Page 18 of Boss's Baby: A Fake Fiance Romance

“I’d expect nothing else,” said Sam.

Another nod from Dad, whereas I had to keep myself in check from eye-rolling.

“But that leaves the question of who I’m going to leave in charge.”

The tension instantly became as thick as molasses. Sam and I both leaned forward in our seats.

“Now, this hasn’t been an easy decision to come to. Nearly every waking moment that hasn’t been occupied with work has been spent weighing the pros and cons between the both of you. You two, despite whatever shortcomings you may have, have both become fine young men, and I’m proud to have you both as employees, and sons.”

Neither Sam nor I said a word.

“But I’ve made my decision. And it’s Joshua.”

Sam sprang from his seat. “What? You can’t be serious!”

I was pleased as hell, but Sam was on the other end of the spectrum.

Dad raised his palm. “Easy, Sam. It was such a close decision that Joshua’s age, and the experience that’s come with it, pushed it in his favor.”

“It doesn’t matter that he’s older! He’s completely unfit to run this company. Hell, he’s not fit to run a sunglass stand at the mall!”

“Hey now,” I said. “Take it down a notch, little bro.”

He cast a hard, hateful look in my direction. “Even now you can’t resist pulling rank. I can’t believe this. I’ve spent the last ten years giving everything I had to this company. Josh, on the other hand, spent his twenties screwing around and giving us scandal after scandal. And now you want to trust him with the future of the Taylor name? You’ve already seen what he’s done with it!”

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, kid,” I said. “Just because you spent the last ten years kissing ass and pouring over account books doesn’t mean you’ve got what it takes to run this place.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Boys,” said Dad, his voice stern.

“You don’t work well with people. Hell, that’s putting it nicely—you couldn’t lead a fat guy with a pizza slice. And I can.”

He scoffed. “What, just because you know how to work a cocktail party? Because you can trick girls into thinking you like them for long enough to get what you want and toss them in the trash?”

“Boys!” Dad’s voice boomed through the room again. But I wasn’t done.

“You sound fucking jealous to me. How many women have you dated? I could count it on one hand. And you never miss a chance to show me how bitter you are.”

“Because I’m dedicated to the company! And I don’t give a damn that you managed to stick it out for a couple years playing X-Box in a tent in the desert—you don’t know the first thing about the world!”

“Bitter and jealous—same fucking story whether you’re in middle school or wearing an overpriced suit. Bad look.”

“So fucking full of yourself,” said Sam, stepping toward me. “You’ll drive this company into the ground if—”

The bang of a fist on a hard surface boomed. “Boys!”

I turned to see that Dad was up, one fist against the desk. But on his face wasn’t the anger I was expecting. No, it was something else, something that gave me immediate worry. His face was red. A vein bulged on his forehead and throbbed. Then his hand shot to his chest, grabbing the fabric of his suit and crumpling it up.

Oh shit.

“Dad?” asked Sam, shooting over the desk. “Are you OK?”

Dad said nothing, his eyes fixed forward as he struggled for breath.

I didn’t need to see any more. The office a blur around me, I rushed to the doors, pulled them open, and stuck my head out.

“Someone call 9-1-1! Right fucking now!”

Chapter 8

CASSIDY

I had to puke. No other way to describe it. It came out of nowhere, and my first reaction was to grip onto the bar as if I might fall out of my seat.

Bathroom—now, I thought, nothing on my mind but dropping to my knees in front of a toilet. As I made my way to the restroom, I had flashbacks of college when I’d had one too many red cups of cheap beer and my body was telling me in extremely clear terms that I’d hit my limit.

Luckily, the bathroom was pretty damn nice—props to Katie for picking out a nice spot to grab some drinks. And, more importantly, it was empty. I headed into the stall, locked the door behind me, and hung up my purse.

But as soon as I was ready to do, erm, that which needed to be done, the feeling passed. The nausea faded like a cloud of mist against a hard gust of wind. I placed my hands on both sides of the stall, keeping myself steady as I confirmed that I was feeling normal again. Sure enough, I was.

Weird.

I didn’t have much time to think about what the hell had happened before the door opened and a familiar quickstep pattern sounded through the bathroom. The feet approached the front of the stall and stopped.

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