[The Fake Partner 01.0] Knocked Up by the Billionaire

by Tasha Fawkes

  Craig was a freelance writer, so pretty much worked on his own schedule. I usually didn't bother him during normal workday hours, but like I said, this was an emergency. After only a brief hesitation, he answered.

  "Give me about twenty minutes and I'll meet you there, okay?"

  "Thanks, Craig."

  “Are you fuckin’ serious?"

  The first words to leave Craig's mouth after I told him. I nodded. He let out a low whistle and then lifted his hand, gesturing for the bartender to come over to our table with another set of shots. "That's not the worst part." Craig stared at me as if I'd lost my mind.

  "What's worse than learning that you knocked her up?"

  I cringed and then shook my head as the bartender set the two shot glasses down in front of us. We each grabbed one and downed it in one gulp. I focused on the sensation of heat burning its way down my throat, down to the pit of my stomach, which once again did an uncertain flip-flop. "She mentioned the m word."

  "Oh God," Craig said, dropping his head into his hands. He stayed that way for several moments.

  I think I was still in shock too. Finally, he lifted his head, eyes wide, disbelieving.

  "You do, it will be your funeral. You do remember how high maintenance she is—"

  "Believe me, it's all coming back to me in vivid technicolor."

  "Stand up to her, Scott. If you don't, you'll be in for a lifetime of pain."

  "I know, Craig. But at the same time, I do have to take responsibility if the kid is mine."

  "I get that," he nodded. "And you should. But marriage? A little extreme, don't you think?"

  I nodded, my head pounding and my stomach churning. As if things couldn't get more difficult. I already felt that I'd sold out by accepting the job as CEO for my dad's company, but all along I'd convinced myself that it was a sacrifice I had to make in order to establish myself in property management. It was only temporary. A necessary evil. One of these days, with enough experience under my belt, I was going to strike out on my own, leave my dad and his company behind to start my life, my business.

  "I'm sorry, Scott, but I have to get back to work. Deadlines, you know." Craig fingered the empty shot glass and twirled it. "Want to get together later, maybe around eight o'clock? Talk some more?"

  "I should be getting back to work too," I sighed. "And yes, that sounds like a plan. I just can't believe this."

  Craig nodded, no more words to say, and left. I sat in the booth in a dark corner of Flanagan's, one of my favorite spots to come and relax, but relaxation eluded me. So did peace of mind. I was pissed off. Mostly at myself, but at Kristin too. Both of us should’ve been using protection. Should have... famous last words. I was certain I had used a condom. Why wouldn't I? I always carried two of them in my wallet. At all times, just in case. I hissed, trying to force myself to remember, but I couldn't. Dammit!

  I left money on the table, waved goodbye to Kevin, the bartender, and exited from the cool darkness of the bar and into the harsh late afternoon sun. The property company was only a few blocks away, and I walked back to my office in a daze, my headache growing worse with every step.

  By the time I got back to my office, Melanie was gone. I used the key to let myself into my office and shut the door quietly behind me, staring at the richly appointed space, my usual haven; a place where I usually found some sense of solitude and comfort. Before she had left, Melanie had drawn the blinds, curving them upward so the setting sun didn't shine directly onto my desk. I sat down in my chair, staring at the paperwork that I had abandoned, my heart thudding dully in my chest. The landline phone on the corner of my desk rang, a low, subdued ring, and I groaned as I reached for it. I knew it was my dad. He was the only one who used landlines anymore, at least in this building. Or it seemed like that to me. In so many ways he was a dinosaur, sticking to traditions of the past. Whatever.

  I picked it up. "Hello, Dad, what can I do for—"

  "I need to see you in my office. Two minutes ago."

  The call disconnected. I swore. What now? I wanted to scream my outrage, to throw a temper tantrum of my own, my hands balled into fists as I rose, trying to calm my pounding heart, my frustration, and my anger. It had started out as such an ordinary day…

  I left my office, waited in front of the elevator for a car, and then took it up to the top floor. My dad's office took up nearly a quarter of the top floor, corner of course, with views to the west and south. As I rapped once on the door and entered, I saw him standing in front of the south-facing window.

  My dad was an imposing guy. Mike Holbrook was Irish, through and through. My hair was a dirty, dull blond, while my dad's was dark brown, almost black, with a hint of red when sunlight hit it directly. He had a large, round face, ruddy cheeks, and heavy, dark eyebrows that were typically pulled down in a frown. Always clean-shaven, always dressed impeccably. He was several inches shorter than me, but had a stocky build. If you didn't know him, you'd think he'd been a boxer. He looked like one.

  I saw his hands clasped behind his back, his fingers clenching and unclenching. Great. I knew that gesture, one of intense aggravation. What the hell did I do now? Before he could even say a word, barely before the door shut behind me, he turned around.

  "Is it true? You got Kristin pregnant?"

  My heart skipped a beat. How the hell—

  Dammit! Kristin had called my dad, tattled on me? Told him that I was the father of her—I thought about that, tilted my head and thought she was a conniving bitch, and then fought back a surge of reluctant admiration. She was smarter than I gave her credit for. Calling my dad, she knew, would force my hand. She had always liked me, had always chased me, but I hadn't realized until this afternoon how desperate she was to latch onto me, and apparently she was willing to do just about anything to achieve that.

  "That's what she says," I replied, striving for nonchalance.

  "Don't you get flippant with me, boy!"

  I was familiar with my dad's temper. His face red now, he stared at me with an expression I couldn't quite define. Shock? Disgust? I couldn't—

  "My business partner's daughter? You've known her since you were both teenagers! What the hell, Scott? What the hell were you thinking?”

  Before I could answer, he spoke again, dropping the second bombshell of the day.

  “You have a choice to make, Scott."

  He didn't even hesitate.

  "One is that you take her in and marry her before that baby is born.”

  My mouth dropped open. Fuck that. I wasn’t going to marry Kristin Bruno if my life depended on it. “Or else?” My question triggered a black scowl.

  “Or else you forfeit your fucking inheritance and give up your position as CEO of this company!”

  We hope you enjoyed this preview of Not For Sale! You can read the rest at:

  https://tashafawkes.com/book/not-for-sale/

  Other books from Safira Publishing

  By Tasha Fawkes

  Please visit Tasha’s website for a complete list of her books.

  tashafawkes.com

  About Tasha Fawkes

  I’m originally from a small southern town where everyone knew everyone and their business. I was so happy to leave and move to California for college where I was originally going to be a veterinarian.

  Well, I met a guy – yeah, it’s that kind of story – and dropped out of school to have my oldest daughter. We soon divorced, and as a kind of therapy, I started to write books. I loved the fantasy world of fiction and never did go back to college, and have been writing ever since.

  I write about sexy guys and girls. Anything but missionary –unless the heroine is tied up tight. My southern upbringing sure brings the kinkiness out of me. Don’t be shy to stay in touch. I’d love to hear your kinky stories. Maybe we can turn them into a book. :)

  XXX, Tasha

  Please visit me at and get a free ebook!

  http://tashafawkes.com/

  About M. S. Parker

  M
. S. Parker is a USA Today Bestselling author and the author of the Erotic Romance series, Club Privè and Chasing Perfection.

  Living in Las Vegas, she enjoys sitting by the pool with her laptop writing on her next spicy romance.

  Growing up all she wanted to be was a dancer, actor or author. So far only the latter has come true but M. S. Parker hasn’t retired her dancing shoes just yet. She is still waiting for the call for her to appear on Dancing With The Stars.

  When M. S. isn't writing, she can usually be found reading– oops, scratch that! She is always writing.

  For more information:

  www.msparker.com

  msparkerbooks@gmail.com