Page 4 of The Baby Contract With My Hot Billionaire Boss

Dr. Walker, Thursday, 3 o’clock.

Every other week there’s something. Checkups and appointments and the never-ending threat of dialysis, though the doctor keeps telling us to be hopeful. Her numbers are borderline. They could easily sway back in a positive direction.

But they could also easily sway in a negative direction, and we all know it.

“I’m going to take care of everything,” I tell her, and she gives me a skeptical look.

“You can’t do everything. You’re already giving us most of your paycheck. You can’t afford to live if you give us anything more.”

“Then I’ll move in with you.”

“There’s no room, and you know it. It’s only a one-bedroom house, Em. I’m sleeping in the living room. If you come back, there’s nowhere for you to sleep.”

“We pulled it off before,” I insist, and she shakes her head.

“We were younger then. It’s just not going to work now. And you work hard enough as it is. Maybe I can pick up some babysitting jobs or do some cleaning for the neighbors.”

It’s unlikely that the neighbors are going to pay her to clean their houses when they’re in the same boat that our family is. But perhaps she can pick up some babysitting jobs. Not that I like that idea either. Still, at least it’s something a little more age appropriate. And maybe she’ll end up with a little extra money that she can use for something fun for herself. Because I sure as hell never have enough to give them that.

I sigh and glance out the window, which Leann seems to take as a sign that we need to change the subject.

“I’m running for class president.”

“Are you?” That, at least, is age appropriate. And it sounds like a great experience for her.

“I think I’ve got a shot. I mean … Ruby Clarkson has a pretty good hold on our grade, but I think I can maybe make a good stand at least. And maybe I can pull it off.” She shrugs, and I smile. She doesn’t get excited about much at school. Likely because she doesn’t have the money to do most things.

But here’s something that she can participate in that doesn’t cost money.

Still … she’s a junior this year, and I really want her to have the best. Her and Mom both.

I glance around the house, and it’s clear that’s not in the cards right now. The place is functional; that’s never been a problem. But anything more than that …

I sigh, and Leann gives me a smile again. “It’s good. We like our place, and we’re grateful for all the help you can give us,” she insists, and I try to be as positive as she is. But deep down I’m wondering if there’s something more that I can do.

Working as a cocktail waitress is okay. It gives me some money, and I make decent tips. But if I could get a better paying job … the problem is most of those better paying jobs want you to have experience. Working in an office or doing customer service, they want you to know what you’re doing. And working at the local retail shops doesn’t even pay as well as my cocktail waitress gig.

There is one other job in the club that pays better than being a waitress. I never really wanted to get out there on the stage but … I cast another glance around at the threadbare couch and handmade, patched curtains on the windows. This isn’t what I want for my mom and my sister. And I will do anything I possibly can to make things better for them.

Even if it means getting up on the stage and dancing for strangers.

Chapter Three ~ Chris

Even two weeks later I can’t seem to get Emma out of my head. Each time I see her on the floor below, I want to call her up here, though I’ve been refraining for a few days now.

After all, what kind of message does it send if I have a favorite cocktail waitress? And how stupid would the other girls (or the bouncers, the bartenders, or anyone else on the payroll) have to be not to realize that she was coming up here daily?

Still, that doesn’t mean I haven’t been watching her to see what she’s up to during her shifts. Or purposely scheduling her during times I’m going to be here. It helps her as well. After all, the times I’m here are the busiest, which means she’s working through the best crowd for tips.

“Christian.” I grimace slightly at hearing the name and the tone in which she says it but then force a smile.

“Wendy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

My sister never comes here, so there must be something big going on if she’s decided to ‘slum it’ enough to set foot in my club. She used to be here all the time, dancing and having fun. But then she met some hedge fund manager type, and now she’s wearing furs and diamonds and thinks she’s too classy for this joint.

“I wanted to come talk to you about the dinner this weekend.”

“What dinner?” I’m drawing a blank on just what’s supposed to be happening. I was planning on getting things ready for the club over the weekend. Same as any other week.

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