Page 49 of The Baby Contract With My Hot Billionaire Boss

I’m going to need some help.

Which is why immediately after I wake up the next morning I call Becky.

“We need to talk.”

“I’m here whenever,” she tells me and again I am grateful for the fact that Becky works from home. It means whenever I want to meet with her, she’s there.

And today when I walk through the door there are already two wine glasses set out on the table.

“It’s non-alcoholic,” she says in response to my questioning look and I gratefully take a sip. It’s definitely not the same as real wine, but it’s something at least. She doesn’t even need to ask what’s happening because the story pours out of me.

“Everything is just going differently than I planned. I thought we would just do this and it would be fine and everything would be just normal. I mean, as normal as it can be when you’re having a baby with someone you don’t really know.”

“I thought that I would move in there and we would have this sort of … distant relationship and I would have the baby and he would just kind of be in the house, but that’s it, right? But that’s not how it is. I’ve gotten to know him and I’ve met his family and I’ve seen the way he is with his niece and how he is about his work and how he actually feels about the baby and he treats me so much differently than I expected.”

“I’m not just a houseguest or the mother of his child; it’s like he actually cares about me and I know that’s stupid but I can’t stop thinking about it and … just … everything is so different than I expected.”

“Sweetie, that’s what happens when you fall in love with someone,” Becky says softly and I drop my head into my hands.

“But he’s not in love with me. If I’m in love with him, well, that’s my own stupidity. He’s never once said that he feels that way.”

“But how does he act? You said he acts like he actually cares about you. What is he doing?”

“Just, talking to me. Asking me about things. Buying me presents. He took me to meet his family. I mean, that wasn’t really necessary at this point.”

“I think there might be something going on from his side as well,” she tells me but I don’t know what to think. I don’t want to get too caught up in this. Don’t want to acknowledge my own feelings too much. Definitely don’t want to try psychoanalyzing his, because what if I’m wrong? And I get my hopes up only to get hurt?

I say finally, “What about my family?”

“What about them?” Becky asks, brow furrowed. “Your mom and Leann will just be happy that you’re happy. And they’ll be absolutely thrilled about the baby.”

“They’re poor, Becky. I’m poor. Or I was until this whole thing started. And he’s rich beyond belief. You should have seen the amount of money he spent on the baby’s room without even flinching. He didn’t so much as blink.”

“So? What does that matter?”

“What if I tell him about my family and our lives and he doesn’t like it? What if he turns me out?”

“Then he’s a loser and an ass and he doesn’t deserve you or the baby you’re carrying.”

She makes it sound so easy. So straightforward. But I’m starting to wonder if I’m strong enough to accept that kind of answer.

“Look, if you really care about him and you love him and you want anything more with him, you’re going to have to open up to him eventually. You’ll need to tell him about your past and your family and everything that you’ve gone through. And if he’s actually worthy of you then it won’t matter to him.”

I sigh. She’s right. And I know it in one sense. But it’s hard to accept. Hard to allow myself to acknowledge something that sounds so much like an ultimatum because I’m not sure I’m ready to accept the answer if he says no.

Chapter Twenty-Three ~ Chris

“We need to talk.”

There’s no preamble to her statement, though the fact that she’s here should tell me enough about how she’s feeling. Mom doesn’t set foot in the club. Ever. But here she is today, striding in like she owns the place.

“Hello to you, too. What is it you need?” I ask, reclining back in my seat.

She drops a stack of papers onto my desk but I’m still watching her. Still waiting.

“Do you know what those are?” she asks, gesturing to my desk with a tone that’s, by turns, indignant and frustrated.

A quick glance tells me what I need to know. “Financial statements. Tax returns. I assume you didn’t come all the way here so I could review your taxes and finances with you. That’s something you’d go over with the accountant.”

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