Baby Bump for the Mafia Boss

1. Stephie

STEPHIE

The last time I saw my boss, he took my virginity, then ghosted me for four months. He broke my heart, and I don’t know if I’ll ever recover.

In his defence, he says he can’t remember the best night of my life.

Not in his defence, I’m pretty sure he’s pretending.

The email that summoned me was in his usual blunt style.

No please, no thank you. No punctuation.

Just “Come to my office” and nothing else.

Even when he’s at his most relaxed with me, chatting over dinner when we’re travelling for work, Mr Bridger doesn’t do any social niceties.

Usually, I like that about him. He’s straightforward in a world that’s often confusing.

Except once.

One time when he said “please” to me, and sounded like he meant it.

And of course, that’s all it took, and I gave him everything.

Dane Bridger is irresistible at the best of times, but when he’s begging me, after we had a near-death experience and were stranded by the snow in a remote cabin, snuggling together for warmth in front of a fire…

? Look, I’m only human. I adore him. He’s kind to me, if a demanding boss.

I can’t resist temptation on that scale.

He said please, and I was only too willing to reply, yes.

Four months later, the consequences are serious. And bump shaped.

I steady my breathing as I pause outside of Mr Bridger’s office.

I mustn’t wait too long, because he’ll be annoyed if I dawdle.

But I double check that my oversized blazer covers the evidence of a little life growing beneath my heart.

I’d do anything for this avocado-sized potential that my boss unknowingly gave me.

I knock on the heavy door. It always hurts my knuckles, which I guess is the point. It’s like banging on a brick wall. No reverberation at all.

“Come in.” Just two words, and the sound of Dane Bridger’s deep, smooth voice makes me weak with longing.

It’s fine. I’m safe. This is all going to be fine, I tell myself as I slip into the office.

Then I look up. Mr Bridger is sitting behind his desk.

His beauty strikes me, again, and my heart aches.

He’s absurdly attractive. Colourless eyes with excessively black lashes, a slight tan from travelling.

His black hair is a touch too long and has a wave that means it flops over his forehead when he’s thinking.

His jaw is defined, and his cheekbones have that thing where his whole face appears to be balanced by them.

But oh god, his mouth. I fight a blush as I remember what those lips felt like on mine.

How plush and generous. How he kissed me in every place he could, as though he was desperate to taste my skin.

And the rough words of praise that he spilled as he pushed into me.

Telling me I was his good girl, and that I was perfectly tight and hot and wet for him.

That I was heaven, and he never wanted to leave me.

That last bit, at least, turned out to be a lie.

He’s staring at me from beneath slashes of black brows, as though he’s as starved for the sight of me as I am him. For a second, neither of us speaks, and awareness of that night seems to shimmer between us. Of our moans of pleasure and words of passion.

Tension fizzes in the air. Behind him, the sky is blue and the water of the docks gleams.

I suppress the urge to put my hand protectively over my slight belly. I’m not stupid enough to give myself away like that.

“Welcome back to London, Mr Bridger,” I say with careful neutrality.

It’s hard to think of him as Mr Bridger when he told me to call him Dane, and has been inside me.

Has filled me with his seed and his baby.

The intimacy of the moment brings me this peace when I remember it.

Like being underwater, with no sound of the chaos outside.

It was just me, and him, the fire and the snow.

He kissed me as if I were everything to him.

“Did you have a successful trip? Trips.” Usually, my boss would take me with him on nearly all his work abroad. But after that night in the cabin, he hasn’t. He’s been away one hundred and seventeen of the one hundred and twenty days since the helicopter crash left us stranded together. Alone.

Every day has been painful intersections of hope and despair.

Knowing I’m still in love with him, carrying a tiny, precious part of him inside me all that time and cherishing it.

Missing him. Not seeing him has been like cutting out my soul.

I didn’t know it was possible to long for someone as I have him.

“They were productive.” He doesn’t look away from me, still eating me up with his eyes. He drags his gaze down me from head to toe, slowly. Intent. But the set of his jaw says this isn’t an enjoyable experience. Quite the opposite. He lingers at my waist, before returning to my face.

Steel stiffens my spine as I wonder, with sudden jealousy, if his trips were productive in the same way as the last one he took me on was.

Whether there are women all over the world who have been told they’re Dane’s good girl, and begged, and when they should have taken some action to prevent pregnancy, just…

couldn’t. Had to leave it to fate and see if they’d have the terrifying, heart breaking, wonderful, magical experience of having a child by the most gorgeous man they’ve ever met.

Even though he’s a kingpin. Dangerous. The leader of the mafia in Beckton, London.

Lord of his kingdom, and also the unofficial emissary to other mafias around the world.

There are probably women who feel the same way as me, maybe in the same situation, in Japan, Brazil, Russia, Italy, Mexico, Spain, Albania.

And all the places in between. My imagination is spinning.

I even saw Australia on his itinerary. Booked his flights, and chose his hotels, all as I knew he was avoiding me for the first time since we’ve met and been working together.

“I’m glad. Were all the travel arrangements to your liking?” He would have told me if they weren’t, but I’m not sure I’m eager to discover why he’s called me into his office after this long absence, when he appears to have decided my services are only required remotely.

“You know they were,” he replies darkly.

I do. I have detailed insight into what Dane Bridger likes.

How he prefers a suite with a dual aspect, but doesn’t want anything too fancy.

How he needs the food to be excellent, but will choose local and seasonal over eating seafood inland or strawberries in December.

I know he can’t rest until his team is properly catered to and cared for.

And I know he likes to make his sexual partner come more than once before he thrusts wildly into her.

Me.

Into me.

My heart twinges. That’s not what he appreciates about me.

He enjoys my expertise in his likes and dislikes, even though he only expresses that through my generous salary and curt assessments of how good something was, and not things that most people get in their jobs, like basic human decency, acknowledgement, or performance reviews.

And definitely not with words like “good girl” or actions like orgasms.

Apparently, his previous assistants met with unlucky ends after they stopped working for him.

Car crashes, a fatal case of sepsis from a mosquito bite, and a house fire.

It ought to make me scared, but the problem is, from the moment I saw him, Dane Bridger has been the one person in the world I wanted.

The only man I’ve ever felt that twist of excitement and desire for.

“Are you happy in this job?” he says abruptly.

I freeze. There’s a right answer here, and I’m unsure what it is.

“Yes,” I say, with more confidence than I feel. I get to see Dane. No, it’s not prestigious, being an assistant, but I don’t mind that. My parents look down on me, but that’s not the job’s fault. I think they would with almost anything I did.

“You don’t want more?” he demands.

“The salary is good. You let me have the time off to do more study for my Masters in Business Administration,” I point out.

It’s not a law degree, so it’s worth nothing as far as my parents are concerned, but I liked studying for it.

It was a lot of work, yes, but it was worthwhile.

Applying dry business concepts to the Beckton is a unique challenge, and I relish it.

“So I have more qualifications. And…” I nearly say that I get to travel, but that’s past tense now.

“I’ve been to lots of countries that I wouldn’t have otherwise. ”

I didn’t even have a passport before I came to work for Dane.

His expression shifts. For a second, I’m sure I can see grief on his face. Deep, and painful.

Then it’s gone, and he’s his usual serious self.

And that’s how I know that when he told me he couldn’t remember that night, he was lying.

Because why would he have totally changed his behaviour towards me if he really had no recollection?

I told him that nothing happened, so it’s only if he knew that wasn’t true would he have felt awkward around me and excluded me from his business trips since.