Baby Daddy Next Door

Chapter One

Ava Bennett had always believed there were two kinds of people in the corporate world: people who could speak confidently in front of a room full of executives, and people who suddenly forgot how words worked the moment a projector was turned on.

Unfortunately, she had spent the last six years convincing herself she belonged to the first category.

Until today.

She stood at the end of the conference table, staring at the screen behind her while twelve people stared back at her.

The presentation was supposed to be simple.

Twenty minutes. Fifteen slides. One major advertising campaign. A multimillion-dollar contract that would put the media house on the map and, according to her manager, make everyone in the department “very comfortable at Christmas.”

Ava had even joked about buying a new apartment with her bonus.

Now she wanted to crawl underneath the conference table and live there.

She clicked on the next slide.

Nothing happened.

She clicked again.

Still nothing.

“Just a second,” she said, forcing a smile.

Her laptop had been working perfectly ten minutes ago.

Perfectly.

It had opened the presentation. It had connected to the projector. It had displayed the first twelve slides without a single problem.

Then, right when she reached the financial projections, the presentation froze.

Ava glanced down at her laptop.

The screen was still showing the same slide.

She tried to close the presentation.

Nothing.

She pressed a key.

Nothing.

She tried again.

Her fingers had started sweating.

Across the table, one of the representatives from the client checked his watch.

That tiny movement somehow made everything worse.

“Would you like me to restart it?” one of the IT staff members whispered from the back.

Ava shook her head quickly.

“No, I’ve got it.”

She didn't have it.

She absolutely did not have it.

She tried switching to the backup file.

That was when she discovered the second problem.

The backup file was outdated.

Three weeks outdated.

Which meant the revenue figures on the screen were wrong.

Very wrong.

Ava stared at the numbers, her stomach dropping.

The client noticed.

“So those aren't the updated figures?”

Silence.

Ava swallowed.

“No.”

Her manager shifted in his seat.

“Ava.”

She turned toward him.

He didn't say anything else, but his expression said enough.

She had been so focused on getting the final presentation polished that morning that she had accidentally saved the updated financial projections under a different file name. When the presentation crashed, she'd opened the only backup she could find.

And now she was standing in front of the people who were supposed to sign a contract worth several million dollars, showing them financial information that was completely wrong.

She tried to recover.

Of course, she did.

Ava Bennett had never been good at admitting defeat.

“Let me explain,” she said, walking back toward the laptop. “Those figures are from the previous quarter. The updated projections are—”

Her laptop suddenly restarted.

The room went completely silent.

Ava stared at the black screen.

For one horrible second, she considered pretending she'd fainted.

Then the client representative closed his folder.

“We've seen enough.”

Ava's heart sank.

“Mr. Harris, please—”

“We were expecting a presentation that demonstrated your company's readiness to handle our account.”

“We can.”

“I understand mistakes happen.”

His tone was polite.

That was somehow worse.

“But this isn't a small account, Ms. Bennett.”

“I sincerely apo-.”

“We're talking about a contract worth millions.”

“I know, sir. Please let me make this ri-”

He stood.

“We'll be moving forward with another company.”

And just like that, the room was over.

The meeting.

The contract.

Her career, apparently.

Everything.

Two hours later, Ava sat across from her manager in an office she had visited hundreds of times before.

Only this time, there was a folder on the desk between them.

She didn't need to open it.

She already knew what it contained.

Her manager leaned back in his chair and rubbed both hands over his face.

“I don't know how to say this.”

Ava gave him a miserable smile.

“You could start with 'Ava, this is all a terrible misunderstanding.'”

He looked at her.

She sighed.

“Worth a try.”

Despite everything, the corner of his mouth moved.

Then his expression fell again.

“Ava, you're one of the best people we've got.”

She looked down.

“You don't have to say that.”

“I do.”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

“You're talented. You're hardworking. You've brought in clients yourself. Your articles have been some of the most read pieces we've published this year.”

Ava blinked rapidly.

“So I'm being fired with compliments?”

He sighed.

“I wish I could change what happened.”

“So do I.”

“The CEO has made the decision.”

Ava's chest tightened.

“He wants me gone?”

Her manager didn't answer immediately.

That was answer enough.

She nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

“I am really sorry.”

Ava stared at the folder.

She had worked there for four years.

Four years of early mornings, late nights, missed lunches, terrible coffee and weekends spent answering emails while everyone else was at brunch.

And apparently, all it took to lose everything was one laptop, one outdated file and twenty minutes of absolute humiliation.

She reached for the folder.

“Do I at least get to keep my mug?”

Her manager looked at her.

“The one that says 'World's Okayest Journalist'?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“You bought it yourself.”

“So that's a yes?”

He smiled faintly.

“Take the mug.”

“Thank you.”

It was ridiculous.

It was also the only thing keeping her from crying in his office.

She stood, hugged the folder against her chest and walked out.

She made it to her desk before the first tear fell.

Then another.

She quickly wiped them away and started packing.

Her colleagues tried not to stare.

That somehow made it worse.

Ava placed her notebooks into a cardboard box, followed by two pens, a framed photograph of her and Julia, three packets of chewing gum and the mug she'd just fought for like it contained her pension.

She looked around her desk one last time.

Someone had already started clearing the meeting room behind her.

Life was moving on.

Apparently, nobody had received the memo that hers had just fallen apart.

She carried the box downstairs.

The moment she got into her car, she placed it on the passenger seat, shut the door and sat completely still.

For several seconds, she didn't cry.

She simply stared through the windshield.

Then her chin trembled.

“Oh, come on.”

The tears came anyway.

Ava covered her face with both hands and cried.

Not pretty crying.

Not one elegant tear sliding down her cheek.

She cried the kind that made her nose run and her chest hurt.

The kind that left you wondering how a person could produce that much liquid from two eyes.

When she finally stopped, she looked at herself in the rearview mirror.

Her ginger hair was a mess.

Her grey eyes were red.

Mascara had migrated to places mascara had no business being.

She looked terrible.

“Excellent,” she muttered. “At least the day has consistency.”

Her phone buzzed.

Julia.

Ava stared at the name for a second before answering.

“Hello?”

“Ava?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

Ava sniffed.

There was a pause.

Then Julia said, “Oh no.”

That was all it took.

Ava started crying again.

“Okay, okay, don't cry,” Julia said quickly. “Actually, cry. Cry if you need to. I'm here. What happened?”

“I got fired.”

Silence.

“What?”

“I got fired.”

“Why?”

Ava leaned her head against the steering wheel.

“I destroyed a multimillion-dollar contract.”

Another silence.

“Did you accidentally burn the building down?”

“No.”

“Because that's where I thought this was going.”

“I messed up the presentation.”

“How?”

Ava groaned.

“The presentation froze. The backup was outdated. I showed them the wrong numbers. They asked questions. I panicked. My laptop restarted. They left.”

“Oh.”

“Then my manager called me into his office.”

“Oh, Ava.”

“He said I was one of their best employees.”

Julia gasped dramatically.

“See?”

“Julia.”

“No, wait. Let me finish. He said you're one of their best employees?”

“Yes.”

“Then you're clearly amazing.”

“I got fired.”

“But an amazing person.”

“Who got fired.”

“Details.”

Ava laughed through her tears.

It was small, but it was there.

Julia immediately seized the opportunity.

“There she is.”

“Shut up.”

“You're laughing.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”

Ava wiped her cheeks.

“I worked there for four years.”

“I know.”

“I can't believe I did that.”

“You made a mistake.”

“A very expensive mistake.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, your mistake apparently has excellent taste in numbers.”

Ava snorted.

“That's not funny.”

“It was a little funny.”

“No.”

“Fine. It was terrible. But you're still alive.”

Ava looked through the windshield.

“I don't know what I'm going to do.”

“You're going to come out with me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Julia.”

“I'm serious.”

“I just got fired.”

“Exactly.”

“I don't feel like going anywhere.”

“You've been crying in your car for twenty minutes, haven't you?”

Ava glanced at the clock.

“Maybe.”

“Come to the club.”

“No.”

“You need a drink.”

“I have alcohol at home.”

“And you have feelings at home. That's the problem.”

Ava laughed again.

Julia continued.

“Get dressed. Wear something ridiculous. We'll drink, dance, stare at attractive men and pretend your career didn't just collapse.”

Ava hesitated.

“I don't even have anything to celebrate.”

“Who said anything about celebrating?”

“Then why are we drinking?”

“Because we're adults and sometimes that's the closest thing to therapy that fits inside a glass.”

Ava shook her head.

“You're terrible.”

“And yet I'm your best friend.”

“Unfortunately.”

“See you tonight.”

“Julia—”

The call ended.

Ava stared at her phone.

Then at the cardboard box beside her.

Then at the mug.

She sighed.

“Fine.”

By nine-thirty, Ava was standing outside a club in a black dress she hadn't worn in months, wondering if she had made a terrible decision.

Julia appeared beside her in a silver dress, holding two glasses of champagne.

“Don't.”

Ava looked at her.

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to say your dress is pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“And that your shoes look painful.”

“They are.”

“Why wear them?”

“Because beauty requires sacrifice.”

“That's something ugly people say.”

Julia gasped.

Ava smiled for the first time all day.

“There she is.”

Inside, the music swallowed them whole.

For the first hour, Ava barely thought about work.

Then she drank.

One glass.

Then another.

Then a third.

By the time she leaned against the bar, the terrible day had softened around the edges.

She was still unemployed.

Still embarrassed.

Still unsure what came next.

But the music was loud, Julia was laughing beside her, and for the first time since that awful meeting, Ava could breathe without feeling like there was a brick sitting on her chest.

She looked down at her empty glass.

“I think I need another.”

Julia raised an eyebrow.

“You've had three.”

“I know.”

“That sentence should concern you.”

“It doesn't.”

“That's what concerns me.”

Ava laughed and turned toward the bar.

“I'm getting one more.”

The bartender reached for a bottle.

Julia suddenly stopped talking.

Ava noticed the change in her expression.

“What?”

Julia didn't answer.

She leaned closer.

“What?”

Julia's eyes flicked toward the other side of the club.

Then she smiled.

“Oh, Ava.”

“What?”

“There is a very, very hot man looking at you.”

Ava slowly turned her head.

And the moment her eyes found him, she forgot all about the fourth drink.

He was sitting in the VIP section, surrounded by people she didn't recognize.

Jet-black hair.

Broad shoulders.

And eyes she couldn't make out clearly from across the room.

He wasn't smiling.

He was simply watching her with an intense look.

Ava stared back.

Then, as if he had been waiting for her to notice, the stranger lifted his glass slightly.

And smiled.