She's the Boss

6

C H A P T E R  S I X

S O N  O F  A  M A T H  W H I Z

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IT ONLY TOOK three words to change my life, stop my heart, and leave me breathless.

Three little words, from a woman I thought I'd never see again.

"Hello, Rich Boy."

And just like that, she had me all over again.

"I've got it from here,"

"But—"

The pudgy officer shrinks when I glare vehemently at him.

"I've got it, Officer. Have a good day." Nodding vigorously, he collects his partner and leaves.

Layla puts her hands down, walking toward the car she stole. I haven't figured out why, or if it was even on purpose, so I'll call it fate for now.

As she walks away from me, I caught a glimpse of a bruise on her back, black and purple and painful looking.

My horrified gasp is cut off by an excited cry.

"Mama! Mamma maa!"

My head c***s left, and for a moment I think, perhaps I've imagined this entire encounter.

It not farfetched. I've been dreaming about her for a year and half now; ever since that day I woke up alone.

"Hush, Addie. Quiet."

She lifts a baby out of the car. A babbling baby. He turns to me, and he smiles.

I pass out.

MATH IS MY THING. In fact, I started out as my brother's CFO; (Chief Finance Officer), because I'm great at math.

I'm like a human calculator.

I'm sure your saying to yourself: 'Well that's great and all, Sebastian. But what the hell's that got to do with anything?'

I'll tell you.

When I looked at that kid, appearances aside, I noticed he was about nine months old, since he was babbling, knows his name.

Milestones that appropriate for that age. The gestation period for a human is roughly 40 weeks, which is about nine months.

A nine month old, assuming it's a full term baby, spent nine months in the womb.

Which means, for all intents and purposes, that child is eighteen months old.

Or, a year and a half.

A year and a half ago, I woke up after a night of, what I now realize, was unprotected s*x.

"So, you're a thief now."

"I'm not a thief, Rich Boy." She corrects me. "I'm just really good at acquiring things that aren't mine."

"So... a good thief."

I don't pretend to know how I jumped from: that's my kid! to: you're a thief.

I don't question these things.

"That your nephew?"

Of course it's not her nephew.

"No."

"Niece?"

She looks at me incredulous.

"Right," I clear my throat.

"So,"

"I'm so glad I stole your car," she interrupts with a cheery smile.

"Because I need medical attention and an alibi!"

"Look, Layla. I'm trying to have a serious conversation here—"

"And I'm trying to subtly avoid it with the truth! Here," She thrusts the kid in my arms.

"Take your kid while I pass out!"

If I had of thought she was serious, she may not of have hit the concrete so hard.