.”
“No.” I fold my arms. “It’s nothing. Just…” A joke? For a friend? A hobby to look at weird websites in my spare time? In my work time when I should be actually working? I should get an award, because it takes all my effort to not finish that sentence with something that would be embarrassing and unnecessary. “Nothing.”
Perfect response. Very convincing.
Mr Cavendish reaches out and before I can stop him, has taken my mouse and brought the internet browser to the forefront. It’s on Amazon, and he pauses.
I breathe out as he examines the page. Amazon is fine, right, it’s only a… Turkey baster. The confirmation for me buying a turkey baster.
The turkey baster I bought to baste the magic juice into my pussy.
Uggghhh I’m dying.
And when my hot boss swaps to the Super Sperm Supply page, I’m having an out-of-body experience. I should check if I can see on top of the shelves, because I’m now deceased, looking down on myself sitting absolutely motionless as the man I’d love to have babies with reads how I’m such a loser I’m going to do an immaculate virgin conception with a turkey baster and a slightly creepy man I give fifty quid.
Blood drains from my boss’ face. “You’re planning to meet a man on the edge of a motorway and…”
“No! Of course not right by a motorway. I was going to meet him…” I peter out because this is not going to make it better that I was considering near work. Because it feels safe, you know?
“Where were you going to accept this… Product, Miss Blake?”
“Near the motorway?” I don’t mean for my voice to do that little upturn.
“No. You’re not doing that.” He straightens abruptly, looking down his straight nose at me, thunder in his expression.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I mutter rebelliously.
