Baby, ASAP - A Billionaire Buys a Baby Romance (Babies for the Billionaire Book 3)

by Layla Valentine

  “Tell me about your family,” I said. “I’m curious to know the circumstances which created someone as intriguing as yourself.”

  She blushed and bit her lip briefly, the same gesture which had caught my attention back at the office. The urge to make her bite it in the throes of passion thumped through my veins. I filed the image away, intending to return to it in the privacy of my own quarters.

  “My mother is Greek,” she told me. “And my father is Scandinavian. My mom came to the States when she was sixteen years old, with the dream of becoming a famous actress.

  “My dad lived in California. That’s where they met. She was running to audition after audition, and he was driving a taxi. They met that way several times before they started dating. Love, marriage, and so on…and then I came along. They moved out here not long after. Well, not here, exactly. A small town downstate.

  “Once my mom’s plans to become an actress fell through, she became homesick and depressed. She fought through it until I was thirteen, but something happened. I don’t know what, exactly, but she and my father fought for two straight weeks. After that, she left, back home to Greece. She still writes me letters, and we talk on the phone…she’s a lot happier now. She’s like a whole new person.”

  “Does your father still live in Illinois?” I asked.

  “He doesn’t live anywhere,” she said softly. “He passed away eighteen months ago. That’s why I moved here. Once I’d handled everything there was to handle, I couldn’t bear to stay, even though I probably should have. The house is paid for in full, and it’s a sturdy little cottage. I had it sealed against weather and vermin. I can’t bring myself to live in it, but the thought of selling it breaks my heart. So it’s just…sitting there, until I can muster up the courage to do something with it.”

  “Living in it would be the practical solution to your problem,” I said. “If you were able to live there, you would be able to spend your money on a child instead.”

  She laughed, a surprisingly musical sound.

  “You say that as if I’m in the market to purchase a child,” she said, her face alight with mirth. “But I understand what you’re saying. It is the practical decision; I just can’t seem to make it. It’s a sad house, I think. At least that’s how I felt when I left it. Maybe in another year or two I’ll find the strength to go back and try. Until then, I’ll keep paying the taxes and leave it in limbo.”

  Limbo, I thought. So many things in limbo, floating in the air. My company, for one. I could see the pieces of the solution fall into place, and I examined them from every imaginable angle. If I managed this just right, I could solve everything.

  I brought her up onto the hill which overlooked the gardens and the house, and turned her toward the latter. She inhaled sharply—a sound which I would add to the growing fantasy file in my mind—and covered her mouth with one hand.

  “Is that your house?” she asked.

  “Yes, it is,” I said, my chest filling with warmth and pride. “That is Dane Park. Ballrooms, bedrooms, a veritable museum of AllGood toys dating back to my great-grandfather’s time. I can’t say with absolute certainty that I have seen every room. Not to mention the hidden chambers and attics…I would spend hours exploring them when I was a child, and I never failed to get tired before reaching the end.

  “Floor after floor of heirlooms, room after room of toys and technology, endless yards of tapestries intricately woven to capture your attention for hours. Two libraries, one on each end. The rooms seem to go on forever…at least they did when I was a child. It’s smaller to me now, but not by much. When I walk those hallways, I see potential. I see generations living together, as family. The place is certainly large enough, though my family has a bit of a single-child tradition.”

  “You could have a dozen and never run out of room,” she said, her eyes shining. “You could play hide and seek on rainy days and actually have some fun. Oh, and parties! Dinner parties and Christmas parties, masked balls and Halloween parties…I see what you mean. Endless potential.”

  I warmed to Kaley even more than I already had, enjoying the opportunity to see my home through her eyes. She gazed at the house with a hazy smile and dreamy eyes, no doubt imagining raising her own gaggle of children within those walls.

  “You could have that, you know,” I told her softly.

  Startled, she looked up at me.

  “What?”

  “The mansion, the children, the rainy days playing. All of that could be yours.”

  She swallowed hard and edged slightly away from me. I let her go.

  “What do you mean?” she asked nervously.

  “A proposal,” I said, all business. “A mutually beneficial arrangement. You and my executives all seem to agree that the only way for me to change my image is to first change my life. The most direct path is to find a warm, loving woman—one who wants nothing more than to be a mother, one who has that spark—and start a family with her. I propose that we meet each other’s needs. You are the perfect candidate for me, and I believe that all of this…” I gestured to the acres surrounding us, “makes me an ideal candidate for you.”

  “I… What? I’m sorry, I can’t seem to put together what you’re saying.” She had gone pale, and her hand trembled.

  I put my hand over hers, offering her strength to hear and understand what I needed to express.

  “If you agree to have my child, and appear before the media as my partner, then I will ensure that you and the child are taken care of.

  “I understand,” I interrupted as she opened her mouth to speak, “that it isn’t exactly what you envisioned. Unfortunately, even a man with my considerable power cannot always meet every desire. It wouldn’t be traditional. It wouldn’t be a fairy tale. What it would be is an opportunity for you to become the mother you know yourself to be, to live in safety and security, to never worry about a dime or a dollar ever again. I can honestly see no better way to solve both of our problems.”

  Having made my case more clumsily than I had intended to, I lapsed into silence and gave Kaley the space to consider what I had just said. Her face was a kaleidoscope of emotions, shifting seamlessly from morose to excited, from anxiety to a quick flash of fury.

  I watched her pace the hilltop, appreciating her hourglass figure and the way the light from the setting sun ignited her curls in highlights of red and orange. She was careful to avoid treading on flowers and sprouts, her shapely legs crossing this way and that to step around the foliage.

  “It’s not a small decision,” she pointed out after a long moment. “You and I would be legally and biologically bound for the rest of our lives. We barely know one another, apart from our reputations. You really want me to have your baby?”

  “Yes,” I said confidently. “I want you to have my baby.”

  “I…I need to think it over,” she said. That nervousness was back on her face, that shock of fear that she may have displeased me one too many times in a single day.

  My frustration at that expression nearly refused to be suppressed, and I had to turn away from her. I’m no monster. I’m just a man. A powerful man, certainly, but a man nonetheless. What was she so afraid of? That I would be so callous, so immature, as to fire or otherwise harm someone who simply asked for basic, reasonable consideration?

  It wasn’t her fault, I reminded myself. My reputation preceded me, and it wasn’t pretty.

  “Yes, think about it,” I said, turning back to her with a smile. “Take all the time you need. Just keep in mind that your future children are unlikely to find themselves in a more secure situation.”

  “I will,” she said coolly. “How should I let you know when I’ve made a decision?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I told her, retreating behind my CEO shield. “When the time is right, I will come to you.”

  Chapter 7

  Kaley

  I missed all of the scenery on the ride home, reeling at the turn the evening had taken. Jonathan Dane wanted me
to have his baby? Why?

  I thought back over every moment of the hours we’d spent together, every glance, every touch. He seemed to enjoy my company, and seemed to be just as attracted to me as I was to him; was that it? Was he using my desire to be a mother as a shortcut to get me into bed?

  No, that didn’t seem right. The PR problem seemed to be legitimate. Maybe that was it, then. He never had said how he would get me pregnant, hadn’t mentioned romance or sex at all, actually.

  What if he just wanted to inseminate me in a hospital room somewhere and fabricate everything?

  “Excuse me,” I said to the driver.

  “Yes, miss?”

  “How long have you worked for Mr. Dane?”

  “I’ve been with the family 30 years, miss.”

  “And…I’m sorry for asking this, but…is Mr. Dane a womanizer? In your opinion.”

  His amused glance met my eyes in the mirror. “I generally keep my opinions to myself, miss. However, I very much doubt that anyone who knows Mr. Dane would describe him as a womanizer, at least in the last seven years or so.”

  I did some quick mental math. Mr. Dane had celebrated his thirtieth birthday just before being named CEO of the company. It had been a big deal, according to Imogen, and the whole company had participated in the festivities. That must have been what, two or three years ago? So five years before that would have been right in the middle of Mr. Dane’s twenties.

  “He had a lot of fun in college, then?” I asked.

  The driver winked at me, but said nothing. He switched the radio on, implying that the conversation was over, and I let my head fall back against the seat. There was too much to process, and I didn’t even know the right questions to ask.

  We drove in silence for half an hour before pulling up to my building. Looking up at it, all I could think was that the entire fifty-unit building could have fit comfortably in a single wing of Mr. Dane’s mansion. The thought depressed me, somehow, which was irrationally frustrating. I cast around my mind for something solid to sink my angry teeth into, some part of this complicated ordeal to get righteously outraged about.

  “When the time is right,” I muttered under my breath. “How the hell does he get to decide when the time is right?”

  I tossed my black dress on the pile of unwashed laundry in the corner of my bedroom and kicked off my heels. My bra followed, releasing tension from my tail bone to the base of my skull. If I ever did get to be a housewife, bras would be the first sacrifice I would make in honor of the transition.

  Frustrated and conflicted, I switched on the music playlist I usually reserved for hard workouts (when I remembered to go for a run) and began to clean my apartment. I might not have the money, but I would be damned if I didn’t develop some mothering skills.

  After an hour of scattered, inefficient cleaning, I turned the music off and sat on the floor. I needed to think.

  “Okay,” I said to myself in the mirror hanging from the bathroom door. “What are your options right now? One. Take the CEO of AllGood flippin’ Incorporated up on his insane offer. Have a bunch of babies, live in a freaking palace and have everything I want or need right at my fingertips. Everything except love. Option two, artificial insemination or a one-night stand, bibbity-bobbity-baby.”

  I stood and paced my apartment, my bare feet gripping the threadbare carpet. I couldn’t raise a kid here. Babies crawl; they get into everything.

  I began noticing every dangerous part of my house; the peeling baseboards with their exposed, rusty nails. The cracked plastic covers over the electrical outlets. The stove, undersized and old, which would catch fire at the least provocation. A scrabbling in the walls emphasized the danger of living in a place like this with an infant; if the germs and nails didn’t get him, the rats would.

  “Okay, so, option three: move back home,” I said, wincing away from the idea even as I said it. “Or not. Back to option zero, then. Fall in love…with who?”

  I had no prospects at all. I had spent the whole of last year dating and searching, trying to fill the hole that had been left in my heart when my dad had passed. Dozens of dates with dozens of men had left me weary and despondent. Maybe true love really was a myth. Maybe people just did the best they could with what they had.

  “And what do I have?” I asked my dingy walls.

  The scratching began again.

  “Rats,” I answered myself. “I have rats.”

  The next day, after finishing up the cleaning as best I could (there really was no way to get everything looking new, but by the time I was done, at least it was less depressing), I couldn’t avoid the question anymore.

  What was I going to do? This was a question of long-term happiness, of doing what was best for me and my future offspring. If anyone knew what lengths a person had to go to in order to find happiness, it was my mother.

  So, with my phone in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, I stepped out onto my tiny balcony and curled up in the deck chair the previous tenants had left for me.

  “Mom?”

  “Kaley! Is it Thursday already?”

  “No,” I laughed. “It’s still the weekend. I, um…I wanted to talk to you about something. Are you busy?”

  “Oh, a little, nothing that can’t wait. You sound upset; who upset you?”

  “Just my own brain,” I told her, smiling fondly at her fierce protectiveness, even half a world away. “I’ve been given an offer, and I don’t know whether or not I should accept it.”

  “What sort of offer?”

  “My, um…” I sighed heavily. My boss wants me to have his baby doesn’t sound good, no matter how you phrase it. “It’s complicated. Essentially, a very wealthy man has asked me to have his child.”

  “Do you love him?”

  I love his body, his scent, his eyes…but not him.

  “No. I barely know him. I know he could provide a good life for me and any children we had, but it wouldn’t be love. It would just be…convenient.”

  “Paidi mou,” she said admonishingly. “Convenience kills the soul. Money won’t keep you warm at night. You are passion and light, Kaley. Search your soul, find your passion, chase that passion. That’s when everything falls into place.”

  “What if my passion is to be a mother, though?”

  “Then be one,” she said affectionately. “But don’t tie yourself in knots about the how and the when and the why. Open your heart to your child, wherever they are, wherever they might come from. As soon as you know that you are ready for the baby, the baby will come. You did.”

  I smiled at that. I was long over my adolescent belief that Mom ran away because of me, but the hurt was still there, pulling the way an old scar pulls on healthy tissues. Her acknowledgment meant the world to me.

  “I’ll try that,” I promised. “I’ll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing, and I’ll talk to you on Thursday.”

  “All right, sweetheart. You keep your chin up and your eyes fourteen. All will work out. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Eyes fourteen. I hadn’t heard that in years, I thought as I hung up the phone. I missed her, and her crazy little sayings, but I wouldn’t ask her to come back to the States. In the last ten years, she had only visited a handful of times, and each time she had been more miserable than the last. There was something about home that kept her steady, something she couldn’t find here.

  I could have gone to her, I supposed. I had thought about it, several times. But my mother had always taught me to listen to my gut, and my gut told me that I still had things to do here. I felt like this was where I was supposed to be. So the question, really, was: what was my gut saying about Mr. Dane and his proposal?

  Mostly that I hope he wants to impregnate me the traditional way, I thought with a smirk.

  The rest of the weekend was spent in limbo as I went back and forth about whether to accept his offer or take my chances with true love, whatever that was. By Monday, I was relieved to
be back at work just so I would have other things to think about. My relief was short-lived, however. My co-star for the first photoshoot ruined it for me.

  “Ms. Marshall, for the first few hours you will be working with Jordan,” Ms. Abrahms told me, gesturing to a beautiful baby boy of about eight months.

  He grinned and gurgled at me in his doting mother’s arms.

  “You will be playing with a variety of toys—our classic line as well as the new line of baby toys due to be released in October. We will direct you if we need to, but it is important for us to capture the candid moments too. Let’s get you into makeup and wardrobe, then we’ll get started!”

  I followed her back to the dressing area, finding it difficult to tear my eyes off of the little boy. His cherubic face was framed in dark, fine, wild brown curls which accented his silvery eyes—the casting director had somehow managed to find a baby which looked exactly how I imagined my child would look, should I choose to have it with Mr. Dane.

  I barely noticed the makeup artist buzzing around my face, and paid scant attention to the clothes they put me in, distracted by what could be interpreted as a sign.

  “Perfect. You look gorgeous,” a flamboyant photographer told me hastily as he pushed me toward the stage.

  The stage stole my breath. It was my dream nursery, with clean white furniture and paintings of vintage teddy bears on the false wall, fake sunlight streaming through a nonexistent window, and an array of fun and educational toys laid out atop an alphabet rug, inviting us to come and play.

  Without meaning to, I calculated the cost of this nursery and came up with a depressingly high sum. Any nursery I could put together on my own would be full of depressing compromises.