56. Party Charter
Chapter fifty-six
Party Charter
Cameron
There are few things in life more intimidating than a woman carrying two babies at once asking you to move her laptop because she can no longer comfortably reach the coffee table.
“I should be pregnant, not paralyzed,” Alexis insists.
“You are approximately eighty percent baby.”
She narrows her eyes at me from the corner of the couch.
Before she can say anything else, Jeremiah appears from the kitchen carrying a glass of water and a plate with apple slices, cheese, and crackers arranged neatly enough that I briefly wonder if he cut them himself or hired a caterer.
He sets both on the table, moves Alexis’s laptop closer to her without comment, then looks at her.
“Drink.”
Alexis’s expression changes immediately.
Not dramatically, but enough that I catch it.
“Yes, Sir.”
Jeremiah’s mouth twitches.
He kisses the top of her head and looks at me. “She keeps forgetting.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I forget because I have to pee every thirteen minutes.”
“That does not make dehydration an efficient solution.”
He says it so seriously that I laugh.
Alexis glares at both of us.
Jeremiah looks completely unbothered. “I’m upstairs if you need anything.”
“I need everyone to stop hovering.”
“No.”
He leaves.
I watch him disappear toward the stairs, then look at Alexis.
“He’s one of the ones who doesn’t want kids, right?”
She follows my gaze and smiles.
“Yep. Very firmly.”
“And he’s currently meal-prepping your snacks and monitoring your water intake.”
“He claims that’s taking care of me, not parenting.”
“That sounds suspiciously like something Ronan would say.”
Alexis laughs, one hand settling over the enormous curve of her stomach.
The babies move enough that I can actually see it.
My eyes go wide. “Okay, that is fucking weird.”
She puts her hand on her belly. “It gets weirder.”
“Can I?”
She catches my hand and puts it against the side of her belly before I finish asking.
For a few seconds, nothing happens.
Then something pushes hard against my palm.
I jerk my hand back on instinct.
Alexis laughs so hard she grabs the underside of her stomach.
“Oh my God.”
“That was a foot.”
“There is a person in there.”
“Two, actually.”
I put my hand back, and another movement rolls under my palm.
It is objectively incredible.
Also deeply horrifying.
Also sort of adorable.
And it awakens absolutely nothing in me resembling a biological clock.
Apparently mine is digital and has been permanently set to Do Not Disturb.
Alexis studies my face.
“Nothing?”
“They’re adorable.”
“They’re currently inside me.”
“Still adorable.”
“And?”
“And I remain extremely committed to returning them to you if you ever hand them to me after they come out.”
She snorts. “Good to know.”
I settle back into the chair across from her and reach for my coffee.
“So how much longer are you working?”
“That’s actually why I asked you to come over.”
Her tone changes just enough that I lower the cup.
“Oh.”
She reaches for the laptop Jeremiah moved and opens it.
“I’m starting leave in about three weeks unless these two decide otherwise.”
“That soon?”
“Holden would prefer yesterday.”
“That tracks.”
“I negotiated.”
“Also tracks.”
She turns the screen toward me.
There is a document open with the Laugherty logo at the top.
My name is under it.
My stomach drops.
“What is that?”
“A contract.”
“I gathered that.”
“For Interim Director of Marketing.”
I stare at her.
Then the screen.
Then her again.
“Alexis.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“I very much do.”
“You don’t have a marketing team.”
“Nope.”
“So interim director means—”
“You.”
My mouth goes dry.
Alexis shifts, getting more comfortable against the mountain of pillows behind her.
“As you know, when I started, Carter was still handling both sales and marketing. There are people who can help you with pieces of things. IT handles web infrastructure. Admin can help with scheduling and logistics. But there isn’t a department full of people I’m handing you.”
“So you’re offering me your actual job.”
“Temporarily.”
“Your actual executive-level job.”
“Yes.”
I sit back. “Holy shit.”
“That was roughly my response when Jeremiah suggested we make it official.”
I look at the document again. “What does official mean?”
“Six months. Interim Director title. You work directly with Carter on sales alignment. Jeremiah has final approval on the broader executive stuff. Ethan approves budget, especially ad spend and anything outside what we’ve already allocated.”
“So three men who are all terrifying in completely different ways.”
“They’re actually pretty easy to work with.”
“You sleep with all of them.”
“That probably does impact my experience.”
I laugh despite the nervous pressure building behind my ribs.
Then I scroll.
And stop.
The number makes absolutely no sense.
I blink and read it again.
“Is that for the whole six months?”
“Yes.”
“Alexis.”
“I know.”
“That’s six figures.”
“Yes.”
“For six months.”
“Yes.”
“What the fuck?”
She starts laughing.
I stare at the screen long enough that the numbers blur.
Six months.
More money than I have ever made in sixteen consecutive months in my life.
Enough that I could pay my share of things without mentally assigning every bill to a client. Enough that I could put money away. Enough that when Alexis comes back, and I go back to some version of freelance and contract work, I wouldn’t immediately be staring down the cliff edge again.
My throat tightens.
“I don’t even know if I’m qualified for this.”
“Yes, you do.”
I look at her.
She shrugs one shoulder.
“You’ve already done the launch work. You’ve already been in meetings with Carter and Jeremiah.
You understand the brand, the clients, and how we work.
I recommended you, but Jeremiah asked for results before he agreed.
Carter asked whether you could handle the strategy without me holding your hand. Ethan wanted numbers and scope.”
“That is a horrifying amount of evaluation I did not know was happening.”
“You got the job anyway.”
I swallow.
Alexis’s expression softens.
“This isn’t me doing you a favor, Cami.”
I hate how quickly my eyes burn.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I nod, even though she is probably right to ask.
She reaches across the space between us as far as her stomach allows, and I take her hand.
“You’re good at this,” she says. “Take the money.”
A laugh escapes me.
“That may be the most persuasive career advice I’ve ever received.”
“Good.”
One of the babies moves again under her shirt.
I look down.
Then back at her. “Take the money and run before the children arrive?”
“Basically.”
I squeeze her hand. “I think I’m going to say yes.”
“You should.”
“Okay.”
Her grin is immediate. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
And for a few seconds I just sit there, holding the hand of my extremely pregnant friend while trying to process the fact that somehow, in the last year, I went from calculating whether I could afford insulin and rent at the same time to being offered an executive-level contract.
Life is fucking weird.
By the time I get home, I have mentally spent the money six times and saved it twelve.
Everyone is in the kitchen because the mobile signing appointment with the lawyer’s office is tonight, and apparently nothing says romance like five people signing documents about incapacity and death around the same table where we eat tacos.
Dex sees my face first. “What happened?”
“I got a job.”
Micah looks up from the refrigerator. “A job job?”
“I had jobs before.”
“You know what I mean.”
I drop my bag on the counter. “Interim Director of Marketing for Laughert for six months.”
Griffin smiles immediately. “Cami, that’s huge.”
“It’s also six figures.”
Silence.
Dex slowly puts down the chip he is holding. “For six months?”
“Yes.”
“Are they hiring musicians? Bartenders?”
“No.”
“Tattoo artists?” Micah asks.
“No.”
“Paramedics?” Griffin adds.
“Also no.”
Ronan watches me over his glasses. “You’re taking it.”
It isn’t a question.
“Yeah.”
His smile is small but immediate. “Good.”
Everyone starts talking at once after that. Griffin pulls me into a hug. Dex demands expensive dinner. Micah tells him my first act as a highly paid executive should not be financing his steak habit.
It takes several minutes before we settle.
I end up perched against the counter beside Griffin, still buzzing.
“Also, I felt a baby move today.”
Dex points at me. “No.”
“What?”
“No baby fever. We cannot add an infant to this house. Ronan would move into the woods.”
“I would not move into the woods,” Ronan says.
“You absolutely would.”
“I require internet.”
I laugh.
Then realize something. “Actually… have we ever really talked about that?”
The room quiets.
“Kids,” I clarify. “Like all of us. Together.”
Griffin’s hand settles against my lower back.
Ronan closes the folder in front of him.
“I’m like ninety-nine percent sure I don’t want them,” I say before anyone can start worrying this is an announcement. “For the record. Alexis is adorable, pregnant. The babies kicked my hand. It was cool as hell. Still no.”
Dex exhales theatrically. “Thank fuck.”
“Subtle.”
“I love children. In theory. At events. Where their legal guardians eventually take them home.”
Ronan nods. “That is approximately my position.”
I look at Micah.
He shrugs. “I’ve never wanted kids.”
Then Griffin goes quiet.
Not upset.
Thinking.
“I always figured I would,” he says finally.
Something in my stomach tightens.
He looks at me and must read it immediately.
“No. Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m giving something up.”
I stay quiet.
He rubs his hand over his jaw. “I think I just assumed I would. Wife. Kids. House. That whole thing.”
Dex wisely does not make a joke.
Griffin looks around the kitchen.
At all of us.
Then back at me.
“But if you ask me if I actually want to raise a kid?” He exhales. “No.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” His answer is firmer now. “I like our life. I like my job, even when the schedule sucks. I like being able to come home after forty-eight hours and sleep. I like that we can travel. I don’t feel like anything’s missing.”
My chest loosens.