Billionaire Baby Daddy: A Second Chance Romance

by Lara Swann

  “I don’t think I ever expect you to behave.” I mutter. “And no, it was nothing like that.”

  That’s a blatant lie. Maybe Emma has a flair for the dramatic, but the weird buzzing feeling reminds me that all of that was exactly how it felt. Fireworks and magic, indeed. And Emma calls me on it - with nothing more than a skeptical, raised eyebrow.

  “Okay, maybe it was a little like that.” I admit. “But it was a mistake - and we stopped.”

  She blinks at me. “A mistake?”

  “I didn’t come here to get back with him, Emma.”

  “Sure, you didn’t expect to. You came hoping for a little financial help - which you’ve turned down, by the way - but if you could have the guy…”

  I sigh, repeating what I swear I’ve said a dozen times now. “I already went there, remember? It didn’t work - which was fine when it was just me. But putting Maddie in that situation? Where the most likely outcome is the one that already happened?”

  “It’s been five years, and you’ve got a kid. It wouldn’t be like it was back then.”

  “That’s what he keeps saying.” I mutter.

  She grins. “I’m liking him more and more. You gotta know that any guy who agrees with me is a keeper, right?”

  I roll my eyes at her, but then she turns serious again.

  “Seriously…I don’t get it. He’s the…well.” She glances over to Maddie. “You know what he is. And he’s good with her, he seems like a decent guy…no major red flags, other than your weird allergy to his money. You’re both still clearly into each other. I would’ve thought it was simple. Get together. Be a family. What could possibly be better for Maddie?”

  I run a hand through my hair and sigh, staring off into the distance as I try to voice the doubt and fear that feels so deeply buried, it’s almost impossible to untangle. Except, I do know what it is.

  I turn back to her, and from the way her expression closes off, I can guess what’s in mine.

  “You know what’s worse than two parents who love you, but just don’t happen to be together? Two parents who are miserable and bitter because they ruined each others’ lives, and take it out on everyone around them.”

  Emma pauses for a long moment, giving me a measured look.

  “I take it you’re speaking from experience there.” She eventually says.

  I shrug.

  I haven’t seen my parents since they kicked me out, and honestly? I’m better off without them. Maybe I was hoping for a little support, but despite how hard it’s been…I’m glad Maddie didn’t have to grow up in that environment.

  “Yeah. I was the kid they stayed together for.”

  Ironic really, since they abandoned me in the end. The thing they tore their lives apart for…and now we don’t even speak. Or maybe it was just their values holding them back. The same values that meant they couldn’t let me raise a kid out of marriage. Fuck that.

  I can see the sympathy in Emma’s expression, and try to shrug it off.

  “Don’t worry about it. I stopped caring about them a long time ago - they made their own choices, and how their lives ended up was never my fault.”

  It took a long time to believe that, but now it’s so deeply ingrained that I don’t even feel a flicker of the guilt I used to.

  “But it’s why I’d rather keep this…whatever this is. The friendly, co-parent thing. A good relationship with him - instead of putting Maddie through something that crashes and burns. Because I won’t be like them - I won’t stay, if it all goes wrong.”

  Emma nods, and doesn’t say anything for a long time. Long enough for me to get past the surge of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm me, until I’ve put them all to bed again.

  “And…you really think it won’t work? That the chance is so small it’s not worth the risk?”

  It’s a soft question, nothing like her previous exuberance, and I’m not sure whether I’m grateful for that or pissed off that she feels she needs to hold herself back.

  I sigh.

  That’s the problem.

  That’s the dilemma.

  It’s what I keep trying to tell myself - that the chance is too small, that the risk is too great…but the more I see him around Maddie, the more we talk and banter and start to share this parenting thing…the more that scale tips.

  And I’m scared.

  Scared it’s going to tip entirely in the other direction. That he’s going to convince me to go for it - and it will all end in devastation. Like before.

  “I don’t know.” I finally let out. “I want to say yes. I want to say it’s possible. But…he’s so damn confusing. Everything he’s doing now…I don’t know. I don’t know whether it might be different. I don’t know whether I want to find out.”

  Emma doesn’t say anything, just lets me continue talking, and I look over at her as I admit the other part of last night.

  “He said it would be different, last night. Between us. He asked me to let him show me.” I pause, and my voice quietens as I finally add the last part. “And I agreed.”

  She looks back at me, and even though she’s trying to be serious and sombre about this - trying to match my mood - I can see the sparkle in her eyes.

  “Thank god.” She mouths at me, and I can’t help it.

  I smile in response, my mood lifting just a little.

  “I know, I know. You think I’m being completely stupid about it all. Making a drama out of nothing. But…” I shrug.

  She gives a small laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe a little. But I’m not going to complain - everyone is going through their own stuff, Leah. Maybe I would’ve done this whole thing a little differently, but…hey, I didn’t lure a billionaire into my bed in the first place, I’m sure all this infuriating-ness is what he likes about you.”

  “I didn’t lure him.” I object.

  “No.” She grins. “He probably had to lasso you and tie you down, the way you’re acting.”

  I blush, and her eyebrow rises instantly.

  We only tried that once…

  “Anyway.” I say, before she can start asking a million other questions. “That’s why I didn’t take the card. I guess. If I am going to seriously think about this…if we have a chance at something more…I don’t want the money getting in the way. I don’t want that to be part of it.”

  It feels better to say it out loud, somehow. For all her objections and complaints, Emma really is good at listening to all my fucked up shit - and giving me the chance to work through it.

  So maybe denying the card was the wrong thing, if what I’m looking for is a little financial support. But…I’m not sure that is what I’m looking for anymore. And maybe that’s fucking terrifying.

  But it’s also something else, too.

  I reach for my glass of water on the table, feeling like I need something after all of that.

  “Hmm, okay.” Emma says, in a tone that immediately puts me on alert. “Good point. If you take the bazillionaire’s card, you get unlimited cash for as long as he wants. But marry him, well - then you’ve got it for life.”

  I almost spit out my sip of water.

  “Marrying him?!” I mouth the word at her, my eyes are bugging out. “I sure as hell didn’t say anything about that.”

  Too far. Too far. Panic mode engaged.

  “Weeell, I think that’s how it goes. First comes kissing - or, ideally, sex - then comes marriage…then here you come with the baby carriage.” She winks at me, then pauses. “Hm, wait. Maybe you got the order a little mixed up there, but—”

  I push at her shoulder, trying to shut her up. I’m not sure whether I’m about to burst into fits of giggles, or have a mental breakdown - but I don’t stand a chance in hell of controlling myself if she continues like this.

  She gives me an unrepentant smile.

  “Some therapist you are.” I mutter. “I’m not sure children’s nursery rhymes are the epitome of professionalism.”

  “They are if they provide sound lif
e advice.” She says, her tone serious - before her expression gives her away with a grin. “But since we sorted you out, it’s definitely my turn. I need to vent about the ride Dylan is taking me on with this business. He still hasn’t shown me a single piece of evidence that he’s got any sponsors lined up, and we need to get a location confirmed as soon as…”

  I sit back with a smile, settling in to listen.

  Somehow, I think knowing that Emma has her own problems and shit she’s working through is almost as good therapy as talking about mine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alistair

  “Mm. Yes. Okay.”

  I barely listen to the reels of information the analyst is presenting me with - via a video link through my tablet.

  It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, from others who’ve taken exactly the same base information and simply spun it in a different way. I already have my own conclusions - but he doesn’t need to know that. Not yet. Even if this meeting is looking to be a complete waste of time.

  I let my gaze drift around the apartment as I sit at the kitchen island, my mind drifting back to Friday night - and Saturday morning. Playing with my kid. Dancing around the apartment, wrestling with her and Leah.

  Kissing Leah.

  Right here on this stool.

  I’m sure the guy on the other end of the conference notices my inattention, but he doesn’t say anything. Of course. If anything, he tries to attract me with bigger - largely exaggerated - numbers.

  I hear my cleaner tutting to herself, and glance over in that direction.

  Normally, I wouldn’t be here at this time - but since I have a meeting later on just around the corner, it made sense to work from my home office for the morning. Or it would have done, if I hadn’t kept glancing over at the piles of half-built blocks and collapsed toys that are still sat in the middle of my sitting room. Maddie seems to have a flair for building things.

  I chuckle briefly at the idea of what my cleaner must have thought of those.

  Then I hear the sloshing of the bucket she’s carrying as she sets it down. It isn’t until she pulls out the cloth that I realize what she was tutting about.

  “No. Don’t.” I say, probably a little more sharply than I need to.

  Both the analyst on my tablet and the cleaner look up at me.

  I tap the tablet to put him on hold at the same time as I gesture to Maddie’s drawings on the wall.

  “Leave them as they are.”

  She looks at me like I’m being ridiculous, but also like she’s totally used to the eccentric demands of ridiculously wealthy employers, and shrugs.

  I can’t even quite explain the impulse, but…for some reason, I don’t want to get rid of them. Leah might have been outraged at Maddie doing that - and I get it, I really do - but the little touches she’s added to the apartment already make me smile. The pile of toys. The writing on the wall. The pancake batter that I’m still finding in unexpected places.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I nod, then turn back to my interrupted meeting - flicking the tablet on again.

  The guy I left hanging is obviously starting to look strained, but he makes an effort to clear his throat and tries to start again anyway.

  I wonder whether I ever got that flustered?

  I help him out.

  “Sorry about that - private matter to take care of. Where were we?”

  Apologizing. Explaining. Giving him another opening.

  Totally unlike me.

  I don’t usually have any sympathy for dealing with business people who can’t handle my moods, but today I actually feel sorry for the guy.

  He gives me a grateful smile and picks up - unfortunately into the same diatribe I was uninterested in before.

  But I hear him out, at least, and tell him I’ll give this new information proper consideration.

  Never hurts to keep them interested in talking to you - occasionally it’s worthwhile.

  Then I gather everything together, nod to the cleaner - take a last look at the scribblings I saved earlier - and walk out the door towards my meeting.

  Which turns out to be largely another waste of my time, and it’s remarkable that by the time I make it back to the office I’m still in relatively good humor.

  Being a large, public conglomerate might have opened us to exciting opportunities we didn’t have before - but it’s also tied us up in hundreds of meetings that look like they could be opportunities…and are actually gold-dusted shit.

  When I walk into my office to see Barkley waiting for me, I feel that persistent good mood closing off, my expression turning neutral.

  “Barkley.” I acknowledge, dropping my briefcase on my desk and starting to pull files out of it.

  Since our altercation last week, we’ve been carefully cool towards each other - discussing only what we have to, and even then in clipped, professional tones. And I have no intention of changing that until I get a fucking apology.

  Unfortunately, Barkley and apologies…

  “Alistair.” His tone is even cooler than usual.

  “Was there something we needed to discuss?” I ask, hoping he’ll get out of here soon.

  “Yes.” He says abruptly, taking a seat in the chair opposite my desk and propping his feet up on it - a habit I’ve always hated - before steepling his fingers. He looks like some whacked movie villain - and I try not to think how apt that description feels right now. “I’m concerned.”

  I mask a sigh, wondering why he can’t just come out and say whatever he’s talking about.

  “Yes? What about?” I put the briefcase away and lean against the desk, raising an eyebrow.

  It’s a silly power game - both of us taking positions to one-up the other, but it’s the sort of thing we’ve been playing at for years.

  “You, Alistair.” He frowns up at me, genuinely seeming to care for one brief moment. “I don’t know what’s going on with you lately - or, rather, I think I know exactly what it is. And the business is suffering for it - you’ve been unfocused, and taking time off, and making bad decisions, Alistair.”

  I stare at him for a moment, cutting off the way my blood wants to start boiling.

  How dare he?!

  But that’s not the way to deal with things like this - attempts to undermine me, or question my ability. We haven’t played this game for years. But my cold, calculating mindset snaps back into me in an instant.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His expression hardens, but he still tries to take the understanding approach.

  “Everyone has a few mornings like this, when they’re late in—”

  “I was taking calls from home and had a meeting with Jameson.” I say coldly, then curse myself for slipping into that trap.

  I don’t have to justify myself to him. I own just as much of this business as he does, and I don’t answer to him.

  He uses it immediately, though, the condescension increasing. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. You’ve been working flat-out lately, and if you need a bit of time, no one’s going to question it. But when you’re here, you should have your head in the game, Alistair—”

  Says the guy who has been taking every Wednesday afternoon for the last eight years to play golf.

  “Back off, Barkley.” It comes out as a growl. I’m done listening to this, or playing these stupid games. For some reason, I don’t have nearly as much tolerance for them as I did years ago. “If you have some problem - a real problem - then say it. Otherwise, get the hell out of my office.”

  He swings his legs down off my desk, his eyes flashing at me.

  Good. He’s riled up too.

  “I do have a fucking problem, Alistair. You disappearing to see some stupid kid all the time is one thing - but I’m not going to stand here and let you make fucking bad decisions because you’re distracted to hell and back up some hussy’s skirt.”

  My fists clench and I have to stop myself from tearing him a new one.
r />   “Barkley.” I’m not sure I could put more frost into my voice if I tried. “We’ve traded insults for years, and I don’t give a damn what you say about me - but fucking leave my family out of it—”

  “Family! That’s a joke.” He barks a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re deluded. Which is fine, screw up your personal life all you like, but the business—”

  “The business is fine.” I say. “I’ve arranged more deals in the last week than any before it, and our projected quarter profits are up ten per—”

  “And the fiasco with McCaffrey & Co? How do you explain your decision there?” His gaze narrows at me, tone turning angry - and I realize that whatever he’s talking about now is what’s really got him pissed him off.

  I frown, confusion halting my own tirade for a minute.

  I sorted that out on Sunday - calling up my contact there to try and understand what was going on with their results, only to find out it had been a simple accountant’s error. No real losses at all, and in fact the numbers look healthier than even our optimistic predictions. I would’ve thought that counted as a good result, even by Barkley’s standards.

  “What are you talking about? Didn’t you get the memo - I sorted that days ago—”

  “Yes, where your idea of sorted was to let that guy off with a warning!” His voice turns cold.

  “It was a small error in the calculations, Barkley - no real damage done—”

  “It threw our numbers off entirely. If those had gone out to the market—”

  “Well that’s why we check the damn things.” I say, starting to get irritated again.

  “It shouldn’t be our job to check them. That accountant should be out on his ass, and if this had been a month ago - that’s exactly what you would’ve done.”

  I pause.

  That’s what this is about?

  “You’re pissed because I didn’t fire some guy you’ve never even met? Who works for the area I oversee, and knows those companies inside out?” I shake my head. “C’mon, we’ve all been working insane hours to transition to a public company, and we can’t hire people to help out quick enough at the moment—”

  “I’m pissed because you’re going soft, Alistair. I can see it day-in and day-out - you come in here late, whistling and winking at the secretaries, cracking jokes in our investor meetings and letting people get away with shit that’s just plain unacceptable.”