Page 16 of Boss's Baby: A Fake Fiance Romance

I tried to make myself comfortable as I sat in the backseat of my Cadillac, my driver at the wheel. It was a little after one, and I found myself eyeing the small sidebar, wondering if a drink was in order. But I thought better of it—Dad wasn’t the kind of man you wanted to let yourself be even a tiny bit not-on-your-game around. He was the only person I knew who had no problem seeing right through me, catching me off guard.

The drive from the financial district to Midtown only took ten minutes or so, the traffic surprisingly light for the middle of the day. I stepped out and was greeted with the towering sight of Taylor Logging HQ, the mirrored glass of the rectangular building brilliant as always. I made my way through the lobby and up to the top floor where Dad, Sam, and I had our offices.

I couldn’t put my finger on why, exactly, but I had a bad feeling about the meeting. Dad had been terse on the phone, even more so than usual. I wondered if there was more going on than simply housekeeping about the upcoming few months.

I didn’t have much time to think it over before I was standing in front of the looming double doors of Dad’s office. I gave them a quick rap.

Dad’s voice was as gruff as ever. “Come in.”

I opened the doors and stepped inside. I’d been in that damn office a thousand times over throughout the years, but the room never failed to intimidate. Long with high ceilings, walls lined with bookshelves and antiques, six TVs all tuned to various financial channels, and a view of the city that was nothing short of majestic—the office had been built to impress. And that was how Dad wanted it. Anyone who walked into that place had no doubt in their minds who was in charge.

And one day, I hoped it’d be mine. It’d been no secret that Dad had been putting some thought into retirement over the last year after his doctor let him know that his heart was beginning to show some serious signs of stress.

Years of high-stakes company management, a three-whiskey-an-evening habit, and his typical uncompromising demeanor had begun to take their toll on his health. Sure, I wanted to be in charge, but I also wanted a happy retirement for my old man rather than a heart attack at his desk.

I put all that out of my mind as I stepped into the office. The old man was there, tall and well-built for a man in his mid-sixties, his head bald on top and what remained on the sides short and silver. He had my dark green eyes and sharp features and was dressed in one of his light gray tailored suits. He sat behind the desk with his typical impassive expression, tracking me as I entered.

Sam, my younger brother, was there too. Unlike my dad and I, who shared the same broad-shouldered, burly look, Sam took more after our late mother. He was slim and willowy, his skin fair and his eyes a brilliant blue, his hair blonde as straw and long enough to slick back and tuck behind his ears. I remember coming across the word “imperious” in a crossword puzzle and thinking of him immediately—good word to describe him.

But I loved the guy, as much as a rivalry as we’d always had. The kid didn’t make it easy sometimes, though.

“Glad you finally decided to show up,” said Sam, the slightest hint of a mocking smile on his lips.

Dad shot him a hard look, one that managed to get him to put a lid on it.

“Have a seat, Joshua.” Dad always called me that—probably the only one who did. He loved me and Sam, no doubt about that, but his brusqueness and serious nature sometimes made it hard to tell. And he was big on formality, hence the full-name treatment.

I did as he asked, sliding into one of the two wing-backed chairs across from his massive desk—an antique that had been made for the captain’s quarters of an eighteenth century English ship, if I recalled correctly.

Dad’s eyes moved from me to Sam slowly, as if he was sizing us up. He was in no rush—a man like him began things on his own time, and could afford to.

“The MacLand-Glass matter,” he said. “Is it settled?”

Cassidy flashed into my mind, specifically the expression on her face when she’d watched me step into the break room after she’d said her piece about me.

Dad narrowed his eyes. “Something funny, Joshua?”

Shit, I fucking smirked—Dad hated that. “No. Sorry.”

Sam leaned in. “Meeting about the future of the company, and he can’t even take it seriously.”

“Save it,” I said.

“Act like you give a damn about what’s going on, and maybe no one will feel the need to correct your behavior,” Sam said.

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