Who's the Boss? - Erin McCarthy Page 0,43

happen if I ever opened myself up to the possibility. Would that mean someday I would have a pink baby shower?

I doubted it. I wanted a more rock ‘n’ roll baby shower. You know. Someday. If I had kids. Which I’d never given a ton of thought too. It seemed premature to contemplate bringing a child into the world when I was single as fuck.

An image of Sean talking to Kennedy popped into my head. He was going to make a great uncle. A great father, if he ever wanted to have kids. Not that I should be thinking about Sean’s fictitious future with a woman who wouldn’t be me.

“Sean’s texting me,” Michael said. “He’s downstairs. Let me go let him in.”

“Sure.” I wandered into the living room and marveled at the changes in Felicia’s life in such a short time. Was that how it went?

One day you were doing your thing solo and then suddenly bam. Love hit you between the eyes. You had balloons and babies and sushi-bans because of love.

I heard Sean’s voice coming up the stairs from the ground level. I had no idea why but I panicked and ran away, darting into the powder room.

“What the hell was that? Get yourself together,” I told my image in the mirror. “He’s the enemy. He’s your boss. He can get you fired and render you homeless.”

The woman reflected back at me didn’t look like she gave a shit about consequences. Or that she believed a word I was saying.

Nope. She looked like she might have taken that hit between the eyes.

“How is your lovely wife?” I asked my brother, Michael, as I kicked off my shoes in the entry to his brownstone. Felicia had a thing about shoes in the house and I didn’t need another female annoyed with me. Dealing with Isla was hard enough, though I had some hope I was making headway there.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Michael said, frowning at me. “You’re not taking your shoes off for a baby shower.”

“What?” I asked, glancing up. “I thought that’s what she wanted. I’m not a total asshole.” Felicia made my brother happy. That was very obvious. She had also been nothing but nice to me and now she was expecting my niece. I had exactly zero issues with Felicia these days. Even when I was right, it seemed I was wrong.

Michael made a sound like he didn’t believe me. “She’s upstairs fretting about this party, so tread lightly, please. I’m begging you. Pregnancy hormones have her bursting into tears at least once a day.”

Great. “So you’re sending me into a minefield. Thanks.” I peeled my jacket off and hung it on the hooks by the door. I put my shoes back on.

The brownstone was class New York City. Soaring ceilings, elaborate molding, double doors. This one had been renovated before Michael and Felicia had moved in a month or two earlier and Felicia had been busy filling it with furniture, art, and personal items. Despite the inherent grandeur it was very homey and felt lived in. I gave Felicia credit for that because prior to meeting her, my brother had lived in a sterile box devoid of personality and clinging to remnants of his long-deceased wife’s style.

“I guess I should be grateful you chose me to do the food.” Felicia had insisted this event be coed and more dinner party than baby shower, but I was just thrilled to be in the kitchen cooking instead. I had only a vague idea of what went down at baby showers and I wanted no part of it.

“Well. You’re doing it with Isla.” My brother gave me a grin.

There was so much irony in his words, and it was totally lost on him. “Yes, I’m very aware I’m doing it with Isla.” Or did. Once. I wasn’t sure where we stood now.

“Does she still hate your guts?” Michael clapped my shoulder. “Can’t say I blame her.”

He was joking, of course. We had spent our entire lives giving each other a hard time. But I had to admit it was hard to follow an older brother like Michael. As a kid, he’d been the star athlete, the best student, and heavily involved in charitable endeavors, even at sixteen. Now he was a surgeon and spent his free time fundraising for children’s charities. Yes, I had been a bit of a screw-off in school, not enjoying the rules of authority. My mother had claimed it was because I was a