The Billionaire's Secret Babies

by Penny Wylder

  The Billionaire’s Secret Babies

  Penny Wylder

  Contents

  Copyright

  Books By Penny Wylder

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Copyright © 2017 by Penny Wylder

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Books By Penny Wylder

  Filthy Boss

  Her Dad’s Friend

  Rockstars F#*k Harder

  The Virgin Intern

  Her Dirty Professor

  The Pool Boy

  Get Me Off

  Caught Together

  Selling Out to the Billionaire

  Falling for the Babysitter

  Lip Service

  Full Service

  The Billionaire’s Virgin

  1

  “You’re fired, Manila.”

  I stare at my boss Mark for a solid minute. I cannot have heard him right. He’s sitting there watching me, waiting for a reaction. “Sorry?” I ask, after a long, deafening silence.

  He reaches across the table to pat my hand. “It’s nothing personal. It’s just, you know, you’ve been gone for so long…”

  “I had maternity leave!” I shove my chair back, leaping to my feet. “I am taking care of two newborns. Twins! I’m doing it all by myself –”

  “Well, that was your choice,” he points out.

  I ball up my fists at my sides. “How is that any different from Rebecca? Or Marcy, or Tamara?” I list every woman in this office with kids of her own. Marcy took an extra month of maternity leave last year after a complication with her pregnancy led to an emergency C-section. Tamara works from home Mondays and Fridays to have extra time with her three kids after her good-for-nothing husband walked out on her. What’s different about me?

  “You chose to bring those kids into the world without a father,” Mark replies.

  I am gaping at him, full-on, open-mouthed. I’ve worked here for five years, slaving away as this asshole’s personal secretary. Never once did I complain, not when he called me for last minute travel emergencies in the middle of the night on a Saturday, not when he asked me to bring him coffee every morning like I’m a freaking temp, not even when he got a little too handsy at the office Christmas party last year. Because the rest of the time, he was a decent guy to work for.

  So I thought.

  “So let me clear this up. You’re firing me because I took my legally allowed maternity leave,” I say.

  He frowns. There’s the key word, fucker. Legally allowed. Yeah, that’s right. But then he shakes his head. “Of course not, Manila. We would never do that. But you asked me if you could take an extra month, remember? And then you came back and asked for another couple of days, and you were late two days last week, your first week back on the job…”

  “You said it would be fine! I told you the twins needed to go to the doctor for follow-ups those mornings. You said you were flexible!”

  “There’s flexible and then there’s bending over backwards and letting someone walk all over you. I’m sorry, Manila. Please have your desk cleared out by the end of the day.”

  “Not a fucking problem,” I practically snarl at him. I’m too fucking pissed at this point. I don’t think about how I need him for a recommendation, or how it would look on my resume if I apply to a new place and they call him to ask about my standing when I left. I don’t think about anything practical like that. I just storm out of his office, straight to my desk, and shove everything on top of the desk onto the floor. My calendar, my meticulously organized notes, the stack of travel documents I prepared for him, staying late all last week to be sure I caught up on everything I’d missed while I was gone… I shove it all onto the floor.

  The only things I bother to grab from the desktop are my photos – one of my dad, may he look down on me from heaven now and grant me the courage to deal with this fucking bastard of a boss, and one of my twins. My whole world. It’s a recent photo, just four and a half months old, of the day they were born. It’s just us in the photo, my arms wrapped tight around them both.

  Luca and Lucie, my perfect bundles of joy. The only thing left making me happy now. The ones I did all of this for.

  I tuck those two picture frames under my arms and storm out, making sure to step right on top of the mess of papers I’ve strewn around the place.

  “What’s happening?” Tamara stands up at her desk, at the front of the office. She’s the general office secretary, but more like the mother hen. Always taking care of us, making sure we have everything we need, plenty of desk supplies and tea if we’re feeling down.

  “Mark fired me,” I say, louder than I intended. Half the office glances over in my direction – it’s an open plan, so there aren’t many secrets around here. But who cares? Good. Let them know what an asshole he is.

  “Oh my god.” Tamara is at my side in a second, taking my shoulders, pulling me into a hug.

  Behind me, I hear Mark’s office door open. He sticks his head out, sizes up the glares in the room.

  “If you need anything, Manila, please let me know,” he calls out. Saving face in front of the other workers. Yeah, whatever, asshole.

  I ignore him and hug Tamara back. She pats my back gently. “It’ll be okay,” she murmurs in my ear. “I’ll make sure he gives you the best recommendation ever. We’ll find you something else.”

  My throat is starting to close up. I can’t face the idea of not having this job. This steady paycheck. The whole reason I decided, after months and years of deliberating, that I could handle having a baby. I hadn’t planned on two – but they’re my miracle babies. My everything.

  What the hell am I going to do now?

  2

  It’s been two weeks. Two weeks of panic, fear, worry. I crouch beside the crib watching Luca and Lucie sleep. Luca sleeps with his thumb in his mouth, and Lucie sleeps with her hand tangled in Luca’s hair. They’ve both already got half a head of jet-black hair, just like mine but wavier. It’s funny, they look so similar, but already in just five months they’re developing their own personalities. Lucie is the clingy one – she cries anytime Luca is out of her sight, and she won’t fall asleep unless I’m holding her. Luca is more independent, though he still relies on his sister to show him how to do everything, like pick up a rattle or pull my hair.

  I didn’t expect these guys. When I finally decided, a little over a year ago, to go to the clinic on my own, I was expecting one baby. One perfect baby, from whomever my mystery donor was.

  I didn’t want to pick the father of my children out of a photo book – that just felt too weird, like shopping for an internet bride. I asked the nurses to recommend somebody, and they told me they had the perfect donor in mind.

  That donor turned out to be a little too perfect, at least in the fertility department. Next thing I knew, I was at my ultrasound appointment being told they’d detected not one, but two heartbeats.

  Now, though? Now I couldn’t imagine my life without both Lucie and Luca. They are my world, my everything, and I’m so happy that everything turned out the way it did.

  At least, everything except my stupid asshole ex-employer.

  I sigh under my br
eath and lean in to brush Lucie’s hair out of her eyes. I need to get back to my applications. I’ve been applying to every job I can find, for anything I’m even vaguely qualified for. Secretary positions, office manager positions, personal assistant jobs, even some babysitting gigs. But even for babysitting, I’ve been asked for a résumé a mile long, plus dedicated free hours late in the evenings and on weekends. I can’t do that, not with the twins to look out for. It’ll cost me as much to babysit for someone else as I’d spend on hiring a nanny to watch my kids while I’m away – and by then, what’s the point?

  I rub my temples. I have enough in savings to tide us over for a couple of months. I had 6 months expenses set aside for me and one baby – but I didn’t expect to be caring for two kids. I’m screwed if I don’t find a job in the next couple of weeks.

  Regretfully, since I hate to leave them, I tiptoe out of the kids’ room. It’s a nice room, painted a cheery yellow, with two cribs (though they cry unless I let them sleep in the same single crib anyway). I won’t be able to afford a space like this soon. My landlord will evict me, I’ll have to move back in with my mother – and the very thought of her makes my skin crawl.

  I refuse to let her around the kids without supervision. Not if she’s going to treat them the way she treated me. She used to leave me alone for hours at a time, hopping off to parties or disappearing for weeks to trail some new guy she just met and his band. I was taking care of myself by age six. I refuse to let that happen to my children. Not on my watch.

  I boot up my ancient laptop and scroll once more through the local help-wanted ads. I’ve got at least seven different sites open on my browser, but each one offers less openings than the last. It’s all I can do not to tug my hair out or scream.

  One of the sites links out to a new board, just for people who live in this area, on the outskirts of Austin. It’s a place to post positions that you want, so that anyone hiring can contact you.

  Well. Worth a shot, I figure. I cast a glance over the screen at the children’s room, thinking for a second I hear them stirring.

  Whatever will get me a job, I figure.

  I fill out a post, advertising my availability for Personal assistant/secretary/jack-of-all-trades positions. I attach my résumé and add some details about myself. It asks for a photo too – must be recent, it says, for some reason. But I figure, no reason to hide who I am. Any position that will work for me right now needs to be flexible about my kids.

  So I choose a picture from last month, just before I was fired. It’s me with Luca balanced on one arm and Lucie on the other, all three of us grinning at the camera. It’s the only photo I have where both of them looked at the right place at the right time, and my hair even looks decent in it, which is a miracle lately, given the whole I have twin babies thing.

  As soon as I post the ad, Lucie starts to whine – I can tell it’s her by the unique high-pitch in her voice. I leap up from the computer and dart into the room. She’s just fussing in her sleep, but that of course woke up Luca. Pretty soon both of them are yelling for bottles.

  It takes me the better part of an hour to feed them and calm them down enough that we can all return to the computer together this time, both of them balanced on my knees.

  “What do you think?” I ask them as I open up my email. “Will Mommy find a new job today? She’d better, or we’re all in a bit of trouble…” I jiggle Luca a little, bouncing him on my knee.

  To my surprise, there’s an unread message in my inbox, Re: Personal assistant position. Already? I click it open – sure enough, someone saw the ad I posted on that site. Thank god, a lead, at last!

  I am looking for a personal assistant to help out around my house, and with some work tasks associated with my business. If you are interested, please let me know – I am a child-friendly employer and very flexible for families. I’m looking for someone to start immediately though, so please respond with your availability as soon as possible if you are interested.

  -Cassius Anderson

  Below that, he lists a starting salary that, to my shock, is even higher than I was making in the office. My eyes widen. This could be the break that I needed.

  I quickly type out a reply – at least, as quickly as I can while juggling the twins. I tell him that I’m available to start as soon as possible, but I won’t be able to come by today, since I don’t have a sitter set up – could I meet him tomorrow?

  His reply arrives before I’ve even stood up to go and fetch the binky Luca is crying for.

  Not a problem – come by today and bring the children.

  I pause for a moment. A quick Google search of his name brings up a professional profile online, as well as more than a few websites. Not to mention some Google images.

  Damn.

  I stare open-mouthed for a second at the first few images of him. He’s in a suit, at some kind of fancy event, which explains why this photo is available online. If they tagged him correctly. Cassius here is one hell of a hottie.

  Shit, those deep gray eyes, his perfectly wavy black hair falling across his forehead, not to mention his sharply cut chin and chiseled cheekbones… I can imagine the way he’d look gazing down at me, taller, in control, but with a deep understanding in his eyes. Unbidden, I start to picture the way it would feel if he bent toward me, caught my lips in his, wrapped those strong, muscular arms around my waist and crushed my body against his. The way his hard chest would feel digging into mine, his lips claiming my mouth…

  I shake my head, bringing myself back to reality. Get it together, Manila. You know better than to fall for looks. My ex was a hottie too, and look how he fucking turned out. He left me with nothing to show for our five years together but a whole lot of emotional fuckery and a broken heart.

  Thank you for being so considerate, I write to Mr. Hot Future Employer. I will stop by later this afternoon, then.

  Then it’s a mad scramble around the house to ready the babies for a trip. I have to pack their bags, make sure I have extra diapers and formula, just in case, and then I try to make myself look somewhat presentable for once. I brush my wild mess of hair into a somewhat straight, neat ponytail, and put on makeup for the first time since I gave birth. After all, Cassius might be way off-limits, but I want to make a good impression. Not only because he’s a potential employer, though I try to fool myself into believing that’s why. It takes me a while to pull up the bus schedule to his place—he lives far from me, downtown in a wealthy neighborhood. It’ll take a while to get there, especially if I have to commute every day. But if this job works out, I’m set. I’ll have enough money to take care of the twins – not to mention an employer who understands the pressure of single motherhood, and seems flexible enough to help me out.

  Worth it. No matter what it takes.

  3

  I’m used to rich guys. I worked for more than a few in my past, and Mark himself, my most recent asshole of a boss, was pretty well off.

  None of them had anything on this apartment.

  Cassius is right in the heart of downtown, in one of the brand new skyscraper buildings they’ve been putting up for all the newcomers migrating to the newly cool city of Austin. Even from the outside, I can tell he’s rolling in it. But when I enter the lobby and find a doorwoman inside, who directs me to the penthouse – “Mr. Anderson is expecting you,” – I realize I’m on a whole other level with this guy.

  “Let me help you,” she offers sweetly, as I’m struggling with the two-seater baby stroller I brought for Luca and Lucie, which was hell to handle on the bus. She helps guide me over to the elevator, hustles me and the twins inside, and pushes the top button for me, swiping a key pad as she does. “Good luck,” she adds just as the doors start to close, and for the first time since I arrived, I feel a spike of nerves.

  Good luck? Why? Is there something wrong with this guy?

  Crap. What if he’s one of those crazy employers who demands insane things from his employees? Maybe he just invited me to bring the kid
s and seemed so flexible because he’s such a terror that he can’t keep assistants any other way.

  I bite my lower lip, nervous, as the elevator doors ding open.

  The elevator opens onto a single apartment. No other door, or lock, or anything. I guess that’s why the elevator had a key card the doorwoman had to swipe.

  I’ve never seen an elevator open right into an apartment like this. I push the babies out into the apartment, and the elevator closes behind me.

  I’m busy gawking at the apartment – it’s two-stories tall, with an open plan, so I can see straight up over twenty feet to the ceiling, which has huge skylights set into it. Outside the tall glass windows, there’s a wraparound balcony, and beyond the balcony, a gorgeous view of downtown Austin, complete with the rivers and the lush green parks dotted around town, the reason everyone has lately come to love my hometown.

  The place is tastefully decorated – not what I pictured if I had to imagine the bachelor pad a man like Cassius would inhabit. There are warm paintings on the walls, scenes of farms and really lovely landscapes. There’s a big fireplace in the middle of the room, complete with a cozy little writing or reading nook beside it, and a ton of bookshelves to boot.

  Perfect. I could never like a man who didn’t read.

  I shake myself. Not that I need to like Cassius. I just need to be okay enough with him to work for him. And at this point, I could talk myself into working for just about anybody.

  That’s when I hear the soft sound of a throat being cleared behind me. I jump and whirl around, and I swear my whole body freezes in place.

  Cassius Anderson is even sexier in person than he was in his photos. He’s dressed in slacks and a light blue work shirt, but even through that shirt, I can see the bulge of his pecs, the flat plane of his stomach. He towers over me, 6-foot-something-I-can’t-even-guess. Right now, though, his gray eyes are narrowed and hard, almost glaring down at me.