My Boss My Babydaddy

Three weeks.

That's how long it's been since the night with Dominic Steele, the night that changed everything and, apparently, meant nothing. Three whole weeks of avoiding eye contact, keeping conversations clipped and strictly professional, and pretending like I didn't still dream about the way his voice made goosebumps rise on my skin. You know, a normal post office affair with your boss's behavior.

The nausea started last week.

I pushed my favorite takeout away from me as it had personally offended me, and don't even get me started on the fatigue. If naps were a sport, I'd be a world champion with five gold medals. At first, I chalked it up to stress, but deep down, my womanly sixth sense started whispering something I wasn't quite ready to listen to.

Now here I am, on my lunch break, picking at a salad I normally love while having a venting session with my bestie, Sophie, on the phone.

"Girl, I swear to God, if he breathes near me again, I might just shove a stapler up his fancy Italian suit pants," I groaned, stabbing a lettuce leaf.

Sophie burst into laughter on the other end. "You mean Dominic Steele? The man you had a fiery one-night stand with and now have to work under?"

"Don't say it like that, it sounds worse!" I huffed.

"Oh, honey, it is worse. You caught feelings, and now Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy is acting like you're invisible. Like you're one of those dried-up plants in the office corner."

I snorted. "You know I watered that plant for three weeks before realizing it was fake?"

"That explains your love life perfectly."

We both laughed, and for a moment, the ache in my chest dulled.

"Anyway," I sighed, "I decided I'm keeping it strictly professional. He made it clear it was a mistake. So I'm matching his energy. Cold. Professional. Emotionless. Like a well-dressed robot."

Sophie cackled. "A sexy robot who might be pregnant."

"Shh!" I whispered, glancing around like someone might have bugged the office. "Don't jinx me! I haven't even taken a test yet. For all we know, I could just be having an allergic reaction to salad."

"An allergic reaction that causes cravings and boobs hurting as they went through fight club? Okay, Emily. Denial looks good on you."

I rolled my eyes and smiled despite myself. "Let me survive today first. Then I'll think about peeing on sticks tomorrow."

Just as I was about to reply to one of Sophie's ridiculous jokes, a loud DING echoed from the elevator. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of high heels clacking like they were trying to declare war with the marble floors.

And then she appeared.

A Barbie.

I swear, if Barbie got possessed by Regina George and thrown into a pink tornado, this would be the result. Platinum blonde hair in bouncy curls, a tiny hot pink dress that looked like it lost a fight with a sewing machine, and heels that made her legs look like they had their own Instagram account.

She eyed me like I was the dirt under her overpriced Louboutins.

"Hi, can I help you?" I asked politely, even though my inner voice was screaming, Girl, you look like you were spat out of Barbie's plastic throat.

She gave a little snort. "I'm Sabrina Rodriguez. Dominic Steele's fiancée. So technically, I'm your boss too." She gave me a once-over, nose scrunched as I smelled like expired milk. "Now, go get me a strawberry latte from across the street. Two minutes. Chop chop."

My heart. Stopped.

Fiancée?

I blinked. When? How? Since when?! I felt the world tilt slightly. The salad in my stomach turned traitor and tried to climb its way back up.

Still, I nodded with a smile that felt stitched onto my face. "Sure, ma'am."

Ma'am?! Ugh, kill me.

She strutted off into Dominic's office like she owned the place, leaving a trail of artificial vanilla perfume and heartbreak.

The moment the door closed, I bolted to the restroom.

The second I locked the door, I collapsed against it, sliding down like I was in some low-budget rom-com. Except there was nothing romantic about this.

I was the other woman.

I was the girl he cheated with.

And now everything made sense. The coldness. The "It was a mistake" line. The silence.

"You stupid, naive idiot," I muttered to myself, wiping away tears. "You fell for the boss on the first night. You might be pregnant, and he's freakin' engaged to a Barbie demon."

After a few minutes of ugly crying and motivational self pep talks, I pulled myself together. Lipstick reapplied, eyes patted dry.

Barbie asked for a latte. So Barbie gets a damn latte.

I crossed the street, got the stupid strawberry latte, and grabbed a few pastries for myself. Because apparently, my appetite didn't get the heartbreak memo. Didn't I just eat like twenty minutes ago? I wondered. Maybe I'm growing a second stomach.

Back at the office, I dropped my pastries and headed to Dominic's office, latte in hand. I was still distracted, mentally composing an email to HR about hostile pink environments, when I opened the door without knocking.

Big mistake.

There they were.

Dominic and Sabrina. Making out like it was the Titanic and they were trying to repopulate the ship.

I nearly dropped the drink. My hand trembled, but my face stayed neutral. Years of dealing with customer service, Karen's had trained me well.

I cleared my throat.

Dominic looked up, startled, like a deer caught in headlights. Then, quick as lightning, his face morphed back into its usual cold expression.

Sabrina turned and looked at me like I'd just farted on her Gucci dress.

"What?" she snapped.

I smiled sweetly. "Your drink, ma'am."

She waved me off like I was a fly buzzing around her crown. "Just drop it and leave."

I walked in, placed the drink on the table, and turned to leave. But not before giving Dominic a look.

A look that said, I know.

Then I said, loud and clear, "Anything else, Mrs. Steele?"

Dominic flinched.

Barbie glared.

I smirked internally.

She waved her hand like she was blessing me with permission to breathe. Rude.

As I walked out, I made sure to sway my hips just a little extra. If I were going to be the office scandal, I was going to be the hot one.

You don't get to have me, Dominic Steele. Enjoy your pink nightmare.

I sat at my desk, unwrapped my pastries, and took a massive bite. I didn't care if I cried and chewed at the same time. I deserved this croissant and an Oscar for my performance.

Tomorrow, I'll take the test. Tomorrow, I'd face reality.

But today?

Today, I survived. Barely.