AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories) (5 page)

Chapter 11

              The work week went smoothly. Every day Mitch was there for lunch. It was slow enough Monday through Wednesday that I could sit with him. Friday morning, just after Regina left for school, there was a knock at the door.

              I had forgotten about the 7 ounces I was supposed to sell. This would be the money pick up. Even with all my tips from Mitch and the rest of my customers I didn’t quite have it. I had paid a few bills.

              I stayed quiet. After a few minutes, the messenger left.

              I was careful heading to work and decided to pull out my husband’s old pistol. I didn’t always carry it, but when there was a lot of crime in the news or if I was selling and carrying quantity it made me feel safer. After that knock, this felt like a day I might need it.

              Nothing happened on the walk to work, but it still settled my nerves knowing I had it. I would try to earn enough tips to get as close as I could to the money I was short to pay Armand for the week.

              A good plan, but I didn’t get the chance. Just before I expected Mitchell for lunch, Armand came in the restaurant. I asked another server to cover for me while I spoke to him out back.

              “Something happen this morning?” he asked.

              “I haven’t sold as much this week. I figured I could make the difference I needed in tips today and send it with the second messenger tonight,” I said

              “D’vinity, we had an arrangement,” he said, shaking his head.

              “I know, I’ve just been busy this week,” I said.

              “But not busy making sales,” Armand said, stepping closer.

              “What are you doing?” I asked.

              “I told you I could cover large amounts for you, but I’m thinking now we might be able to make an arrangement,” he said.

              As he reached for me, Mitchell appeared from behind, reaching for him. He spun him around so they were facing each other. Before Armand could make a fist or speak, Mitch decked him. Armand was immediately down for the count.

              “What do you owe this man?” he asked.

              “About—” I started.

              “Doesn’t matter,” he said.

              He opened his wallet and threw the small stack of hundreds in it at Armand, who was now holding his bloodied nose.

              “I don’t know you, but you are out of D’vinity’s life,” Mitch said.

              “Says who?” asked Armand.

              “Says her man, me,” Mitch replied without flinching.

              Armand shook his head and waved us off.

              I took Mitch’s hand and led him to the kitchen to get a towel with ice for his hand.

              “I’m sorry. A few times when money has been tight I have sold weed for him to get by. I recently started trying to move large quantity because I thought I could make money faster so Regina and I could move,” I explained.

              I think Mrs. Franklin would have something to say about you two leaving,” he teased.

              I looked at his knuckles.

“No bruises, but a little swelling,” I said.

“I would have something to say about you two leaving as well,” he added, holding my face, so I had to look at him.

“Would you, now?” I asked.

“Yes, I’d have something to say about anything that makes it so I can’t get to know you both better,” he said.

As he leaned in to kiss me, I suddenly remembered where we were. I looked around and half the staff was watching us.

“Come on, I’ll tell you about the specials for today and we can decide what movie to go see Sunday.”

THE END

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Chapter 1

I was running late, again. It was getting harder and harder to get out of bed, and most days I used part of my lunch break to take a nap. The baby wasn’t even as big as a grape yet, but it was wreaking havoc on my body. In the fast-paced world of journalism I was beginning to fear being a black single mother wasn’t going to cut it.

              I was single by choice. Anthony kept asking me when I was going to let him make me an honest woman. I tried to tell him that couldn’t happen until he was an honest man. He was my boyfriend, and my boss, but I trusted him about as much as I trust a cab driver. We were headed the same direction as long as I was enjoying the ride, but I wasn’t looking for a chauffeur or a husband.

              “Don’t you look nice today? That for me or the camera?” he called as I passed by his office.

              “You know I’m always camera ready, Anthony,” I said, not breaking my stride.

              I needed to touch up my makeup. Each morning I gave an update on crimes from the previous newscasts and each evening I broke the latest crime news. Most of my personal time was spent talking to locals and keeping an ear on what was going on around town. Then there was that private time I spent with Anthony. Lately, that was affecting my job in more ways than one.

              “Morning, Jayne. Here’s your hot chocolate,” said my assistant, Kirby. “French vanilla flavored marshmallows and a caramel drizzle over the top, so it gets better as you sip. Also, I noticed you had more morning sickness last week when Fat Steve used hazelnut creamer, so I hid the rest in the supply closet.”

              Kirby was a gay mix, of what I hadn’t figured out yet, nor had I asked, and my pregnancy angel. He set the cup on my desk with a few notes about calls and appointments, and returned to his desk as quickly as he’d left it.

              “I’ll call them later. I’ll email him. Move that interview to Tuesday,” I said to myself.

              As I sorted what Kirby brought in and went through my own voicemail and email Anthony entered my office and shut the door behind him. He leaned back against the door with his hands in his pockets and looked at me over the desk.

              “You have the best view in the building,” he said, stepping forward.

              “You did set me up with a nice window,” I smiled and continued typing on my computer.

              “I meant because I was in the room,” he said, chuckling at his own joke.

              He was attractive, and he knew it. Still, somehow, that suited him. His arrogance added to his appeal. He wasn’t rubbing in that he was the best, it was more that he knew people just thought he was the best, so he accepted it. He knew I would deflate his ego every time. He liked that I was a challenge. I liked that I didn’t intimidate him the way I did so many other men.

              “If you’re trying to get me to have sex with you here, you should have let me settle in better first,” I said.

              “Ouch, you pick your hot chocolate over your white chocolate. Don’t tell our son his mother was able to refuse me,” he laughed.

              “We don’t know the sex yet,” I said, facing him.

              “I only produce studs,” he said, running his hands through his jet-black hair.

              I got up from my chair and walked to the front of my desk. Then, I leaned back, placing my bottom against the edge.

              “What do you want, then?” I asked.

              “First, a good morning kiss from my best reporter,” he said.

              He kissed me deeply. Then, he stood for a moment with his forehead pressed to mine.

              “Then, we’ve got to talk,” he said.

Chapter 2

              I hated when Anthony said that. It meant he was going to invite me to dinner with his family and then tell me bad news. I loved the dinner; it was good authentic Italian food. Even better, I didn’t have to cook, and the baby seems to like it, unlike everything else I wanted to eat. The bad news I could usually do without.

              “Jayne, the old man wants us all to come to dinner tonight. It’s Little Ricky’s birthday. I forgot. Why don’t you take the day off and go get the kid a present from us? I think he’s turning like fourteen, fifteen. I don’t know what to get him; it would be easier if he were turning eighteen,” he said.
              “Anthony, you know I go on in a few minutes. I have to do updates about the kid in the hospital from the gang stabbing and last night’s new evidence in the restaurant burnings. What is this about?” I asked.

              “Nothing, I just forgot to tell you and I forgot to get a present,” he said shrugging as he looked at things on my desk.

              “Nothing, my ass. I just got my nails done over the weekend. I can claw it out of you,” I said.

              Anthony put down the folder he was pretending to look at then raised an eyebrow at me.

              “That may not be all you get out of me,” he said and put his hands at my waist.
              “Unless you mean blood, you know what you are imagining is not happening in the office. Why are you trying to have me away from work today? Is something wrong with the show? Did someone get to crack a story I wanted?” I felt nervous, or nauseous.

              Nauseous, definitely. No more French vanilla anything either.

              “You were right about the kid in the hospital,” he said.

              “It wasn’t gang related. I knew it,” I said.

              I shook my head, because I had called this and he hadn’t let me run it. I reported the piece on air, just the facts, but I really wanted to present the story in a way to make viewers consider the existing evidence. Any fool could spot a cover story, but he edited the script had I tried to sneak to the prompter and watched me film.

              “The police released a statement saying the partial footprint at the scene beside the victim matched a dress shoe, for one thing. I don’t know any gang members who wear dress shoes while they commit crimes,” he said.

              I would have laughed, but I was still fuming that I didn’t get to be first on the story.

              “Also, there were multiple stab wounds in different sizes, but it actually came down to just two sizes. It seems like one was held left-handedly while the other was right. It could very easily be the work of one person holding two knives and switching hands,” he said.

              I could tell he was looking at me for an “I told you so” response.

             
              “I’m not going to say what you think I am. I just want to know what this has to do with me not being on air. I may not be the first to report this information, but I will be the best to report it,” I said.

              He looked away, so I placed myself more directly in front of him. He tried to give me a kiss, but I caught his chin in my hand just before he met my lips. He sighed and stood up straighter.

              “Nothing. Stay. Do the crime update. We’ll give the kid money. Kids like that,” he said.

              He turned and left my office. I called the chief of police for any new details he might have since the statement.

Chapter 3

              The morning show went smoothly. I even learned from the chief that the tip of one of the blades had broken during the stabbing and was found inside the boy as he was being stitched. I was glad to report that today the boy was stable. If he stayed that way, he would leave the ICU soon to speak with police about anything he remembered from the incident, since he had been found unconscious at the time.

              After the morning show I stopped by the ladies’ room for my now ritualistic trip to pee. I slowed my stride heading back to my office as I noticed a couple field journalists speaking to Anthony in his office. One would have been fine, but seeing both political and environmental seemed strange since there had not been any recent disasters or factory issues in the area. I lingered at the water cooler and coffee table in the cubicle area to see if I could make anything out from what was being said, but got nothing.

              Anthony noticed me and waved, but then he shut his door. I made my way around the office and pretended to compliment an intern on her smart wardrobe to see what I could hear as I got nearer the door, but the voices seemed hushed, even for a story they were trying not to leak.

              “And the pencil skirt was my mom’s idea. She said it would ‘accentuate my boyish figure,’” the girl was rattling on.

              I nodded and continued to pretend to listen and keep her walking with me as we grew closer to Anthony’s door. Just as we neared, it opened.

              “It will be taken care of tonight, boss,” Jerome from politics said as he exited the door.

              “Yeah, a top to bottom change will shake up the city good,” said Donte from environmental, nodding.

              Quickly I turned to face the intern who had accompanied me. She was giving a monologue about her blouses, skirts, and the importance of pants suits.

              “… and she always reminds me to ‘dress for the job you want, not the job you have, Agnes,’” she said.

              “And your mother is exactly right,” I said, stringing together a response from the parts I had paid attention to. “Dress your body to suit future you, not you of today.”

              I pretended that I was actually on my way to Anthony’s office to speak with him anyway. With a quick nod to Jerome and Donte as they left, I flounced into Anthony’s office, trying to think of a quick reason to be there other than snooping on my boyfriend.

              “Why do you never try to seduce me in your office? Your chair is more comfortable, the desk is bigger, and there is more floor space,” I said, twirling in his chair and running a fingertip with polished nail back and forth along my neckline.

              “You rarely come to my office unless there is a meeting, or you want to make sure you are not getting scooped,” he said.

              “Fair enough,” I replied with a shrug and stood again to leave.

              He caught my arm, firmly, but not painfully.

              “What brought you by today, or did you come to make an invitation? My office can be available if you are telling me you have a moment to spare, my crime news star,” he said, putting out his other hand to close the door.

              I caught it quickly with my hand.

              “No, I just wasn’t sure if there might be something big I’m missing out on since you had Jerome and Donte in here. Did a politician get caught funding a business that has been dumping in the river or something?” I asked, half joking.

              His expression became all business instantly.

              “Something like that,” he said.

              He looked at me a moment, then said I needed to prepare for tonight’s newscast and dinner. He went to his desk without looking back at me, so I left. As I headed back to my office I saw Jerome and Donte get their jackets and head for the elevator. I wondered where they were going, but today was not the day to try to figure out office shenanigans and mysteries. If I needed to know I would find out sooner or later.