How to Have Your Boss' Baby by Layla Valentine

Author:Layla Valentine [Valentine, Layla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-07T16:00:00+00:00

Reid tells me to meet him in the main dining room for dinner, and in the end, despite all my worrying and hemming and hawing, I end up getting there early. I look around the space, taking in the decor while subtly—I hope—looking to see whether he’s already arrived and taken a seat. This is the orange and red ballroom I noticed yesterday, and now that I’m actually in here, I can see that it’s even more impressive than I had realized.

Roughly the size of a basketball floor, the room is peppered with small tables perfect for two to three people, and no more. The centerpieces, groupings of roses and tiger lilies, with some greenery thrown in, are low to the table to avoid cutting off the diners’ views of each other, and everything I can see is done in shades of orange, red, and bright fuchsia, increasing the feeling that we are in fact in the middle of a gorgeous sunrise or sunset. The napkins, the wall coverings, the tablecloths…

Everything makes me think of being in the sky at that moment of beautiful color explosion, and my mind flies back to the painting sitting in my living room right now—the one I did of the sunrise, the colors so much like these ones.

At the thought, my fingers start to itch for my paints and my brushes, and for a canvas to place in front of me. This room, with its bright hues and sparkling lights, would give me a perfect vision. I would do it impressionist-style, I think, focusing on small dots so that I could blur the outlines, make the colors run together, make the—

“Are you waiting for someone, miss?” a voice next to me suddenly asks.

I jump, nearly toppling off the incredibly high stilettos I bought earlier. Not having brought any clothes for this sort of dinner, I felt the need to go on a last-minute shopping trip—which Reid insisted on paying for. The result was a black dress that cost more than my monthly rent, and an eye-poppingly expensive pair of designer stilettos. I feel guilty at the amount of money I’m wearing, but the saleswoman had received her marching orders from Reid and I wasn’t able to talk her out of them.

And truthfully, I didn’t argue that long about it. If I was going to be homeless and potentially jobless when I got home, I might as well enjoy it. Hell, maybe I could sell the shoes and rent a hotel until I found a new apartment.

“Yes, actually,” I say, remembering abruptly that someone’s waiting for an answer. I turn to see the maître d’ of the restaurant, his eyebrows raised in question. “I’m having dinner with Reid Billington, though I’m not sure if we have a reservation.”

“Of course you do, miss, this way, please,” he says, turning smoothly on his heel and moving in the other direction.

Unsure of whether I’m supposed to actually wait for Reid or not, I follow, doing my best not

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