by Nikki Chase
Table of Contents
Prologue
Epilogue
Epilogue
Prologue
Epilogue
Prologue
Baby for My Brother’s Friend
Nikki Chase
Copyright © 2017 Nikki Chase
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.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is for mature readers. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some.
All sexual activity in this work is consensual and all sexually active characters are 18 years of age or older.
Contents
About This Book
Baby for My Brother’s Friend
Prologue
1. Adam
2. Katie
3. Adam
4. Katie
5. Katie
6. Adam
7. Adam
8. Katie
9. Adam
10. Katie
11. Adam
12. Katie
13. Katie
14. Adam
15. Katie
16. Katie
17. Katie
18. Adam
19. Katie
20. Adam
21. Katie
22. Adam
23. Katie
24. Katie
25. Adam
26. Katie
27. Katie
28. Adam
29. Katie
30. Katie
31. Katie
32. Adam
33. Katie
34. Katie
Epilogue
Bonus: Single Dad’s Fake Bride
1. Megan
2. Megan
3. Ethan
4. Megan
5. Ethan
6. Megan
7. Ethan
8. Megan
9. Ethan
10. Megan
11. Megan
12. Ethan
13. Megan
14. Ethan
15. Megan
16. Megan
17. Megan
18. Ethan
19. Megan
20. Megan
21. Ethan
22. Megan
23. Ethan
24. Megan
25. Ethan
26. Megan
27. Megan
28. Megan
29. Ethan
30. Ethan
31. Megan
32. Ethan
33. Megan
Epilogue
Preview: The Five Brothers Next Door
Prologue
1. Ava
2. Ava
3. Mason
4. Liam
5. Ava
6. Ollie
Bonus: Stripped
1. Jessica
2. Jacob
3. Jessica
4. Jacob
5. Jessica
6. Jacob
7. Jessica
8. Jacob
9. Jessica
10. Jacob
11. Jessica
12. Jacob
13. Jessica
14. Jacob
15. Jessica
16. Jacob
17. Jessica
18. Jacob
19. Jessica
20. Jacob
21. Jessica
22. Jacob
23. Jessica
24. Jacob
25. Jessica
26. Jacob
27. Jessica
28. Jessica
29. Jacob
30. Jessica
31. Jacob
32. Jessica
33. Jacob
34. Jacob
35. Jessica
36. Jacob
37. Jessica
38. Jacob
39. Jessica
40. Jacob
41. Jessica
Epilogue
Preview: My Brother’s Friend, the Dom
Prologue
1. Sarah
2. Sarah
3. Luca
4. Sarah
5. Luca
About the Author
About This Book
Baby for My Brother’s Friend is a full-length novel of approximately 53,000 words.
I’ve also included two free, full-length bonus books—just a little something to thank you for reading, and hopefully get you interested in the rest of my catalog.
Happy reading!
<3 Nikki
Baby for My Brother’s Friend
Prologue
Katie
What fresh fuckery is this?
I curse in my head as I stare at the plastic stick, the one with my pee on one end and two positive lines on the little window.
Shit. What do I do now?
I never thought this would happen to me—ever.
I don’t just say that because I’m a medical practitioner instead of a clueless teenager who hasn’t even sat through a sex-ed class.
I say that because that’s what multiple doctors have told me about the state of my fertility.
I say that because after going through nursing school and gaining some understanding of what medical test results mean, I agree.
I mean, I agreed. Past tense.
Obviously, I was wrong.
All those doctors were wrong.
Sometimes, medical science gets things wrong. This is one of those rare times.
Usually, people know exactly how to react when they hear news about their health that contradicts what the doctors have told them.
Having worked in a hospital for five years, I’ve seen this scenario a handful of times: doctor makes a grim diagnosis; patient’s family grieves; new test result comes in; turns out the patient’s body has somehow fixed itself; family celebrates.
But in my case, I don’t know if this is cause for celebration.
I’ve often wondered, in the past, whether I’d be able to bring myself to get an abortion in case of accidental pregnancy. I never made a choice, though, because I didn’t think it would ever happen anyway.
It’s ridiculous, but I feel like someone’s playing a trick on me. It’s like there’s an evil genius who sits in the control room of my body—a dark, sinister room with sound-proofing foam all over the walls and dots of flashing red lights all over the machinery. All that infertility stuff was just an experiment he was conducting to see if he could fool modern medicine.
It’s fun to blame my problems on imaginary creatures, but it’s not helping.
I need to make a decision about this pregnancy: keep it, or let it go?
My mind stacks up the pros and cons of my options.
Obviously, if I keep it, I’ll have to raise it—I mean, him or her—and that would turn my whole life upside down.
Just yesterday, Martha, the head nurse, was complaining about how everybody was on maternity leave and there was nobody to fill the schedule. I told her she didn’t have to worry about that with me, and she gave me a sad look.
I wonder if I jinxed myself yesterday. Or maybe, Martha has a secret life: nurse by day, powerful witch by night.
At least, I know getting a maternity leave shouldn’t be a problem. For all the challenges this pregnancy might bring, money’s not one of them
. I happen to have a pretty awesome job that pays me well and comes with a ton of great benefits.
Time management could be a bigger challenge because I have a busy calendar and barely have enough time to sleep.
But as I learn from hanging out in the maternity ward, priorities apparently shift after the birth of a child, so things that used to matter to young mothers stop bothering them so much. That means I may not even care about greasy hair or missing out on nights out once the baby comes.
Jesus. What am I saying, once the baby comes? I mean if.
I’m not ruling out abortion. Not yet, at least.
I respect the right of a woman to make her own choices, but I’ve never stopped to consider what I’d do in a situation like that—I mean, situation like this.
Oh, man. I’m in deep shit, aren’t I? I’m living what some people would consider a hypothetical nightmare scenario.
But at the same time, it doesn’t feel like a choice at all.
There’s this knot in my gut that tells me that there’s no other option, that I have to do my best to carry this baby and give him life.
There’s an alien longing, deep in the pit of my stomach. I long to take part in this human experience; I never thought I’d have the privilege to do it.
If I let go of this opportunity, I may never get another chance again. I may regret it for the rest of my life.
Either way, this is a life sentence. I can be a mom for the rest of my life, or never be a mom at all.
It takes eighteen years for a baby to reach adulthood. But let’s face it, if current employment trends continue, this baby will still be living in my basement when he’s forty.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I grin at the thought.
Nah, if he’s anything like me, he’s going to run away at sixteen and dodge all my calls because he’s too busy partying.
Am I really considering this?
Am I really choosing to be a mom?
Can I actually do it?
Doubt pollutes my mind, dissipating the brief joy that I felt when fantasizing about the child. My child.
Am I ready?
My blood runs cold as I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I only have nine months to prepare myself, if I choose to continue this pregnancy.
Well, that’s not accurate, actually.
Birth happens about forty weeks after conception. I’ve already missed my period twice.
It took me so long to even buy this test stick because I didn’t think it was even possible for me to get pregnant. That’s also why I only bought one.
I should probably go back to the drugstore and get a bunch so I can be sure. And I’ll get myself tested at the hospital, as well.
Since two period cycles are about six to eight weeks, that means, in all likelihood, I have way less than nine months. More like seven or eight. That’s what a doctor would probably tell me, if this turns out to be a real pregnancy.
But if it’s confirmed, I don’t need a doctor to tell me when exactly it happened because I still remember.
Oh, I remember.
It was exactly fifty days ago.
It was another night of working hard and playing hard for me. I sometimes like to combine the two.
That particular night, though, I came to a realization that I probably should, that the two should remain separate. Work is work, and play is play.
But when faced with a man like that, how’s a girl supposed to resist?
He had such a presence. The moment he spoke to me in his low baritone, I was putty in his hands. Then, he dominated my mind and manipulated my body like he knew me, inside and out.
He didn’t, though—he doesn’t. And I don’t know him either.
Still, I can’t forget that man—not for the rest of my life; not even if it turns out I’m not carrying his baby.
Adam
Fifty Days Ago
“How’s your day been?” Mom asks over the phone.
“Terrible.” I cradle my phone between my ear and shoulder while my fingers continue typing on the computer.
No matter how busy I get, I always pick up when my mom calls, unless I’m right in the middle of a meeting. I’m all she has, after all.
Even though we’re no longer poor and desperate, I still worry about her. I don’t want to ignore the wrong phone call and regret it for the rest of my life.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Mom says cheerfully.
“It’s pretty bad. The legal team let this one document slip through the cracks, and now a multi-million-dollar deal is at risk.”
“See? Not that bad at all.”
“We could potentially lose millions of dollars if this doesn’t get fixed in time.” I love my mom, but she has no idea how cut-throat my world is.
I’ve worked my ass off to get here, stepping on a few toes along the way. There are people out there who’d deliberately stick their foot out to trip me, too, and I don’t blame them.
I need to stay at the top of my game if I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked so hard for.
“See, you’re looking at this all wrong, honey,” Mom says. “You’re in a position to lose millions of dollars. That’s tremendous. Lots of people don’t ever get to that stage in their entire lives. And you’re already there.”
“Yeah, I know.” I resist the temptation to cut her off, even though I already know what she’s going to say. I’ve heard it a hundred times before.
“You’ve already made it, and you’re only twenty-eight,” she says. “Why are you still in such a rush? What is it that you’re chasing after now?”
“It’s not that simple, Mom.”
“I know, I know. You’ve told me that before,” she says. “But you should take a step back and look at the bigger picture sometimes. You’ll see just how little the details actually matter.”
“I know, I know. You’ve told me that before,” I say, imitating her.
“Smarty-pants.” Mom laughs. “Try to take some time off work, Adam. Your secretary told me you always stay back in the office until late. Sometimes, she even sees you wearing yesterday’s clothes.”
“Huh. I didn’t think she’d notice. All men’s suits look the same to me.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Mom says. “Promise me you’ll go home at five today.”
“If you want to have dinner with me, all you have to do is ask, Mom.”
She laughs. “Sorry, but I have plans.”
“Plans with a certain gentleman?” I ask.
She giggles. My mom’s always been a happy, optimistic person, but lately she’s been acting like a giddy schoolgirl. It’s interesting to watch.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say. “Have fun with Mr. Palmer.”
“Thank you, you cheeky monkey. Go find a date and have fun.” She pauses. “Have you heard about Tinder?”
Jesus.
“Yes, Mom. I’ve heard about the most popular hook-up app that’s been around for years.”
“Just checking,” she says. “Do you already have a Tinder account?”
“I have to go back to work now, Mom,” I say, sighing. “Talk soon, okay?”
“Okay. Remember, go home at five. And I’m told you can download this Tinder app and use it for free on your phone.”
“Yeah. I know”
“Promise me.”
“Promise you what? To go home at five or get on Tinder?” I ask.
“Both,” she says.
“I’ll go home at five.”
“Okay. Good enough for me. Promise?”
“I promise,” I say, feeling like I’m six again.
“Love you,” she says.
“Love you, too.”
“Mr. Wright.” Magda, my secretary, knocks on the door.
No matter how many times I tell her to just call me Adam, she never does. I’ve given up now; she can call me whatever she wants.
“Yes, Magda.”
The door swings open, revealing a wo
man in her sixties with her dark hair pulled back into a taut, severe ponytail. “Your mother just called to remind you that it’s already five in the afternoon.”
I glance at my watch. Huh, look at that. I’ve been so busy I haven’t checked the time at all. I guess that’s how I always end up working so late.
“Thank you, Magda.” I nod at her, then I turn my attention back to my computer screen.
