His Unexpected Baby by Jamie Knight

Chapter Three - Skye

There are things in life that are unavoidable.

Dancing to a rumba beat.

Laughing when others are, even if you don’t completely get the joke.

And really needing to go to the bathroom at the sight and sound of rushing water. Even if you didn’t need to go just minutes before.

Near the top of this list of unavoidable and indispensable things in life, at least for me anyway, are freshly made baked goods. I had always suspected it was a large part of the reason why it seemed like bakery owners set up fans inside just to blow the scent out into the street to draw in unsuspecting suckers.

Captured by the sweet scent like a giant in the mist, I was drawn into the neighborhood bakery, just blocks from meeting my density at work with my new job. The smell was even stronger inside. It was more than enough to make my tummy rumble.

I could almost taste the donuts as they sat all sweet and indicting under the glass. I couldn’t decide which kind I should buy because I wanted all of them. Suddenly, it was like a light bulb appeared over my head as inspiration struck from the clear blue sky.

“I’ll take a dozen, please,” I said to the guy behind the counter.

He smiled.

“Which would you like, Miss?”

“One of each,” I answered, gesturing at the expansive array of options.

“Of course,” he said, looking happy to oblige.

The box was heavier than I thought it would be. The bakers must have really filled up the jellies to get them to that level of heft.

Still, I was proud of my cleverness. I hadn’t had to decide which flavors I wanted, and I could share them among my new colleagues as an act of goodwill and let them choose for me, because I’d eat what was left.

I really did want to be popular. Not only to help my chances at a permanent job, but also because I never really had a friend in school, except the ones my parents had insisted that I hang out with. I hoped the working world of adults might be different.

Once I approached the office building, it looked like the peak of Mount Doom, only even more intimidating: all shiny black glass showing the viewer back to themselves as though seeing into their soul and creating a warped version of it.

Eventually I found the entrance, a section of the seemingly endless surface appearing as though by magic. I ventured into the lobby, carrying my computer bag in front of me like a chest plate, wary of what horrors might be found therein.

“First day?” asked a kind-looking and very old security guard, whose name tag said “Sam” on it.

“Yes, sir,” I said, instantly sounding like the sheltered kid I had always been while growing up.

“Name?”

“Skye Stewart.”

Flipping through the pages in his big book like St. Peter at the pearly gates, he came to my listing.

“Sign here,” he said, turning the book toward me, the pen already set in the crease between the pages.

“Donut?” I asked, opening the box.

“Why, thank you,” he said, selecting a freshly made apple fritter.

After applying my Jane Hancock to the first space next to my name printed on the page, I was given leave to cross through the metal detector and into the building proper. I had never been so happy that I didn’t really wear jewelry as I was when I passed through those silent gates.

Not that I wouldn’t wear it if I was able to afford it and if my mother wouldn’t go nuts. I’d worn a necklace my friend had loaned me once, when I was twelve. Mom had said it made me look like a tart and ripped it off so hard the chain broke. If it hadn’t, I was afraid she would have taken my head off.

I flinched at the memory, my hand unconsciously going to my throat as I walked to the elevators, the donut box tipping somewhat in my one available hand. The bell dinged a happy tune as the elevator door opened, standing out against the austerity of the place and granting me passage to the safety of its chamber.

My breath came out in a whoosh as I leaned back against the wall of the gently humming elevator.

“Nine-hundred ninety-nine. Nine-hundred ninety-eight.”

It was a trick I’d picked up in school. Apparently panic attacks weren’t uncommon in the children of our community, so much so that the school board decided to step in and teach basic meditation techniques.

We weren’t quite the children of royalty, despite the claims of some, although we were pretty close. New monied folk like the Rockefellers would have laughed at the pretentiousness, but we were Oregon rich and that was enough for most. Many in our immediate circle never actually ventured beyond the state.

The bell dinged again, marking the elevator’s arrival on the 15th floor. The shiny chrome doors opened onto my immediate future.

“First day?” asked the young, pretty receptionist, barely looking up from her magazine.

“How did you know?”

“You have the look.”

“What look would that be?” I inquired, although I almost didn’t want to know.

“Hope and whimsy combined with abject terror. Trust me, darling, I know the feeling of those first day jitters.”

“Donuts?” I offered, trying to act unfazed, but secretly wondering if everyone could tell how nervous I was as easily as she could.

“Um, yeah, sure. Wow, you really come prepared.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling as if my ploy had worked.

Always carry donuts when you want to project confidence, I told myself, as a mental note for any future point in my life when I might need the advice.

I lowered the lid back into place and looked around, feeling stupid again.

“Where do I go?” I asked.

“The cubicle farm is over that way,” she said, pointing to the right, “but there is going to be a staff meeting in the boardroom, which is over that way, next to the arcade across from the ping-pong court.”

It took me a few seconds to fully process the end of her sentence. The words ‘arcade’ and ‘ping-pong court’ did not easily fit into my mental image of a big publishing house. Not that I was worried to hear that the employees were allowed to have fun. No wonder they’d had so many responses for what was unlikely to be a permanent position.

Following the receptionist’s directions, I went to find my cubicle, which had a temporary name plate already Velcroed to the exterior wall. I knew in my gut it was done as a matter of course and so that everyone knew where to sit and what to call everyone else, but I felt welcomed just the same.

The boardroom wasn’t difficult to find after that. I just had to follow the distinctive sound of ping-pong paddles after I had turned down the corridor to the right of the reception desk.

I was the first to arrive, which gave me the opportunity to set the donuts in the middle of the table and flip open the lid. They looked a bit odd, sitting there with all their uneven heights. One of their members was clearly absent.

Feeling a rush of heroism coming upon me, I swept up a wayward Boston Cream and gave it a new home in my tummy. I ate it fast so that people wouldn’t notice and assume that I had brought all of them just for me.

The box did look a lot more organized after I did that, with five donuts lining each side.

Suddenly the door opened with such a ruckus that I nearly jumped out of my skin. It sounded like a thunderclap. Taking hold of the arms on my claimed chair, I kept myself mostly in check.

“Hey, donuts,” said one of the ping-pong bros.

Those two little words set off a feeding frenzy. People seemed to come out of nowhere to devour the sweet goodness, making the donuts disappear within minutes. No one stopped to even wonder where they had come from.

The box was swooped up and discarded as soon as it was empty. I wasn’t exactly expecting a parade, but a ‘thanks’ would have been nice.

Such thoughts soon fled from my mind. I had assumed that everyone who was going to be at the meeting had already arrived, not noticing the empty seat at the head of the table.

The senior editor’s chair.

It was a seat of power soon taken by the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. My tummy flipped and my pussy tightened as I tried not to stare or drool, Both goals proved to be a challenge given his distracting good looks.

Was this the mysterious Simon Del Rey?

If not, someone was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

The meeting passed like a blur. It took most of my available attention to write down some keywords, my mind too often getting lost in the pools of Del Rey’s blue eyes.

“That’s about everything,” he finally said, in a warmly casual tone.

“What about Secret Santa?” asked the woman next to me.

“Oh, don’t think I’ve forgotten our time-honored holiday tradition,” he assured her. “I was just pausing for dramatic effect.”

Reaching down into the bag sitting at his feet, Del Rey brought up a hat, placing it on the table. It was one of the old-fashioned kinds that rich men in the movies wore, except it was full of slips of paper with peoples’ names written on them.

I wished the receptionist were here so that I could tell her I wasn’t the only one who had come prepared.

Taking out a piece of paper, he passed it to the person on his left. The hat made the rounds before returning empty to Del Rey’s hands.

He flipped it up into a rakish position on his head. I would say he looked like Sinatra, but that would be insulting. To Del Rey.

“Have fun, kids,” he said with a wink, before strolling back out of the boardroom and momentarily back out of our lives, cool as you please.

I could have sworn that wink was aimed right at me.

But maybe it was just wishful thinking.