Who's the Boss? - Erin McCarthy Page 0,42

fall in love there won’t be any question about it.”

“Yeah.”

We both sat in silence for a minute.

Then I took her hand in mine, interlacing our fingers, enjoying the softness of her warm skin. “Thanks for distracting me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I think you’re a pretty amazing woman, Isla. And I hope you don’t still hate me. That would suck.”

“I don’t still hate you.”

I turned and stared into those gorgeous brown eyes. “Good.”

She shifted closer to me, her lips parting in an obvious invitation.

I leaned in.

Without warning the door yanked open, letting in a whoosh of warm air. “What are you guys doing?” Juan asked.

“Nothing, we were stuck in here.” Isla scrambled to her feet.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t as relieved as I should be to be released from the small room. I actually felt disappointed.

That realization was more terrifying than the door slamming closed.

Eight

I purposely arrived an hour before Sean to the baby shower because I wanted to talk to Felicia about what was going on between me and Sean. Because something was going on.

Trapped in the cooler, I had almost liked him. He seemed normal. Down-to-earth. A guy with actual feelings. We had been about to kiss when Juan had saved us from ourselves.

But it turned out there was no way to talk to Felicia. She had an event planner in the house who was directing the set up of elaborate and elegant balloon installations. One spelled out “Amelia” in three-foot-high blush-colored letters, the baby’s name. There was a living floral wall behind the balloons. The entire main floor of the house was bursting with various shades of pinks in florals and balloons and draping.

“Whoa,” was my reaction when I came into the living room. “This is amazing.” Very pink. Very full-blown. But amazing.

“Is it too much?” Felicia asked, running her hand over her tiny baby bump.

A bartender was setting up a pink champagne bar in the corner with coupe glasses. “It’s a lot,” I admitted. “But it’s very you. You look gorgeous, by the way.” She was wearing something designer, though I couldn’t have told you who. Fashion was her arena, not mine.

“Are you sure? I wanted to wear black to offset the pink but then that just seemed macabre for a baby shower. So I decided to lean into the pink theme. This is Chanel.”

“You leaned, for sure. But it works,” I reassured her. I glanced down at my own outfit. “I’m sorry, I’m wearing black. It’s just my standard uniform and I didn’t even think about it not being appropriate at a baby shower.” I’d only been to one baby shower in my entire life and that was in college when a girl in our dorm got pregnant. Some of the students in our wing had thrown her a baby shower.

That event had been exactly nothing like this. It had been broke college kids throwing up streamers and blowing up drugstore balloons.

“You’re totally fine,” she said. “It’s just me that shouldn’t be wearing black.” Then she rushed off, flustered, when someone asked her where she wanted the tables set up.

This was obviously not a good time to ask her what the hell I should do about Sean and my constant overwhelming urges to get naked with him.

Michael was in the kitchen, hand in the fridge. He slammed it shut, looking guilty, then relieved when he realized it was me.

“Hi, Michael, how are you holding up?”

“Sorry, I thought you were Felicia. I didn’t want her to catch me eating the sushi I had delivered. She can’t eat it right now.” He tossed a piece of sashimi into his mouth. “So I’m not supposed to either, in solidarity. Don’t rat me out, please.”

“I never rat anyone out about food. No worries.” I glanced around their massive kitchen. “Did the delivery truck arrive yet? I wanted to get started prepping.” They were serving passed appetizers, then a sit-down dinner for forty.

“No, not yet. Sean isn’t here yet either.” Michael nodded toward the living room. “Can you tell we’re having a girl?”

“I don’t think it’s obvious at all.”

He grinned. “I can’t help it. I can’t say no to Felicia. If she wants eight hundred pink balloons, she can have them.”

I tried to imagine having a man in my life who wanted me to be happy so much he allowed his home to be fully engulfed in an avalanche of pink latex and live florals. “She’s very lucky.”

He gave a snort. “Are you kidding? I’m the lucky one. She’s amazing.”

That was love. I wondered what would