Brogan (Carolina Reapers 9)

“Thank—” A knock on the door cut him off, and he hurried off the barstool toward it.

I lingered in the kitchen but slowly moved to a place where I could see through to the entryway as Brogan swung the door open.

A younger man held out a manila envelope to Brogan. He took it, thanking him before closing the door and staring at the envelope like it held the key to his future. And I couldn’t help but want to rush to him, to this giant of a male who suddenly looked terrified of an envelope. But I held my ground, and my breath, as I waited. After all, he was a stranger and now my boss, and there were a whole lot of professional lines we couldn’t dare cross.

3

Brogan

She was mine.

It was all spelled out there on the lab results the nervous kid had handed me about two minutes ago. Skye was my daughter. Buzzing filled my ears and my lungs stopped processing air. I. Had. A. Kid.

Who the fuck was her mother?

I had vague memories of a brunette in a shimmering, silver dress, but it wasn’t like I could really depend on memories when I’d been drunk off my ass in a Miami bar. All I knew for certain was that I’d woken up alone. No note. No name. No phone number.

“Everything okay?” Fiona asked.

I sucked in a full breath and shoved the results back into the envelope. “Yeah. She’s mine.”

Fiona’s mouth dropped open slightly as I walked past her, headed for the office. The room was a lot like the rest of the house, with clean, modern lines and the subtle details of southern charm. I passed right by the massive desk that sat in the middle of the room and headed for the safe just behind it. It beeped as I held my finger to the reader, and then popped open.

“What are you doing?” Fiona asked from the doorway.

“Filing the results,” I answered, tucking the paper into a file marked personal records. “Fuck. I don’t have her birth certificate. I probably need one of those. And I don’t know her social security number. I’m supposed to know that, right?” I closed the safe and turned around, leaning on the bookcase that held the safe.

“Is there someone you’d like me to call?” she asked, concern lacing her tone.

“Call someone. Right.” I wasn’t alone here. I had a whole team full of friends. I tapped out a quick text to Maxim, and within moments, he walked through my front door.

“Brogan?” he called out.

“In the office!” I answered.

Fiona moved out of the way as Maxim walked in, his brow furrowed. “What’s the news?”

“She’s mine.” The words tasted funny in my mouth.

His eyebrows shot up. “Then congratulations are in order!” He walked across the room and put his hand out.

I stared at it.

“Brogan?” He slowly lowered his hand.

“I’m just going to give you guys a few minutes,” Fiona said, shutting the door behind her as she left.

“Congratulations?” I tore my hand over my hair, tugging at the strands. “I’m the last person who should be a father. I don’t know the first thing about caring for a baby. I don’t have fucking…anything for her. Nothing. I bought the first crib I found that could be delivered within two hours and a pack of purple sheets because I’m already overwhelmed by the amount of pink in her suitcase. It’s all...pink. Like little girls can’t like any other color?” My pulse pounded like I’d run a marathon and the buzzing in my ears grew to a fever pitch.

“I’m sure she doesn’t give a shit what color the sheets are—” he started.

“It’s not just the sheets!” I snapped, pushing off the bookcase. “How the hell am I supposed to take care of her?”

“That’s what you have the hot nanny for,” Maxim replied with a shrug.

My gaze flew to his. “I’m sorry?”

“Like you haven’t noticed that your nanny is wicked fucking hot?” His forehead puckered.

“I’ve been a little busy going through shock to check out her ass!”

“Right.” He winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. Okay, so what do we need to do first? You know everyone’s ready to jump in wherever they can, they’ve just been giving you a little space since...you know...yesterday.”

“I don’t have the first fucking clue where to start.” I always had a plan. Always. Growing up in sheer chaos meant I liked shit neat and orderly. I didn’t fly by the seat of my pants. I didn’t blow through my money in case an injury took me out before my prime. I almost never got so blitzed out of my mind that I couldn’t remember sleeping with a woman, and yet here we were.

“Okay, then let’s ask the nanny—”

“Fiona,” I corrected him, coming around my desk. “Her name is Fiona.”