Page 43 of A Baby For Her Billionaire BFF

But isn’t that what I thrive on? The challenge, the chase, the conquest?

“Put in a bid at the asking price,” I decide, my decision swift. “And Greg, add a little extra on top. I want this land, and I’m not in the mood for a bidding war.”

“Understood. I’ll get the paperwork started.”

“Thanks.” I hang up.

My heart is racing now, but it’s not just the thrill of the deal. It’s also the realization that this new project could tip the scales of my carefully balanced life. With this property, I’ll have an even bigger hand in the real estate game on the East Coast. I’ll be unstoppable.

This could be the crown jewel of my career, a testament to ambition and architecture. It could be the reason that finally, after all these years, I might feel like I’ve made it.

I might finally be done with running.

CHAPTER 22

NORA

The click of the door signals Oliver’s departure, and my office suddenly feels too big, too quiet. I press my lips together, trying to hold onto the warmth from his kiss that still lingers like a promise. My heart sinks a little with the knowledge we won’t be spending time together tonight over takeout and bad TV.

He’s off to New York City, barely twelve hours since we returned from Pennsylvania, to try and secure a deal. Which leaves me here alone, missing him.

And I get it. Big deals wait for no one. I would never dare ask him to skip out on something so important. Plus, most likely he’ll be home tomorrow night, and we’ll catch up then.

As I sit down, the leather chair protests with a familiar creak, grounding me back in reality. I scan the mountain of paperwork on my desk, each file a silent adversary waiting to be conquered. The cursor on my laptop blinks expectantly, and I dive into the fray.

I’m knee-deep in deposition transcripts when the nausea hits — a sudden wave that makes my stomach churn. I grimace, willing it to pass as I place a hand against my forehead. Exhaustion cloaks me like a heavy blanket, pressing down on my shoulders. It’s not even noon, but it already feels like a long day.

I must be tired from the travel, and maybe I didn’t eat enough this morning. I try to focus on the words in front of me, but they blur, swimming across the page until I can’t tell where one document ends and another begins.

“Get it together, Nora,” I mutter, but my body rebels against the command.

This is not just fatigue; it’s a bone-deep weariness that whispers it’s time to call it a day. Am I getting sick?

I gather my things slowly, my movements sluggish. The offices around me are a flurry of activity. I wish I could at least kiss Oliver goodbye one more time, but he’s already headed out.

Downstairs, I skip heading straight to my car and instead walk down the street to a drugstore. The automatic doors swoosh open, and I stumble into the interior, a cool blast of air-conditioning welcoming me. My fingers fiddle with the strap of my purse as I weave through aisles stocked with everything from birthday cards to batteries. But I’m not here for any of that. I need something to quell this riot in my stomach and the pounding headache that’s set up camp behind my eyes.

“Flu medicine,” I mumble to myself, squinting at the dizzying array of options on the shelves.

That must be what I’m coming down with. The last time I had the flu, it hit me just as quickly, sapping me of my strength and making me feel lightheaded.

Antivirals, syrups, tablets — each promising speedy recovery. I grab a box that looks promising, the one with bold letters claiming “FAST RELIEF.” Maybe if I take this now and go home and sleep it off, I’ll be able to head back to work tomorrow morning.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. Oliver’s probably boarding his jet to New York by now, ready to dive headfirst into negotiations that could mean big things for his company. The thought should bring a smile and a feeling of pride for his relentless drive.

Instead, there’s only a tightness in my chest — a longing for the night we were supposed to have spent curled up on the couch, his arm around me, our favorite show playing in the background. Being sick makes me want him by my side even more, and I feel a little bit like a baby.

Gripping the medicine, I shuffle for the checkout. That’s when I see them — stacked neatly on a shelf near the pharmacy counter: pregnancy tests. My heart stutters, an unexpected jolt that sends a tremor through me.

Late. My period — it’s late, and that never happens. Not once since I first got it. Not ever.

Could I be…?

The question hangs in the air, absurd and terrifying all at once. And suddenly, the symptoms align in a different pattern — a tender breast here, a wave of unexplained fatigue there, and now the nausea that’s more than just an upset stomach.

I hesitate, caught in indecision. The flu medicine feels heavy in my hand, a tangible reminder of the logical explanation. But logic is waging a losing battle against the what-ifs swirling in my mind, each possibility more potent than the last.

“Oh, no,” I whisper under my breath.

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