Baby Daddy Read online

  Baby Daddy

  Copyright © 2018 Kendall Ryan

  Content Editing by

  Becca Hensley Mysoor

  Elaine York

  Copy Editing and Formatting by

  Pam Berehulke

  Proofreading by

  Virginia Tesi Carey

  Cover Design by

  Uplifting Designs

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Table of Contents

  About the Book

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Up Next

  Acknowledgments

  Get the Next Book

  Follow Kendall

  About the Author

  Other Books by Kendall Ryan

  About the Book

  We met in a trapped elevator.

  Emmett was on his way to work, sophisticated and handsome in his tailored suit and tie.

  I was on my way to the sperm bank. Awkward, right?

  At thirty-five, my life hadn’t taken the path I thought it would and I was tired of waiting—I wanted a baby. And I was ready to take matters into my own hands to make it happen.

  After our ill-fated elevator encounter, Emmett insisted on taking me to dinner—he also insisted on something else—that I ditch my plan involving a turkey baster and let him do the job. He would be my baby daddy. He was a wealthy and powerful CEO with little interest in diapers or playdates. And since he didn’t want kids, I’d be on my own once his bun was in my oven, free to go my own way.

  But once his baby was inside me, it was like a switch had been flipped, and I got a whole lot more than I ever bargained for.

  Prologue

  Emmett

  I love my dick.

  That’s a fact.

  And I’m not afraid to admit he’s both my best friend and my most trusted advisor. Sure, he’s gotten me into some tight spots over the years—pun very much intended—but that’s what makes life fun, right? I wouldn’t trade our relationship for the world. He stands tall and proud . . . and when he spots something he likes? He bobs with pleasure, begging to get closer.

  And as for me? Well, I trust his judgment. Completely. He didn’t bob for the stunning and funny Laura in accounting. I knew there was a reason, and as it turns out, she’s a bit of a klepto. Three hundred seventy-two staplers kind of klepto.

  But I’m not a total douchebag, I promise. I’m just a young CEO under immense pressure, so in my downtime, blowing off steam is practically a necessity. It’s my duty to keep my dick happy, and a steady diet of beautiful women keeps us both satisfied. I do what I can to make his life as simple and as easy as possible. Plenty of no-strings sex does the trick.

  I find that when he’s well taken care of, I feel better and my brain works efficiently. Shit, my whole life just seems easier.

  It’s that simple. I love my dick, and loving my dick makes my entire life better.

  When my dick perks up in interest, begging for a taste of the woman we’re stranded with in a stuck elevator for two hours, I listen to his dirtiest wishes and ask her out to dinner. But the last thing I expect her to say is that she’s not interested in my dick. She’s just interested in the stuff inside, the stuff that can give her the baby she so desperately wants. No strings attached.

  Who am I to say no?

  Welcome to the craziest ride my dick’s ever gotten me into.

  Chapter One

  Jenna

  This is it.

  This skyscraper doesn’t look like anything special. No different from any of this city’s dozens of office buildings covered in mirrored windows or gray concrete. But as soon as I cross the threshold, I’ll be taking the first step toward my dream.

  Every step feels heavy with anticipation. I pause outside the building’s tall revolving door, steeling my nerves for what I’m about to do. This is just a consultation, I tell myself. It’s not like I’m getting knocked up right here on the spot. They probably won’t even prescribe me any fertility drugs yet. All I’m doing is getting more information and learning how the process works. Still, it feels more like I’m jumping off a cliff rather than walking into a doctor’s office.

  Smoothing my sweaty hands over my skirt, I take a deep breath to chase away the butterflies in my stomach. Then I stride inside and cross the lobby. I’ve never been so excited or so frightened. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is what I want, but having a baby is still a monumental decision. It’s not like it’s a pair of shoes I can return if I have buyer’s remorse. I can’t take it back, and it will change my life forever.

  In the elevator, I press the button for the thirteenth floor. There’s something that strikes me as ominous with that floor number. But I know that it’s just my nerves and anxiety working overtime, so I step in.

  Just before the doors close, a large, strong-looking hand shoves between them and they retreat. A man in a crisp navy suit and a white shirt steps inside—and damn, what a man. My jaw threatens to drop open at the mouthwatering sight. He’s tall, with broad shoulders that his tailored jacket does nothing to hide. Sculpted jaw. Dark hair in a clean-cut, classic style. Brown eyes, the color of a rich brandy, with just a few lines around them crinkle at the corners in mischief.

  I hastily pretend to be fascinated with the carpet so he doesn’t catch me ogling him. He hits the button for the top floor and stands a little closer than necessary.

  Is he doing that on purpose? Does he not understand the concept of personal space, especially when his personal space is practically rubbing up against mine? No, he’s acting perfectly normal; I’m the one who’s reading way too much into this situation. Damn these nerves.

  I can’t turn off my awareness of him. I can smell his crisp cologne. Hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I can feel his body heat. My heart beats faster as we rumble upward, floor by floor, the tiny enclosed space of the elevator just full of him. Even though he hasn’t said a word, his presence is still so intense, almost overpowering.

  Dammit, he’s perfect.

  It’s ridiculous how scorching hot he is and how I’ve run into him here, now, of all times and places. It’s almost like the universe is laughing at me. Mocking my decision to give up on finding a partner to plant his seed in my garden of love. Dangling the exact kind of man I’ve always wanted—and never managed to catch—right in front of me. He even looks about my age, maybe a few years older. I sneak another glance and peg him at mid to late thirties. This is so unfair.

  Suddenly, there’s a metallic screech. A jolt that makes us both stumble. Our breaths catch simultaneously, and his hands reach out and grab my upper arms. I’m seared by his touch. Every pa
rt of me is alive.

  My eyes fly open wide. No. No, seriously, come on. You gotta be kidding me.

  Ignoring my frantic prayers, the elevator grinds to a jarring halt.

  “Shit,” the man grumbles. “You all right?” His gaze penetrates mine, and I’m unsure if the tightness in my stomach is because of his touch or because of the elevator.

  I nod. “Just startled.” And a bit pissed off. Although, despite everything, I still can’t help noticing that his voice is just as yummy as the rest of him. A smooth, rich baritone.

  Rather than pressing the Help button on the wall panel, he releases his hold on me and pulls out his phone. “Hey, Ted. The elevator’s stopped.” A pause. “Does it matter? Somewhere around the tenth floor.” A much longer pause, during which a deep furrow appears in his brow that causes my stomach to sink. “I see. Thanks.” He hangs up.

  “Well?” I ask, unable to keep the anxiety from my voice.

  “That was the building maintenance manager. He’s going to call a repair crew, but he said it’ll probably be about half an hour until the company can get them dispatched, and then at least another half hour until they can fix whatever the problem is.” The man pockets his phone, looking annoyed but unconcerned. “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while.”

  Meanwhile, I groan, wanting to tear my hair out. “Ugh, I can’t believe this.”

  Good-bye, doctor’s appointment. Hello, no-show fee and redoing all the scheduling hassle. Maybe they’ll waive the fee, at least. I have a good excuse—they’re sure to hear about their own building’s elevator breaking down. Thank God I ate breakfast this morning.

  Oh my God. Why am I thinking about breakfast right now when my nerves have scrambled—pun intended—every breakfast morsel sitting in my stomach. I almost feel like vomiting.

  “Yeah, it’s a pain in the ass.” He sighs. “But there’s nothing we can do about it now besides make ourselves comfortable.” He lowers himself to sit cross-legged on the floor, expensive suit and all.

  How can he be so blasé about being trapped in a metal box for an hour, possibly longer? Me, I’m trying to get my anxiety together and not lose my shit.

  I cock my head at him. “You don’t have somewhere to be?”

  “Yes, work, but my office will probably be happy that I’m showing up late for once.” He chuckles. “My name’s Emmett, by the way.”

  When I don’t make a move to sit, he gives me another smile. “I promise I don’t bite. Not unless you ask nicely. Join me?”

  God, why does he have to be so fucking hot? And whatever this is—this flirty banter from him? I’m so out of practice, it’s not even funny. What do I do with my hands right now?

  I awkwardly kneel on my side of the elevator, holding down my skirt so I don’t flash him by accident. “I’m Jenna. So, you work in this building? What do you do?”

  I guess we have nothing better to do right now than strike up a conversation. And talking is the only thing that will keep me from obsessively texting my assistant, Britt, to ask how she’s handling things at the bookshop.

  He shrugs. “I took over the family business a couple of years ago.”

  Way to avoid actually answering what it is that he does for a living. This is going to be a long hour.

  In that moment, his friendly smile turns crooked. He glances at the button I punched on the control panel. “And what about you? You were headed to the spank bank?”

  My head pulls back as I open and close my mouth a few times, struck dumb. “What? It’s . . . I . . . No!”

  “Sorry, that’s a pretty juvenile term, I suppose.” He smirks at me. “Masturbation station? I’m sure that’s not much better.” His smirk is overwhelmingly sexy.

  I roll my eyes for good measure. “I’m not going there. And even if I were, it’s none of your business,” I say with a huff, hoping my cheeks aren’t turning pink.

  His grin is full-on devilish now. “The clinic is the only thing on that floor, so you were either going there for business . . . or for pleasure. You aren’t carrying a big enough briefcase to be a pharmaceutical rep, you don’t look old enough to be a jizz doctor, and you aren’t dressed in scrubs, so you aren’t a nurse. There’s only one option left.”

  I’m rescued from further interrogation by my phone ringing. Thanks for the save, Mom.

  “Hold on, I should take this,” I mutter, then turn aside slightly to answer. “Hello?”

  “Did they stick it in yet?” Mom hollers without preamble. “Or do they just give you the stuff in a little jar?”

  Did I say thanks to the woman who birthed me? I take it all back.

  I keep my phone volume on maximum, and Mom’s voice is permanently set to “as loud as humanly possible.” Glancing at Emmett, I see he’s smirking like he’s holding in a laugh.

  Fuck, my face is on fire. “N-now’s not a good time, Mom. I’m stuck in an elevator.”

  “Oh no! You spent weeks trying to get that appointment. What a shame. Are you okay? Did you bring a snack? Do you need to pee?”

  I love you very much, but please shut up. “It’s fine, seriously,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “A repair crew’s coming to get us out any minute now. I’ll call you later.”

  “But what about your—”

  “SorryIloveyoubye.” I hammer the End Call button before she can announce more embarrassing details to the world, then grudgingly glance back at ungodly sexy Emmett. “Any chance you didn’t hear that?”

  He shakes his head, still smirking. “Sorry, I’m not going to lie. I heard every word, and my question has been answered. Pleasure, it is.”

  “Awesome.” I drop my phone back into my purse and consider dying on the spot.

  There’s a moment of silence before Emmett says, “So, that seems like a—”

  “Yes, okay? You were right.” I sigh. “I’m going to the fertility clinic. I want a baby. It’s not a big deal.” But, of course, it is a big deal. The biggest.

  “There’s nothing wrong with that. But why didn’t your husband come with you? Seems inconsiderate to let you do this all alone.”

  Ouch. “Because I don’t have one.”

  “Your boyfriend, then.”

  I shake my head. “Fresh out of those too.”

  He blinks, surprised. “Girlfriend?”

  Dear God, this man . . . “No. I’m single.” Maybe not always happily, but I think I’m doing all right. Except for times like this, sitting near a prime male specimen like Emmett and having to look and not touch. I really want to touch. Even just to strangle him.

  “I see.” He rubs his chin, looking thoughtful. “So you’re just . . . doing it.”

  I give him a curt nod. “Yup.”

  A heavy silence hangs between us, and his gaze latches onto mine like he’s trying to sort this out, trying to understand it—understand me—on some deeper level. I fiddle with my hands in my lap, not exactly pleased that his knitted brow suggests I’m a complicated math equation—or a bomb he needs to defuse.

  Clearing my throat, I square my shoulders, fighting to regain some of the confidence I’ve lost since the elevator stopped. “I’m sorry, this is . . . can we just start over?”

  Emmett raises both hands in front of him. “Yes, absolutely. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sure it’s a very personal decision.”

  I nod again. “It is. It’s just . . .”

  I take a deep gulp of air and let my gaze wander to the beige paneled walls. It seems the perfect metaphor—I’m tired of living a beige life. I want more.

  “I’m used to taking the bull by the horns,” I say, my voice rising. “I started my own business a few years ago, and it’s left little time for relationships. Now I’m thirty-five, and . . .” The clock is ticking. I shake my head. “I guess it’s not that out of character for me, going after something I want. I’ve made all the big life decisions up till now, so this is really no different.”

  Except that it is. It’s very d
ifferent, and doesn’t just involve me if I fail.

  Why am I telling him all this? When I left the house this morning, I never expected to have to bare my soul to a stranger. Then again, no one’s forcing me. Perhaps it’s just a byproduct of being trapped together in such close proximity with the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Smelling him, inhaling him, it’s like drinking truth serum.

  “You’re an independent woman. I think it’s admirable.” Emmett smiles warmly, and I feel the flutter of butterfly wings again.

  It’s nice to have someone acknowledge my decision. Especially someone who seems so normal and levelheaded. My biggest fear in all of this is being judged—by family, by friends, by strangers like him—being made to feel like a nut case for living life on my own terms. I’m glad to see that’s not the case. At least, not by Emmett’s standards.

  “You don’t happen to have a deck of cards or something in that bag of yours, do you?” he asks.

  I’m so thankful we’ve moved on from the topic of my uterus that my shoulders feel an actual weight lift off of them.

  “Sadly, no.” I slip my purse off my shoulder and open it in my lap, scrounging around for anything that will keep the subject off of my life choices. “Would you like a cough drop?” I pull out a handful of the cherry-flavored drops that have been tumbling around at the bottom of my purse since last winter.

  He chuckles. “I’m good.”

  Together, Emmett and I begin taking stock of our personal inventory to pass the time, and I’m amazed at how casual it feels being stuck here with him. I’m not thinking about my assistant, the shop, or the doctor who’s probably wondering where I am right now. There’s no panic, no rush to get out.

  We set everything on the floor between us. I pull out a package of tissues, a pen, mint chewing gum, hand sanitizer, and six tubes of lipstick. He contributes his smartphone and the key fob to a Mercedes, joking that we’d be screwed in a zombie apocalypse if we needed to survive on these meager items, all the while vowing to stockpile better supplies for any future catastrophes such as this.