Page 31 of Boss's Baby: A Fake Fiance Romance

The two of us took our seats in the blood-red plush chairs, Dad turning on the fireplace with a click of a remote. Another button turned on the speakers. Bruce Springsteen, Dad’s favorite, poured through the room.

We said nothing for a while, the two of us simply watching the fire. But I had to speak up.

“Dad. How are you?”

He grunted. “Be better without everyone asking me that every five seconds.”

“I’m your son. Call me annoying, but I’m kind of concerned with details like how my Dad’s doing after a damn heart attack.”

“I’m fine—exactly like how I said I was at the hospital. It didn’t even hurt. Thing was more like a bad case of indigestion than anything else.”

“Might’ve been worse if we didn’t have doctors in the building.”

“Might’ve been. But it wasn’t.” He turned to me. “I’m fine, and that’s the end of it. What I want to know is if you’ve had a chance to think over what we talked about.”

Yes, I most certainly had. My plan from the other night was still fresh in my mind. But being there with Dad, the man who could see through anyone, made me somewhat apprehensive about the whole thing. What the hell else could I do, though?

And then there was the matter of Dad’s health. I was interested in being in charge of the company, sure, but seeing him in that hospital bed, tubes stuck in his arms, it did something to me. I wanted to take over so Dad didn’t have the stress of running Taylor leading him into an early grave.

It was only a little white lie, right? And sure, I’d get married eventually. But no way could it happen right then.

“I have. And I’m going to do it. You want me to be married, I’ll find the right girl.”

He nodded. “That’s what I want. And I know it might sound a little absurd, but when you’re married and have some skin in the game, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. And, of course, you’ll thank me for doing what I did.”

“Sam didn’t seem too happy about what went down.”

“I expected it. No secret he’s had his eye on my job since I bought him his first suit. But he had to know in the back of his mind that he’s not the right man for the job.” He sighed. “Part of being in my position is making hard calls, and that was one of them. Whether he knows it or not.”

I considered the matter as the doors opened to the study, Sam’s quick steps filling the air. He approached Dad and handed him his drink.

“Thanks, kid.”

The sight of the tumbler of whiskey made me thirsty. I headed over to the globe bar and made myself a little something. Sam didn’t waste any time taking my seat and getting comfortable.

“Something I wanted to let you two know,” said Dad. “The holiday party’s still going to be on this year.”

“What?” asked Sam, totally shocked. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m as serious as, well—”

“As a heart attack,” I finished, a wry grin on my face as I poured my bourbon.

“Not funny,” said Sam, shooting me a cutting glare.

Dad’s laugh made it clear what he thought about the subject.

Sam went on. “But seriously—you can’t really be planning on having the holiday party.”

The holiday party was an annual tradition in the Taylor household. The elite of Pine Shades, as well as more than a few big names from New York, all came into town for what always ended up being the social event of the city. Mom had always been the one to plan it, a team of experts taking over the job since she’d passed.

“Of course I’m still planning on it. As of right now no one knows about the heart attack—they think I was in the hospital for a slip-and-fall or some such nonsense. We’ve had this party every year for the last three decades, and if we cancel, people are going to start talking. Not a chance!”

“But it’s always stressful,” said Sam, worry creeping into his voice. “Even with the planners taking care of everything. And the doctors said—”

“Who gives a damn what the doctors said?” Dad’s voice boomed through the study. “If I’m not in good shape enough to oversee a damn holiday party, you might as well stick me in the old folks’ home now. No—the matter’s closed.”

“Is he putting you up to this?” asked Sam, gesturing in my direction.

“What? Why the hell would I be putting him up to this?”

“I don’t know, making sure all’s normal with the company for when you take over. Who the hell knows why you do the things you do?”

“You’re being paranoid. Have something to drink and calm down.”

“You know I don’t day drink,” Sam said.

“Yeah, usual stick-in-the-mud bullshit.”

“Screw you.”

“Boys!”

Sam and I both shut up.

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