A Baby for the Billionaire

by Anna Kristyn

  A BABY FOR THE BILLIONAIRE

  ANNA KRISTYN

  © 2018 Anna Kristyn

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:

  annewelshromance@gmail.com

  Cover by: Anna Kristyn

  Disclaimer: All characters in this story are over the age of 18, and all acts depicted are consensual.

  annewelshromance.blogspot.com

  Thank you for reading!

  1

  The mall was a challenging place to be. Most of the time, I tried to avoid it if I could. It always felt so loud and chaotic. People heckling me to buy things, stores with names I couldn’t even pronounce. I tried to do all of my shopping online when I could. But with my upcoming interviews and the surprise that my reliable interview pants were ready to retire, I didn’t have much of a choice.

  The tightness of my pants might have been workable, but the hole in the crotch was definitely a disqualifier.

  I had to go to the mall.

  Rent was going to be due soon and I was already behind on so many of my bills. I needed to look the part if I expected to get a paycheck before collections agencies were sent out for my blood.

  Through some professional-level sleuthing, I found stores that had ongoing sales and even some coupons. I could find an affordable outfit that would get me a job.

  Everything would be fine.

  What I didn’t plan on, though, was getting stared down by hunk of a man as if he was starving and I was the only edible thing for miles. As I passed one of the many fountains inside of the mall, his stature caught my attention. He was standing, arms folded across his broad chest, and glaring at everyone that passed by him.

  When his gray eyes locked on mine, I had to look away. My body told me that he was danger, and my instincts kicked in for me to flee right into the nearest store.

  Even though I only saw him for a few seconds, his image was forever burned into my consciousness. He was tall, muscled, and wore a suit that dared you to cross him. He had to be some sort of corporate guy with that grimace he was wearing.

  Making matters worse, I found him so damn sexy. The pulse I felt between my legs was embarrassing.

  Sure, I hadn’t been with a guy in ages, but that wasn’t an excuse to get aroused by someone like him.

  I always hated arrogant guys. And when the arrogance was paired with unreal sex appeal, it felt unfair. The way that he looked at me, as if I was something he could buy, if he wanted to, was just so damn degrading.

  I huffed around the random store I had fled to for a few moments to get myself under control. I was angry that I had let some random stranger throw me off like that. Sure, I hadn’t dated in a while, but I had been so busy with school work, and now with losing my employment due to downsizing… things were busy!

  Just looking at his narrow jawline, those full lips, I knew that he was the type of guy you fucked and never forgot even after he leaves you wanting more.

  He wouldn’t hang around.

  But when I looked back at the chair he had been seated at, he was still hanging around.

  Ugh, why is he still sitting there?

  It looked like he was waiting for someone, so when his eyes glanced down at his phone I darted away, hurrying toward the first store on my list.

  As I grabbed outfits off the rack, I calmed myself down.

  Today is just a weird day.

  I hurried into the changing room and began rotating through pants and shirts. I hated changing rooms, and after being so shaken by the man outside, each tight-fitting shirt was a reminder that I would never be good enough for a guy like him.

  No, he doesn’t deserve you.

  The next pair of pants I slid on fit perfectly. I took a moment appreciate my full figure, doing a little booty shake and pressing my breasts together, making a silly face in the mirror. Feeling better about everything, I slipped back into my original outfit and walked out of the dressing room.

  And there he stood.

  The same handsome jerk from before. Well, I didn’t have confirmation he was a jerk, but guys as hot as him generally fell into that category.

  His eyes found mine the moment I stepped out. My nerves came back full force, and I immediately dropped my gaze to the floor.

  No! Screw him and his perfect jawline!

  I brought my eyes back up to glare at him.

  He looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. He was even more handsome when he smiled.

  He gave me a wink.

  I gave him the bird.

  I slammed my extra clothes onto the rack and stormed off to the cashier.

  What a pompous douche!

  My one good fortune of the day was that there was no line to check out, so I hurried to pull my wallet out of my bag.

  “I’ve got it,” a deep voice from behind me said.

  I swear, if it’s that same guy—

  Before I could confirm, the cashier had taken his card and was already processing it. When I turned to look at him, my rage flooded my face with heat.

  How dare he!

  I just stared at him, my brain working double-time to figure out what in the hell was this guy’s deal?

  Is he a stalker?

  Did I have a long-lost brother that I never knew about?

  As his scent wafted into my ears, my hormones started pumping.

  Okay I hope he’s not my brother…

  The man took his card from the cashier, I glared at him one final time, collected my new pants, and hurried off.

  “Hey, wait!” The guy called out after me.

  My eyes searched for mall security.

  “Hold on, please. Just for a moment,” he begged. The sincerity in his voice surprised me, so I stopped, turning and crossing my hands over my chest. I felt a swell of pride as his eyes darted to look at my ample cleavage.

  “What exactly is your deal?” I demanded, his eyes snapping back up when he heard my voice.

  “I’m sorry, I really am. I felt bad for making you so uncomfortable, so I wanted to make it up to you,” he explained.

  So, he could tell that quickly that I was uncomfortable? Awesome.

  “So why exactly are you patrolling a mall and buying random women clothes?” I demanded.

  He smiled sheepishly.

  “I’ll tell you, but I’d like to buy you a drink first.”

  2

  Two drinks in, and I still hardly knew this guy. What I did know could easily be counted on one hand. His name was Damian Maxwell. He was thirty-five. He owned a company but wouldn’t tell me what he did beyond that.

  And that summed up what I had learned.

  Instead, our discussion was circling around me. He continued to ask me questions. Random questions, like if my natural hair color was blond and if I did well in school. Every time I tried to shift the conversation back to him, it bounced right back to me.

  “What do you do for a living, Khloe?”

  “Well, I am currently unemployed,” I said, hating the sting I still felt when I said the words aloud. “My company was downsized, and they felt like they could lose their Assistant Marketing Director.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Damian said, and I hated that he sounded genuine. I was still trying really hard to hate this guy. He had the bravado of an athlete and the appearance of a model.

  “You still haven’t told me why you are doing all of this,” I grumbled. “This almost feels like a job interview.”

  “Well, in a way, it is.”

  I froze, the straw from my gin and tonic centimeters from my mouth. I pulled back and stared at him.

  His eye
s were dark and dangerous now.

  I had finally broken the code to get him to spill this secretive mission of his.

  “I have a few more questions for you and then I can tell you what this is about,” he promised.

  Glaring at him, I took another sip, “Fine.”

  “Have you ever had kids before?”

  What the hell?

  “No,” I said evenly. Sure, I had always wanted to have kids, but not right now. I didn’t even have a job! I always thought I would be settled in my career with a caring husband by my side.

  “Do you drink often?”

  Okay, shame me why don’t you…

  “No,” I said honestly. This was the first time I had alcohol in almost three months. Not that I hadn’t wanted some.

  “Good. Lastly, are you seeing anyone right now?”

  There was a long silence between us. Something warned me that this was going to get weird. But I felt a pull toward Damian. If it was going to get weird, I wanted to see just how weird it would get.

  “No.”

  He gave me a small smile and leaned back into his chair.

  “Now, I know this is very odd, and very sudden. But I am looking for a woman to have my child.”

  I wanted to slap him. Or vomit. Or both? My mind was reeling. A random man I had just stumbled across just interviewed me for a position to give him a child. How presumptuous was this guy? Sure, he had handed over a black AmEx card when he paid for my pants, so I assumed he was insanely wealthy and used to getting what he wanted. But taking me to drinks, bombarding me with personal questions and then telling me he wanted to get a woman pregnant?

  “Is this a hidden camera show?” I snapped, glancing around. Damian looked a little confused.

  “No,” he replied calmly.

  “So, you came to the mall expressly to find a woman to knock up?”

  “No, I came to the mall to find a new pair of shoes, and instead I found a woman I would like to knock up.”

  More silence.

  He wants to get me pregnant?

  Forgoing the straw, I downed the rest of my drink and signaled for the bartender to bring me a new one. When he did, I took another long sip and then stared at him, my vision getting a little hazy.

  “And what would be in it for me?” I asked, mostly trying to see what in the hell a guy like him would expect.

  He probably would want you to pay him for the honor of seeing his body naked.

  “One million dollars on the day the child is born.”

  I stared at him in open-mouthed shock.

  “I would pay for all medical bills related to the pregnancy and birth, and you would receive a yearly payment of one million dollars until the child is eighteen. You could see the child if you wish, on occasion, but I would have sole custody. Our lawyers could work out a reasonable deal.”

  A million dollars a year…

  Flattening my lips into a thin line, I pretended to be frustrated. Annoyed, offended.

  But everything in my mind was telling me that this was my chance out of debt. This was a chance to start my own business, to make a life for myself.

  Or maybe just buy a beautiful home and retire at the age of 25.

  But he would keep the baby.

  The thought popped back into my head.

  Could I do that? Could I have a baby with him for money, and then give it to him?

  As if he read my mind, Damian added, “You would obviously be free to live your life as you wish once the child is born.”

  You aren’t giving up every future child, just this one.

  “But until then?” I asked.

  “You would live with me, so I can keep you safe.”

  My skin prickled.

  I had an image flash through my head of his strong, muscular body pumping himself into me, over and over, working to impregnate me.

  My panties grew slick.

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  What? Say no!

  “Take all the time you need,” Damian replied cordially. I stood from my barstool and picked up my purse and my shopping bag. He stood with me and handed me his card. It was annoyingly heavy, indicating he had spent a great deal of money on just his business cards.

  And he wants to spend money to fuck you.

  “Call me when you’ve made a decision. I’ll be waiting.”

  3

  I pinched myself so many times on the drive home I was certain I would have a bruise. But each time as the twisting of pain was processed in my brain, I would glance over to my passenger’s seat and that business card would still be sitting face up, mocking me.

  Let me get you pregnant.

  I was so frazzled when I got home that I decided to just leave the card in the glove box of my car, not wanting to look at it anymore.

  I made myself another drink and sat on the couch, my mind swirling with the possibilities.

  You would never have to worry about rent again.

  I wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again, to be honest.

  When 9-o-clock finally rolled around, I got ready for bed, knowing that my interview tomorrow morning had a lot more riding on it than I originally thought.

  * * *

  My alarm went off on time, my outfit was perfect, and there wasn’t any traffic. It seemed like the Universe was telling me, you don’t need to have some random dude’s baby to make it in this life!

  But… what if I want to have his baby?

  I shook my head, trying to shake that thought from my crazy brain.

  Sure, the guy was hot, and obviously super successful. But why would he need to pay someone to have his kid? Was he actually some kind of sociopath and no woman would willingly be with him?

  Maybe he was gay?

  That thought had a lot of weight in my mind. That would make a lot more sense… but he seemed to be interested in getting me pregnant himself.

  I pulled into the office parking garage and made my way to the lobby. I gave my name to the receptionist and patiently waited.

  Soon, a ghastly thin blond woman came out.

  “Khloe Maddisen?” She called.

  I stood. Her eyes narrowed as she took in my frame, and then she gave me a fake smile.

  My skin crawled.

  Maybe having his kid would be the better option.

  “I’m Jenna Slater. You can follow me this way,” she said, hurrying off.

  We made it to a small conference room where she sat across from me, files spread out across the desk. Photos accompanied the applications.

  “If you’ll just stand in front of the screen over there,” she said, motioning toward the set-up.

  “Oh, I—”

  “In front of the screen please,” she said tersely.

  I swallowed and did as I was told.

  When I glanced up at here there was a bright flash and the whir of a Polaroid camera.

  “Thank you,” she said, the fake smile returning.

  We took a seat, and I promised myself I wouldn’t look at the photo. I didn’t know why they would need a photo for a marketing position and it made my skin crawl that she took one.

  “So, tell me, Khloe, why do you want to work for the Young and Westwood Modeling Agency?”

  Her tone made me feel sick. As if I would be insane to think I could work near models.

  “Well, the position you have listed is very similar to the job I previously held. However, in that position, I actually was an upper-level manager of the department—”

  “Yes, but why a modeling agency?” She asked again.

  My heart was stuck in my throat.

  What year is this?

  What in the hell is happening?

  Where are the damn cameras in this stupid reality show of my life?

  She waited.

  I had nothing kind or productive to say.

  And if I was going to be using the millions of dollars Damian was going to give me to make my own marketing agency, I didn’t want to burn too ma
ny bridges.

  “Actually, I think this job might be just a little too much for me right now,” I said quietly, trying to give her a weak smile.

  She looked victorious.

  “So sorry to hear that,” she said with a cruel grin.

  I picked up my things and turned to leave the office.

  And one day I am going to buy this agency, and we will see who is sorry.

  4

  When I got back to my car, I found Damian’s card and dialed the number.

  “This is Damian Maxwell.”

  His voice was terse, authoritative.

  Deep, seductive.

  I wriggled in my seat.

  “Hi. It’s, um, Khloe. From the mall,” I stammered. I felt like I was in high school again, calling the cute boy from class to see if I could borrow his textbook.

  “I’ve been expecting your call,” he said, his voice deeper now.

  “Yeah, well… I’d like to meet with you, one more time. To discuss, um, terms.”

  I needed to know the reasoning for all of this.

  Not that it would matter at this point.

  Just wanting to be emotionally prepared for whatever this situation was about to bring me.

  “Of course. Text me your address I will send a car to bring you to my apartment tonight for dinner. Seven-o-clock.”

  “Okay,” my voice shook a little from the nerves.

  “Do you have a recent medical report? I got one rushed yesterday evening in the event you would call. I can set you up with a doctor,” he offered.

  “No, I just had an appointment a week ago and my results came in. I’ll bring the document with me,” I said.

  I hung up the phone and text him.

  What are you doing, Khloe?

  * * *

  That evening I spent a great deal longer doing my hair and makeup than I would like to admit. But when I received a call from the driver that he was ready for me, I felt invincible.

  The Bentley drove me from my small apartment to the newest high-rise in the city. The driver opened the door for me at the curb.