Page 50 of The Undercover Billionaire's Baby

“That’s why I’m calling. No, I’m not done with that. Grab me some cream? I’ve got this new maid, did I tell you? She’s always clearing the table while I’m still— No, the cream. Hold on, would you?”

I couldn’t tell if he wanted me to hold on, or his new maid. Whoever she was, I felt her frustration. I zipped up my pants and worked the button one-handed, and went to the fridge to grab some OJ. Dad was still messing around with the maid, explaining the difference between cream and… cream? Two kinds of cream, maybe. I tuned him out. His attention to detail had made him successful, but it also made him annoying as heck.

“Sorry,” he said. “Sam? You still there?”

I gulped down my orange juice. “Yeah, Dad. I’m here.”

“Excellent. I’m looking at the press from yesterday’s relaunch. You really made good on that human interest angle, with Lorna’s dead mother, with?—”

I spluttered. “Wait, what?”

“The piece in the Globe about her big comeback. How some knitting club pitched in, oh, it’s all fluff. But the point is, you’re trending. You’re a success. Which brings me to my good news: congrats. I’m convinced.”

My head was still spinning, trying to catch up. How did the Globe know about Lana’s mother? Had Mrs. Schneiderman said something? Her knitting club?

“It’s Lana,” I said. “Not Lorna. And?—”

“Didn’t you hear me? It’s time for you to step up. To be the big swinging Elkins in the Elkins Group.”

“The big swinging… what?”

“What?” Lana echoed.

I spun on my heel and saw she’d come up behind me. She was standing in the doorway with her hair all mussed, a sheet draped around her and pooled at her feet.

“I can explain,” I said.

“Explain what?” said Dad. “Aren’t you hearing me? I’m saying I’m impressed. You went out like I said and got straight down to business, and showed me you know how to build something from nothing. I’m handing you the keys to my empire. The big CEO seat. Isn’t that what you want?”

Lana took a step back. She shook her head. She’d lost her sleep squint, and her eyes had gone narrow. Her lips were pressed into a tight, bloodless line. I started after her.

“Lana, wait!”

“Oh, she’s right there? I forgot you were roommates.” Dad chuckled down the line and I wanted to smack him. “Tell her hello from me, and congrats on her shop.”

“She heard you,” I said. “I have to go.”

Dad started to say something, but I hung up. Lana took another step back, then another. She bumped into the far wall and clutched her sheet to her chest.

“Who even are you? Did he call you Sam?”

“Yeah, but I?—”

“That was your father?”

“Yeah. Look, I’m sorry. He’s a jerk, but it’s not what it?—”

“He called you Sam.” Lana’s eyes darted sidewise. I realized she was gauging how fast she could run. How far she could get from me before I caught up. Lana was scared of me, and… yeah. That made sense. I raised my hands in surrender and backed away.

“You had people who vouched for you.” Her voice was small. Shaky. “I was going to do a background check, and you gave me those names. So they just… they lied for you? Why are you here? Did you… like, stalk me here?”

“No! No, God, no!” I backed up so violently I banged into the fridge. My funny bone twinged and I dropped my OJ. The glass smashed on the floor and I yelped. Lana shrieked. She took two running steps from me and tripped over her sheet. For an instant, she flailed, then she went down hard. Her knees slammed the hardwood and she cried out in pain. I ran to help her, not thinking, and she scrambled away, one hand on her sheet, the other warding me off.

“Don’t! I don’t know you!”

“What? No, I’m… me.” I’d heard of hearts breaking, but I’d thought that was just poetry. Just a figure of speech, a catch-all for sadness. But I felt it when mine broke, a physical tightening. A harsh bolt of pain under my ribs. Lana was scared of me. Truly afraid. She thought I might hurt her — I’d hurt her already. All the trust we’d had only hours ago was gone, up in smoke.

“I was going to tell you today.” My voice had gone rough. Lana stared up at me, fear turning to rage. She looked down at her sheet, where her scraped knee was bleeding, dotting the fabric with pinpricks of blood.

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