One Big Little Secret: A Secret Baby Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 2)

It’s almost fitting.

I wake up to find my three alarms weren’t set right for the morning, making me late for work.

Not only that, but because my phone did a system update in the middle of the night, it canceled all of my backup alarms.

I’m the reigning queen of bad luck.

My mom also used to tell me bad news comes in threes. I wonder if the same rule applies to the world’s crappiest luck.

Today, with the way I’m sprinting around like a hen on fire and trying to get Arlo ready, that’s strike one. I’ll have to hope the other two only involve breaking a nail and winding up with an empty soap dispenser in the restroom.

“Mommy! We’re gonna be late,” Arlo calls as I run through the apartment in my robe, desperately trying to find clean underwear in the pile of laundry from a few days ago.

“I know!” I moderate my tone as I pick out clean clothes. “Go sit at the table, honey, and I’ll get you a breakfast bar.”

It’s a grab-and-go breakfast day. Letting him eat unsupervised means he’ll spill crumbs everywhere. I locate his school clothes and lay them out on the bed before getting dressed.

I’m going to be so late.

There won’t be any coming back from this. And Patton—

Nope, we’re not going there.

No point.

Before I crashed last night, I told myself I wouldn’t think about it today.

As far as I’m concerned, the kiss from hell never happened.

Even if the thought of not thinking about it makes my stomach knot up about five different ways.

“Where are your shoes?” I ask Arlo as I grab my purse, simultaneously fumbling with my phone for an Uber. Maybe I’ll have my car by the end of the day, if Patton’s guys are really as good as he claimed.

Stop thinking about him.

“Mommy, I have a question.”

I look up just to humor him.

“…why did you kiss Grumpybutt?”

Oh. My. God.

My blood freezes over.

“Honey, you can’t call him that,” I say absently as the question hits me full force.

I wince. A huge industrial brick sinks to the pit of my stomach.

Holy hell, where do I even start?

“Why’d you kiss Mr. Rory then?” Persistent little beast. I have to tell him something.

Anything but the truth.

“I didn’t kiss anyone, big guy,” I say, praying he’ll believe me. “I bet you dreamed it. You were so sleepy last night, huh?”

“No! I saw you, Mommy. I got up for water.” He frowns, one shoe in his hand.

Ugh, talk about bad choices—I can either gaslight my overly perceptive son or tell him I kissed my boss and I don’t even know why.

“Arlo, last night was nuts. There are things I’m not sure whether I dreamed.” My throat burns as I take the coward’s way out, frantically ordering an Uber.

“But you—”

“Boy-o, let’s get moving. We’re going to be so late.” I clap my hands. “Come on, shoes on. Or do you need help?”

Galvanized into action, he stops chattering, sits down, and slowly—ouch, so slowly—puts on his shoes. My phone pings me to say our ride is approaching.

I grab his little bag and miraculously, we leave the house before half past eight.

Hopefully, kindergarten won’t mind that I’m late dropping him off. I don’t think they will with half the city still digging out from the snowstorm.

Just like I hope no one else notices or cares that I’m late to The Cardinal. Surely, all the days I showed up early will count in my favor somewhere.

“Mrs. Gabbard will pick you up this afternoon since our car’s still getting fixed.” I give him a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Have a good day.”

He waves and happily runs the short distance into the building, his bag bouncing on his back. I wave to a couple other moms, blissfully strolling along and clearly not late for work, before the driver takes off for The Cardinal.

To my relief, I make it in without incident.

Bekah gives me a wink as I hurry past, and I know my secret is safe with her. It’s not that she doesn’t like Patton—no one here dislikes him, I’ve come to realize—but staff look out for each other.

It’s a nice atmosphere, really. One that I might appreciate a lot more if I hadn’t climbed on my boss’s lap and kissed him until my face hurt.

And not just a little bit.

A drunken peck or two, you can move past that without the world ending, but this—

This was infinitely more.

If I close my eyes, I can still feel the way he claimed my lips.

The rough brush of his stubble stinging my mouth, my skin, the thickness of his hair in my hands, the confidence of his touch.

Everything that hasn’t changed over the years.

Everything, just like I remembered, and so much more, my body aching for him like a plant craves light.

Go ahead and laugh. I’m well aware this is the opposite of not thinking about him.

So much for that promise.

Work. I need to work, and most importantly, I can’t be alone with these thoughts.

Sighing, I take a few seconds to touch up my makeup and ensure I don’t look like I’m five seconds away from a mental breakdown. Then I invite Gwen, head of housekeeping, into the office for a check-in.

“You poor thing,” she says as soon as she comes in, taking my hands and holding them tight. She’s old enough to be my mom, and although I’ve only worked with her briefly, I’m pretty sure she thinks of herself as my office mom, even though I’m supposedly her boss.

“Patton told me what happened with the accident… No surprise, given the weather last night. You shouldn’t have come in at all.”

“Oh.” Great. Patton told the staff? “I’m fine, honestly. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. I bet the auto shop will be done with my car today.”

“Honey, you look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I snap again. “A little thing like that can’t keep me from a day’s work. After all, that’s why he helped me out.”

Her brown eyes twinkle, but she just says, “You’ve got a better head than me. I’d be off for half the week if that happened. Oh my, the stress from the repair bill alone…”

“Can’t blame you,” I agree.

“We have pretty generous leave here, you know. And sick pay. There are a lot of benefits. But that’s not why you came to see me, is it?”

It feels a little like I’m in a dream. Or is it a nightmare, hosted by one of the nicest women I’ve ever met?

Either way, the world doesn’t quite feel real anymore as we settle into a conversation about logistics, improvements, and supplies for each floor.

Nothing does since locking lips with the man who scrambles my soul.

And when I meet with several other supervisors to get their feedback, I’m just as disembodied. Maybe Gwen’s right and I really should have called in today.

When I finally get a moment to myself, I look at Arlo’s Grumpybutt art gallery pinned on my walls.

For a split second, I almost break down in tears, fighting the urge to stuff my palm against my mouth and scream.

Yep, I’m losing it.

I hate this entire situation so much.

My hands move ahead of my brain, and I’m in the middle of ripping the drawings down to shove in my drawer when there’s an obnoxiously fast knock on the half-open door.

Here comes strike two, right on time.

I know it’s Kayla before I turn around and smell her wall of heavy perfume.

She has a certain way of making an entrance.

Most people just knock once, maybe twice, sometimes three times. Then they wait to be invited in.

Not her.

She knocks away like a woodpecker, like she’s tapping out a song, right before she barges in and flings the door at the wall.

Probably because she’s so used to being invited everywhere. She can’t imagine a situation where she’s not treated like royalty deigning to grace us mortals with her presence.

“Lemmykins!” She throws her arms around me in an exaggerated hug and plants a perfumed kiss on my cheek, almost knocking me off my chair. “So this is your work lair. Niiice.”

“Hey, Kay,” I manage.

“Huh. It’s kinda small, though, isn’t it?” She wrinkles her nose as she looks around, probably wondering how normal people consider an office a luxury at all, before she forgets all about it. “Anyway, is he here right now?”

He?

It takes me a second to realize who. I just blink at her innocently.

“Patton Rory. Duh. I know you couldn’t tell me much last night with the big storm and all. God, my Thai order was so late in that storm.” She makes a disgusted face and looks around. Almost like she’s just expecting to find him hanging out here even though I’m a humble operations manager and he’s the flipping owner with a few dozen other properties to look after.

I try not to think about all the times he has been in my office, though. Or the fact that he saved my butt last night, only to ruin my life with that kiss like delicious poison.

Stop thinking about it, Salem.

“He’s not here,” I say lamely. “He’s a busy man, you know. He’s probably meeting clients or…” God, I don’t even know. “Actually, I don’t really know his schedule today.”

“But you’re his manager.” The way she beams at me says everything—she expects him to burst in at any second and then drop down on one knee and propose to her at first sight. “You guys talk, right? About like business stuff?”

“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean he’ll just pop in here any second. Some days, I don’t see him.”

Especially not after last night. The way he went slinking off like a guilty cat after knocking over a flower vase.

He’ll be avoiding me for sure.

Just as much as I’m avoiding him.

“You don’t know that, Lemmy.” Kayla sits in the other seat, the one Patton sat in that one time when we were actually being friendly—though not that friendly. “Besides, I’ve got time to kill. Let’s just catch up and see what happens.”

“You’re just going to wait here?” I bite my tongue.

“Yeah?”

“But—”

“Um, how else do you expect me to meet him?”

I don’t know. Another way. Any way that doesn’t involve shredding what’s left of my dignity.

Why can’t she try one of the social events I’m sure they both attend? The ones I wouldn’t be invited to in a thousand years.

Or, you know, at least not by waiting in my office like a tarantula in its little cave, biding her time until he arrives so she can pounce.

I have work, too, not that I’d expect Kayla to understand the concept.

“You could go shopping while you wait?” I suggest, knowing it’s probably hopeless.

“Don’t you want company? It must be so boring here.” She pulls her phone out and flicks through her notifications. “Do you know I posted three times on Instagram after tagging this place to congratulate my bestie? He didn’t like any of them.”

Ouch. If she’s resorted to shout-outs for a complete nobody like me, she must be really desperate.

“He probably doesn’t check his socials much.”

“Yeah, but he follows me,” she whines.

“So? That doesn’t mean he’s glued to Instagram.” I try not to sound jealous.

She blinks at me like the idea of not spending half your life on social media is a foreign concept, right before she looks at her screen to deal with another twenty notifications.

Fine.

I find my headphones so I can drown her out. I’ll just ignore her and work. It’s not like she’s taking up my space with her presence—though her perfume and the click of her nails as she sends another message is a little off-putting.

The minutes run by like molasses.

It’s like time itself wants to amplify how awkward this situation feels. I don’t get much done with her hovering around.

The torture lasts almost an hour.

By then, my eyes are glazed as I reread the same sentence for the fifth time.

Kayla jumps to her feet. She flicks her hair back and walks to the doorway.

I’m instantly filled with dread.

Patton’s terse expression dissolves into annoyance as he sees her standing in front of him. If she had a tail, it would be wagging like crazy.

Worse, he looks just as illegally good as he did yesterday, though he’s swapped the sweater for his usual steel-grey jacket and blue tie.

“Oh my God, hi! I’ve been waiting to meet you,” Kayla says, holding out her hand. “I’m Kayla—Winston Persephone’s daughter?” She pauses, but when his confusion doesn’t lift, she adds, “You know, from the fragrance line?”

“That’s right.” He forces a smile. “Nice to meet you, Kayla. What brings you by?”

She ignores the question.

I watch her lean in, flicking her gaze to his face, then down to his chest as she inhales sharply.

“I can smell our cologne right now. Great choice for a handsome businessman. Isn’t it the best?” she croons, not moving away.

Shoot me now.

Actually, dump my body in the river to rot because I do not want to be here listening to this. Even if the flash of worry sweeping over his face feels mildly satisfying.

He glares at me like I’m somehow the reason he’s stuck in this flirt trap, but I just shake my head and shrug.

Sorry, dude. Not my monkey and not my circus.

“It’s a solid scent,” he grinds out. “Is that why you’re here? To discuss fragrances?”

“Oh, yeah! Kinda. Lemmy here, she’s in charge of supplies and all… I thought your guests might enjoy a complimentary sample of our stuff for the rooms?” She grins like a shark. “We have options for the guys, too. Not just the Sand and Wind one you’re wearing. Like so many options. I’m sure you’d love them all if you tried them out.”

“Really?” He isn’t remotely interested, his eyes going dark with disgust. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll leave you to discuss that with Lemmy. Or if you’d prefer, I’m sure I can find time for your father. Nice meeting you.”

Oh my God.

Hearing him say that stupid nickname guts me in a new way.

Undaunted, Kayla gives him her signature smile and purrs, “Aw, really? You’re too busy to spare a few minutes? I’d love to get to know you—your needs better, I mean.”

Nice, Kayla. Real subtle.

“I’m afraid my schedule’s packed today.” He puts a hand on the small of her back—which I’m pretty sure is almost enough to kill her—and escorts her out before she makes him punch her number into his phone.

I hear her saying something about how many Instagram followers she has through the door as he closes it.

I can’t see her face, but I can picture it.

I try not to laugh.

She’s fuming.

She wasted an hour with me, waiting for him, only to be shown the door in two minutes.

People don’t do that to Kayla Persephone. They just don’t.

But I’m pretty glad Patton just did.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say as he reappears and—rips off his jacket? He grabs a water bottle and starts splashing it around his neckline, blotting it dry with tissues. “Um, what are you doing?”

“Remind me to never wear this goddamned brand again. It’s ruined after meeting her,” he mutters.

I giggle before I can help myself. Amazingly, everything almost feels normal again.

Almost.

Then I remember the hulking elephant in the room and my laughter fades.

Here it comes.

The apology, or maybe a grim, guilty-faced lecture about how it was oh-so-unprofessional even though he was the one who initiated the whole thing.

But he just tosses the used tissues into the trash.

“Is there a relative Arlo can stay with?” he asks.

Huh?

Definitely not a question I expected.

I hoped we’d just mutually agree to never speak about last night again, not entertain weird requests about my kid.

“There’s a real estate conference coming up. This platinum circle event of big players in high-end vacation rentals specifically,” he explains, talking into the void where I wonder if he can read my thoughts.

“Oh?”

“It runs through the weekend, I’m afraid. I know it’s not convenient, but you’ll be paid a travel bonus for your trouble.”

…he’s asking me to go?

Oof.

But more money. A perfect offer I’m hard-pressed to refuse. But at the same time, yikes.

“How long is it?”

“Four days. We’d leave this Thursday.”

Four days away from Arlo.

Four days away from home with Patton.

“The venue’s a beautiful resort in Utah. Highly rated and ultra-exclusive, one of the most decadent luxury spots in the country,” he promises.

Oh, boy. My heart dips.

If I wasn’t sitting, I’d need a chair right now.

Holy hell, this is a big ask.

A conference, which is big anyway, and a mini vacation, which I desperately need. When was the last time I had one without Arlo?

God.

“Salem?”

“…this is a lot,” I say. “Could I ask around and maybe think about it?”

His gaze sharpens. The hot, conflicted look he gives me makes my stomach knot all over again, though I don’t know what it means. It makes me think of last night, but incredibly, he hasn’t even mentioned it.

I don’t know if I want him to.

I don’t get what’s happening.

“Of course you can,” he says, “but I hate to remind you this is a job requirement. It’s also an excellent opportunity to broaden your horizons and learn from a crowd who can teach you more than I can. I’ll have the company sitter on standby if your usual lady can’t help, or I’ll comp her myself if she can. This is very last minute and I won’t be putting anybody out.”

Yeah. So last minute, it feels like the roof is coming down on my head and I don’t know where it’ll leave me.

“Broaden my horizons… for the job, you mean?” I check.

“Obviously. It’s business,” he clips. I think he’s avoiding the subject I desperately want him to talk about most.

“I see.”

“I need you to join me, Salem,” he says, and the sound of my name—the way it hovers on his tongue like he’s tasting it—is enough to snap my gaze back to him.

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do. Utah better be more than smelly salt flats and big rocks, though. I’m holding you to it when you said luxury.”

“Do you still think I’d disappoint you, Miss Hopper?” His eyes narrow.

And there goes my heart, pattering away like it’s broken.

I can’t answer that, so I just shake my head.

For the first time today, his smile reaches his eyes.

The more I think about it, the more excited I am, slowly coming to terms with a decision that feels less crazy by the hour.

By the time I finish work, I’m buzzing.

A vacation.

A real-life honest break from worrying myself sick about everything from money to what we’re having for dinner.

Look, I love Arlo, but it’ll be great to get away somewhere without him and just breathe for a few days.

I don’t let myself think about Patton or that look in his eyes when he invited me on this trip. That’s more complicated than the getaway I need.

Before heading home, I stop off at the Higher Ends office to drop off some paperwork—a thick stack of suggestions from the cleaning staff about process improvements for their jobs. Patton wants to work on employee retention strategies, especially with commercial grade cleaners in short supply around town.

The first time I walked into this sleek glassy building, I felt like an ant.

Now, I’m familiar enough to wave at the receptionist as I head inside. This time of day it’s almost empty, and after leaving the cards in Patton’s inbox like he requested, I make my way to the exit.

“Miss Hopper!”

I turn to see a familiar face hurrying toward me with a bunch of fresh flowers in her arms. Evelyn Hibbing?

“Mrs. Hibbing, hello. What brings you here?”

“Call me Evelyn, dearie, please. Everyone does.” She pauses to look fondly at the flowers in her arms, cascading shades of reds and yellows. “Lovely, aren’t they?”

“Totally. They smell like spring!”

She sighs proudly.

“One of my favorite things about flowers, you know. I came by with these to brighten up the place. Delly and I were at the market this afternoon and I thought the boys would enjoy a little color. So much better than the plastic wreaths they’ve kept up this whole dreary winter.”

“That’s so nice of you,” I say.

“It’s my pleasure, you know. Especially when they’re taking time away from work to look into this little experiment I proposed in moose country.” She smiles and pauses, pursing her lips. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything?”

I hesitate.

“Uh, no. I don’t sit in for executive strategy meetings or anything, unfortunately. Patton hasn’t mentioned it much to me directly, though I’m sure it isn’t far from his mind.” I try to sound cheerful, knowing my market research tells me they’re considering it.

But I can’t stand to get her hopes up, if they decide it’s a no-go.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes. I just thought—well, you and Patton have such delightful chemistry.” She claps her hands together. “But that doesn’t mean you have any unique insights into the business, I understand.”

If I’d been drinking, I’d have sprayed it in her face.

Instead, I choke on my dry words. “We don’t have—um, chemistry. I hope you didn’t get the wrong impression about us?”

“No, perish the thought. But what do you girls call it these days, dearie? Tension?” Evelyn winks. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I know how these things go, particularly with a little boy in the mix.”

“There’s no big secret, Evelyn. We’re not dating,” I insist, though every denial just sounds more like a lie.

What if she’s right?

Ugh, I don’t want to think about it.

“Here’s a friendly tip—if you’re looking to surprise him, Patton loves a good juicy cheeseburger. You’d think with all the money that family has, he’d prefer something more sophisticated, but you’d be surprised. He inherited his father’s palate, I believe. Simple.”

“I see,” I manage numbly.

“Now, I’m not suggesting you take him to a drive-in or anything so obvious. But if you two kids go out for a business meeting and you just so happen to wind up at your favorite greasy spoon, put in a good word for old Evelyn, would you?” She sniffs the flowers in her arms and seems to sag, like the bones holding her up are collapsing. “I don’t mean to burden you or complicate your life. I just haven’t aged as gracefully as Delly, you see.”

I have to admit Delly Rory has aged insanely well.

“You look fine. You’re staying active. That’s a win at your age, I’m sure.”

“We lead very different lives as widows, Delly and me. I blame the cold back home. Oh, and the winter darkness… it’s awful without Walt around to fly us to Nevada for a long weekend. Sin City was my very own light therapy back in the day.” Evelyn laughs sadly. “Of course, I’m not saying I’m jealous of Delly. Never. She deserves every speck of happiness for all the wonderful things she does here. Kansas City has a lovely rustic charm, but Minnesota, that’s my home. I can’t wait to get back when things are greening up.”

“I’m sure it’s beautiful. You clearly have a way with plants.” I eye the flowers again.

“Oh, yes, that was Walt’s thing, and I suppose it had to rub off. I just love flowers, even when I had no hand in growing them. A few times, we even pitched supplying flower arrangements to the big casinos in Vegas, but alas, the distance just wasn’t workable to keep them fresh in those days.” She stuffs the bouquet into a large empty urn on the reception desk. “There. Don’t they make this place pop?”

“They do,” I agree, more enthusiastically than I feel.

At least we’re on safer ground now. Talking about her dead husband feels easier than whatever she suspects is going on between Patton and me, or the real estate deal I have no say in.

But why does she suspect anything at all?

Is the chemistry—oh my God, that stupid word—really so obvious to a family friend?

“I should get going,” she says, picking up the entire urn, probably to put some water in it. “And don’t worry, dearie, I’m on your side. We girls must stick together, especially when real estate moves like lightning. I’m sure a kind word or two will bring them around, right?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “And by the way, I think you’d make the sweetest couple!”

I watch her leave, speechless, as she shuffles away.

Wow. She’s a little more aggressive than I guessed.

The audacity, thinking I have any say whatsoever over whether the Minnesota deal happens or not.

I can’t decide if it’s worse than her thinking there’s anything cute about my awkward, self-destructive non-relationship with Patton Rory.

There’s zero chance it evolves into anything good.

Zero.

Before this day can inflict more weird surprises, though, I hurry from the building. The last thing I need is to bump into Patton again somehow.

Actually, though, that’s not quite right.

The last thing I need is a vacation with this man.

Save me now.