Page 18 of The Billionaire Alpha's Surprise Baby

“You know, I used to think all this shit mattered,” he mumbles, looking up with glassy eyes. “Money. Stock prices. Shareholders.” He shakes his head. “But it’s all just noise, you know?”

He tilts the glass back and takes another hearty swig. And for the first time since I’ve known him, I really see Dimitri.

“I know what you mean,” I rasp.

And I do. I’ve never been one of those high-and-mighty types who thinks that money is the root of all evil. Anyone who says money can’t buy happiness hasn’t slept on twenty-four-hundred-dollar sheets. I’ve always enjoyed having money and the cachet that comes with being a Von Horton.

But ever since I met Ava, I’ve realized that I’ve been living my life in a glorified Barbie Dreamhouse. Everything is pretty, but my friends are plastic — the problems made-up.

She was the one thing in my life that was real — the only thing that actually mattered.

The nice cars, the second, third, and fourth homes, the private jet, the privilege . . . I’d give it all up for just one more night with her— one more night with my mate.

Chapter Seven

Garrett

Four months later . . .

My head is pounding as I shove through the doors of the coffeeshop. The stench of vehicle exhaust and sewage gives way to the rich aroma of espresso, though it’s somewhat ruined by the chemical mix of cologne, deodorant, and laundry detergent smells from so many different people.

I hate Denver. Real-estate is ridiculous. Parking is obnoxious, and the traffic gets worse every year.

I wouldn’t even be here if my father hadn’t summoned me to attend a company meeting. He’s been circling around retirement the last five years or so, and he’s been putting me and my siblings through our paces.

Navigating around the knot of hipsters and corporate bros standing inside the entrance, I weave toward the front counter and order my usual latte. Some tattooed chick with gauges in her ears takes my order, and I shuffle over to the pickup counter to wait for it to be ready.

A familiar scent drifts over the crowd, and I inhale deeply.

Holy shit.

I suck in another gulp of air as though I’ve been drowning and have just come up for oxygen. Underneath the strong aroma of espresso and cologne is a sweet complex vanilla fragrance that stirs my wolf to life.

I cast around desperately for the source of the scent, but I don’t see her.

Then my gaze lands on the woman behind the espresso machine, who’s busy adding frothed milk to a paper cup. Her long dark hair is plaited in a loose braid that falls down her back, and the mere sight of her turns my blood to fire and makes my throat go dry.

It can’t be.

But then she turns, and I see her — kissable pink lips, huge emerald eyes, and a tiny beauty mark that makes my cock twitch. Her mouth falls open when she sees me, and my gaze drifts past her full breasts to the little bump making her T-shirt stick out.

Ava sees me notice, and her eyes go wide as she fumbles for something to say.

Everything else fades into the background. I’m no longer aware of the crowd pressing in on all sides, the cloud of nasty cologne, or the busy grumble of the espresso machine. All my attention is focused on her.

“H-how are you?” she asks. She looks terrified to see me.

I just stare at her and shake my head.

How am I? What kind of question is that? How the fuck does she think I am?

The two of us shared the night to end all nights, and then she just disappeared. I’ve spent the last four and a half months wondering where she went, and the entire time, she was here in Denver, jerking lattes for these assholes.

But I can’t focus on anything except her belly, which looks suspiciously like . . .

I have to shove the thought away before it sends me into a murderous tailspin.

Ava has moved on.

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