Knocked Up By My Billionaire Boss: A Billionaire's Baby Romance

by Ella Brooke

  For a moment, there was nothing, but then there was an almighty whoosh of air, and he felt as if some great hand had grabbed him and yanked him back from what was meant to be certain death. Later on, he would find a line of bruising all the way around his broad chest where the harness had dug into him, but for now, all he could feel was his body floating over the earth, his parachute full and safely deployed above him as he started the glide down to the ground.

  On his other jumps, this was the moment where Tucker felt exalted. He would look out over the curve of the world below him, the trees, the roads, the buildings, and he would feel as if it all belonged to him, as if he were an integral part of it.

  This time, however, Tucker didn't feel any of that. Instead, he felt vulnerable in a way he never had before. He was part of the world, and just like he worked his will on it, it worked its will on him. No matter how wealthy or powerful he was, he was just as prone to the laws of physics and nature as everyone else. The parachute hadn't cared that he was one of the wealthiest men in the world. It did not care that he had deals poised to save small towns where manufacturing had dried up or that he was bringing all of his business dealings back from overseas to provide more jobs.

  As he came towards the ground, Tucker saw the beauty and the scope of the world, and unexpectedly, he could feel his time running out. He was going to be thirty-eight this year. He likely had decades left, but then again, as today had proven... perhaps not.

  There was an urge deep in his chest that he had never experienced before. He had always laughed at his colleagues who got googly-eyed over their babies, and as he had watched, those babies had grown up into fine men and women, ready to take over.

  Tucker had never seriously thought about what that might mean for him before, but now he did.

  He struck the landing purposefully, hitting it standing up and with his knees bent to absorb the force from above. As soon as he was able, he fought his way clear of the parachute and hailed the jump instructor who had followed him down.

  "You were slow on your deployment," the man said, and Tucker grinned. The adrenaline was slowly leeching out of his system, and what it left behind, unexpectedly, was resolve.

  "Check over your equipment," he said, and he wasn't as sharp as he could have been. "The chute didn't respond to the first tug. And get me my car, I have to get back to the city."

  He left the man stammering in his wake, but his mind was already on other things.

  He wanted a child, a son to carry on his name and his work. That might be difficult for a man who couldn't seem to stand women for more than a month at a time, but Tucker Keene had always been a problem solver.

  He always got what he wanted.

  ***

  Luna ran the polishing cloth once more over the golden ring and then held it out at a distance. The rich yellow gold glinted in the task lighting above her jewelry bench, and she sighed, a soft little puff of air.

  Reverently, she took one last look at the ring, a perfect wedding ring hand-inscribed with a scrolling pattern of ivy around in the interior. Finally, though, she had to tuck it into the velvet box and put it away before standing up. Her back creaked when she straightened, and she noticed with a flinch that it was already almost six in the morning.

  Well, at least that means that I'll be able to get some coffee by the time I get to the cafe.

  The money that would come in when she finished the ring would be welcome, but she had already long-since spent the advance. There was a part of her that could not be quiet about how proud she was about the ring, but there was another part of her that was doing the bitter math and coming to some dark conclusions. Even as she set aside her most challenging project yet and pulled on her sneakers, her thoughts wouldn't leave her alone.

  The ring was a good chunk of cash, one of the first times Luna had ever been brave enough to demand what she was worth. As a lump sum, it was impressive, and she was thrilled. However, it had been a demanding project that took more than two weeks. There were three weeks beforehand where she was taking on freelance work for the local jewelers, widening rings and repairing bracelet clasps. Now that the ring was done, she needed to go back on the hunt for commissions, and that was a very cold road indeed.

  Chicago in spring was beautiful, with a clarity to the air that made her sigh, but there was still very much a chill. She tucked her thin black coat more tightly around herself and shivered as she walked down to her favorite coffee shop around the corner.

  It's fine to get coffee, she told herself. You're getting paid tomorrow.

  Sometimes it was hard to talk herself into the things that she thought of as luxuries and that others considered basics, but she was learning. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it felt as if she was winning the battle of a starving artist, staying fed while still doing the art that felt like her lifeblood.

  Joel, her favorite barista, was behind the counter that day, but there was something unusually gloomy about him.

  "You usually like working the morning shift," she said as she dumped milk and honey into her small coffee. It was so early that there was actually some time to chat. "What's up?"

  "I'm gonna be looking for a job before the end of next month," he said with a grimace. "Word came down that the sale went through, and this whole block is going down."

  Her hands tightened on her coffee cup, nearly spilling the contents before she steadied herself.

  "No, wait, really?"

  "Yeah, the buyers finally made an offer that Sellinger's couldn't refuse, I guess. And now all of us here need to make tracks, I . Hey, don't you live just around the block?"

  "Yeah, yeah, I do," Luna said in a small voice, and she found that she couldn't speak at all. Instead, she hustled back out of the shop and into the cool morning air.

  The idea of having the area bought had been floating around ever since she moved in two years ago. At first Luna had been apprehensive about having her living space sold out from underneath her, but after a while, it had become one more background worry, something that might be an issue in the future but that surely wouldn't affect her anytime soon.

  Anytime soon had apparently become now, and she tried to keep herself from panicking. However, Luna had been doing the math for a long time, and she knew that one of the bottom lines was her living space. She had an apartment with the space and energy needed for her jewelry work, and she had it at a ridiculously good price because her neighborhood was historically quite unpopular.

  However, things had changed, and she knew that sooner rather than later, she and the other artists, anarchists, punks, and nomads were going to be on the hunt again.

  Okay, time to figure out what to do next. You've done this before...

  She had. She was only twenty-two, but the truth was that she had had plenty of experience in dealing with figuring out where to live and how to support herself when the going got tough.

  Even when she was in her snug little studio apartment again, however, there was a part of her that simply didn't want to. This life was exhausting sometimes, piecemealing commission after commission and hoping that there would be enough to make rent and to buy supplies for the project.

  If only there was a way to get the cash together for a shop, a place where I could work on my own designs and put them on sale...

  Because God, did she have designs. Sometimes when she went to lie down in bed, they would dance in her head, demanding to be drawn or sketched out. There were elegant serpentine necklaces, sleekly modern rings and bracelets, so many designs in gold and silver, using her favorite gems, or new gems that she would love to see made more popular.

  Luna shook her head because she couldn't get distracted with design now, not when she might be on the street in three months without any place to put her brazing torch or even her jewelry welding rig.

  The Internet had been a godsend for people who wanted to job hunt or apartment hunt in their pajamas, but to her eye, pickings were pretty slim. Most of the apartments she could afford
were incredibly unsuited to her needs, and the ones that met her needs were ridiculously expensive. She either needed to give up her art or get another job, and there was no way she was giving up her art.

  With a determined scowl, Luna went looking for new work as well and found the pickings worse than slim. Even waitress jobs seemed difficult to come by. Then she came across an ad that made her blink.

  Independent? In good health? Ready to make a lot of money in less than a year?

  She frowned, wondering if it was a scam. It seemed too detailed to be a scam, and it lacked the salaciousness that ads for stripping and webcamming always seemed to have. The truth was that no matter which way she turned it, she couldn't figure out what the deal was. However, the lines at the bottom clinched it for her.

  After initial screening, you will be expected to undergo a battery of tests to determine suitability. These tests will last for around three days, and regardless of whether you are accepted for the position, you will be paid no less than 1000 dollars.

  She blinked at that and blinked again. Luna was clever enough to know that a thousand dollars wouldn't necessarily take her that far, but it could be the difference between getting an apartment and crashing on a long run of couches for months on end.

  Well, what's the harm? If I don't get in, I don't get in, and if I do, there's a thousand dollars, win or lose. It'll all be all right, won't it?

  Chapter Two

  Two weeks later, Luna wasn't sure if she should really be as sanguine as she had been when she called up the agency. It flew under the banner of Forward Edge Solutions, and no matter what she looked up, she couldn't be certain of who they were or what they did.

  The initial screening had been easy. After all, it had just been a long questionnaire administered by a terribly earnest-looking young woman. There had been plenty of health questions, but there were some odd ones as well. Why did they need to know whether she liked children (yes), or whether she had ever had one before (no)?

  After the initial testing had come some of the more invasive tests and questions, and she had finally figured out that it all had something to do with fertility.

  I wonder if they're planning on making an offer on my eggs or something like that, she thought. If so, this is a lot of secrecy and security.

  She had known some girls who had sold their eggs before, and though she had never thought about doing anything like that herself, perhaps she could do it? A part of her wondered at whether she would really be able to stand the idea of a small baby out there that was part of her that she couldn't help raise or hug or love, but worse things had happened in the world. She would have to make herself okay with it.

  The tests were strange if they wanted to harvest her eggs though. The gynecological exam made sense, even if it felt exasperatingly thorough. The photo session made no sense at all.

  "But why do they need to know what I look like?" she had asked. "And why aren't my own clothes good enough?”

  The photographer had shrugged impatiently and prodded her into place. Luna could only assume that the man had plenty of other women to photograph, and so she had shrugged, gritted her teeth, and gotten down to it.

  It was fine when he got a full body shot and a few head shots, but when he suggested that she lean over in the ridiculous green sequin gown that they had put her in, she had flat out refused. The man had suggested that it might work against her, and Luna had narrowed her eyes.

  "Then I'm obviously not right for the job, right? Which this process is meant to find out. That's what you're getting, and that's it."

  He had muttered angrily about it, but in the end, he had only got her scowling in the dress, her arms crossed over her chest.

  I can't wait until this is over, she thought, finally allowed to leave Forward Edge for the day. I just want my thousand dollars, and then I am gone.

  ***

  The organization that Tucker had put together to help him find the right surrogate was beginning to send him the results, and he couldn't say that he was impressed.

  There were only a few who had passed the stringent testing requirements, and after that, looking at the test results of the others, there was just something... lacking.

  He knew that there were people out there who would criticize his search for the right woman to bear his child, but at this point, he didn't care. He wanted a child born from his body and that of a woman he had chosen. In all of history, that made him perfectly normal, though most of the men chose to keep the woman afterward.

  That was the issue, he knew. Tucker knew himself well enough, and he felt he knew women well enough in general to know that anything like a marriage or even shared custody was a disaster waiting to happen. No, it was far better to go through the process with a stranger, and to afterward pay her a large sum of money to disappear, leaving him with his heir.

  As he went through profile after profile, however, there was just something wrong with each of them. This one had a kind of artificial prettiness that set his teeth on edge, that one looked like she was worn out. He was wondering whether to scrap the entire process and try again when one profile made him pause.

  The picture showed a short woman, likely no taller than 5'4”. Her hair was a deep and vivid red of a type he had never seen before, but something told him that it wasn't dyed. Under the lights, she looked pale, but there was a healthy pink tinge to it. What truly caught the eye, however, were her eyes. They were a bright emerald that shone with some kind of emotion. From the glare she was giving the camera, it was a safe bet to say that it was rage. Her round chin was lifted up stubbornly, and for some reason, he found himself wanting to kiss her.

  Looking at her body in the tight green dress, he had to say that despite her not being his type, it was still compelling. She was curvy, her round white breasts pushed high in the dress, and under a tiny waist, her hips billowed like a wave.

  Good child-bearing hips is what they might have said a long time ago, he mused.

  By all rights, this girl should have been passed along to the rejected pile like all the rest, but something stopped him from doing that. Tucker wondered if he was just too tired and irritated to make a real choice, but somehow he didn't think so.

  In the course of making his fortune, he had taken some terrible risks. He had dropped stock that others told him were sure things, and he had taken on more risk than anyone else he knew. Tucker had had deals go bad, but in general, he listened to his instincts, and they paid off.

  Right now, his instincts were telling him something about this young woman, and he decided that he wasn't going to stop listening to them now.

  "All right then, Luna Madrigal, let's see if you've got what it takes," he said out loud, and he pulled out his phone to make the call.

  ***

  Luna figured that it was another test. They had promised her that it would be over soon, and she had every expectation of holding them to all of it. The driver who came to get her looked askance at her jeans and her tattered black hoodie, but she lifted her chin and dared him to make a big deal of it.

  She felt she had made it far enough in the process that nothing she could say or do would affect very much at all. Then the sleek dark car pulled up to an impressive glass building downtown, and she was slightly less sure.

  She scurried to the front desk, dodging people who wore more than twice her rent on their bodies on a regular basis, and waved down the receptionist. Even the receptionist was dressed better than she was, and she grimaced inside.

  "Can I help you?"

  "Oh, um, I'm reporting to Forward Edge?" she asked anxiously. "Um, they told me to be here, and I don't know if someone was meant to meet me or..."

  "Oh!" said the receptionist. To Luna's surprise, the other woman sat up straight, and when she spoke, it was with a significantly more respectful tone. "Of course, Miss Madrigal. Right this way. I'll take you up."

  Luna weakly protested that she could find her own way just fine, but the woman was already stepping forward
to guide her with a kind of deference that was bewildering. Without the ability to protest or to figure out what was going on, however, all Luna could do was follow along in her wake, getting more nervous as it all went on.

  The glass elevator ride to the top floor was nerve-rackingly smooth and fast, and the receptionist presented her with a large solid door.

  "Um, should I..."

  The other woman leaned around Luna, pressing a small button hidden in a carved wooden motif.

  "Miss Madrigal here to see you, sir."

  "Come in."

  The voice that responded was deep and dark in a way that Luna couldn't understand, but it sent a strange velvety ripple through her. It made her nervous at the same time that it made her feel soothed, and she figured that that was something that she could figure out much later.

  The receptionist nodded that she should enter, and gulping back a strange source of fear, she opened the door.

  Chapter Three

  The door opened onto a beautiful corner office high above Chicago. With the mostly glass walls, she could look out over the city all the way to Lake Michigan, which shimmered like an aquamarine that day, and for a moment, Luna was simply captivated by the beauty on display.

  Then she remembered that she was there for a reason , and she straightened up hastily, closing the door after her.

  There was a tall, dark man standing close to the desk, hands clasped behind his back as he watched her with a wolfish glint in his eyes. She figured that he was close to forty, with a classic handsomeness that made her think of men from period films where the women all wore crinolines and petticoats. His hair was brushed back from his face, making his astonishing amber-colored eyes even more surprising.

  "So you're Miss Madrigal," he said, walking towards her. "Pretty name, where does it come from?"