Possessive Baby Daddy

We’ll restructure the business, make it lean and mean, and make some serious cash.

It’s after noon by the time everyone’s gone. I’m left alone in the conference room, feeling exhausted, but elated.

I have a plan.

I just brought in some of the most powerful people in the reality TV industry and I made a play. And I think it might work. I convinced at least a few of them that I’m worth investing in.

What happens from here, I don’t know. Some of them might go to my father, but I doubt it. He’s not loved, and that’s why only a few of them signed on. I think if my father’s name didn’t cast such a cloud over Truth Hurts, more of them would be willing.

Divas is real. It’s going to make money. It’s just a matter of time. These guys can see it, they can see beyond my father’s stink.

I need that right now.

I take out my phone and dial. Shaun picks up on the second ring.

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you,” he says.

“Sorry, I was in a meeting.”

He chuckles. “Your move?”

“It’s a big one,” I say. “I’m still ironing out the details, though.”

“I guess you won’t tell me.”

“Nope, sorry, not yet.”

“That’s fine, whatever. I’m just happy you called.”

“Are you?” I smile like a moron. I just convinced powerful, rich men to back me, but hearing Shaun say that he’s happy I called makes me blush and smile and makes my whole day better.

“Of course.” He sighs. “What a night. You know the only thing that would’ve made that night better?”

“Champagne?”

“Nope. You, naked, with your sweet, dripping wet little—”

“Shaun,” I warn.

“I’m just saying, I wish there weren’t cameras around.”

“Well, there were.” I bite my lip. “Look, I feel like I should say something.”

“Yeah? Okay, go ahead then.”

“Whatever’s happening here… is it business?”

He snorts. “God, no. It’s all pleasure for me.”

“And the baby? I mean, if I weren’t pregnant… would you be pursuing me so hard?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitating. “Listen to me, Klara. I want you and I always get what I want. The baby is just a nice little bonus.”

I laugh bitterly. “Bonus, huh?”

“You might think it’s scary now, but believe me. When that baby comes and I’m there to take care of everything, you’ll be happy.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Darling, I have more money than you can even imagine. It won’t be easy… but it’ll be as easy as it can be.”

I sigh and smile. “You’re so arrogant.”

“I know. But remember the way I made you come so hard? And had you begging for more?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“That’s not arrogant. That’s just knowing what I can do.”

I bite my lip. “I shouldn’t call you anymore. You just get me worked up.”

“It’s not hard. You love it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I just want to say… god, I don’t know what I want to say anymore.”

“Come over tonight. I’ll cook you dinner. You can tell me what your big move is.”

I hesitate. “I don’t know.”

“You’re coming,” he says. “I’m tired of this little runaround. You want me, Klara, and I want you. Give in to it. Let me make you feel good.”

I let out a breath. “Fine,” I say. “Okay, fine. You win.”

“It’s not a matter of winning, my dear. It’s a matter of getting what we both want.” He chuckles softly. “I’ll see you tonight around eight?”

“Okay.”

He hangs up the phone. I hang up next and let out a breath, tilting my head back, a smile on my lips.

God, this is dangerous, so dangerous. I’m playing a game that might backfire at any point, but I can’t help myself.

He’s right. It’s time to stop pretending.

I want him. I want to give myself to him. And sooner or later, he’s just going to take me. So I might as well enjoy myself in the process.14ShaunI text Klara letting her know that I’ll send her a car, and start cooking around 7:30. She arrives at 8:00 exactly, thanks to my car service. She comes inside and smiles as she takes a deep breath. “Wow,” she says. “What is that?”

“You’ll see.” I lead her into the kitchen, sit her down at the counter, start to pour her a glass of wine, but then think better of it. I get her a glass of water instead and she smiles at me gratefully. “It’s my specialty.”

She laughs as she sips her drink. “I thought rich boys never learned how to cook.”

I brandish a wooden spoon at her. “That’s just a stereotype. I know how to cook, clean, and do my own laundry. Well, I know how to hire people to do those things, at least.”

She laughs. “Seriously, where’d you learn to cook?”

“Boarding school,” I say. “When I got older, I stopped coming home during the summers. My prep school let some students stay on campus so long as they had a job and could provide for themselves. So every summer, the dining hall would close, and I just sort of… had to learn.”