The Billionaire's Christmas Bundle Of Joy - A Secret Baby Romance

by Holly Rayner

  Mia reached out her hand as he swept past her and latched onto his arm, feeling the strength in his bicep. She swallowed, her eyes searching his. “James. I actually came to your office because I have something to tell you.” In the corner behind James’ head, she finally caught a glimpse of a spare bit of tinsel, which somehow hadn’t been rescued by a single cleaner in the weeks since their encounter. Had he left it there on purpose?

  “Oh. Well, do you think we could arrange a meeting for another time?” James asked. His voice was brisk, professional.

  “I mean—it won’t take long,” she whispered.

  “If you can tell me what you want to say in less than 45 seconds, then I’m good to hear you,” James said, laughing a bit at the ridiculousness of his schedule. “I’m always on a timer.”

  “Not when you tried to go to Chicago,” Mia whispered. She felt her voice crack.

  “No. I suppose the snow had other plans for me.”

  Mia tittered. She felt her confidence wavering. She felt the words she wanted to say—that she was pregnant with his child, that she was sure of it—faltering and diving somewhere down her throat, behind her lungs. She couldn’t scavenge them. She inhaled and exhaled, sensing that she was wasting his time. Anxiety riddled through her.

  “I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate this job. I love working for you, and I love working for SNO News. It’s been a great honor, and I would never do anything to screw that up.” She shrugged, hopeful that the tone of her voice presented more meaning than the words were worth.

  “Well, thank you for saying so. I always love hearing that from my employees,” James said, nearly crushing her heart. “I’ll talk to you later, Mia. All right?” His eyes searched hers for a moment, as if assessing if there was something more.

  But Mia clammed up. “Okay.” She studied her shoes as she he exited the room.

  She felt like a foolish girl. James might well have assumed that she’d entered his office to profess her love for him, and he wouldn’t have been entirely wrong. She wanted to keep his baby for a reason. She wanted to raise it as her own. And she wanted to see what he thought about being part of her family for the rest of his life, in one way or another.

  But as James’ footfalls moved further away, toward Jeff’s office, Mia began to face reality: that her only chance to tell James the truth about the pregnancy had probably just slipped through her fingers. She looked at her hands, then, and cursed quietly to herself.

  This feeling of disappointment was familiar to her, matched with her memories from the children’s home. She remembered a day, just two years before she’d been adopted, when she’d fallen in love with a thirteen-year-old boy named Hank. Hank had bright blue eyes like a ‘90s boy band member, along with the swoopy blond hair to match. She’d swooned like a true 12-year-old every evening at dinner. Her friends had rolled their eyes at her, reminding her that she was “far too young for him.”

  But Mia had always been a romantic, despite of—or perhaps as a result of—her unfortunate circumstances, so she’d decided to tell Hank the news of her love the afternoon before the Christmas party. It was generally her favorite part of the year. She liked it even more than the party itself, given that she’d been allowed to decorate the entire tree by herself since age 10. It was a responsibility usually given only to the oldest children, but her argument had been the stuff of future news anchors. She’d convinced them.

  Mia had stood by the naked Christmas tree, near Hank, who was speckling tinsel around the dining hall, pell-mell. By his body language, she could tell he didn’t give a single care about Christmas, that, to him, it was just another lonely, garish day. He flopped a bit of tinsel around his head and showed off to his buddies, donning a silly voice and pretending to be a princess. Mia found herself giggling, despite the childish humor.

  After she’d decorated part of her Christmas tree, she’d marched toward Hank, who was standing beneath a sprig of mistletoe, bouncing from one hand-me-down Nike to the next. He hadn’t gone through puberty quite yet, and his height was approximately her own. Mia had slinked up beside him and made aggressive eye contact, determined to get what she wanted.

  “What is it?” Hank asked, his face disgusted. “What do you want?”

  Instead of answering, Mia snuck a single finger skyward, toward the mistletoe, as if that explained everything. She closed her eyes and stuck out puckered lips, waiting for Hank to deliver her perfectly romantic first kiss.

  But Hank recoiled from her with a physical, wretched reaction. “Did you guys see what this idiot just tried to do?” he cried out. Several of the boys had begun to cackle, and Mia’s face had grown warm, panicked.

  “It’s just the Christmas spirit,” she’d said. She remembered that she’d said something similar to James, all those weeks ago, tucked safe away in his office. “It’s tradition.”

  But Hank had run away from her, rushing toward the Christmas tree she’d spent the morning dressing up. She’d had a vision for the tree that year, and it was slowly coming together. Its bulbs were gleaming in the dining hall light. Outside, in the yonder window, Mia saw that it was snowing.

  That day, Hank had kicked the Christmas tree with the energy of an anxious, abandoned, 13-year-old boy. Mia’s carefully decorated tree had fallen harshly to the ground, tossing decorations toward the corner and spreading pine leaves all over the cold floor.

  Hank had looked at it proudly, like a dog that had eaten the homework, but she hadn’t given him his moment—she hadn’t wailed, and she hadn’t told on him. Rather, she’d marched toward her tree, wrapped her tiny arms around it, and tipped it back to a standing position. For the rest of the day, she’d ignored the childish catcalls. She’d focused only on honing her tree, on repairing what before had been beautiful.

  Hank had flittered from Mia’s mind not long after that, but she always remembered how stunning that tree was. It had put all the others in the dining hall to shame. Beyond anything, she was proud of what she could create when she was forced to do it alone. She’d been proving people like Hank wrong ever since.

  ELEVEN

  Lost in thought in James’ office, Mia became conscious that her lunchbreak was probably nearly over. Because of her nausea, she hadn’t felt hungry in weeks, so she decided to forego food in order to seek Theresa in the makeup chair. She walked into the hallway, grateful it was empty, for she felt tiny tears tracing rivers down her cheeks, mussing her makeup. She’d need to fix this herself, or else expect countless questions from Theresa.

  She leaned into the doorway of Theresa’s office to find it empty, makeup like snowfall all over the countertops. She reached for a tube of foundation and began to apply it haphazardly beneath her eyes, sweeping away the evidence of tears. She felt like that overturned Christmas tree at the children’s home; she would build herself back up to be beautiful, twinkling—a very beacon of happiness and life.

  Charles met her at their desk out in the newsroom, and Mia began chatting with him amicably, conscious that James could probably see her from Jeff’s office. Nothing was off-limits, now that Charles had given Jeff the news of his wife’s pregnancy. Mia asked him whether he thought it would be a boy or a girl, and whether he and Melanie had any names in mind yet. She inquired if they’d find another home for their growing family, or if they’d stay a while in their current apartment downtown.

  Mia’s co-anchor spoke with all the excitement of a first-time father-to-be, while Mia yearned for this type of camaraderie to exist between James and her once more. But she stayed focused, smiling at all the right moments, appearing to be completely engaged in the conversation. All the while, she felt like her rib cage was descending upon her heart; she felt crushed.

  When she allowed her eyes to flitter toward Jeff’s glass-doored office, she found James’ back to her as he spoke to the station manager. The impact of seeing him from afar seemed to have an immediate, physical effect; with every moment, she felt herself losing air. She gripped the sides of he
r chair, the whites of her eyes growing around her pupils. “Oh no,” she breathed. She felt tears begin to roll down her face, ruining her makeup once more.

  Charles frowned, seeing that she’d begun to cry. “Are you all right, Mia?” he asked. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder, steadying her—it was clear she was about to tip over.

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” Mia whispered. Her eyes were still focused on James in the other room. He’d grown stern with Jeff and was pointing at a PowerPoint slide, clearly exasperated. “I’m kind of going through something right now.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  In that moment, Jeff stormed from his office, leaving James to lean heavy on the presentation table, breathing heavy, angry breaths.

  Jeff ripped his hands through his thinning hair. “Charles. Mia. Are we filming today, or what?”

  Mia looked at Jeff like a deer in headlights. “Can I take five minutes?” she asked him, her voice trembling.

  Jeff smacked his leg, clearly angry. “Am I not the boss of this station? Are people going to stop listening to my orders, now?” Clearly, James had hit a rough note with him, and the rest of the crew would suffer for it.

  But Charles interjected with his firm, anchor voice. “Jeff, it’s all right. Mia’s just updating me on elements of this news segment. Since I found out the news of my wife’s pregnancy, I haven’t been at my most clearheaded.” He shrugged, lending the excuse and throwing himself under the bus. Mia felt like giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  Jeff waved his hand. “All right. All right,” he scoffed. “Five more minutes, people. And I’ll go deal with...James!” Jeff burst back into his office, his face blistered.

  Mia and Charles gave each other a knowing glance and walked off the stage, away from the cameras. Mia knew she only had a few moments to deliver the message and receive some kind of advice, and she felt anxious and oddly excited. Finally, someone would learn the truth.

  She sat perched on a high stool, leaning toward Charles. Despite feeling dizzy, her eyes were dancing.

  Theresa shuffled toward her from the back of the production crew, her hair bouncing in its easy curls. “What’s going on up here,” she hissed. She held a tube of foundation in her palm. “I saw tears on the monitor, and I knew you needed yet another touch up. Mia, you have to tell us what’s going on. I know something’s up.”

  Mia searched the faces of her best friend and her co-anchor, delving through her mind for the right words. “Okay, here goes,” she began, heaving into fresh tears that spoke of both excitement and fear. “I’ll tell you.”

  Theresa reached forth and grabbed her hand. “You’re not alone, honey; whatever it is.”

  “I’ve been so sick lately,” Mia whispered. She sensed they were only feet away from the camera crew, and she wanted to keep things intimate.

  “We noticed,” Charles said, his tone full of concern. “We’ve been hoping you’d get to a doctor.”

  “Well. I didn’t go. But I did take a pregnancy test.”

  Theresa’s jaw dropped, revealing her pearly white teeth.

  Charles radiated a broad smile. “Don’t tell me you’re pregnant, too. Wait till I tell Melanie.”

  “Girl, you’re not. You’re not. Are you? I thought you said you weren’t seeing anyone? That you were ‘focusing on your career’?”

  Mia fell further into tears—her eyes were bleeding them, causing her vision to blur. She felt her voice strain. “That’s not all, guys.”

  “What else could it be? You’re not just pregnant, you’re also a secret agent? You’ve been sent here from outer space? Because I don’t think you could say anything to shock us any more than we already are, Mia,” Theresa said.

  “What is it?” Charles murmured.

  “I did have sex once. With James.”

  “James Chance?” Theresa hissed, her eyes darting toward Jeff’s office. “No. You have to be kidding.”

  “I’m not. I’m pregnant with James Chance’s baby. And I don’t know how to tell him,” Mia sniffled. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” She devolved into shuddering sobs, feeling like the weight of this uncertain future was drowning her. Her heart ached. She wrapped her arms around Theresa’s neck, and Theresa patted her back with a motherly hand.

  Charles lifted his hand to her shoulder as well, and whispered into her ear. “If you need help, Melanie, we can help you. Please don’t think that you’re doing this by yourself. We’re going to work this out. Everything is going to be all right.”

  Mia tried to regulate her breathing. She tucked her chin over Charles’ shoulder and blinked back her tears, suddenly remembering she needed to be on air in just under three minutes—and she definitely wasn’t in any state for it. She rubbed her finger under her nose, wiping up the tears that had pooled on her Cupid’s bow, and looked out at the camera crew.

  But something was wrong.

  The production team was generally of one mind and body. They sat around constantly chattering about any and everything not work-related; they leaned heavy on their stools, their broad bellies bursting out. But just now, they were in a line, all of them facing toward her, and several of them had their mouths wide open in shock.

  Mia recoiled from Charles’ shoulder, her heart racing in her chest. “Why are they all looking at me?” she whispered. Her bones and muscles were spiked with panic. “What’s going on?”

  The air around them was brimming with such tension you could have heard a pin drop. Mia felt like spinning from her chair and running away, across the country, never to return. She felt like taking up a new profession, a new name.

  Finally, Jeff burst from his glass office. He stood in great fanfare, at the edge of the line of cameramen, with his hands on his hips. His voice was quaking. He looked like a furious giant. “Mia. Next time you want to talk off-camera, maybe you should learn to turn off your microphone.”

  Several members of the crew tittered at that. Mia peered down at her microphone, which hung from her blazer like an old friend. It had never done her wrong. Not until now.

  Theresa gasped, and Charles erupted from his stool onto his feet, giving a dark look to both the crew and to Jeff.

  “Leave her alone,” Charles bellowed. “If any of you understood what it’s like to bear a child, then I’d allow you to stare. But you don’t.”

  “Just because your wife’s pregnant, doesn’t mean you know everything,” someone cranked out. War had broken out in the newsroom.

  For Mia, the world was spinning too far in the wrong direction. She felt her balance faltering. She allowed her eyes to trace up from the production crew, past Jeff’s cherry-red complexion, and finally to the glass-fronted office.

  There, in the very center of the room, stood James. His arms were hanging at his side, loose. His posture was slumped, forgotten. Beneath his orb-like eyes, his jaw had dropped open, revealing his gleaming teeth. James Chance normally had everything in the world to say, but now, she’d made him speechless.

  Mia wrapped her arms around her chest, her eyes falling from contact with James’. She began to rock back and forth on the stool as the gravity of the situation fell over her. She was losing her grip on the world. She was no longer strong, passionate news anchor, Mia Daniels. She was no longer anything but a silly girl who happened to have been knocked up by the head of Chance Media. Her name would be tainted for the rest of time.

  And the worst of it was that it was her fault. Normally, she was such a conscious person. She knew to turn off her mics; she knew to create privacy in what was a very transparent industry; she knew not to bring her home life to work. And here she was, blowing her dirty laundry all over the crew, all over her best friends, Charles and Theresa, and—worst of all—all over the father of her baby himself.

  “Just breathe, Mia,” Charles whispered, trying to bring her face to his. “Come on. It’s going to be okay.”

  Mia shivered into each breath. Theresa wrapped her fingers around her shoulders and tried to
help her to her feet. “Let’s take you home, darling,” she said. Her voice was shaky, and Mia could tell she was scared for her. “Come on. You have to help me. Stand on your feet, honey. Do you want to take off your shoes?”

  Mia felt herself rise from the stool and push down on her heels, but after several blinks around her and last-ditch glimpses of both Charles and Theresa’s kind, earnest faces, their voices faded, and the world around her grew black.

  She passed out quickly, thrust into nothingness, and with her last breath, she was grateful for the escape. At least her tired, nauseous, pregnant body knew when to black out when she needed it to.

  TWELVE

  Mia heard the beeping, but she felt miles away. It was almost like her alarm clock was waking her up after a long weekend, alerting her that it was 5 a.m.—that her early-morning run and her office were calling to her. That she needed to live once more. Her muscles ached at the thought of rising, and her consciousness turned her further from opening her eyes. Perhaps she could live in this cloud-like nothingness for a little while longer.