Back with a bang

We walked into the office around 10 a.m., sunlight filtering through the lobby windows as if the building itself were glad to have us back. A giant, glittering "Welcome Home, Boss!" sign hung just above the reception desk. My assistant, Tara, beamed as she handed me a mimosa.

"You deserve every sip of that," she said, toasting me.

The whole office had been transformed into a celebration. Tables were stacked with food catered from the local restaurants I’d supported while in Acapulco. Staff mingled with clients, laughing, chatting, catching up over flutes of champagne and trays of decadent bites. It was exactly the kind of environment I had always dreamed of running—collaborative, kind, supportive.

Tara clinked her glass against mine again and whispered, “The energy here? All you. We missed you.”

I hugged her tight. "I missed all of you too. But we’re back, and stronger than ever."

No one worked that day. I told them it was a time to reset, reconnect, and revel in the kind of work culture we were building together. Any leftover food was split among the team, packed up in to-go boxes.

That night, Vince and I collapsed into bed—but only for a moment. His mouth was on mine before I could catch my breath, fingers teasing down my spine.

“Missed the hell out of this,” he murmured against my throat.

“Then stop talking and get back to it.”

We fucked all night long, unapologetic, unrestrained. The air was heavy with the sounds of us—skin on skin, groans swallowed by kisses, moans bouncing off the walls. No barriers. Just heat and hunger and two people needing to feel everything.

The next day, I was back to work, settling into the rhythm of meetings and client calls, though Vince stopped by often. Sometimes with lunch. Sometimes just to kiss me hard in the hallway and disappear again.

Two weeks after returning from Acapulco, I came home late from a meeting. Vince was lounging on the couch, scrolling his phone, when I slipped off my heels and went to kiss him.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and murmured, “Your stomach feels… softer.”

I stilled.

He got up, disappearing into the bathroom. When he came back, he held a familiar pink-and-white box. A leftover pregnancy test from the scare we had months ago.

We looked at each other.

“I mean… what’s one more use?” he said, offering it with a crooked smile.

I didn’t even hesitate. A few minutes later, I was staring at the unmistakable result: pregnant.

When I stepped out of the bathroom with the stick in my hand, Vince was already tearing up.

“You’re gonna be a hell of a mom,” he whispered, pulling me into him.

We celebrated in the only way we knew how—with days of wild, unfiltered, passionate sex that left us tangled in sheets and gasping for air, making the walls remember who we were all over again.


***I am NOT currently pregnant - this is just a story**