“I have been thinking about names,” I said.
“Oh, have you? I’m sure my mother will come with a list of ones she hopes we use.”
“My mom probably will, too. But... I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I think I know what I’d like to name the baby. If it’s okay with you.”
“Okay,” he said. “What?”
I paused. “Marissa.”
I’d known from the beginning that if the baby turned out to be a girl, that I wanted to call her that. And after the big ultrasound and we found out the baby was indeed a girl, I’d taken to referring to her as Marissa when I’d talk to her in my head. Yet now as I stood there, having just told Cole, I felt a flare of uncertainty; was it wrong of me to suggest that? I had never met Marissa, after all, though by now I’d seen pictures of her, and Cole and his parents had told me stories about her, and she seemed like someone that I probably would have been friends with, if she were still alive.
Cole’s expression was hard to read; his face didn’t immediately break out into a smile, though he wasn’t frowning, either. But just when I was about to say that we could think of something else if he wanted to, he pressed his lips together and nodded. His eyes had misted over.
“I think that would be perfect,” he said softly. “I really do.”
“Me too.”
He put his arms around me and pulled me toward him. “I love you, Allie,” he said. “And our daughter.”
“I love the both of you,” I said. He smiled, and I leaned in and kissed him. I felt baby Marissa kick inside me, as if she was saying I love you too.
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BOSS’S VIRGIN
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Ian
This is what happens when you do favors for friends.
Jonathan asked if I’d do him a solid and give his friend an interview since we needed to hire a new secretary. What were the words he’d used? Smokin’ hot AND intelligent? I looked over my steepled fingers at the girl sitting nervously on one of the two chairs on the other side of my desk. The chairs were maple, straight-backed, very fine craftsmanship but no cushions, so whoever was sitting there would have to perched upright, slightly uncomfortable. At attention, if you will. My own ass was luxuriating in an ergonomic leather executive chair—Tuscan leather, mahogany accents, ability to recline, retractable footrest. I was reclining now, as a matter of fact, wishing that I had not agreed to do this favor for Jonathan. I mean, this girl, Daisy, was attractive, sure, but she dressed in such a way that was trying to disguise it, with her black A-line skirt that went past her knees, her blouse buttoned all the way up, those black, school marm oxfords. This girl didn’t need a job; she needed a goddamn crash course in fashion.
But we’d just sat down, and if I didn’t at least go through the formalities, I’d have to endure Jonathan’s bitching, and I already heard enough of that as it was.
“So,” I said. “You’re friends with Jonathan?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. She cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said again, a little more loudly. “We met at the gym.”
“And you were previously employed at . . . where?” I leaned forward and rifled through some papers on the desk, though there was nothing there that would give me any clues about her previous work experience.
“Shear Genius.”
“The hair salon?”
“Yes. I was the administrative assistant there.”
“You were the secretary.”