The Baby Bargain_A Steamy Billionaire Romance

by Layla Valentine

  My hopes of meeting a kind, accepting man had been dashed, my money had been spent on a worthless night, and I suddenly felt like curling up in a ball and giving up on everything. But I had my son to be strong for. I had to keep my chin up for Levi, and keep looking for a brighter future, no matter how frustrating things got.

  Chapter 2

  Ashton

  “Cut!” I shouted over the din of yet another crying baby.

  The director, Annie, turned to me, grumbling, “It’s actually my job to call cut.”

  “I know that, but do these babies seem like they’re going to stop shrieking their heads off any time soon?”

  She paused, and then conceded, “No. Probably not.”

  She shifted uncomfortably, and I grew impatient, saying, “What is it?”

  “It’s only that, well…why did you get into this business?”

  “To make money, obviously.”

  “You just…” she hesitated, trying to find the words, “seem to really hate kids.” I lifted one eyebrow at her impertinence, and she hastily added, “But these babies are annoying; you’re right.”

  I sighed, and by way of explanation, said, “I’m interested in the intersection of early childhood development and technology, and the ways we can utilize innovation to make parents’ lives easier.”

  “Is that true? Or is that just what your pitch deck says?”

  I snorted, and replied, “As unlikely as it may seem, it remains the actual truth.”

  “So, Swann Innovations really was your brainchild, so to speak.”

  “Yes. Do you think a CEO that cared less would be on set at seven in the morning for some commercial reshoots?”

  “Good point,” Annie replied. Smiling, she tacked on, “Nobody else could possibly be this dedicated or meticulous.”

  Fair enough.

  Turning back to the squalling baby that sat positioned in one of our new strollers, I asked, “So, what are we going to do about this kid?” Annie looked at me meaningfully, and with a frustrated groan, I answered my own question. “Fine. I’m not leaving set, but I’ll start searching for a replacement.”

  “Oh yeah? How do you plan to do that?”

  “Throw my arms up to the sky and hope a baby falls into them,” I replied sarcastically. “Or does that method not work anymore?”

  “I guess the stork delivers in unexpected ways.”

  The designated mom on set shot me a dirty look, presumably having overheard our conversation.

  “Is there a problem?” I asked curtly.

  The woman sneered, “My son is normally very well behaved.”

  I turned to give her my full attention, my patience wearing thin. “Well, ma’am,” I replied coolly, “that doesn’t seem to be the case today.”

  “Maybe my baby is just scared of you,” she retorted.

  “Pardon?” I asked in a low voice.

  “Yeah, storming around and yelling at everybody and being…you know. Not nice. He’s like his mommy; he can sense these things.”

  I took a deep breath and felt Annie’s hand go to my shoulder. She’d been watching the entire exchange, and after having worked with me for the last few years, she could sense a change in my mood the way an old sea dog senses a temperature drop with his bum knee.

  “Don’t do it,” she murmured in my ear. “Stay calm.”

  The baby’s mother went on, “People say you’re an A-hole, and man, are they spot on.”

  Silently, I fixed her with my notorious stare, known for putting the fear of God in businessmen, politicians, and all others who dared cross me. Barely speaking above a whisper, I hissed, “Get out.”

  I waited as she gathered her things—and still-crying baby—and was escorted by security off the set.

  Once she was gone, I stormed behind the white backdrop that we were using to film and took a moment to myself. Away from the prying eyes, I let my guard down ever so slightly. Had that woman said what everyone was thinking? I knew my reputation preceded me, but did people actually find me frightening? God, what kind of man did they think I was?

  Taking a deep breath, I brushed invisible hairs off my Italian suit, and strode out from behind the curtain. Dozens of eyes stared mutely at me, like a flock of animated birds, heads tilted to the side. They were all waiting for me to lead them, to give the go ahead. And I was nothing if not a leader.

  “Okay, everyone, sorry about that,” I said with forced geniality.

  From across the room, Annie raised her hand. “Uh, Ashton?”

  “Yup?”

  “Where are we gonna find another baby?”

  Good question.

  I feigned confidence, replying, “We’re in the headquarters of the biggest baby-tech company the world has ever known. Surely, there’s got to be a kid around here somewhere.”

  I was met with more wide-eyed stares.

  “No one’s gonna go look?” I asked, frustrated. Silence. “Fine. Like everything else around here, I’ll do it myself.”

  Chapter 3

  Harley

  I awoke that morning in a fog, a touch hungover from my wine-fueled pity party of the previous evening. A cry came over the baby monitor, a soft little mewl. Right on schedule; Levi was nothing if not punctual. I sighed, threw on my fuzzy robe that was ratty from overuse, and walked from my room into the living room, where Levi’s crib was stationed.

  Who knew why I continued to use the baby monitor? I could hear every tiny peep, down to the faintest gurgle he made through our thin walls.

  “I’m coming, sweetheart,” I mumbled, as though he could possibly understand me.

  I shuffled out into the living room, and at the sight of me, Levi immediately stopped his incessant keeling, instead affixing his bright blue eyes on my own.

  “Yes?” I asked, redoing my ponytail. “Why do you always look so surprised to see me?”

  Living alone meant I’d gotten into the habit of talking to Levi constantly. For what it’s worth, experts say this is a great thing in terms of child development; the more words your child hears, the better their language skills develop. So, a win-win for us both, really.

  “You’re a good kid, sport,” I chuckled as I lifted him to my chest.

  We’d switched from breast to bottle feeding at eight months, by which point my nipples had been sore and cracked. But Levi was still prone to fumbling for my breast, meaning that every morning, we did a dance of him lunging hungrily at my chest, and me deflecting him with a classic duck and weave. It wasn’t elegant, but frankly, not much about motherhood is.

  I set him in the high chair and put a bottle in his hands. I could almost see the disappointment on Levi’s face as he looked skeptically at the pastel bottle, as if to say, “This again?”

  “Sorry, buddy. It’s this until real food, I’m afraid,” I informed him as I commenced my morning routine.

  “Routine” is probably a misleading choice of word; rather, it was more of a frantic race through the apartment, like a video game where the character must collect as many gold coins as possible before time runs out. In my case, it was a dash for makeup, breakfast, and something resembling professional work attire.

  More often than not, I was failing the game—going to work with only one eye with mascara on, or a blouse on inside out. Listen, I wasn’t striving for perfection, but decency seemed like a reasonable goal.

  Pausing my morning sprint for a moment, I grabbed my cellphone, ready to turn on a soothing podcast. I’d become reliant on the white noise of cohosts chatting, to make things seem even just a little bit less hectic.

  The screen lit up—a message from my mother:

  Sorry, sweetie, we can’t take Levi today. Your idiot dad decided to hit an overhead shot yesterday on the tennis court, so I’m driving him to physical therapy. Love you!

  What?! For one, my dad knew better than to try to overhead with his messed-up rotator cuff, but two, what was I supposed to do now?

  I didn’t even take the time to respond to her mes
sage; I was in overdrive mode. Any semblance of a routine that had been underway previously was thrown out the window. I began to message the three or four college girls I had in rotation as sitters, praying that somebody could come through at the last minute. Each one replied that it was midterm week, and unfortunately, there was absolutely no chance they could take Levi for the day.

  Turning to the baby, I said with a sigh, “All right, kiddo. You’re coming with me, today.”

  He thumped his milk bottle on the table of the high chair, which I took as resounding agreement.

  My hair was thrown up into a ponytail, and a skirt wiggled onto my hips. Then, it was on to readying Levi, which entailed diaper changing, onesie outfitting, and baby bag assembling. The U.S. Army couldn’t compete with the tactical movements of a working mother, and even though we were out the door a few minutes behind schedule, I thought it was quite the accomplishment.

  The upside of being a working mother at Swann Innovations was getting all of their newly rolled-out goodies. I got Levi downstairs using a state-of-the art baby carrier that wrapped around my chest like sturdy silk, and once at the car, buckled him into our best-selling car seat. Though the seat was extremely safe, it took forever to strap in, and by the time I’d managed it, rush-hour traffic was heavy.

  When all was said and done, I pulled into the office parking lot a full half an hour later than usual. I tried to remain calm as I grabbed Levi from the backseat, strapped him to my chest, lifted my heaving purse and baby bag, and proceeded towards the elevators.

  I tapped my heels anxiously as I waited for the elevator car. I was always timely; all my performance reports consistently showered me with praise for being the first in and the last out. Surely, everyone would understand why I was slipping lately, but still—I had too much pride to walk in late. Not to mention, a high-paying promotion right about now would really help with the seemingly endless pile of bills.

  The abominably slow elevator finally arrived, and I rushed in, trying not to jostle Levi too much. Thirty floors later, I stepped out into my office. Or, rather, a section of the company’s offices. In reality, all the land I could lay claim to was a small desk in the midst of a row of other desks. Personally, I would’ve preferred the privacy of a cubicle, but you know tech companies these days—all about the open layout plans.

  Jonathon, one of the many young interns who worked on the social media side of the business, strolled past, letting out a long whistle.

  “Got the kid today?” he asked blandly as he watched me struggle with my various bags.

  “How incredibly perceptive you are,” I returned, my voice dry and scathing. “No, please, don’t offer to help me with my fifty pounds of stuff.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged, totally missing the sarcasm. I seethed internally; what was wrong with kids these days? Where were the manners? Being a mother at 25 already made me feel old, but being around people only a few years younger than me—who had the social skills of toddlers—served to amplify my feelings of age acceleration.

  And then, as if on cue, Levi decided to start shrieking.

  “Levi,” I whispered as I maneuvered past the annoyed eyes of my colleagues and toward my desk. “Be quiet, please, honey.”

  His response was to wail harder.

  “What, what is it?” I begged, desperate to end his keening. “You can’t be hungry, I just changed your diaper, and it’s not nap time. What are you trying to tell me?”

  His little face went red with frustration. Having a child was like constantly being pressed to speak a language for which there was no possible translation. Babies needed to come out of the womb with their own tiny dictionaries.

  At last, I arrived at my desk, and threw down my armful of bags. Bethany, who manned the desk directly across from mine, made a face at Levi.

  “Is he yours?” she asked, a lightly horrified expression crossing her face.

  For people who worked at a baby-tech company, I noted, all of my coworkers seemed to be pretty grossed out by babies.

  “No, Bethany,” I replied, sugar-sweet. “I stole him off the street.”

  “Oh my God, what?”

  I rolled my eyes. Was my sarcasm this hard to detect? “It was a joke,” I clarified.

  Levi continued to bawl, and I attempted to bounce him up and down. No dice.

  “Is he gonna do that all day?”

  “I don’t know; why don’t you ask him?”

  I was too tired to conceal my hostility; Bethany and everyone else around me were getting on my last nerve.

  “Shh, shh,” I pleaded to Levi. Taking a towel out of the baby bag, I flung it over my shoulder and attempted to burp him, which served only to make him scream louder.

  People in the office were beginning to do those exaggerated sighs you recognized as a new mother; the sigh that says, “Can you please shut that baby up right now?” If only I could express how hard I was trying.

  I reached into the apparently bottomless bag once more, and pulled out one of Levi’s favorite toys, a Wi-Fi-enabled sphere that changed colors in response to different baby noises. The Swann R&D team had never clarified what exactly this was supposed to do for childhood development, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to question the efficacy of the product.

  “Here you go, little man,” I cooed, putting the ball in Levi’s tiny palms.

  With unprecedented motor power, Levi hefted the ball and chucked it across the office. I watched in slow motion as the ball bounced on a desk, careened off a wall, and landed with a dull thud on the side of my manager’s head.

  “What the hell was that?” he bellowed. The heads of my co-workers swiveled to me like a flock of seagulls. Thanks for the subtlety, guys, I remarked silently.

  I found my voice and spoke up. “Sorry about that, David. My son’s turning out to be quite the little pitcher.” I held Levi aloft by way of explanation.

  Even beneath David’s thick beard, I saw his mouth contort into a scowl. He stormed over to my desk, his hipster-booted feet slamming into the corporate-gray of the carpet.

  “What,” he began, arriving at my station, “is the meaning of this?”

  “David, this is Levi, my son. He didn’t mean to throw the ball at you. He’s just developing fine-motor skills.” I bounced Levi in David’s direction, hoping that those big blue eyes would melt my boss.

  No such luck. Possibly, the melting quality of said eyes was diminished by the tears streaming out of them.

  “Who told you that children were allowed in the office?” David interrogated.

  “I mean, I just figured, because it’s a baby company, there wouldn’t be a—”

  “A problem? Well, there most certainly is.”

  Just as I was about to respond, Levi decided it was the perfect moment to barf all over the front of David’s too-cool flannel shirt. I would have been mortified if I wasn’t so busy marveling at Levi’s comedic timing. Was it too soon to enroll my baby in improv classes?

  David’s face went from its normal light pink to a deep, crimson red. Between the flannel, beard, and newly-inflamed face, he looked a bit like a lumberjack—although that image was entirely negated by the spit-up covering his torso.

  Barely keeping his rage in check, he hissed, “I want this baby out of here.”

  “Listen, David, I’m sorry, but I don’t have a sitter, and—”

  “You think I care? This boy is a damn menace.”

  “Hey,” I shot back, my hackles rising. “Don’t call my kid names.”

  “What’s going on here?” a deep voice across the room asked.

  I was too busy staring down David to turn my head in response to the unknown questioner. That is, until I realized that my boss was rapidly swiveling away from our encounter, and the heads of all my coworkers had gone in the opposite direction. Was our confrontation over that quickly?

  Obliging the intrigue, I turned my head to follow everyone’s line of sight, and saw—oh, no. Ashton Swann.

  My heart pounded
so frantically that I worried Levi would be able to feel it through the baby carrier.

  What was Ashton doing down here? Shouldn’t he be on a private jet, or in a hotel room with some supermodel? I mean, sure, I’d seen him in the halls from time to time, but always flanked by a posse of assistants who struggled to keep up with his breakneck pace. Now, he stood alone, in a beautiful suit that was far too elegant for the usual San Bravado uniform of jeans and a sweatshirt. I briefly reflected that I liked a man who made an effort. It was…refreshing.

  I spoke up first, since everyone else seemed too petrified. I suppose motherhood makes you more confident; you just don’t have enough hours in the day to waste time on indecision.

  “Sorry, sir,” I called out across the room. “I couldn’t get a sitter today, so I had to bring my son in, and he’s being a little fussy—”

  Levi let out a punctuating scream.

  “Is that all?” Ashton replied, and proceeded to walk towards me. “Here, let me take him.”

  His tall, muscular form strode across the office, which was so quiet even his carpeted footfalls were audible. I gulped as he grew nearer and nearer, until at last, he was so close that his body towered over mine.

  “May I?” he said with a grin, gesturing to the wailing Levi.

  Maybe the whites of his teeth blinded me to all common sense, because I nodded mechanically and unwrapped Levi from my chest, passing him over to Mr. Swann.

  He took my son with enormous hands that spanned over half the length of my boy’s small body. No sooner had he touched Levi than the baby quieted down.

  “How did you do that?” I gasped in wonderment.

  My boss sneered, “Maybe he’s just better with children than you are.”

  “Watch it, David,” Ashton snapped. “You don’t talk to my employee—or any mother—like that. Understood?”

  “Sorry,” David mumbled to me.