Under Wraps: A Secret Baby Quarantine Office Romance (Love Under Lockdown Book 7) Read online

  Under Wraps

  A Secret Baby Quarantine Office Romance

  Love Under Lockdown, Book 7

  Copyright © 2020 Jamie Knight Romance.

  Jamie Knight –

  Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author

  All rights reserved.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Damien

  Chapter Two

  Damien

  Chapter Three

  Emma

  Chapter Four

  Damien

  Chapter Five

  Emma

  Chapter Six

  Emma

  Chapter Seven

  Emma

  Chapter Eight

  Damien

  Chapter Nine

  Emma

  Epilogue

  Damien

  Emma

  Sneak Peek of Under Lockdown

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  Chapter One

  Damien

  It was a terrible ruckus. My fist, coming down like the hammer of Mighty Thor, smashing into the cheap plastic casing of the digital alarm clock with the force of an army. A bit of an exaggeration, perhaps; I did have thespian blood traipsing through my veins, a trait which helped to no end when it came to my legal career.

  I genuinely hated being roused before the sun was fully up. It went against my self-tailored religion; it was one of the very few things that did. I tended to go with my own sort of morality, understanding perfectly, certainly more than most, the difference between morals and ethics. Ethics were societal, arbitrarily imposed by people who think they know better than everyone else, which is a trait particularly found among politicians and the ultra-religious.

  Morals, conversely, were a personal matter, decided on by each individual. The notion of being truly immoral indicates someone who is truly evil, unable to even recognize good enough to choose it over evil. Amorality, something I had been accused of more than once in my relatively short life, was really just bad decision-making.

  I made a habit of taking things as they came, rather than following some rigid system of behaviour that will always work in every situation.

  Sliding off my silk sheets – something even easier than it sounds – I hobbled into the en suite, tastefully tiled in white marble. There was a time I used to jerk off in the shower, the warm water making my skin even more sensitive… Then, I discovered girls, and the effort seemed rather worthless.

  A lot of the guys at the firm had drivers, despite the fact that none of them actually owned limos. The sight of a suited and capped chauffeur standing alongside a fiery apple-red Audi did not have quite the same impact, which was one of the plethora of reasons I drove myself, traffic jams be damned.

  Meeting with such a fate, despite the early hour, I settled in for the long wait, having been driving long enough to know there was absolutely nothing anyone could do about it, aside from the crew working to clear the three-car pile-up that had caused it. It was not quite as surreal as the tanker truck of milk that had flipped on the freeway the month before (now, that was a mess), but it was a subtle indication that the universe might just be out to get me.

  I pushed a button on the radio. A small beep emerged from the CD player. Within seconds, the confines of the Mercedes were filled with the delicate strains of classical piano.

  I used to have sex in this car. It was a thrill, at first. The danger of it all. At one point, though, it got to be too much, not least because my bed was a damn sight more comfortable. I would occasionally get a blowjob en route, either to their place or mine, but that was where I drew the line.

  I got more than enough sex, anyway. I couldn’t fully explain it, but women just seemed to come to me. I could flirt with the best of them; I never failed to coax a genuine laugh out of anyone I talked to, even at a funeral reception. That was likely part of it, as well as the fact that I was young, obscenely rich, absurdly well-educated, and wore charm like it was a fashionable hat.

  What ever the reason, I was never alone at night if I didn’t want to be, sometimes getting two women in a single evening. Of course, with numbers like that, news of my proclivities traveled fast. Had I been the sort to give a shit about other peoples’ opinions of me, I might have been embarrassed.

  As it was, I had long ago accepted my dominative tendencies as a part of who I was. The only things that annoyed me, though only a little, were the assumptions that came with the label, which were mostly based on ignorance or misinformation. The number of women willing to visit my bedroom decreased after that; not a lot, but enough for me to notice.

  There was probably an assumption that I was some kind of flog-wielding maniac, beating unsuspecting women until they screamed. There were people who used flogs, though only on people who liked it; the whole business is more about the shared connection than the pain. For me, it was about control.

  I never hit the women I slept with. I didn’t have to, but I also didn’t want to. I would be gentle with the vanilla types, and rougher with the ones who were into that. In every case, their utter physical submission to me was my end goal.

  A lot of them told me that they liked it; the surprise in their tone and on their faces was truly priceless, especially if it was clear that they were the sort to blush at the very mention of underwear. Yes, there were virgins – and they remained so unless they specifically told me otherwise; it was neither a particular turn-on nor a deal-breaker for me. I took things as they came and made the best of it; those were the words I did my best to live by.

  The traffic started to move at a slow crawl, like a beast waking up from a long hibernation, sleep-atrophied muscles refusing to fully cooperate. I could definitely relate.

  Organized chaos, while an oxymoron, was the best way to describe the offices of Faust and Moore. The cold glass and steel exterior hid the madness that swirled behind it. The pandemonium was really more of a feature than a glitch, the system being set up so that the lawyer with the fewest number of wins at the end of each fiscal year was shown the door with a handshake and a kick in the ass.

  One of the advantages to being a corporate lawyer was that I never ran out of clients, and the ones I brought in tended to have deep pockets. It more than made up for my somewhat strict criteria, provisos which excluded me from cases involving tobacco, alcohol, or chemical companies. I like money as much as anyone else, but I’m not going to bat for lung cancer and poison wells to get it.

  My no-harm policy extended well outside the bedroom. Combined with my interest in the arts, the majority of my cases were in the intellectual property domain, dealing mostly with flagrant, for-profit violations of licensed work. Had I been practicing at the time, I would have been on the labels’ side in the Napster case. I didn’t like what some bands, were doing, going after individual fans, but it was the greater principle of the thing. I was very into principles, at the time.

  The online landscape had changed a lot since those comparatively innocent days. I was having to explain the concept of “fair use” to potential clients on a near daily basis; fees from phone calls accounted for roughly a quarter of my overall income.

  Weaving my way though the human traffic, every bit as dangerous as the vehicular kind, I made it to my office. It was the big one in the corner, with the panoramic view of downtown and an attendant secretary who didn’t hate my guts.

  “There is a meeting in ten minu
tes, sir.”

  “That was quick,” I said, still in the process of hanging up my coat.

  “Wow,” Sandra said from behind the desk, admiring my suit.

  Or possibly fantasizing about what’s under it.

  To be fair, most people had a similar reaction, juggling the air of brains I give off with the brawn they can see. I liked sports as a kid, mostly rugby sevens and fencing, but I was also a massive nerd. I belied nearly everyone’s expectations by not only going to law school but getting the second highest grade point average in the entire school before departing.

  Opposing attorneys had taken to calling me “The Magician,” because they never knew what I was going to pull out of my hat. The fact that I had also slept with most of their assistants and mistresses, (who were often one and the same), had not greatly improved their attitudes toward me.

  “Where is the meeting?” I asked.

  “Room five,” Sandra said, coming back to reality.

  I was still in a fairly good mood. Even an early morning meeting was not enough to dampen my spirits much. I had just closed a huge case, bringing in a seven-figure sum for the firm in less than a month, and there was talk of partnership.

  At 34, I would be one of the youngest legal partners ever, if it happened. I tried to imagine the new sign outside the building: Faust, Moore, & LeVay. Had a nice sort of ring to it.

  Of course, all the lawyers would have to get new business cards, and the stationary would have to be changed. They wouldn’t like that much, even if they did like me. I was confident most would forgive me, though, considering the bonuses I was planning to give everyone, but especially the assistants and the I.T. department.

  It was a fact missed by most people, but especially those who have attained a particular position of power, that, in the computer age, it was the assistants, who knew how to use computers, and the techs, who kept them running, who were the most powerful people in any company. Without them, there wouldn’t be a company. As a wise man once said, “There is nothing more dangerous than a dedicated nerd with a computer.” I wanted to keep them on my side.

  Everyone was already seated before I arrived. There were a few dirty looks, but most didn’t bother, knowing me well enough to realize just how few fucks would be given. I took my usual chair between Hedfield and McKoy, mostly to keep them from punching each other’s lights out, which had nearly happened once, at an infamous and memorable Christmas party.

  “I have heard from city hall,” started Edward Moore, the far more talkative of the two senior partners, “that there will be a city-wide lockdown effective at noon tomorrow. In light of this development, we have decided to try and keep working in this troubling time. The techs have set up a private network for meetings and all of our current cases should easily be able to be prepared online. Every court date scheduled for after the lockdown is scheduled to be lifted.”

  “We have to work alone?” Hedfield asked.

  “Yeah, I don’t think I could work without my assistants. Or at least one assistant,” McKoy said.

  “That has been accounted for,” Moore said, placing a snazzy trilby onto the dark wood conference table.

  “Drawing lots? Seriously?” Jim Alexander said.

  “Just be happy we’re not on a boat,” I said, making Jim shudder.

  “In this hat are the names of every assistant currently employed at this firm. You will each pick one name, and that person will go into lockdown with you. Hotel suites have been set up for the lockdown period. Think of it as a working holiday.”

  There was dissent among the troops, each seemingly keen to keep the assistant that they knew best, but Moore’s word was law, and we all went along. If any among our number should have objected, it was me; I liked to work alone, much to Sandra’s delight. Her job thus far had primarily consisted of giving me messages, patching through phone calls, and spending the rest of the time reading.

  Still, the power of Moore compelled, and I reached into the hat with the rest, preparing to meet my destiny. Destiny’s name was Emma Charles. I searched my memory, but could not recollect having met an Emma Charles. It was possible that she was one of the new hires, brought in after the great purge of the summer, when Moore had decided that the firm needed some new blood. Even so, Sandra should have told me about her already.

  “Lucky dog!” McKoy said, reading my paper.

  “Who’d he get?’ Hedfield asked.

  “Emma.”

  “No way!”

  “Way.” McKoy had a shit-eating grin.

  “Lucky bastard!”

  “Why is that, William?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” he said, with a sly wink that only made me more curious.

  Chapter Two

  Damien

  The Hotel Seventy was a highly exclusive but popular establishment on the Upper West Side. An unholy alliance between minimalist and Romantic styles, it really was a sight to behold. Everything was some shade of white, including the eggshell-white exterior.

  The rooms, despite being described as luxurious, were also pretty small, space being at something of a premium in the city in general, let alone in that particular area. With a small parcel going for upwards of $150 million, owners endeavoured to make the best of their investment.

  What they lacked in size, however, they made up for in style. Each room was individually decorated in a tastefully minimalist style, combining bare floors and walls with a few carefully selected furniture pieces that were exquisite in their own right. My room even boasted an original Tiffany lamp on the bedside table. It was the only artificial light source in the room, aside from the stylishly efficient line of track lighting.

  Easing up to the curb, I handed the valet my keys, nearly weeping as I did. I loved my car, and I was suddenly flooded with paranoid dread that I would never see it again. Taking a breath to calm myself, I stiffened up my back and marched through the sliding glass doors to meet my destiny.

  The clerks were wearing masks and bright blue rubber gloves. I couldn’t really blame them for their caution, even if I wasn’t quite ready to join them yet. I washed my hands with near obsessive frequency, trying to avoid people as much as possible. It put a bit of a damper on my love life, but you had to choose your priorities.

  “There you are, sir,” the clerk said as she handed me my room key card, her eyes looking very polite.

  “Thank you.”

  It wasn’t my first time in a silent elevator, but the sensation hadn’t stopped being eerie. I knew that they had all the same mechanics as their noisy cousins, particularly in the safety department, but it was difficult enough to remember that when I could actually hear the mechanisms moving. In an odd way, I found the noise of elevators to be comforting; it was something my father referred to as ‘uncommon comfort.’

  The elevator dinged, the evil geniuses who took away the sound leaving me that much, at least, and the doors slid open. The hallway smelled cool and fresh, very similar to how it felt. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.

  Moving along the smooth, clean floor at good clip, looking forward to my arrival as much as I dreaded it, the key card was in the slot in a flash, and I was in the welcoming embrace of my new temporary home. I resisted the urge to bounce on the bed.

  Few things brought about my inner child like walking into a hotel room, particularly one I was going to be in for a while. It was a christening of sorts, like breaking a bottle of champagne on the back of a new yacht… which must do weird things to the local fish population, but was part of the culture none the less.

  I wondered if Emma was in her room, or if, indeed, she had arrived at all. It was the first time I had been early for something in a while. I was likely just trying to get it over with as soon as possible. Time didn’t really work like that, but perception could count for a lot, and the way I figured it, the sooner it began, the sooner it would end.

  Finding myself in a sort of fugue state, with nothing to do and anything I started likely to be interrupted b
y Emma’s arrival, I did something I had not done in nearly a decade: I turned on the TV. I was very quickly reminded of why I had stopped in the first place.

  Switching over to one of the more boring news channels, which were increasingly difficult to find, with rhetoric and screaming matches being the order of the day, I sat down in a nearby chair, closed my eyes, and let my mind rest, starting on a well-deserved mental lull.

  The noise became a blur of numbers, making this strange pandemic situation feel even more distant.

  I didn’t dream. Not really. Technically, dreaming only happens during sleep, and my other senses were still well aware, so that hadn’t happened.

  I wasn’t going crazy. No matter the size of the room, or how long I had to stay in there, I wasn’t going to go crazy. I wouldn’t allow it. It was one of the main things that had turned me off of TV in the first place.

  The knocking was sudden as a prairie wind. For the longest time, I was sure that it was in my head. Something trying to tell me something important. I just had to open up the door and let them in.

  “Hello? Mr. LeVay?”

  My eyes snapped open as the knocks came again. Getting out of the diabolically comfortable chair, remote still in my hand, I traveled, over the floor and past the bathroom, on a quest to answer the call. I opened the door.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice a lot softer than when she had first called.

  The stunning vision before me couldn’t be real. Face of Aphrodite. Curves of Mother Hera. Dark hair in a braid reaching down to her luscious ass. Crystalline eyes full of love and compassion, if not also a fair bit of confusion.

  “Emma?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir. I am here to assist you. I mean, to be your assistant. My room is next door, but I figured I would come over and, y’know, introduce myself.”

  “Please, come in,” I said, stepping out of the way and sweeping my arm in welcome. “Would you like something to drink, or maybe a snack? The minibar is fully stocked.”