Page 11 of Baby By my Best Friend's Daddy

“Morning,Chris,”Isaidto the guy manning my secretary station. He hated me calling him my secretary—he was rough and rugged and spent his time in the pub or the gym when he wasn’t working, so I called him “my guy.”

“Landon,” he said and jumped up from behind his desk where he’d been sitting with his feet up, the tablet we used to integrate calendars on his lap. “You’re earlier than I thought you would be.”

“Work doesn’t sleep, right?”

“Right.” Chris grinned. “Speaking of work not sleeping… You got a call from Stanton early this morning already. I was here at six, and he’d already tried to call twice. When I got him on the line, he sounded pissed—something about not being able to keep tabs on his wife.”

I groaned. “Good old Stanton. He’s the perfect example of using security for the wrong reasons.”

“Hmm,” Chris agreed.

“We can’t get one of the technicians to deal with him?” I asked, but I already knew the answer. Mark Stanton had been one of the first big clients to sign with the company, and I’d recruited him myself. I had a handful of high-end clients I didn’t shrug off to technicians.

Chris shook his head and kept going. “You’re also seeing the board at eleven. They want to talk about market shares.”

“Can’t someone else deal with that?”

“You’re the owner of the company and one of the biggest shareholders. The meeting must include you, or they can’t make any decisions.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I thought you’d say that.”

Chris chuckled. “Heavy is the head that bears the crown.”

I snorted. “You have no idea.”

“And then you got a message from Catherine. She asked you to call her at your earliest convenience.”

“Maybe I’ll do that first,” I said. “I can use her as an excuse to put off Stanton.”

“You’re the only person I know on good enough terms with his ex that you can actually do that.”

I shrugged. “Life is too short to be on bad terms with everyone.”

“You’re not on bad terms withanyone.”

I grinned at him. “It’s a fine art. You should take notes.”

“On it,” Chris said with a grin. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me.”

I nodded and walked on to my office. I frowned when I stepped in—I’d recently had it remodeled, and I wasn’t sure I was feeling the modern, minimalistic vibe.

My plush carpets had been replaced with wood, which looked executive enough, and my new desk with the bucket armchairs that faced it was smooth and screamed that I was keeping up with the times.

“Hey, Dad,” Brad said, popping his head around the door.

“Do you like this stuff?” I asked, waving my hand around my office.

“Of course. It’s modern.”

“It’s not my thing,” I mumbled.

“You’ll get used to it. You pointed this one out from the samples. You can’t be a top-notch security firm and then have brown carpets, those little green lights from the James Bond movies, and cigars everywhere.”

I snorted. “I didn’t have cigars everywhere.”

“Might as well have.” Brad chuckled. “Are you ready for the board meeting at eleven?”

“No,” I said.

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