The Decoy Father

Prologue

NOVEMBER

Ellis

I like my life structured and entirely under my control.

As the Global Brand Director for Overtime Sports, my family’s company, I spend my sixty-hour work weeks managing high-profile athlete endorsements, negotiating eight-figure ambassador deals, and protecting the multi-billion-dollar sports hydration empire that my great-great-grandfather built from the ground up.

I don’t have time for a fairytale romance, and frankly, I don’t want one right now. I see what long-term commitments look like in my world. They’re messy, transactional, and usually end in non-disclosure agreements.

Which is exactly why Dylan Boone has been a perfect arrangement for the last six months.

Across the linen-draped table at Le Gratin, the soft glow of the sun coming in through the windows catches the sharp edge of Dylan’s jawline.

His deep blue eyes are a stark contrast to his black, precisely styled hair, and his body looks like it’s cut from stone after long workouts as a starting defenseman for the New Jersey Reds hockey team.

He’s completely self-absorbed, insanely attractive, and knows exactly how to use his perfect dick. And mouth, if I’m being honest.

Our arrangement is simple. We have good sex—okay, incredible sex— and zero expectations. He gets the perks of sleeping with me, and I get a pretty face, a big cock, and someone to let off some steam with. And he never expects me to cook him dinner or meet his mother.

It’s effortless.

Until three days ago, when three digital pregnancy tests sitting on the counter of my bathroom flashed with an undeniable: PREGNANT.

I swirl the single ball of ice in my crystal glass of sparkling water, trying to ignore the subtle wave of nausea in my lower belly.

I don’t panic. Panicking is for people who lack resources and contingencies.

I handle corporate crises for a living, and this is just a slight variable to navigate at the moment.

“Dylan,” I say, my tone calm but authoritative.

He doesn’t look up from his phone screen. His thumb continues to fly across the glass. “One sec, babe. My agent is texting about my extension at the end of the season. If we lock in the second tranche…”

“Dylan.” I tap my manicured nails on the tablecloth. “Phone down.”

He slowly sets the device face down, adjusting the cuffs of his sweater in a smooth, effortless way that’s always been appealing to me. He flashes me his panty-melting grin—the one that’s plastered along billboards along the New Jersey Turnpike.

“Sup, El?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

“What has you all uptight today? Your dad giving you a hard time about the ad budget for my next campaign or something? You just need to assure him that if he keeps my face on television and in print, you’ll hit your goals this quarter.

Team is winning, and I’m playing some of the best hockey of my career. ”

Oh, Dylan. Everything in his universe revolves around his brand, his contract, and his face. On my bottles.

Our non-exclusive arrangement was built on convenience, sure, but I guess I had a delusional idea that beneath the ego, he had some basic human decency and a hint of maturity.

I’m starting to realize I was spectacularly wrong to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m pregnant,” I say plainly.

The restaurant noise seems to vanish.

Dylan’s smile doesn’t fade smoothly. It just kind of rusts in place. His eyes blink once. Twice. Then the gorgeous facade cracks wide open, revealing something similar to what I’ve seen from him on the ice. Cold, calculating, and cruel.

“What the fuck did you just say?” he asks, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

“You heard me. I’m pregnant,” I repeat, leaning back in my own chair and crossing my legs. “I’ve taken three tests. And I’ve already called my doctor to schedule a blood test, but I’d say those three tests are pretty telling. It’s real.”

I watch him closely. I don’t expect him to burst into tears of happiness or, God forbid, propose. I know who he is and what we are to each other. But in some corner of my mind, I think I expected a mutual understanding of the gravity of the situation we’re in.

Instead, Dylan leans in, resting his muscular forearms on the table. The color completely drained from his face. Shocked.

“A baby,” he says flatly. He wipes a hand down his face, dragging his palm across his mouth. “Ellis. Tell me you’re not serious.”

I raise a single brow. “Not serious?”

“How could you let this happen?! We used protection! And fuck, I’m in a contract year!” he says, his voice screeching like a spoiled brat losing his toy. “I’m set to sign the biggest contract of my career at the end of this season. I can’t be tied down to this. I can’t be playing house!”

“I’m sorry, what? Playing house?” I keep my voice completely controlled, in contrast to his rising hysteria. “Dylan, I’m not asking you to move in with me or pick out nursery furniture. I’m telling you a factual reality. I’m having a baby. Your baby.”

“This is a mistake!” he snaps, his hands gripping the table so tight his knuckles turn white.

He glances around the room to make sure no one is listening to our heated conversation.

“A stupid, careless mistake. You live in some trust-fund land where you can just wave a magic wand, hire nannies, and pretend life is all sunshine and roses. But my entire life is built on my reputation, my focus, my game. I’m not dealing with this right now. ”

His sheer selfishness is almost fascinating to me. The guy who is an absolute god on the ice is turning out to be an absolute pussy. But I don’t flinch. I don’t cry. And I certainly don’t lower my gaze.

I just pick up my glass, take a slow sip, let the ice-cold water run down my throat, and set it back down on the table.

“Well, sweetie, the decision is already made,” I tell him, matching his angry stare with my own. “I’m having this child. You can be as involved as you want or not involved at all. But let me be exceptionally clear. I’m not changing my life just to keep your career clean and your agent happy.”

Dylan stares at me, his handsome face shifting into an expression of unfiltered narcissism. There’s no internal conflict in his eyes. No regret. Just simple, self-preserving calculation.

“You understand that I’m out, right?” Dylan asks, his voice dripping with venom. “Completely out. Don’t call me. Don’t send your daddy’s legal team after me for any kind of support. I will sign away every parental right I have the second I can.”

“Fine by me,” I reply instantly. “I don’t need your money, and I certainly don’t need you. In any way.”

“Don’t even think about trying to drag me into court,” he adds. “I will walk away from the endorsement deal, break confidentiality, and drag your family’s name through every tabloid in the country. I’ll spin this so people think you set me up.”

I really want to laugh in his face. The fact that he thinks he could even get that far is hilarious.

He stands from the table, smoothing his sweater, an act I assume to gain composure. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a tacky gold money clip, and slaps three hundred-dollar bills onto the table next to my untouched meal.

“We’re done, Ellis. Have other people in your company contact me about the endorsement deal. But you,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Ever again.”

He turns on his heel, walks toward the doors, and steps out into the cold streets of Manhattan without looking back.

I glance down at the money sitting in front of me. A sharp flare of disgust surges through me. Not because my heart is broken, but because I wasted six months letting a spineless coward into my life.

I signal the waiter and hand him my Black Card to settle the bill. Then I put on my coat, pick up Dylan’s pathetic cash and hand it to the server, before walking out to my waiting car.

Outside, the sky is grey and icy rain still falls. But when I pull up to Renwick Tower, I don’t bother with an umbrella and make my way into the building.

Once I reach my office, I shed my wet coat and hang it on the rack next to my door. My office is warm and smells like freshly brewed coffee that my assistant must have made for me when I texted her to hold any meetings I had this afternoon. I usually live off coffee all day long.

I take a seat behind my desk after grabbing the coffee off my credenza and start to review a folder of endorsement drafts to clear my head when my door swings open.

“Have you revised the Vaughn contract? I want to get him locked in for a renewal.” My brother, Bryan, marches into the room and flops down in the chair in front of my desk. “Whoa. What’s going on with you? You forget your coat and get caught in the rain or something?”

Bryan is two years older than me and extremely protective. He’s the Chief Operating Officer of Overtime Sports, and while we bicker from time to time, there’s no one on earth I trust more.

“I’m fine, Bry,” I say smoothly, shifting my eyes back to the computer screen. “Just putting in the extra hours to get the next quarter ready to roll.”

“Nope. Not buying it,” he says, standing and stepping around my desk, leaning his hip against the edge, folding his arms over his chest. “Something’s up with you.

You don’t show up for Sunday dinner at Mom and Dad’s this week and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been living off coffee.

Did you finally toss Dylan or something? ”

At the mention of Dylan, my jaw tightens, but my voice, thankfully, remains steady. “We’re definitely not together. Let’s just say I saw his true colors and he wasn’t as pretty on the inside as he is on the outside.”

Bryan snorts, shaking his head. “Good. I told you he was a fuckin’ prick. It was just sex though, right? You’re not hurt by it, or anything, are you?”

“I mean, pretty much,” I say, forcing a smile. “I just wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

“Happy to hear it. You need someone who isn’t obsessed with their own reflection.” He pauses, his gaze lingering on my face. “Is that all it is, Els?”

I turn my chair toward him.

These past few days, I’ve been in a state of panic without anyone to talk to about it. I dealt with the queasiness, reviewed legal implications, and mentally prepared myself for a potential fallout. I’m confident and more than capable of raising a child on my own.

But as I look at my older brother, the one who has backed me up in every fight I’ve ever been in, my armor cracks. Just a little.

“Bryan,” I say quietly.

He bends down to look me in the eye. “Talk to me, Els. What’s going on? Are you sick or something?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Bryan stays completely still. So still, it seems like the room freezes. “What?”

“I'm pregnant,” I repeat, holding my chin high. “It’s Dylan’s.”

“Dylan’s,” Bryan says, the word sounding like a threat. “And where is he?”

“Probably at home,” I say plainly. “I told him at lunch. He threw a temper tantrum, said he’ll sign his rights away, threatened to sue us if I tried coming after him for child support, and leak stories about our family to try to ruin our reputation or something.”

Bryan’s face turns red, then he barks out a laugh.

“Wait, I’m sorry. He said what?”

“It’s fine. Honestly. I don’t want anything to do with him. I certainly don’t need him, and the threats were just comical.” I sit up straighter. “I’m keeping my baby. I don’t need his permission. I don’t need his money. And I certainly don’t need a douchebag in my life. I have plenty of support.”

Bryan stares at me, probably looking for the truth in my words. Then slowly, his eyes soften, and he reaches out, pulling me up from my chair and into a hug.

“We’ll be right there with you,” he says.

“Do you hear me, Ellis? You have me. You have Mom and Dad. You have our entire family behind you and those crazy friends of yours. And if that jackass wants to run, let him. But let me be clear: if he ever steps foot in this building or near your home, or if he even thinks about opening his mouth to the press, I will personally ruin his life and his career before he can even lace up his skates. We’ll handle any contractual obligations with him outside this building.

And like hell we’ll even consider renewing his contract. ”

A laugh bubbles out, the heavy tension in my shoulders releasing. I rest my head on my brother’s shoulder. “Thank you, Bry.”

“Always,” he says, fiercely.

“Can we maybe hold off on telling Mom and Dad, though? Let me see the doctor and get confirmation and all that stuff that goes along with this before I tell them.”

“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.” He squeezes me once, then lets me go.

I nod. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“I got you, sis. Now let’s get back to work.” Bryan always knows how to read me. He knows I’ve had enough of this today and need a distraction.

I have no doubt I’ll be lying in bed thinking about it tonight. But for now, I need to be a boss bitch.

I’m Ellis fucking Renwick. I’m smart, confident, and fiercely independent. Dylan Boone thinks he’s leaving me stranded, but he’s severely underestimated me.

I’m going to bring a baby into this world and raise them with all the love and strength I possess. And I will build an incredible life for us on my own terms.