Bad Billionaires Box Set

by Elise Faber

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She rested her head against the metal rim of the garbage bin. “Me too.”

  They stood like that for a few moments, awkward and unmoving. He wanted to ask if he could help, but he sensed that she was trying to figure out if she was done.

  Finally, she raised her head and winced. “I need to get home.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  Hazel eyes skewered him. “Help only. Promise,” he added when her glare didn’t relax.

  “Okay, fine.” She wrinkled her nose. “I meant, thank you. Yes, I’m still mad at you, but I’m not a total troll and you didn’t leave me heaving my guts up on the side of the road, so . . .”

  “That counts as something?” He grinned at her.

  She huffed out a breath. “A small something.”

  “Progress. Here.” He took her purse from where it had slipped down to her elbow. “Let me carry that for you.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured then squinted up at her building and the three flights of stairs to her apartment. “Why did I like this walk-up so much?”

  “Exercise?” he joked as she headed for the building.

  “Pish, exercise is overrated. I’d give anything for an elevator right about now.”

  He touched her arm. “I can carry you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Since she didn’t exactly look fine, Jordan stayed close. Her skin was waxy and pale. Even her lips weren’t as rosy as they’d been minutes before.

  He slipped an arm around her waist, shushing her when she started to pull free.

  “Just let me help you,” he said. “You’ve still got two flights to go.”

  She groaned. “I thought I was almost there.”

  “Forget this,” he said and swept a hand under her knees, pulling her up into his arms.

  It was a good thing he chose that moment to ignore her wishes because the second she was against his chest, Abigail’s eyes rolled back and her entire body went limp.

  He cradled her close, spent a half second enjoying the weight of her against him before Jordan realized that he held an unconscious woman in his arms.

  He climbed the last two flights of stairs in rapid time then carefully laid Abby against her door as he searched her bag for the keys to her apartment. She’d put in a code on the keypad that night, but he hadn’t seen it, and after a few minutes of searching the black hole that was her purse, he dumped the entire contents on the ground next to her.

  Nothing.

  Or, well, no keys.

  There were about a million other articles—junk—in the feminine depths. But no keys.

  Shit.

  He reached a hand into his pocket and remembered all at once that he didn’t have a phone.

  Which had been a tactical decision at the time. To be unreachable.

  To be free.

  Jordan realized that had been a really fucking stupid idea.

  He’d figured that he could always use someone else’s phone if it came down to it. But the only other person around at the moment was unconscious, so that plan was in the crapper.

  Except, she had a phone.

  He’d seen it in the mess on the ground. Shoving tampons and receipts to the side, he unearthed the smartphone and pressed the home button.

  Locked.

  He cursed. Of course it was locked, and he knew the PIN to Abby’s phone as readily as he knew the code to her apartment.

  Abby moaned, and he cupped her cheek.

  Maybe she was coming around and could unlock the phone herself. Then he could call someone. But after a long moment of him waiting for signs of consciousness and her not waking up, Jordan recognized that he was well and truly fucked.

  He dropped his hands from her face and pressed his fingers to her pulse point at her wrist.

  Steady.

  So she’d wake up. Right?

  But now it had been longer than he was comfortable with. Her hands were like ice, and she was so, so pale.

  Damn. He had to do something.

  When it occurred to him, he realized he was an idiot.

  Jordan picked up her hand, pressed her right thumb to the home button.

  It worked. The screen unlocked and he hurriedly keyed in 9-1-1.

  “I need an ambulance.”

  Chapter Six

  I was freezing. My stomach felt as though it had gone five rounds with the Tilt-A-Whirl.

  With a groan, I peeled back my eyelids and winced against the bright lights.

  Where the hell was I?

  Last I remembered, I’d been puking into another trash can. In front of—and thank you, universe, for that one—Jordan. For the second time.

  Awesome. Lovely. The perfect ending to what had amounted to a hellish last two months for me.

  “You’re awake.”

  I carefully turned my head to the side and, of course, Jordan was there, looking gorgeous in his jeans and T-shirt and boots. They fit his body like a second skin, and my body remembered the feel of all that glorious hardness in minute, extremely descriptive detail.

  The heat of him. The prickle of stubble against my throat. The way his abs had felt like granite. The press of his hipbones to mine. Hard to soft. Hot to warm. Spicy. Masculine—

  Not. Mine.

  “I’m awake,” I agreed and closed my eyes, shifting my head back to the center of my pillow.

  “You passed out,” he said.

  The lights were uncomfortably bright through my lids, so I tilted my head again. Away from Jordan.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m getting that.”

  “You scared me.”

  The words made me jump, not only because they surprised the hell out of me, but also because they came from approximately eight inches away from my face.

  I hadn’t heard him move, but he was there. Crouched next to the bed and right in my face.

  “I’m sorry.” And I was. “Thanks for not leaving me.”

  Jordan’s brows pulled down. “Why would I have left you?”

  “Um, because I was mean to you and puking uncontrollably.”

  He snorted. “Fair point. But I don’t think you were feeling yourself.”

  Now wasn’t that the truth? I’d been feeling off for a couple of weeks but had chalked it up to my hypoglycemia. Which basically meant that my body didn’t process insulin correctly and my blood sugar dropped unpredictably. But other than small, frequent meals and sometimes getting a little dizzy, it hadn’t affected my life all that much.

  Trust it to make me pass out for the first time in my life in front of a god.

  Now that fit in with how things had been going as of late.

  “My assistant couldn’t find your insurance card.”

  I blinked, eyes flying to his. There was something in his expression . . . calculating? Careful?

  Whatever it was, I didn’t like it.

  “It’s in my apartment.” I sighed. “I was using it to apply for new insurance. I was laid off this week.”

  He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” My dream job gone in the span of fifteen minutes. And I couldn’t even say it was because I’d screwed up or the owners had been unfair.

  Frank and Susan deserved their retirement, but I’d all but run their graphic design business for the last few years. It had become my baby, and now it was gone.

  “My bosses decided they needed to simplify their life, sold the business, and bought a giant RV.” I shrugged. “At least they left me a nice severance package. I’m good for a bit.”

  Not that I knew what I wanted to do with my life. Did I want to spend the rest of it designing websites and logos?

  No, I didn’t think so.

  But I also didn’t have a reasonable source of income.

  And a girl needed money to survive.

  “That’s good,” Jordan said.

  I pushed all thoughts of my former job out of my head and focused on my immediate surroundings. Which I probably should h
ave done the moment I woke, but there you go. My brain didn’t always work in a straightforward, A to B, important to least important way.

  Sometimes I got stuck on insignificant details and veered off course.

  Sometimes I fussed with the placement of one letter for hours, so focused on that one small point that I forgot about the big picture.

  “How’d I get here?”

  “An ambulance.”

  “What?” I guess I figured he’d driven me, because damn, being transported to the hospital in an ambulance for my hypoglycemia was going to be expensive.

  Shit.

  Jordan’s lips pressed together. “You wouldn’t wake up, and I couldn’t get into your apartment. I was worried.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just—” I shook my head. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. Aside from a lot of tests when I was younger”—I explained my hypoglycemia and what it meant—“I’ve never even been in the hospital.”

  He nodded, looking thoughtful. “The doctor said something about your blood sugar being off.”

  “Dang,” I said. “I—”

  A warm hand laced with mine. “Hey, it’s okay. The doctors will get you sorted out and you’ll be on your way.”

  My nose wrinkled as the smell of Jordan’s deodorant hit my nose again. In a second, I went from feeling a little weak but mostly fine, to my stomach tying itself in knots.

  “Let go.” I pulled my hand free, scooted back on the bed. “Stay there,” I said when he leaned in, face concerned.

  “What is it?”

  I put a palm up. “That smell. You.” I tried to breathe through my mouth as saliva pooled around my tongue. “Your deodorant.”

  Don’t puke. No puking allowed—

  I gagged.

  Jordan backed up.

  “I can’t with the smell. It’s horrible. It’s going to make me pu—”

  He snagged a trash can from near the door and extended it toward me. “I don’t understand why the smell of my deodorant is making you sick—”

  The door opened and a doctor filled the threshold, taking in the garbage bin on the bed, my hand over my mouth, and Jordan pressed into the corner.

  “Stomach still touchy, huh?” The doctor, a middle-aged man in blue scrubs and a white coat, with gray-blond hair neatly combed, pushed through the door. He used his palm to press some sanitizer from the container mounted on the wall and rubbed it between his hands.

  I nodded. “Yes, unfortunately.” Though the roiling was subsiding with Jordan out of nose-reach.

  “I’m Dr. Williams.” He crossed to the computer and typed a few keys before scrolling through several screens. “I think I have the answer to that.”

  “My hypoglycemia?”

  Dr. Williams turned and came close to the bed. “Your hypoglycemia was almost certainly the reason for the fainting. Your stomach upset is for a completely different reason, I suspect.”

  I frowned.

  “When was the date of your last period?”

  I pressed back into the bed. “I’ve had an IUD for years. I hardly ever get periods anymore. It’s been months.”

  Dr. Williams sighed. “Well, here’s the thing. We drew your blood”—he nodded at the bandage at my elbow—“and that sample says that you’re pregnant.”

  My entire body went numb. That couldn’t be right. I hadn’t—

  I couldn’t—

  “In fact, your HCG levels say you’re about eight weeks pregnant.”

  I felt Jordan move in the corner, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the doctor.

  “But I have an IUD.”

  “Unfortunately, no method of birth control is one hundred percent effective.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “In fact, my youngest daughter is the byproduct of a failed IUD.”

  This couldn’t actually be happening.

  Not now. Not with my job imploding. Not with my dad deciding—

  A hand touched mine and I opened my eyes to find Dr. Williams staring down at me, dark eyes kind. “You’ll be okay. The OB will be down in a few minutes to check on you and then you can get out of here. You’ll need to make some follow up appointments to ensure you and the baby stay healthy, all right?”

  “All right.” I gripped the sheets tightly as he logged out of the computer and left the room. The cotton was cool against my clammy hands, but it was more than that. Something concrete to hold on to when the rest of the world was falling apart.

  I was ignoring the fact that I was going to have to let go at some point.

  Pregnant.

  How in the hell was I pregnant?

  “Goodbye, Abigail. Take care.” And with a small smile, Dr. Williams was gone.

  I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before I frowned and glanced around the room.

  Jordan was gone.

  How typical.

  Chapter Seven

  “So your prescriptions should be ready by the time you’re out of here, and you’ll need to follow up with me in two weeks,” Dr. Stephens said.

  She was a young blond woman with a perky ponytail and honey-colored eyes. Her gaze was warm and her demeanor straightforward.

  I liked her. Despite where her hands were.

  “There,” she said after a moment and turned the ultrasound machine so that I could see the black and white picture.

  My heart stuttered, and I ignored the uncompromising wand between my legs for the first time since it had made its appearance. “Is that—?”

  “Your baby?” Dr. Stephens hit a button on the machine, printing out the image. “Yes. Or maybe I should say, there’s your raspberry since your little one is just about the size of one of those berries.”

  “Really?” I asked, my hand coming to my belly.

  “Really,” the doctor said. “And this here. The fluttering?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s the baby’s heartbeat. Which looks nice and strong.”

  Relief coursed through me. I hadn’t even realized I’d been tense, but everything that was happening seemed so fragile. So small.

  A raspberry.

  I could crush it with barely a thought. An hour ago, I’d thought I was coming down with the flu, and now I had a baby inside me.

  Evidence that I could see on the ultrasound, could hear on the ultrasound—my baby’s heartbeat whooshing away.

  And instead of panicking, instead of freaking out, I just felt relief that he or she was okay.

  That I hadn’t screwed up this part of my life.

  Not yet anyway.

  “So everything looks great,” Dr. Stephens said and slid the wand free.

  I wrinkled my nose at the feeling of lubricant between my thighs. It was cold and sticky. Gross.

  “Because of your health history, I’ll want to keep a closer eye on you than my typical patients.” Her ponytail bounced as she peeled off her gloves. “That is, if you want to continue your care with me. You can easily see your normal gynecologist for the duration of your pregnancy.”

  “I don’t actually have a gynecologist.”

  “Good. I’ll take you.” White teeth flashed before Dr. Stephens frowned. “When was your last pap smear?”

  “Uhh.” I bit my lip. “Maybe five, six years ago? I’m not sure.”

  “Well, that won’t do. Let me see if I can find anything on your chart. Was it in this hospital?”

  “Yes.” I gave her my former doctor’s name and saw her nose wrinkle. “Yeah, he wasn’t exactly my favorite.”

  “Honestly?” Honey eyes met mine. “He wasn’t my favorite either. Let’s see.” She scrolled down several screens on the computer. “Ah. There it is. Seven years ago.”

  “Oh. Is that—?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get you caught up.” She smiled. “It’s completely safe to do during pregnancy. That way we’ll tick it off the list while I have you here and your results should be in by the next time you’re in the office.” She pulled out her phone. “Let me just find out if there are any kits
handy. Hang tight.”

  The nurse came in barely a minute later, a sealed pack in her hand. Dr. Stephens opened it, arranged it on a tray, and put on a pair of gloves.

  “Ready?”

  “Joy,” I muttered, sliding back down the table to put my feet in the stirrups.

  I was in this joyful position, speculum inserted, when the door opened.

  At first, I thought it was the nurse and didn’t take my eyes from the ceiling.

  “Almost done,” Dr. Stephens said.

  The crash was what made me look.

  Jordan had slammed into the tray and was facing the wall.

  Jesus Christ.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to the wallpaper. “I should have knocked. I—”

  “Done,” the doctor said, covering me as she pulled off her gloves and spun her stool around. “You must be Dad.”

  “Jordan.” He carefully turned, eyes flicking in my direction for a heartbeat before his shoulders visibly relaxed. “I’m Abby’s friend.”

  “Dr. Stephens.” She tossed her gloves into the trash and extended a hand before tilting her head in my direction. “Take care of this one, okay?” To me, she said, “Two weeks. I’ve put the office number on your discharge instructions, so get that appointment on the calendar.”

  “I will,” I said. “Thank you.”

  With a wave, she left the room.

  And cue silence . . . of the awkward variety.

  I forced a laugh, crinkling the edges of the paper drape covering my lady business from the rest of the world. “Just when you thought you couldn’t see more of me . . .”

  I went for a joke because that was all I had.

  I mean, really, what could I say? “Here’s an even more up-close image of the female parts that couldn’t keep you interested. Just what you’ve always wanted!”

  Humor was all I had. Well, that and crying, and I decided that I wasn’t quite up to crying in front of Jordan.

  Not after our night together.

  Tears, panic, and a mental breakdown could come when I was tucked into bed, my softest blanket pulled to my chin, and a worn paperback in one hand.