6+ Us Makes Eight: Baby Makes Three, #6

6+Us Makes Eight

A Teacher and Single Dad Secret Baby Romance

By Nicole Elliot

Hi Kittens!

Twist my arm and I’ll write Catherine’s book next! This series is going on forever. But I love how much you guys love it!

xxx

Nicole

One

Ryan

Throw it back! Throw it back! Throw it back!

I tossed back the shot I pulled from between the thighs of the sexiest woman I’d ever seen. Well, sexiest in the club that night, anyway. Her hair was bleach blonde and her eyes were sparkling with blue-colored contacts and her tits poured into her face whenever she fell back. Her legs were long and her stomach was flat and fuck, she was covered in glitter. I nuzzled her panties just to give her a taste of what she could have that night before I wrapped my lips around the shot glass, then tossed the tequila back as everyone chanted my name.

Ryan! Ryan! Ryan!

Shots for everyone! I exclaimed. Hit ‘em with it, bartender!

Everyone clapped and cheered as I helped the woman off the table.

I dragged her to the dance floor and pulled her close into me. Glitter was painting my Gucci suit as she tugged at my tie. She reeked of whiskey but the way she swayed her hips was fabulous. She was the kind of woman I adored. Blonde. Blue eyes. Massive tits. And only mine for a night.

There was only one thing I dedicated myself to, and that was my business.

I was Ryan Aaron, the man who came in and changed the face of the hotel industry. I visited my first luxury hotel suite when I was twelve years old with my mother and I couldn't stop thinking about everything that was wrong with the experience. The towels weren’t soft enough and the amenities were subpar, at best. The carpet beneath my feet felt like a fucking exfoliating scrub and the mattresses left much to be desired. My mother was paying four figures a fucking night to stay in the dumps we stayed in, and from then on, I vowed to make a change in the industry.

If someone was going to pay me five-figures to stay for a fucking week, then I was going to give them five-star business.

I brought my business plan to my mother when I was only sixteen years old. I told her of my dreams and she walked me through how they would need to be executed. How much money it would cost. Then, I struck a deal that would change my fucking life. She would loan me the money to build my first domestic luxury hotel, and if shit flopped, I went to school. I would train in the pharmaceutical industry and take over the most boring family business ever created.

I shook her hand and my life was changed forever. Sumptedo, Incorporated was born, and it would change the way the hotel industry operated for good.

Instead of customers going to my website and booking a hotel room, they got to survey every single room and choose which one they wanted. And each one was always a little different from the last. Highly specified, highly tailored, and no room was ever subpar. Only the basic amenities were the same. The towels and complimentary robes were always soft, the jetted bathtubs were always working, the walk-in showers all had steam options to turn that morning wake-up call into a relaxation vacation, and the carpet was always plush.

Everything else about the rooms was different, and pages worth of add-ons to further personalize the trip could be picked from.

Everything from chilled champagne and chocolate-covered fruit to someone’s favorite artist playing over the Bluetooth speakers in the hotel once they arrived, everything could be personalized. A romantic getaway could quickly morph into a fetish party with the click of a button, and the highest of discretion and security protocols were used at my resorts.

I made my first billion before I was legally allowed to drink using cut-throat business tactics and appealing to an entire demographic that had been ignored for far too long.

I ground my hips into the blonde’s ass in front of me as she bent over and shook it. I slapped her cheeks, watching them jiggle for my viewing pleasure. Shots were being delivered all around the room, but my eyes caught the time on my watch and I sighed.

It was two in the morning, and I had a fucking interview to conduct at nine.

I reached down for the blonde’s hair and pulled her back up. I planted a kiss into the crook of her neck and felt her swoon against me. She really was playing it up, and I loved every second of it. How willing these women were to submit to me. To fall on their knees and pull my throbbing cock into their mouths. I would promise them diamonds and trips around the world and, in return, then waited for me in my penthouse hotel suites with nothing on but edible bras and vibrators stuffed between their legs.

It was a hell of a life, and I had my mother to thank for it.

My father, however, was a piece of shit. Left my mother when I was a teenager after mooching off her success in the pharmaceutical world. And honestly? My deadbeat father would’ve done anything to keep me from acting out. I fucking hated school. I taunted my teachers and blew spitballs around the classrooms. School was boring. It was the same shit repeated over and over and over again. Algebra and English and History. Why the hell did I have to keep reliving history? Talking about it all the damn time like the shit from our past was important.

It was horrific, and we needed to fucking move past it.

Another time, hot stuff, I said with a wink.

Oh, I thought you were gonna be able to stay longer tonight, the woman said.

It’s two in the morning, sweet cheeks. I’ve been here for five hours.

If you want, I could make it six.

She fell to her knees right there on the fucking dance floor. Ready to gobble my cock down in front of everyone. And at any other moment, I would’ve wrapped my hands in her bleach blonde hair and guided her lips along my cock. Showing the world the heat I was packing beneath my clothes. But this interview was important for the future success of my company. I needed a new advertiser for my latest build, because the ones I had used in the past were going out of business.

Sorry, sweet cheeks. Another time, I said.

I petted her head and stepped aside, listening as she whimpered. Oh, begging really got my cock jumping, but I couldn’t double-back. Doubling back made me look submissive. Out of control. And I needed to sleep off the tequila raging through my system. There weren’t many nights where I slept alone, but this would have to be one of them.

I had to be alert for this interview.

Five hours of sleep, a long shower, and black cup of coffee made me feel like a new man. I buttoned my newest Armani suit, smoothed my hands over my coat, then grabbed my briefcase. I had an hour to go over the information this person I was interviewing sent me. I hadn’t taken a chance to look over it because, well, I was too busy celebrating the opening of my newest luxury resort in Bora Bora.

Within two days of the website taking orders and we were booked solid for the first fucking year. Required payment was half down on the order and the other half once the excursion was done, and in forty-eight hours my company had netted almost two million fucking dollars.

In two damn days.

Not a bad forty-eight hours of work.

Good morning, Mr. Aaron.

Nice to see you, Mr. Aaron.

Looking good in that suit, Mr. Aaron.

Good luck with the interview, Mr. Aaron.

I grinned as I rode the elevator all the way to the top of my headquarters. I’d built it two years into the creation and execution of Sumptedo, and it had been my home ever since. There were four offices on the top floor of the building. My office, the office of my COO, the head of Finance, and the head of Advertising.

An office that had been vacant for the past few months.

I wasn’t simply looking for an advertiser. I was looking for someone to come in and take that entire department over. And in my experience, attempting to negotiate a third-party advertiser to take that seat was always the best shot. Promoting within the company got me a lot of ass-kissing, but not a lot of work done. Finding someone on the outside who had the experience but wasn’t appreciated by their current company was the way to go. I could entice them with a larger salary, better medical benefits, an outstanding 401(k) plan, and a beautiful penthouse office view.

In essence, I was ready to buy my next head of Advertising.

Good morning, Mr. Aaron.

Good morning, Olivia. How’s that new puppy of yours doing? I asked.

He’s doing great, thank you for asking. How was your night?

Full of booze and way too many pretty women. I’m still not sure why you’re not among them.

Because I’m allergic to all the glitter, sir. Which you still have in your hair, by the way.

You’ve always got my back, Olivia. Did you call to confirm the interview for this morning? I asked.

Yes, sir. Nine on the dot. They should be here any minute.

Perfect. Send them in once they get here, I said.

I sat down in my seat and pulled my briefcase into my lap. I pulled out the documents I would need to go over, including the portfolio I was sent. The work was impressive, but nothing I hadn’t seen before. Every advertiser I’d found seemed to be stuck in this minimalistic trend. And Sumptedo was everything but. Hell, the name was a mashup of ‘sumptuous’ and ‘hedonistic’, for fuck’s sake.

What the hell was minimalistic about that?

But it was the last page of the portfolio that caught my eye. Logos bursting with eye-catching color and mesmerizing designs. That was the kind of shit I was looking for. Bold colors on a dark background. A weaving fluidity between the darkness and the light. I pulled that sheet of the portfolio to the front as a knock came at my door, and I gave my hair one last shake before I called out.

Come on in, I said.

The door opened and I didn’t bother looking up. If this advertiser could deliver full-time what they had on the last page of this portfolio, then they had the damn job. They were the only person who didn’t seem to be stuck in such a fucking rut, and that was what I needed.

Someone who could push us beyond the comfortable landscape like I had the entire damn hotel industry.

Mr. Aaron, thank you for your time.

And thank you, I said. This page of your portfolio is very interesting.

I slid the piece of paper across my desk before my eyes leveled with the person sitting in front of me.

Interesting. Usually people don’t enjoy that page. That’s why it’s in the back.

Well, I’m not usual. That type of thing is what I’m looking for. Do you have anything else like that you can show me?

You don’t want to know about my education? Or my awards? Or my prior history?

I hate history. Always have. It was boring in school and it’s boring now. And awards don’t mean shit. It means you nailed something once, and I’m not interested on once. As far as education goes, there are plenty in this company who do the best work that aren’t educated in the field they operate in now. So no, I only want to know what I’ve asked for. Can you deliver on that?

I hooked my eyes onto the person in front of me and waited for them to deliver. That was what I needed. Someone who could deliver without question. Hands rifled through bags and pulled out notebooks full of shit, and my expectations began to dwindle.

But the disappointment was interrupted by my phone ringing.

I gazed up at Olivia, ready to scold her for interrupting, but she was pointing down at the phone. Harshly. With her eyes wide and her lips puckered. I furrowed my brow and held up my finger, pausing the interview so I could take the call.

This is Ryan Aaron. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, Mom. What’s going on? Yeah. Yep. No, I’m free. I’m coming. I’ll lock up right now. Just stay there. Mom, stop crying. I can’t-... Mom!

I pinched the bridge of my nose as her frantic voice continued to rant in my ear.

I’m on my way, I said. I’m coming now.

I hung up the phone as I stood from my seat.

I’m very sorry, but this interview is going to have to wait. I have a family emergency, and I’m needed.

Is there anything I can do, Mr. Aaron?

I picked up my briefcase and placed files into it before I closed it on my desk.

Yes, I said. You can bring me something more formal than a doodle book.

Then I walked by the interviewee, strode out of my office, and told Olivia to make sure to reschedule the interview.

Hopefully during a time when my family wasn’t falling apart.

Two

Emma

Miss Gentry! Miss Gentry! What time is it?

Miss Gentry, can we color now?

Miss Gentry, can we go outside again and play?

Miss Gentry, what is this word?

Miss Gentry?

Miss Gentry.

Miss Gentry!

Despite how many times I heard my name during the day, I adored my job. Lawrence Day School was San Francisco's most prestigious preschool. The best of the brightest students were enrolled here, and their parents paid a great deal of money for the best developmental education their child could obtain. And I employed a great deal of tactics to make sure all of my students were prepared for kindergarten. I saw it as an honor to have a major hand in raising the next generation of San Francisco’s elite, but that didn’t mean I was paid a great deal to do it.

Most of the funds the school raised went into expanding programs and adding additions to the building.

Not paying the staff what they deserved.

Every day after school, when the kids were picked up or shuffled onto their private buses, I went home to my shoebox apartment. No more than six hundred square feet and still costing me a fortune where I lived. My massive student loan debt took a chunk out of one of my paychecks a month, and the other paycheck was dedicated to rent. I wasn’t poor enough to get state assistance, but I wasn’t wealthy enough to meet my bills and eat anything other than noodles, canned fruit, and sauce for meals.

I loved my job and I loved the kids. But dealing with the snobbish, stuck-up parents with more money than God Himself was grating on my nerves.

San Francisco had a strict line between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have-nots’. I taught the children of the ‘haves’. The millionaires and the start-up gurus and the self-help venture capitalists. But I was a ‘have-not’. I made enough to get by and that was it. No savings account. No investments. No extra money to treat myself to things. Nothing. Rent, bills, dollar store food, medical insurance, and car insurance was all I could afford.

One of the things I implemented in my classrooms was trying to teach my kids that money wasn’t everything. It didn’t always solve problems and it couldn’t bring happiness. I tried to teach them that respect and compassion were more important, and more essential, in life than anything else. Government. Business. Education. Travel. All of these industries could benefit from more compassion and less of a money-hungry attitude.

I tried to teach them that material possessions weren’t everything while they carried Louis Vuitton backpacks on their backs.

And sometimes I felt like I was losing an unwinnable war.

But, I did have one student that seemed to be latching onto the concept. One whose speech was well beyond her years as well as her mathematical capabilities.

Zoey Aaron.

She was the daughter of the famed pharmaceutical legend, Valentina Aaron. A single mother and the wealthiest woman in the country, she found the kind of success her mother could have never dreamt of. She inherited her mother’s failing pharmaceutical company and all its debts since she was the oldest child in her family. But instead of liquidating and selling off the assets and patents to pay everything off and start fresh, she took on the quickest-tanking medical company and turned it into a multi-billion-dollar symbol of hope around the world.

She was an inspiration, and a woman I frequently referenced in my lectures to the children at the end of the day.

Valentina was an icon. A woman who adored her family, rose from the ashes of a failed marriage, and went on to become a billion-dollar woman before she turned forty. She frequently donated medical supplies by the tons to third-world countries and made hefty donations every year to charities around the globe that supported everything from feeding children to building fresh water wells for villages in Africa.

She was the epitome of someone who could have