Page 34 of A Baby For Her Billionaire BFF

“Your father has cancer.”

The words hit me like a freight train, derailing any semblance of control I thought I had over my day, my life.

I grip the phone tighter as if that could somehow steady the world that’s suddenly tilting on its axis. Thoughts of my day’s to-do list dissipate like smoke, replaced by the image of a man I barely recognize anymore — a man whose approval I’d once craved more than anything. Dad.

“Oliver, we need you to come home.” Her voice is a mix of desperation and hope.

“Home” is a foreign concept, a place that exists only in the past, tangled up with memories I’ve tried so hard to leave behind. I haven’t seen them in years, haven’t wanted to. But this… this is different.

“I’ll be there,” I find myself saying, though every fiber of my being screams against the idea. It’s an automatic response, the dutiful son still lurking somewhere inside me despite all the reasons I have to stay away.

“Thank you, honey.” Relief washes over her words, and I can picture her wiping away tears, holding onto this lifeline I’ve unwittingly thrown her.

“Of course, Mom. I’ll make plans and text you soon.” I end the call, the weight of the decision settling around me like a shroud.

I don’t want to go, don’t want to face the ghosts of my past or the man who became one long before his diagnosis. But the thought of regret, of missing the chance to say… whatever it is I need to say, pushes me forward.

The office around me feels suddenly claustrophobic.

I’ll go. I have to. Maybe it’s the chance to close the book on a chapter that’s been left open far too long, or maybe it’s just guilt. Either way, I know I’ll be calling the company that manages my private jet, heading towards a confrontation years in the making.

“Please let this trip go smoothly,” I mutter to no one, knowing full well that smooth is the last thing it can be. Not when it comes to them. But I’ll face it head-on. After all, isn’t that what the Oliver they’ve never known — the CEO, the dreamer, the fighter — is supposed to do?

CHAPTER 18

NORA

The sizzle of garlic hitting the hot pan is music to my ears, and I smile. My fingers work deftly, chopping tomatoes for the puttanesca sauce — a recipe I’ve perfected over countless solo dinners that are about to become a thing of the past.

Tonight isn’t just any dinner; it’s Oliver’s first time eating at my place since we started dating. This isn’t just my boss or my old college friend coming over. This is Oliver, the man that I’m falling head over heels for. It’s… a lot.

My phone buzzes on the counter, pulling me from my culinary reverie. “Hey, Mom!” I chirp into the speaker, tucking it between my shoulder and ear as I keep stirring.

“Hi, darling! Just wanted to check in. How’s the new job treating you?” Her voice is always a mix of concern and curiosity, the lifelong habit of a mother hen who hasn’t quite realized her chick knows how to fly.

“Job’s fantastic, Mom. Oliver’s been great.” I’ve been leaning on the “boss” part to keep things professional — at least for their ears. It’s too soon to spill all the details, especially when those details could stir up a whole pot of drama before it’s ready to be served. My parents remember Oliver from college, and they’re happy that I’ve reconnected with him, but they don’t yet know we’re dating.

“That’s wonderful, sweetie. And how’s your love life? Any developments?” There’s that hopeful lilt in her voice that says, I’m asking casually, but I really want grandkids.

“Actually…” I hesitate, glancing at the front door as if Oliver might burst through it at any moment and spill my secrets. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

“Really? Anyone we know?” She’s fishing now, and I can almost see the gleam in her eyes like she’s caught the scent of a good gossip.

“Um, just someone I met through work.” Technically true, but also technically a landmine. The last thing I need is for them to connect the dots back to Oliver, not when everything is still so fragile and fresh.

“Well, I hope you’ll tell us more when you’re ready.”

“Of course, Mom. Hey, I should go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, sweetie. Have a good night.”

“You, too.” I end the call, the untold truth pressing down on me. But that will have to wait. Right now, there’s dinner to finish and a night to look forward to — a night with Oliver that promises to taste of new beginnings and shared dreams.

With a final stir of the sauce, I turn the burner off and take a moment to breathe in the aroma. It’s perfect. Just like this moment feels — full of potential and the sweet anticipation that comes from being on the cusp of something truly wonderful.

With perfect timing, there’s a knock on the door. Taking off my apron, I hang it up and hustle across the small apartment that I speed-cleaned right after getting home from work.

I swing the door open, and my heart does this little somersault thing. Oliver stands there, every inch the dashing CEO in his crisp suit that probably costs more than my rent. But when he smiles, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

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