The Baddest Bad Boy

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are finally ready to announce a winner to this year’s Miss Universe pageant!” the host crows, dapper in a deep purple tux. “Are you ready, Linda?”

Linda McJones, a soap opera star, nods her perfectly coiffed head.

“I am, Ryan. So let’s have it! I’m excited, aren’t you?”

The ladies parade onto the stage once more, elegant in their evening gowns. There’s so much glitter and hairspray that I wince, but again, it’s all in good fun. Then, the camera pans over one contestant’s face, and I cock my head, confused. Was that who I think it is? No, it can’t be.

I squint, but now Ryan and Linda are talking about something else. I lean forward, peanut butter forgotten as I wait for another shot. There it is. Then I gasp, as the camera pulls in for a close-up.

It’s Mikayla! I’d recognize that shimmering blonde hair anywhere, not to mention the svelte figure and red-lipsticked smile. But wait a minute, what’s she doing competing in the Miss Universe pageant?

Suddenly, I remember something Troy told me during a conversation long ago. Mikayla is a former Miss Malaysia, and that’s how they met. Troy was piloting a private charter flight for the Miss Malaysia corporation as they visited a hospital in the remote parts of the country. Mikayla stepped on board, and a connection was made.

But what is she doing now? Suddenly, to my astonishment, there’s the sound of crashing applause as the camera pans in on Mikayla once more. Oh my god, she’s doing the “I’m so happy I could cry” look, with her hands coming up to cover her mouth. Then, another woman moves in back of her and sets a two foot-high glittery crown on her head. It’s so huge that it’s comical, but I merely stare and gasp.

Mikayla just won the Miss Universe pageant? What the hell?

Meanwhile, the camera pans to a man in the audience, applause still ringing from the set. He’s handsome, with blonde hair and teeth so white they must be the work of a cosmetic dentist. Mikayla blows him a kiss that he pretends to catch, looking thrilled as he places his hands over his heart in a pledge of love.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, Miss Malaysia’s husband is A-list actor Phillip Landry, and boy, is he proud of his wife! Now that’s letting your woman take center stage!” the announcer crows.

I sit back on my couch, stunned. Husband? But Phillip Landry isn’t Troy. Isn’t Troy supposed to be engaged to Mikayla?

My mind whirls with confusion. What’s happened since I shut down communication with my ex? Why isn’t Troy at the Miss Universe pageant, supporting Mikayla, instead of this Phillip Landry person? Suddenly, I know that everything my boyfriend said is true, and that I’ve been holding my grudge for far too long.

12

Troy

* * *

A knock on my door rouses me from my couch-potato daze. Or maybe, I should say half-dead daze because I haven’t done much of anything in the last few months. While I used to jet around the world as an active, virile playboy, now I sit slumped on my couch most days. Of course I show up to my job, but the airline must suspect that my mental health is at risk because they’re not booking me too often. Not since I lost Cammie.

But a man’s still got to eat, and I schlep to the door in dirty sweats with my hair askew. It must be the food I ordered. Not that anything has any taste these days. I swing the door open.

“Thanks, how much do I…” I begin. But then, my voice catches in my throat because this isn’t a delivery boy. It’s Cammie. But she doesn’t look the way I remember her because she’s got a huge belly, not to mention swollen hands and feet.

“Hi Troy,” she says in a soft voice. “Can I come in?”

I step aside, my heart pounding as she sways into my apartment. Her ass is enormous but in a good way.

“You’re pregnant?” I gasp hoarsely. “Holy shit. Is the baby mine?”

My heart pounds in the seconds it takes her to answer.

“Yes, Troy. You’re going to be a daddy.”

Suddenly, a mixture of rage and ecstasy rush to the fore, and a thousand emotions crowd my heart. I’m going to be a father! A dad! To a baby! The alpha male in me roars, and suddenly, I let out a yell too.

“You’re moving in,” I growl fiercely, adjusting the pillows on the couch so that she can sit. “You are giving up your apartment and you and the baby will live here with me. Both of you belong to me. What else can I get you? Water? More pillows? Anything?”

She holds up a hand, her expression soft.

“Let’s just sit and talk for a moment. It’s been a while.”