Raising My Boss's Child

Chapter 2 : Karim

KARIM'S POV

In the dimly lit, upscale restaurant, a young woman approached their table, her eyes fixed on Karim's companion, Damir. As she set down the tray, she leaned forward, offering a generous view of her cleavage.

"f*****g hell," Damir commented, his eyes glued to her décolletage.

Karim followed his gaze, momentarily distracted from the weight of his thoughts. The woman's assets were impressive, but he was in no mood for such distractions. He had more pressing matters on his mind.

The ice cubes in their glasses clinked against each other, and their forks worked their way through the expensive porcelain plates, leaving behind only the remnants of their meal. Despite the excellent food and the attractive company, Karim couldn't relax. His mind was elsewhere.

"You're flying out next week," Damir reminded him, his eyes never leaving the woman's cleavage.

Karim nodded, his eyes narrowing as he calculated his schedule. Time was indeed a precious resource, always in short supply. He took a sip from his glass, the ice cubes clinking softly. He needed to get more organized, he thought.

He could manage multimillion-dollar deals with ease, but when it came to basic daily tasks, he often felt lost.

"Yeah, I know," he replied, reaching for his phone. He dialed Dasha's number, his most frequently contacted person. He listened to the phone ring four times, his irritation growing with each passing second.

"Yes?" Dasha's sleepy voice came through the line, pulling him back to the present.

Karim took a deep breath, counting to three in his head to prevent himself from snapping at her. He knew she was diligent, but he wished she would answer his calls promptly.

"Dasha, there's a flight next week. We need to finalize some things for the trip," he said, his voice tense.

"Karim Amirovich," she sighed, her voice heavy with sleep. "I'm on leave, remember? It's four in the morning here. I've already forwarded everything to Rita. You have her number. But if it's easier, I can send you all the files now."

"Leave?" Karim repeated, his brow furrowing as he recalled.

"Yes, maternity leave. I told you about it months ago."

Karim ended the call, his fingers tightening around his glass. He took a sip, the ice cubes clinking against his teeth. His thoughts turned to Dasha, and he acknowledged her irreplaceability.

In the past, he had believed that no one was truly indispensable, but Dasha had proven him wrong. She had made his work life easier and more comfortable than he could have ever imagined.

"The kid?" Damir asked, his voice low and curious.

"Adopted," Karim replied, his eyes darkening. "The court proceedings should be over by now. I just hope she's taking good care of him."

The topic of children was a sensitive one, a wound that hadn't fully healed for either of them.

Karim's marriage had been a mistake, a decision driven by societal expectations. He had wed a beautiful woman, believing her to be intelligent and healthy enough to bear his children. But she had turned out to be a gold digger, willing to orchestrate his death to inherit his fortune.

Thankfully, his security team had been vigilant, catching the hitman and foiling her plans.

He had divorced her and cut off all ties, but not before she had delivered a devastating blow—the news of his son's birth.

She had taunted him, knowing full well that he would never be able to find them. And she had disappeared, taking their child with her.

"We'll find him," Damir assured, his voice steady and determined. "We have our best people on it. He's two years old now, right?"

Karim nodded, his jaw clenched. "Two years and one month. I have a photo of him as a newborn. Serious little guy, dark eyes, just like mine."

His mother knew nothing of this. She would never be able to handle such a truth, and he couldn't bear to see her hurt. The pain of his failed marriage and the disappearance of his son had turned him bitter, and he found himself distrusting and even hating women.

"He's out there, and we'll find him," Damir said, his voice filled with conviction. "We just need to keep digging. He could be anywhere."

Karim's grip tightened on his glass, his knuckles turning white. "Eight months," he growled. "Eight months of silence. Where is my son, Damir? Is he in some remote corner of the world, hidden from me?"

"We'll find him, Karim," Damir insisted, his voice calm amidst the storm of his friend's emotions. "We won't stop until we do."

The waitress, sensing the tension, hurried over to collect the empty plates, but Karim waved her away. He pressed a white cotton napkin to his lips, his eyes never leaving Damir's. The napkin slowly turned red, a stark contrast to the pristine white tablecloth.

Karim's mind raced, his thoughts consumed by his missing son. Was he hungry? Was he safe? Was he even aware that he had a father searching desperately for him?

"I just want my son back," Karim whispered, his voice hoarse with unshed tears.

Damir placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, offering silent support. They sat in the dimly lit restaurant, the soft jazz music in the background providing a strange contrast to the turmoil within them.