Page 103 of Baby Daddy

CHAPTER 42

Drake

“Who are you?” I asked the skinny, tattooed girl, sitting at the desk outside my office.

“Onyx. Your new temp.”

Jesus. With her purple spiked hair and piercings, she looked more like an alien…one of our Danger Rangers villains.

“Dude, I’ve put all your mail on your desk. If it’s okay by you, I’m going out for a smoke.”

“Sure,” I muttered, trudging into my office. No need to tell her I hated cigarettes and smokers.

My first day back in almost two weeks—after the week in New York and then another home sick. After my encounter with Lulu this morning, I had a setback. My heart felt like it’d been weighted down by a two-ton elephant, and my chest felt hollow. I thought about going home and crawling back into bed, but the thought of hanging at my condo with my housekeeper there wasn’t appealing. Besides, I needed to have my sheets changed and truthfully, the only thing I had to look forward to all day was going home to clean fresh sheets and a made-up bed.

My desk looked like it had been hit by a scud missile. The mail strewn everywhere, so unlike the way Dee laid it out with periodicals neatly stacked and envelopes arranged by size. It was overwhelming, and I decided I’d go through the mess later in the day. As soon as I sat down, my cell phone pinged. It was a text from Brock.

Call me. You’re not going to believe what I have to tell you.

Though he was my best bud, the last person I wanted to hear from at this minute was Brock the Rock. I was still reeling from seeing him with Lulu this morning, and while I knew I should be happy for him, I wasn’t quite sure how his relationship with Dee’s sister was going to affect our friendship. For all I knew, he was texting me to tell me they were moving in together or getting engaged. Brock was a lucky man.

As soon as I set my cell phone down, my desk phone rang. With my new temp on a break, I debated whether to let it go to my voicemail or pick it up. On the third persistent ring, I opted for the latter.

“Drake?”

I recognized the voice immediately. My father’s. Every muscle in my body tensed.

“I saw your car in the parking lot. You’re here?”

After a small coughing fit, I told him I was.

“Please come down to my office. I want to talk to you.”

My pulse quickened. Hanging up the phone, I braced myself for an uncomfortable encounter. I hadn’t spoken to my father since the Gunther Saxton fiasco last Friday night, and though my mother said he wasn’t furious with me, I didn’t totally believe her. My father was not one to get over things easily. Following the tragic death of my sister, he was in a deep depression for over a year that required him to seek counseling.

My father was seated at his desk when I got to his massive corner office. Another small coughing fit captured his attention, and he lifted his head from the periodical he was reading. He took off his reading glasses and his eyes met mine.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said after coughing again into my forearm. The doctor told me that the cough could linger for a couple weeks, but after several days of my medication, I was no longer contagious.

“Good.” No smile. “Take a seat.” No please. He motioned to one of the armchairs facing him. Anxiously, I sat down. His next words rattled me.

“I want you to draft a press release explaining why the deal between Hanson Entertainment and Saxton Enterprises didn’t go through.”

A bolt of anger ripped through me. So, this is how he was going to punish me. For screwing up the deal of a lifetime. By pouring salt in an open wound.

“Why can’t Krizia do it?” It pained me to say her name.

“Because I fired her.”

Despite my wide-eyed surprise, the tone in his voice didn’t leave room for questioning. I was adept at writing press releases, having written them before while I worked in PR briefly after I graduated college. Grooming me to head up the company, my father had made me work in every department.

“This will help you.” He slid the Hollywood Reporter he’d been reading across his desk. “Read this.”

Hesitantly, I picked up the glossy trade magazine. My eyes scanned down the front page until it came to this headline:

Baby Daddy Drama: Escort Claims Media Mogul Gunther Saxton is the Father of Her Child