Billionaire's Secret Baby: A Billionaire Romance

by Claire Angel

  “Hello, Lauren. Is the team ready? You know we can’t afford any screw ups on this one. If we do it right, Mr. Carter will make us his go-to events crew, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what he’ll do if we fuck it up.”

  A very good morning to you, too, oh fair one. So eloquently put, as always. Oh, and thanks for the vote of confidence.

  “Everything is perfectly on schedule, Sadie. I’m about to check on the team as we speak.”

  “Good. I’ll check in with you later. Call me if there are any problems, no matter how small.”

  The ‘always warm and fuzzy’ Sadie ended the call before I could answer. The elevator doors opened—it was empty. Good. I heard a message come through on my phone, and balled my fists in anticipation of more of the dragon’s wrath.

  Hey, there. Bag a cute Frenchman yet? Let me know if you need a few pointers, it read.

  It was Dianne, the committed night owl, the kind of person who could get away with four hours of sleep, and still bounce around all day long. I was always ‘dead man walking’ after our childhood sleepovers. The woman wore me out.

  Don’t you worry. You’ll be the first to know. Now go to sleep, you nutter! I texted back, with a smiley face attached. I put the phone back in my pocket and rode the golden box, bejeweled with France’s finest bling, in silence down to the lobby.

  The reception area was quiet when the elevator doors opened, save a few cleaners—it was about sparrow’s fart early so I wasn’t surprised. The staff at the front desk looked fresh and ready to rock and roll, no doubt aware of the imminent influx of deep pockets bearing down on their not so humble establishment.

  “Good morning, Miss Parker,” the desk clerk greeted me with a smile and a thick accent, as I passed him on my way to the conference room. He was a tall, blonde, clean cut Frenchman, with a jacket so pristinely pressed, it looked like it was painted on.

  “Good morning, Rupert,” I greeted. I made it a point of reading name tags. I thought it rude and dismissive when people didn’t use my name when speaking to me in a corporate environment.

  “Please let me know if I can be of any assistance to you, mademoiselle. My colleagues and I are at your disposal.” His smile told me he appreciated my good manners.

  “Thank you. I’ll do that.”

  He lingered and smiled just a smidge too long, his blue eyes dancing. His juvenile attempts at flirting bemused me. I didn’t mind it, as long as he didn’t expect me to go all weak kneed like a teenager and fall down with my pins in the air. Not that I had a massive ego by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn’t the first time the opposite sex swooned over me. I tried not to be one of those maneaters who used their looks and cunning to devour their prey. I preferred to use my wit to lure a man—a pretty piece of ass alone didn’t appeal to me. I was attracted to the sexy mind. A gorgeous ass was just gravy.

  As I walked away, I heard him whisper something under his breath to a desk assistant nearby. Whenever I was in France, I kept the fact that I was fluent in the language my little secret. It was amazing what you could learn when the speaker thought you were blissfully ignorant. His comment was innocuous enough, so I let it slide. Although I suspected that he probably didn’t kiss his mother with that mouth.

  “Good morning, Miss Styles. Here to do the Grand Dragon’s bidding, are you?” Scotty was as funny as he was rotund. Of the team, he and I had the most fun. He was gayer than a parade, and a consummate flirt. I almost pitied the unsuspecting men of Paris.

  “Watch it, Scotty. One word from me and she’ll reduce you to a primordial puddle with her fiery breath.”

  He laughed at my playful threat, his belly wiggling up and down as he did so.

  “Okay, give me the status report, STAT,” I said as I looked around the room. My heart was beating with pride as the splendor of the decor and table layouts oozed class and breeding.

  “I take it the gift bags are all present and accounted for?” I asked as I scanned the tables.

  “Yup, no issues there,” Scott said as he secured a banner in place. “Besides, you know full well that with an ass like yours, you could get away with murder. If the shit hit the fan, we could always tie a pretty bow around you and let them admire your magnificence for a week. We may even make a few more pennies that way. I’ll personally sell the tickets.”

  “Nice try, Scotty. Let’s leave my naked ass out of this, thank you.”

  “Okay, can’t blame a girl for trying.” He giggled as he stood back to admire his handiwork.

  I was particularly pleased with the collection of goodies we’d come up with for the week’s proceedings. The large, branded gift bags were filled with luxury items such as grooming products, techno gadgets, the scent of the year for men and women, handcrafted chocolate truffles, earpods, luxury weekend getaway packages, and even a sexy truth or dare board game for those cold and rainy nights spent indoors with that special someone.

  We’d decided on a white and fern green color scheme for the dining area, which transformed the space into a relaxed garden feel, befitting the majesty of the French countryside.

  “You’ve done great work, as always, Anna,” I said to the head decor coordinator, eliciting a beaming smile from her.

  “Thanks, Lauren. I’m gonna sleep for a week after this one is done.”

  “Yeah, right. Have you met Sadie?”

  Anna rolled her eyes. I grinned.

  “I’m off to have a quick chat with the chef on duty. It looks great, Anna, kudos.

  ***

  CHRIS

  “Would you care for a refreshment, Monsieur?” A beautiful, chesty blonde crooned at me. Sweet little thing she was. Looked like a dancer the way she moved her body when she walked away to fetch me a double espresso.

  The Parisian women were much more forthcoming when it came to flirting and sex. They instinctively knew how to lure in the object of their desire, and I suspected the pretty waitress to be no different from her contemporaries. My groin stirred as I watched her tight little ass swaying to and fro. She looked back and gave me a cheeky smile, as if she could read my mind. I smiled back.

  While I drank my espresso, I checked my mail and voice messages. My PA and her mini army of junior assistants screened most of my correspondence, letting through only those that were urgent. My company was large—I didn’t have time to sweat the small stuff. There weren’t any major hiccups looming large on the horizon, so my day was set to be a relatively chaos free one.

  After my caffeinated interlude, I made my way to the conference hall to cast a beady eye over the final preparations. Even I had to admit that the place looked like a French garden straight off the pages of the Gardening in France magazine. Every white rose looked perfect, the banners were effective but not garishly loud, and the gift bags were arranged beautifully on a large table in the corner of the expansive hall. Brilliant.

  A mousy girl walked toward me as I looked around. She must have recognized me from some magazine or another, because she addressed me with confidence.

  “Good morning, Mr. Carter. It’s a great pleasure meeting you. I’m Anna, the decor coordinator for your event. Is there anything I can do for you?” She had a pleasant way about her. A little thin for my taste, but she had kind eyes.

  “Nice to meet you, Anna. I’m impressed. The room looks beautiful. I’m sure my guests will be as pleased as I am.”

  She looked like a schoolgirl whose teacher had just given her a gold star.

  “Thank you, Mr. Carter. Would you excuse me, please?”

  “Of course. Before you go, do you know where I can find Lauren Styles?”

  “Yes, she’s chatting to the chef on duty. I’m sure you’ll find her in his office.” She smiled and walked away after I thanked her.

  The concierge showed me to the chef’s office. The room was neat with a large wooden desk against the wall and a bookcase filled to the brim with classic French cuisine, recipe books. A man dressed in a white chef’s uniform sat behind the desk. He sto
od up as we entered the room.

  “Francois, this is Mr. Carter.”

  "Enchanté, Monsieur Carter. Welcome to my kitchen.”

  “Good to meet you, Francois. I’ve heard only good things about your culinary skills. I look forward to enjoying your meals.”

  “Merci, Monsieur.” Chefs were artists and as such tended to be a little short tempered. Francois had an air of command about him. I was confident that he wouldn’t disappoint.

  “I was hoping to see Miss Styles here. Her colleague told me she would be chatting to you about the menu.”

  “Ah, oui, I’m sorry, Monsieur Carter, but you just missed her.”

  “Elusive woman,” I commented.

  “Oui, Monsieur, but well worth finding, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Francois gave me a knowing smile. The kind that only men understood. I was looking forward to laying eyes on her. Tales of her beauty preceded her. I was curious.

  Satisfied with progress, I went up to my suite to freshen up before lunch. I made a few phone calls, and enjoyed the garden setting from the view of the wrap around glass wall. It took me a while to adjust to the landscape of France. I was used to the endless amber skies of Texas. The silence of the vast open spaces with its unique orange glow was the polar opposite of the forest-like verdant countryside outside Paris. I missed home, no matter where I traveled to. There was simply no place like it.

  The phone on the desk rang and dragged me from my daydream.

  “Hello,” I answered.

  “Hello, Mr. Carter. My name is Lauren Styles. I’m sorry I kept missing you this morning. Anna told me you were asking for me.”

  “Ah, the illusive events manager. Not serious, Miss Styles. I had a quick look at what you and your team have prepared for us, and so far I don’t see any problems.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Carter. I can assure you, there won’t be any. Please, call me Lauren.” Her husky voice and polished accent painted a very pleasant picture in my head. Soothing and exciting all at the same time.

  “Shall we meet downstairs in the lounge before lunch, Lauren? Say twelve-thirty?”

  “That sounds good. Thank you, Mr. Carter.”

  “Please,” I said, “call me Chris.”

  “I’ll see you downstairs, Chris.”

  If she was half as sexy as her voice made her sound, my week was shaping up to be pretty damn promising.

  Chapter 3

  LAUREN

  My blood pressure shot up when Chris Carter threw the backhanded compliment at me. No problems so far! Did he think me an incompetent ass? Did he think this my first rodeo?

  Billionaire or no, he would find me an overachiever at worst—bordering on over sensitive about my achievements, if I had to be honest. What others saw as OCD, I preferred to call the pursuit of perfection.

  I gave the poor rich kid the benefit of the doubt, despite my defensive knee jerk reaction. I was sure that he was still smarting after the last fiasco, nothing to do with me, but understandable I supposed. I had half an hour to get over myself before I met with Chris. I used the time wisely by grabbing a quick snack before the frenetic afternoon that lay ahead of me.

  I made a point of eating a light meal before I threw myself headlong into organized event chaos. Someone always did something stupid, so going off at them while I was ‘hangry’ was less than professional. Nobody wanted to deal with that—always the considerate humanitarian that I was, I kept that in mind. The cafe downstairs was quiet when I seated myself near the coffee bar.

  “Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Je m'appelle Henry. What can I get you?” A handsome young waiter stood smiling at me with his hands poised over a notepad. He had strong, handsome fingers—I was a sucker for a good pair of male mitts. Nails short and clean, long, strong fingers, smooth, blemish free skin—yes please. I fantasized a little about those fingers trailing the inside of my thigh before I pulled myself together and ordered my meal.

  “Bonjour, Henry. A double espresso and a quiche, please,” I answered. “Oh, and I’m in a bit of a rush, Henry. Would you ask the chef to add a dash of speed to my order?” I pulled a smile from my arsenal to sweeten the deal.

  “Mai oui. I’ll be right back,” he said and headed for the kitchen, tight buns standing proud. I tried to distract myself by looking around the room.

  I loved the signature decor of the French. Pale yellow, deep red, rose pink, teal green, and duck shell blue, told me I was in the land of the Franks. The inside of the cafe was splashed with vibrant colors, and every spare corner was filled with fragrant flowers. The French knew their stuff when it came to flowers, I had to give them that. They were almost as skilled at it as they were in bed. Seriously, Lauren. You need to get laid.

  The quiche was a triumph, and it didn’t hurt that Henry gave me a cheeky little smile when he brought the food to my table. I eavesdropped on a hushed conversation he had with another waiter and grinned inwardly as certain aspects of my anatomy were discussed in great detail.

  My good friends teased me about the effect I had on men—not that I thought about it much. When one is born looking a certain way, it just is what it is. High school was a trying time. I was lucky if I could scare up a date for anything. Plenty of drop dead gorgeous boys ogled me but because I was considered a ‘fox’ not very many of them plucked up the courage to pull their shit together and ask me out. Except for bad boy Johnny, the horn dog of the school who tried to nail everything that moved. I avoided him like the plague.

  I was glad when school was done, and I realized that I didn't have to wait anymore for men to come to me. I made my choices and was bold about it. Life was too short to sit on the shelf and smile sweetly at men who couldn’t get over my outward appearance. That was probably one of the reasons I loved France so much—no guesswork, just mind-blowing sex. Vive la France!

  “Hi. You must be Lauren. I’m Chris.”

  The voice behind me startled me. I couldn’t risk a brilliant spinach toothed smile, so I had a quick sip of water before I responded.

  “Guilty as charged. You found me. Good to meet you, Chris,” I said as my eyes did a quick scan of the gorgeous man standing in front of me. Dare I take a peek? Come on, extend your hand, come on. Oh, mama! Perfect hands.

  Chris Carter was tall—vertically challenged men didn’t do it for me—dark haired, with olive skin, and piercing hazel eyes, made even more perfect with tiny specs of amber. He had a swimmer’s build; broad shoulders, chiseled pecs pushing against his white, designer shirt, and when he turned to signal Henry, I saw what was an ass so tightly wrapped in beige chinos you could bounce a coin off of it. I half expected him to have an exotic accent of sorts, but when he spoke it was as American as apple pie.

  Despite my ovaries leaping about like a box of mad frogs, I composed myself nicely, I thought. Henry, who looked rather average compared to the billionaire stud, was pleasant with his new rival, but I saw hidden daggers as he spoke to the man who dared to snag his potential sex toy from him. If Chris noticed, he took it in his stride. He ordered a coffee, then turned back to me. His striking eyes pulled me in and held me captive.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing your lunch. I’m a few minutes early,” he said while I imagined the feel of his skin against mine.

  “No, I’m done, thanks.” I smiled to drive home the point that I wasn’t intimidated by his presence. “Please, sit down.”

  “Are you enjoying Paris?” he asked after he sat across from me, moving his gaze from my eyes to my lips.

  “What’s not to like? Except for the ‘interesting’ fragrance of central Paris that is,” I said as I shifted ever so slightly in my chair.

  “Yes, there is that, I’m afraid. But you get used to it after a while. It’s a small price to pay for the privilege of living in the 'City of Light',” he said. He smiled at me, revealing a row of perfectly straight, pearly whites, and a dimple on his left cheek.

  “Are you based in Paris?” I asked while trying not to gush.

  “I cr
iss-cross Europe and the States, but I do spend a fair amount of time here. Unless my roots compel me to visit home,” he said, and added sugar to his coffee.

  “Where’s home?” I asked.

  “Texas. My folks have a ranch near Austin. How about you? Where do you call home?” He sat back, relaxed, as if he was chatting to an old friend. His confidence was very appealing—sexy as hell.

  “I’m a New Yorker. Born and bred in the Big Apple,” I said.

  “Ah, a New York Yankie groupie, are you?”

  “You better believe it.” I smiled. Was he flirting? I couldn’t tell, which was unusual for me. Mr. Carter was clearly the consummate poker player, or perhaps I was losing my edge.

  “From a ranch in Texas to a chateau in France,” I commented as he watched my lips. “That’s quite a change of pace.”

  “I miss the wide open spaces for sure. Nothing like a starry, Texas night sky. Have you been?”

  “Not yet, no, but it’s on my bucket list.” I smiled, as I thought of the two of us lying on a quilt under the Texan stars, recovering from an earth shattering orgasm. I looked at my watch. I was enjoying this intriguing man very much, but my OCD commanded me to focus on the reason I was there in the first place. Chris picked up on my cue.

  “I’m sure you have a lot to do, so I won’t keep you. Perhaps we can catch up later?” He stood as I got up.

  “I’d like that,” I said, meaning it for a change.

  “Great. Don’t work too hard now.” He grinned as he spoke the last words.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said and walked away, knowing full well that he was staring at my ass. I liked it. The thought of his hands touching mine made my stomach flutter. How I loved Paris.

  ***

  CHRIS

  For once, the legend of a woman’s beauty wasn’t exaggerated. Lauren was so hot, I had to watch my every word, just in case I gushed like a pimple-faced teenager tripping over his hardon. She seemed comfortable with her looks, unlike most such ravishing creatures. No hair flicking, no doe-eyed glances, just open faced and self-assured. Quick, too. I couldn’t help watching her mouth as she spoke. Her plump lips made my jaw clench.