“Because Erin texted me, like I asked her to. She’s a good one.”
She is, and so much better than I expected, although I wish she hadn’t texted Mom. “It’s going to keep me up at night, Mom. There’s no way I can keep it in my bedroom.”
“Of course you can. It’s a reminder of your duty.”
“Duty? You want to talk duty?” Mom lost all her good sense when Jan got married. She used to not worry so much about babies and my responsibilities because I was already doing well. “I’m a great son. I never caused any trouble growing up. I studied hard and work even harder. I also set a perfect example for Derek and Trent!” I bet Mom isn’t harping on them to giving her babies, because if she were, I’d have heard about it by now. “You should be thanking your lucky stars you have a son like me!”
Mom laughs. “No wonder I struggled for twelve hours to bring you into the world. Your head’s too big!”
I’m too hung over for this. Aspirin and coffee are simply not enough.
“As for your duty,” she continues, “it’s simple. Fill the six remaining bedrooms in your mansion with babies.” Her tone says duh.
My head hurts. I figured I might have one or two at some point, but six? What am I? A breeding hog? “Nobody has six kids these days! If I said I wanted to have that many, no woman would even date me.”
“Oh, hon.” She sighs softly. “You’re a marketing VP. You know how to sell yourself better than that. Besides, I have three children. Surely, young women these days want to beat their mother-in-law. You always want to do better than the previous generation.”
Don’t growl. Don’t growl. “This isn’t a competition.”
“Alexandra is going to be a great-grandmother, David,” Mom says, almost forlornly. I can picture her sipping a mimosa and pouting. “I deserve to be a grandmother.”
“Mom, you’re much too young,” I say, trying to appeal to her feminine vanity.
“That’s why I should be a grandma. Nobody will believe it, and everyone will admire my youthful radiance!”
“Mother.”
“Don’t you ‘mother’ me, David Francis Darling. And if you want me to bake when you come home for the holidays, you better leave the picture I sent you exactly where it is.” She hangs up.
I sigh and lie back on the bed. Jan and Matt look down on me benevolently.
Maybe it would be better if Erin’s cookies had killed me last night.
Chapter Two
Erin
I head back home, feeling pretty good about the morning’s work. I was in the middle of going through an eight-part video training course on creating better storyboarding for PowerPoint presentations when Mrs. Darling interrupted me.
Not that I minded. David’s mother is so nice. She was apologetic and explained that I was the only one she could count on, because she was afraid the delivery crew might not do a good job. Gifts get lost or damaged, and she’d hate it if that were to happen to the picture.
It was worth it to see the dazed light in David’s gray eyes when the crew hung the picture. He was probably overcome by his mother’s thoughtfulness. She said it was a picture of his favorite people in Virginia, whom he misses very much.
And you certainly didn’t mind that you got to see David in those boxers.
The thought pops into my head, and I scowl. It’s totally unprofessional to think that…even though part of me did get a little thrill. I had no idea he had such an amazing chest hidden underneath those dress shirts. Actually, I knew he had a great body because of the way his clothes fit, but seeing almost the full Monty with my own eyes was definitely a next-level experience.
Still, I shouldn’t think about it too much. Mooning over the boss isn’t one of my duties at the company, and I was lucky to get this job in the first place. My résumé was a joke—I recognize that in retrospect—and I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize my current situation.
When I get home, I grab a bag of Skittles and resume the video training. I love it that Sweet Darlings has so many of these online resources for its employees—and for free! David took a big gamble when he hired me two years ago. I want to prove to him that he wasn’t wrong. I need this job to ensure that I never have to go back home to Saintsville.
To be the object of speculation, pity or worse.
I shake my head to clear it. I’m almost done with the second video, my self-training notebook full of tips and tricks. The phone rings, and I reach for it absently, not wanting to miss the final remark from the instructor on my company-issued laptop.
“Hello?” I say into the phone.
“Erin, my daughter.”