I come back to the present as I consider our busy schedules.
“Don’t forget, we’re going to my parents’ house for Christmas Eve tomorrow,” I remind him.
“Is that when we’re going to tell them?” Levi asks.
“If you want to,” I say, crossing the office floor and perching on the edge of my desk. “I certainly don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep the secret.”
“Well, eventually they’re going to realize regardless,” he says. “I mean, unless you’re willing to lean in hard to the ‘I just really like donuts’ story. Of course, I even that jig is going to be up in July when we show up to their house with a baby.”
“Ok, then we’ll tell them tonight!” I reply, dissolving into laughter.
Levi kisses me, hard, and it feels like a reminder of his promise that he’ll never stop loving me.
And then he runs his hand across my abdomen, which is still flat, given we only just discovered the pregnancy a few weeks ago. It came as a bit of a surprise, though one we were both more than happy to discover.
I was shocked and relieved to realize that Levi was excited to be a dad—but then I realized that nothing should really shock me anymore when it comes to my husband.
He’s the most amazing person I’ve ever known.
And since discovering the news, he’s taken to placing his hand on my belly and just grinning.
Once, I asked him what he was thinking when he does that.
Levi told me he was sending that baby the very same message he gave to its mother daily – I will never stop loving you.
“Oh, and don’t forget to call Fair Housing,” I tell Levi now, pointedly, in that tone that says you better obey me or I’ll make your life very difficult. It’s the tone that’s kept this firm running smoothly since I took the reins. “We need to stay on top of all of this.”
“I’ll never stop,” he tells me, and his eyes are glimmering as he says it.
“Never, ever,” I agree, and I turn and the tears are falling now. Happy tears.
Tears of pure joy.
I know I’m just emotional because of the baby.
Or maybe it’s because I know what Levi says is true, and that sometimes his love fills me up and overflows, and the tears come.
I wipe the tears from my cheeks and get back to work. I’m smiling now, and I know I’ll be smiling for a long time to come.
THE END
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Bonus Content: Jackson (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book One) by Paige North
Jackson
I sit staring at the phone, my hand clenched in a fist over my mouth. I close my eyes and tell myself to get my shit together. Do the usual, calm my breathing and remind myself that I can fight through this just like always.
A few seconds later, my eyes open again…and I’m still fucked.
My father always knew how to push my buttons, but after twenty-eight years of his shit, I thought I’d learned to stay cool under his unrelenting pressure—and the pressures of Croft International. This business is all pressure, all the time. There is no room for any cracks or weaknesses.
But that phone call…
How could he?
After everything I’ve done to earn my place in this business? After all of my sacrifices?
It turns out the old man saved his best trick for last. Pulled the rug out from under me and then disappeared off the face of the earth, so he’d never have to answer for any of it.
I get up and stride across my expansive office to the bar tucked into custom-made walnut bookshelves. Toss a few cubes in a glass and pour three fingers worth of the scotch that is the same age as I am.
I take a deep gulp as I look out at the view from my office. The strong, smooth alcohol and serene view of the boats bobbing in the harbor are supposed to soothe me. Instead, all I feel is anger rising and rising, the image of my bastard father growing stronger. He’s laughing from the grave where the dirt is still fresh, of that there is no doubt in my mind.
A grating buzz sounds from the phone.
“Mr. Croft? Your ten a.m. is here.”
“Christ,” I mutter. I push the intercom button. “Sandra, I can’t do it. You’ll have to reschedule.” I don’t even remember what’s on my calendar but at this moment I don’t care. My only plan is to finish this scotch, then start on another.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Croft. But she says this is the third time—”
“Damn it, I said I'm busy!” I snap. What part of reschedule did she not understand? I throw back another drink, nearly draining the glass. It stings my throat but in a good way, like a rough massage.