Being Their Baby Read online

  Chapter One

  Sophie Lynn Benny checked her face in the mirror and sighed after glancing at her reflection. The lawyers were going to have a serious problem with her if they saw her looking so “unprofessional”… and today she certainly did. She hadn’t, nor could she afford, any more makeup to cover the bruises on her eye, cheek, and lip.

  It didn’t matter, really. She wasn’t actually going to get fired because her face was black and blue. She was more likely to get fired because she was sleeping in the attic of the business complex like some homeless person.

  Losing two jobs in one week? That sounded a lot like her luck.

  She rolled her eyes at herself and at her stupid life. Most of the people she worked with wouldn’t care about her getting canned; after working there for nearly two years, her boss still thought her name was “Stephanie,” for God’s sake. She could come in deformed and she would doubt that man would notice. It was the lawyers in the building that didn’t like grungy chicks. They were one-hundred percent about perception, and Sophie knew that having a teenager running around with a mangled face wasn’t going to make them swell with pride.

  C’mon, Soph—you’re not the crypt keeper or anything, she granted herself. She had gotten to shower. The complex did have facilities for their employees who liked to ride in on their bicycles. And since it was January, there were very few of those; she’d washed herself without anyone seeing her.

  As soon as she walked into the mail room and clocked in, she saw her boss coming through the door. “You’re here early, Stephanie,” her boss grunted, as if he was annoyed by it.

  “Yeah…” She cleared her throat, trying to scrounge together a little bit of extra courage. She didn’t have her second job anymore, she had a slew of extra expenses, and she needed more work. “Look, do you have any extra hours—doing anything—that I can pick up?”

  “Not at your pay grade,” he grunted, and found the donut his fat fingers were looking for.

  She was desperate enough for money that she said, “Well, as long as I get extra work, I don’t mind doing something for less than someone else would. All I need is the extra hours.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind, either, but the union would. Can’t have you do something for less money than they’re supposed to get.”

  “I was thinking, though… I’ve been here for about two years now. Is there any hope for a rai—?”

  “No,” her boss assured, sitting at his desk.

  “Okay… Any jobs maybe I could move up to that make more?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? Because I—”

  “Did you already punch in?” Her boss looked annoyed.

  “Yeah,” she chirped.

  “Then you’re wasting my time. You’re on the clock.” He waved his hairy knuckles toward the door. “Mail. Now. Get.”

  Sophie trudged out to the main foyer and collected the mail that the post office left in huge vats, and loaded them onto her cart, stewing.

  There was no way for her to get ahead; when she first got this job here, she thought she was smarter than the average bear! All the other high school dropouts were working in McDonalds or at the local KFC.

  Now, it was beginning to feel like even though she wasn’t covered with chicken fat, fast food would have been the way to go. She might have been a manager by now, making twelve dollars an hour, with all the extra hours she could shake a fist at!

  By the afternoon, she had managed to steep herself into a depression. She had been turning her situation around in her mind all morning and, for the life of her, she couldn’t see any light at the end of this depressingly long and dark tunnel. It seemed like she might be stuck in this rut for quite a while. Her meager thousand-dollar-a-month salary couldn’t buy her both a place to live and basic essentials, could it?

  She’d be lucky if she found anyone on the planet who would rent to her—a just-turned eighteen-year-old with no money, no savings, no credit card, no references. Although she could save money on not eating; after last night when her stepdad punched her in the mouth with all the strength the dock-worked man had in his arm, she lost the ability to eat solid foods without crying a little. She seemed to have a tooth that was all wrong.

  She rolled her mail cart through the cubicles, eventually stopping at the offices. She frowned, feeling a nervous tug-of-war going within her stomach as she eyed the plaque on the door that bore very intimidating gold letters:

  ELIZABETH R. BUTTON, Esq.

  SENIOR PARTNER

  There was something about Elizabeth Button that always gave Sophie pause. Elizabeth might have come from a different planet than Sophie. Both of them working in the same building was probably against the laws of modern science that claimed that things as different as they were would explode in a burst of energy whenever they came into contact.

  Elizabeth was a high-class, important, a ridiculously successful corporate lawyer, and what the newspapers called, ‘The Devil in Red Heels.’ Elizabeth was a wealthy, well-sought-after legal genius, but looked like someone who should be on the cover of Vogue Magazine.

  The red stilettos she always wore were her calling card. They weren’t just casually red—they were hot-rod red. She didn’t need heels; Elizabeth was easily six feet tall without them. Her brown hair was flawless and always pinned tightly back in a perfect bun. Her nails were long and French-manicured to perfection. Her eyebrows were arched, her cheekbones were high and pronounced, and her neck was swan-like. She was like the queen of the supermodels, only she had an old-school aristocracy feel about her.

  Sophie always felt bad about herself when Elizabeth was near. In comparison, Sophie was a frumpy, awkward, sad little creature who didn’t even seem to belong to the same species. There was nothing Sophie wanted to do more than to hate Elizabeth Button.

  That was just the problem. It was impossible to hate Elizabeth Button; despite Sophie’s presence in the building for over two years, Ms. Button was the only person who knew her name was Sophie—actually, Sophia. Even more so, she was the only person in the building who would seek Sophie out to talk to her.

  Sophie sighed; it was odd to admit to herself that she had sort of a schoolgirl crush on Elizabeth Button, but only because she normally wasn’t a lesbian. If Sophie could describe herself, she’d say she was only gay for Elizabeth. The woman made Sophie’s stomach feel like butterflies were on parade. Elizabeth was a goddess.

  The problem today was that Sophie didn’t want to see her; Elizabeth was too much of a nice person… when she wasn’t being a lawyer, at least. She didn’t seem content to just sit on her pedestal above the rest of human civilization; she was one of those people who’d try to get involved. She would take one look at Sophie’s face and make a big stink about it. As it was, Elizabeth had taken an interest in Sophie, enough to constantly say annoying things like, “You let me know the instant you need anything! Anything at all.”

  Just like all upper-class successful people, Elizabeth didn’t mean she actually wanted to be bothered with Sophie’s problems. Elizabeth just wanted to hear happy things and good news. And she would… just as soon as Sophie had experienced some good fortune to report.

  She pursed her lips together, as if that would help make a package by Elizabeth Button not be on her mail cart. Of course, Elizabeth had a huge package and all the wishing in the world wasn’t going to make it disappear.

  Sophie saw that Elizabeth’s secretary was busy pushing back her cuticles on her fingernails diligently, and that Elizabeth’s office door was closed. Sophie wheeled her cart over and saw through the small window on the office door that Elizabeth was on the phone. This was good—Elizabeth would be too busy, so Sophie could just leave her mail and her package with the secretary. �
��So,” Sophie said with a smirk, “can I leave this with you?”

  “No,” her secretary replied, rotating her fingers around before she pulled out a nail file. “You can go in. It’s nothing too important.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes and decided that she’d just go in, drop the package on the empty chair across from Elizabeth, turn, and go. It was more than possible to go in and then leave without Elizabeth barely even looking in her direction—it always worked when Sophie had done it with all the other lawyers in the building.

  She grabbed all the mail and the package, and quietly opened the door.

  Just as Sophie had placed the package where she’d planned to and was heading back out with her fingers just grazing the door handle, the conversation behind her broke. “Sophia,” Elizabeth’s firm voice said, “not so fast.”

  Sophie stilled, shrinking away from the door as if the gravity in the entire room had just doubled. She’d been so, so close to getting away without a fuss.

  “Well, it’s not as though you hate your job,” she was saying on the other line. “Pick up the extra game. Really. We can do Thanksgiving on Wednesday night instead. Tell Josh to work the holiday, too. We’ll all work and then we’ll all get together off at the same time. It’s not a big deal.” She paused and juggled the receiver in her hand. “…You too.”

  Sophie heard Elizabeth hang up the phone and turned the “good side” of her face toward her just as Elizabeth said, “Sophia!” There was a note of friendly happiness to her tone. “Sit down.”

  “Actually, I have a lot of deliveries to make here. And photocopies, and then I have to take lunch orders from everybody, and you know, I’m pressed for time. Busy, busy, busy…” Sophie hedged, wrapping her hand around the door handle again.

  “I’m busy too,” Elizabeth replied, her voice far firmer than it was a moment ago, “that’s why I don’t like repeating myself. Now sit.”

  “No time,” Sophie tried again, opening the door.

  “Are you avoiding me?” she asked. “Come on, kiddo. I didn’t get to chat with you yesterday. Tell me how your birthday went! Eighteen’s big! Did you do anything fun?”

  Sophie gave a resigned sigh and closed the door.

  There was no use hiding it. Sophie slowly turned toward Elizabeth, where the woman was poising for some good news, like she wanted to hear about a party where everyone drank tea, ate cakes, and wore pretty dresses.

  Sophie guessed that that was how they celebrated birthdays in Cape Cod, where Elizabeth was from. Again—Cape Cod might as well have been a whole other planet than Southie.

  She sat down and turned her face fully to Liz, thinking she was going to look squarely on as if she was proud to have endured her rough life. But she ended up losing her nerve, down-casting her eyes, and chewing on her bottom lip a little. When Elizabeth gasped, Sophie flinched with shame.

  Elizabeth shot up from her chair and walked around to the other side of the desk to grab Sophie’s chin with her fingers in a way that was both firm and gentle. “What happened to you?” she demanded.

  “Nothing,” Sophie assured, trying to sound more blasé than nervous. “It’s cool. Nothin’ to worry about. I’ve taken care of it.”

  “Who did this to you?” Liz snapped, sounding angry at something, but Sophie wasn’t sure at what or with whom. Sophie could already tell that the old, reliable ‘I fell’ excuse wasn’t going to cut the mustard with Liz.

  Sophie tried it anyway. “Nothin’,” she lied, straightening her shoulders with confidence she didn’t really have. “I fell, that’s all.”

  Elizabeth’s lips puckered slightly as if Sophie was a toy poodle who’d just piddled on her red stilettos. “Young lady,” Elizabeth scolded like a stern headmistress. “I will not have anyone look me right in my face and lie to me. Now, who did this?”

  Sophie dropped her eyes to the floor again, her cheeks heating. “My stepdad,” she mumbled, nearly inaudibly.

  She’d apparently heard it anyway and acted as badly as Sophie anticipated, because Liz stomped back around the desk and picked up the phone.

  “But it’s okay, because—” Sophie said, waving her hands in front of her.

  “It’s not okay, Sophia,” she retorted, punching her finger down on the number pad. “You’re a high schooler! I’m calling protective services.” She put the phone to her shoulder.

  Sophie jumped up from her chair, grabbed the phone from where Liz was balancing it between her cheek and shoulder, and hung it up in a single, swift movement, crying, “I’m eighteen, Liz! Nobody gives a rat about any of this! The only thing you can do is get someone to bully my stepdad, and that’d backfire on me. Let me just lie low and figure out my own life.”

  “What?” Liz challenged. “And let you go back to a place where they abuse you? Is this the first time this has happened?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Sophie found herself gritting. Liz frowned at her, looking suddenly very sad and taken aback. Sophie shook her head and changed her tone. “I’m a big girl. I can deal with this. And I moved out after; I got a new place, and I’m good. Leave it be.”

  Elizabeth looked at her long and hard in the way children might do when trying to solve Magic-Eye posters. Sophie could nearly hear the gears in her brain churn as she worked through Sophie’s situation.

  Sophie puffed out her chest, hoping that what she wanted, which was no big stink to be thrown, was what Elizabeth wanted as well.

  Finally, Elizabeth sighed, loudly and unhappily. “I don’t like bastards thinking they can get away with stuff like that!” she huffed. “Why would he do this to you? Did you get bad grades in school or something?”

  Sophie tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. She was unsure if Elizabeth had gripped reality hard enough today. “Um… Miss Button,” Sophie said, “I haven’t gone to school for, like, two years now. They can’t make you go after sixteen.” Sophie had never said anything before about this, positive that Elizabeth couldn’t have possibly been thinking Sophie was actually attending school, because she was at the office all day long and she had mentioned that she worked in the evenings at her second job.

  Elizabeth’s face began to pale with sympathy and sadness. Sophie firmed up her bottom lip, hating that look. The woman really had thought that Sophie was on the college track, and now she had the nerve to be disappointed about the obvious reality she had been ignoring.

  Sophie sighed and opened her hands as if physically grasping at patience. “Look, Steve—my stepdad—just saw that I had some stuff, you know, because of the gift card you got me. He sort of went off the deep end, and I’m used to it. I can handle myself.”

  That gift-card was the single most generous gift Sophie had ever gotten from anyone. The temperatures this year had been record-breaking low for this time of year, and Elizabeth had been obliged to give Sophie a birthday gift of unusual size: she had handed Sophie an envelope with a five-hundred-dollar gift certificate to Kohl’s, with instructions that Sophie had to buy a new coat with it, since all it seemed she owned was an old hoodie (which was a correct assessment). Although Sophie was normally loath to accept charity, she had been also extremely happy about the prospect of buying something that was both warm and new. She bought a coat and saved the rest for later, unable to make any decisions about what to get. Once Steve saw her wearing a jacket so obviously not from a secondhand store, the evening turned into a full-scale inquisition pretty fast. In the end, he’d demanded that she give him the rest of her gift.

  After she had refused and clutched her wallet like it was life support, Steve had smacked her a few times before he let fly a punch, and then had taken it out of Sophie’s hands. Her mother had just watched the whole exchange with a jealous glare, as if Sophie had been keeping it from her, too.

  “He took it from you, didn’t he?” Elizabeth quickly pieced together.

  “After I got my jacket,” she assured, not mentioning how her stepfather had thrown it into the dumpster, just to spite her
. Sophie had had to dig the jacket out and mourn at the old beer and lunchmeat stains on it.

  Elizabeth shook her head, ran her fingers over her temples like she had a headache, and then dropped her arms altogether, looking incredulous. “I am so, so sorry, Sophie,” she told her, and then began to fish for her wallet in her purse. “How can I help?”

  Sophie stifled an eye roll. This was also one of the things she feared Elizabeth would do—waste even more money on her. “No, I’m cool! Really, I got a place! Besides, I meant to move out soon, anyway; it’s not like I had an open invitation to stay at Mom’s as long as I wanted or anything.”

  “How much?” Elizabeth clarified, ignoring her.

  “I’m not accepting anything else,” Sophie refused stubbornly, even tensing her shoulders and crossing her arms in front of her.

  Elizabeth looked up, challenging her for a long, frightening moment with her stare. Sophie did a good job at not pissing her pants from it, so Elizabeth just shook her head with exasperation and pulled a simple card out of her purse—in lieu of her wallet—and handed it to Sophie. “Take it,” she instructed as Sophie kept her arms crossed, yet leaned forward to suspiciously inspect it.

  To avoid another stare-down, Sophie pinched the card between two fingers and brought it up to her face. It had Elizabeth’s personal number on it. Sophie flushed, feeling quite honored, since Elizabeth was sort of a celebrity, yet she actually trusted a girl on the other side of the tracks with her contact information.

  Sophie would never, ever use it, of course, but the gesture wasn’t lost on her.

  Elizabeth looked very somber. “That has my cell and my home phone number on it, Sophie. If you need anything—ever—I want you to swallow your pride and call me. Day or night. Got it?”

  Sophie nodded and turned the card around in her hands like one would an ornament or a knickknack they thought was quite clever.

  Elizabeth pointed one of her nails in Sophie’s face. “Put it in your pocket before I tattoo that number to your forehead.”