Kidnapping the Billionaire's Baby (A BWWM Romantic Suspense)

by Mia Caldwell

  “That’s not a problem. I would want to be at the birth anyway.”

  “I don’t even want to see the sonograms.”

  “Understandable,” he said quickly.

  Amara lifted a hand to her cheek and realized there were tears falling down her face.

  Quint took a deep breath. “It will be for the good, I promise you. You won’t regret this, ever. I’ll take care of everything, and we’ll both be happy about it. We’ll both get what we want. You can save the children of the world, and I will have a child, my own family to care for. This is a good thing, Amara. It is.”

  “I can’t refuse,” she said. “I want to, but I can’t. There’s too much at stake. And I know there’s no point in asking you to fund my research without putting a price on it.” She waited, hopeful he would correct her.

  He didn’t. He simply looked at her, his expression implacable.

  “Right,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

  “How long?”

  “I’ll let you know by tomorrow.”

  He held out his hand, and she took it. Her hand felt tiny in his, she was dwarfed by both his physical size and the force of his dominant personality.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, a gleam in his eyes.

  Chapter Six

  AMARA MADE AN EMERGENCY APPOINTMENT that afternoon with Jaslene Sims, her financial advisor and friend. Jaslene was a few years older than Amara, and brilliant beyond her years. She worked at one of the most prestigious investment firms in the country.

  Amara had met her when she hired Jaslene’s firm to manage Amara’s investment portfolio. Jaslene had been put in charge of her account and they’d had an instant connection what with the two of them being young women of color in traditionally white-male-dominated fields. But it grew to more than that over time, and they shared much in common beyond their initial connection.

  Jaslene met her for coffee, insisting on keeping the meeting informal. She was already waiting at a table with two steaming cups in front of her when Amara arrived. Jaslene looked stylish as usual.

  They hugged, and Amara sat.

  “Thanks for this, I needed it,” Amara said, inhaling the hot coffee as if it could give her sustenance.

  “You’re certainly welcome,” Jaslene said. “I haven’t seen you much lately. I knew you’d been busy, but until you filled me in today, I had no idea how busy.”

  “Yes, well, having my ex flay me alive isn’t something I’m crazy about discussing.”

  Jaslene cocked her pretty head. She was always so put together, Amara thought. Nothing ever seemed to rattle the woman, and she’d never known anyone so capable and forthright.

  “Why are we meeting here and not at your office?” Amara asked.

  “So I don’t have to bill you.”

  Amara laughed shakily. “It’s not a good sign when you ask your financial advisor to look into your portfolio, and the next thing she does is suggest you can’t afford her bill.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” She sat up straighter and smiled. “I just don’t see any reason to pay them anything. I’ll be leaving my job soon.”

  “What?” Amara was shocked. Jaslene was always so driven to success. It was a bolt from out of the blue, to be sure.

  “It’s all your fault. You have no idea how much you’ve inspired me, do you?”

  Amara shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’ve always admired you, Amara. The way you put your talents to work for others, but not like a martyr. You know what you want, and you make it happen, and you do it in the service of the world. It’s not all about you. I admire the hell out of that. In my business, you don’t see that kind of thing … ever.”

  Amara’s face grew warm from her friend’s praise. “I’m not doing anything special. I’m only doing what I think is right.”

  “And that’s exactly why you’re special. Not many people do the right thing. They make excuses and do what they want, and to hell with what they know deep inside is the true, right thing.”

  Amara was uncomfortable with the topic, especially on this day. “Well, thank you. Now back to you. You said you’re quitting your job. What are you going to do?”

  Her smile was blinding. “I’m going to follow in your footsteps and try to do something that matters in the bigger scheme of things. Or maybe I should say, in the better scheme of things.”

  “Good for you. Got anything specific planned out yet?”

  “I’m going to invest in your research,” she said in an even tone.

  Amara, in the midst of a sip of coffee, lowered her mug. “I didn’t ask you to look into my finances as a way to get you to invest —”

  “Of course you didn’t. I decided that all on my own.”

  “I’m going to read between the lines here and assume, then, that I don’t have enough to continue even a minor part of my research.”

  Jaslene reached over and patted her hand. “Not by yourself. Not even if you liquidate every single thing you own. You know how expensive your work is.”

  Amara’s disappointment sent her shoulders slumping. “I know. I hoped … maybe there was enough …”

  “You’ve got me, though,” Jaslene said. “I think with both our resources we should be able to maintain the field trials for a little while, hopefully until this thing with Frederik blows over.”

  But this thing with Frederik may never blow over, Amara thought. “What were you going to do to better the world, before I called you today with my troubles?”

  Jaslene stirred her coffee. “It doesn’t matter. It can wait.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I was bouncing around a few different ideas. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Oh, Jaslene, you should go with your original plans, whatever they are,” Amara said.

  “I will, someday,” Jaslene said with confidence. “After you get your funding back.”

  “But not if you spend all your savings on my research instead of getting your company going. There won’t be financial returns for years, if ever. I won’t hear of you putting everything you’ve got into a potential sinkhole like my research. Period. End of conversation.”

  “This is stupid. Sinkhole? Really? Since when is feeding the world a sinkhole? I want to make a difference. Who cares if I do it with my own company or not? The purpose is accomplished regardless.”

  “I care. I can’t wait to see what you do with your ideas, Jaslene. I know you’re going to kill it, because you don’t know how to do anything but succeed.”

  Her friend looked crestfallen. “You can’t give up on cassava. You can’t.”

  “I’m not,” Amara said briskly. “I have an investor who’s willing to fund me, a very wealthy investor who has stepped in at the last minute.”

  Jaslene’s lovely face lit up. “Why didn’t you lead with this? When I talked to you on the phone, you said everyone had deserted you.”

  “It’s … a long story. Anyway, I had thought I’d check with you to see if I could swing this alone. But since I can’t, then I’ll simply reconsider this sponsor’s offer.”

  “Is there something wrong with the offer? Do you want me to look it over? I’d be happy to.”

  “I know. It’s not necessary, though. I think I can work this one out on my own.” Amara damned sure hoped she could. “Now, tell me about these ideas you’ve got for bettering the world.”

  Jaslene grinned and forged ahead with the enthusiasm of a true entrepreneur.

  Amara listened, happy for her, but she couldn’t stop thinking about something Jaslene said: You know what you want and you make it happen, and you do it in the service of the world. It’s not all about you.

  It wasn’t all about Amara.

  If so then why, this time, did it feel like it was?

  SHE CALLED QUINT THAT NIGHT. “I guess that for all the good it’ll do the world, if I’m not willing to sacrifice to save so many, I’m not doing my work for the right reasons.”

  Quint heav
ed a sigh. Amara was surprised by his obvious relief as well as pleased. She hoped it proved his sincerity. She needed to believe that he was making this bargain, this condition, for not wholly selfish reasons.

  But did that actually matter? Her work could continue no other way. People were counting on her, and there was too much at stake to let them down.

  Quint broke into her thoughts. “I’ve got a special lawyer to handle the entire affair. He’s the only one who will know about our bargain. We’ll both be protected that way, and we’ll hammer out precisely what we need. So you agree? It’s a go?”

  Amara let silence hang between them, though her ultimate answer was obvious to them both. She had no options.

  She’d accept his offer. She’d have the billionaire’s baby.

  Amara recalled those pale blue eyes of his gazing down on her with an intensity that made her shiver. “I agree. Call your lawyer.”

  Quint’s words had an edge that proved he wanted this more than he would admit. “You won’t regret this, Amara,” he said in deeply timbered tones. “I swear you’ll never regret it.”

  But he was wrong.

  A part of her already did.

  Chapter Seven

  Ten Months Later

  DAMNED IF SHE DIDN'T REGRET IT. Where the hell was Quint?

  Amara lay limply in the hospital bed focused on the large window in the postpartum room. She had a splitting headache, so all but a dim light above the door had been turned off. As if in tune with her spirits, the rain had been pouring for nearly an hour, starting right after she was transferred from the delivery room.

  It was an extremely comfortable, homey room, entirely unlike the other, sterile environments she’d passed through during her stay at the hospital. It seemed more like a hotel room, complete with pictures, plants and a small seating area with a sofa and wing-backed chair. As always, Quint had spared no expense.

  The tapestry curtains were drawn back, revealing a hazy view of the breathtaking cityscape. Amara’s gaze, however, was skyward, focused on the sheet lightning that jumped from cloud to cloud. The sturdy hospital window rattled slightly with the din of thunder as the rain and wind beat against the sash. Amara was glad for the distraction.

  For the hundredth time, she checked her cell. No messages or texts from Quint. She couldn’t see how it was possible. For months they’d communicated nearly daily, at least once, usually more. Texts, calls, emails … she’d grown accustomed to his presence in her life.

  And now, on the day she’d finally given birth to his son, he had disappeared. She scrolled down to the last text he sent:

  In the air and headed to you.

  Called the doctor and she

  said all is going well.

  I’m thinking of you every moment.

  She scanned up to an earlier text when she told him she’d gone into labor:

  Woohoo!

  Fueling up the jet

  as I write this.

  How are you doing?

  It was so like him, these messages filled with concern and excitement. He’d been a rock and a lifeline during her pregnancy, always upbeat, always supportive. He put up with her crazy pregnancy brain and never complained when she was irrational (and she knew she was being irrational but couldn’t seem to help it).

  He never once lost his temper. She couldn’t have asked for a better … what? Partner? Friend? Employer?

  What, exactly, was Quint Forbes to Amara these days? She struggled to find a label for it and came up empty handed.

  Whatever he was, she couldn’t have asked for more. Well, except for him being at the birth of his son, which had been the plan. The baby was born and waiting for him. As was Amara.

  Where the hell was Quint?

  A brilliant flash of lightning broke through her reverie. Tall, skinny trees that rimmed the parking lots bent under the lash of powerful winds.

  Inside, the tang of disinfectant surrounded her like a pall. She’d forgotten how hospitals smell, even in rooms that were decorated to look like an expensive hotel room, like this one. She caught an occasional sweet whiff of the lovely bouquet Jaslene had brought, but it couldn’t overcome the hospital smell on its own.

  Why hadn’t Amara packed some potpourri or at least some kind of air freshener? She dismissed the idea, and wondered at herself for thinking of something so silly and inconsequential at such a time as this.

  Amara’s mother, Raneesha, sat forward in her chair and laid her hand lightly over Amara’s. “Baby, do you want me to close those curtains? Terrible, terrible out there.”

  When there was no response, Raneesha stood, turned toward the window and reached for the curtain pull.

  Amara stopped her. “No, Momma. That’s all right. I like the rain.”

  She spoke halfheartedly, crossing her hands over her stomach, trying her best to keep her composure. Her emotions were as tumultuous and turbulent as the stormy weather, whipped in too many directions at once.

  At least she was happy with the birthing. It had gone well, and she’d delivered a healthy baby boy without complications.

  Well, unless having to give that baby boy away wasn’t considered a complication.

  She stared at a dark, roiling cloud and told herself to stop thinking about losing her child. She should be thinking about how it was all over now, that all the deception and sneaking around would be at an end.

  Quint would come to take his baby. Amara would continue to get her funding. And that would be that.

  There’d be no more lying to her mother and others, even if some of them were only lies of omission, failures to explain. She’d told her mother and Kari that not long after her breakup with Frederik, Amara had a brief fling. She said she didn’t know the father well, that he wasn’t interested in pursuing anything with her and vice versa. She planned to give the baby up for adoption to a family she thoroughly vetted. Beyond that, she’d said little.

  She hadn’t told a living soul that she’d made a bargain with Quint Forbes. In fact, she hadn’t answered any questions her colleagues and casual friends had dared to ask. She’d simply let them believe what they wanted to believe.

  And what they wanted to believe was that Amara hadn’t let any grass grow under her feet after her breakup with Frederik. Amara could see the questions in their eyes: who was the father of her child, did they know him, did Frederik know him, was it an affair that was going on before Amara and Frederik broke up, was that why they broke up?

  No one actually had the nerve to ask any of these questions, though. It was a good thing, since Amara didn’t know how she might have answered.

  Best of all, everyone disapproved of how Frederik was handling the situation. With Quint’s support and backing, Amara’s research had been verified, and she’d been vindicated of all Frederik’s assertions against her scientific integrity. Within three months, her colleagues saw Frederik’s claims for what they truly were: lies told in vengeance against a former lover.

  As for Amara, she couldn’t help herself from telling a few carefully-chosen department gossip hounds that Frederik had wanted her to sell her sequencing technology for personal profit, and that was why he tried to sabotage her work. It was all over the department within an hour.

  So this gave her peers a choice. They could either assume Frederik attacked her out of jealousy because she chose another man over him. Or they could assume Frederik attacked her as revenge because she denied him a payday he hadn’t earned.

  Either way, it worked for Amara. It gave her no small amount of satisfaction to see Frederik stalking the halls of their offices, growling at people, claiming he’d done most of the work on the project and acting like he was the injured party.

  Amara was out to get him, he claimed. She was a bitch, a lying bitch, a conniving bitch … always some kind of bitch. Sometimes a puta, too.

  The more he ranted, the more prestige he lost. These days, people mostly ignored him, as did Amara. She considered him defeated, a vanquished general who didn’t ha
ve a single soldier left on the field.

  Thanks to her verified data, previous sponsors had returned to her, wanting to reinvest. But it was too late. They’d missed their chance; Amara didn’t want to do business with people who had believed the unsubstantiated claims of a former lover. And anyway, she didn’t need them. Quint gave her everything she needed and more.

  Quint had more than lived up to his side of the bargain. He’d invested millions already and committed to millions more. Trials were rocketing along, and Amara had been able to hire full-time assistants, not just depend on the few graduate students the university supplied her.

  Quint had given her so much help that Amara’s pregnancy hadn’t slowed down her work much at all. He’d been in touch with her constantly, and handled all the details relating to her pregnancy so she wouldn’t have to do it herself.

  He had her checked up on and monitored every step of the way. True to his word, she had the best care money could buy, and she did everything right on her own, as well.

  Raneesha shifted in her chair, drawing Amara’s attention back to the present. Her mother looked tired, and well she should. She’d been by Amara’s side throughout her labor and after. The poor woman hadn’t slept in how long? Well over a day.

  Mostly, Raneesha looked sad, aged by the last thirty-odd hours of Amara’s labor. And Amara knew why.

  “You should go home and get some sleep,” Amara said.

  “I’m fine, baby girl,” Raneesha said with a gentle smile. “Don’t you worry about me.”

  “At least stretch out on the couch over there. Take a nap while we’re waiting for … them.”

  An unconscious frown pulled at the corners of Raneesha’s lips. Her look was one of confusion, sadness, and resignation. “They ought to be coming in soon, right? You said you called them yesterday. I’m sure they’re on their way. Soon, baby. Real soon, don’t worry.”

  Them. Raneesha meant the fictional people Amara had created, the loving couple who would be adopting her child. When Quint arrived, he’d tell Raneesha that his wife had been unable to travel with him. And then he’d take the baby and go.