Page 9 of A Baby For Her Billionaire BFF

Standing back, we survey our handiwork, a silent pact made real beneath our feet. It’s a promise, not just to our future selves but to each other — to the friendship that’s weathered storms and will, with any luck, endure whatever comes next.

“My, um…” I lick my lips. “My parents are waiting for me.”

I realize that I didn’t see his parents at the graduation, though surely they were there. It’s not like I know what they look like, anyway.

“Guess this is it, huh?” Ollie’s voice cracks slightly, rich with unshed emotion.

“Looks like.” My throat tightens as I force a smile, feeling the sharp edge of finality creeping up on us. “We did good, though. It’ll be something to come back to, you know? Say, in ten years? To remember who we were.”

He nods, his eyes searching mine for a reassurance we’re both desperate to find. “We’ll stay in touch, Nora. Promise me that.”

“Of course,” I say, voice stronger than I feel. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

We linger there, neither of us ready to walk away, to end this chapter of our lives that’s become so intertwined. But eventually, the calls of my parents in the distance remind us that time won’t pause, even for goodbyes.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” He looks at me with those earnest eyes that have always seen right through me.

“You too, Ollie. Kick ass in grad school.”

And with one last hug that feels like clinging to a lifeline, we part ways, stepping onto separate paths that lead away from the safety of academia and into an uncertain future.

Deep down, as I watch him walk away, shoulders squared against the possibilities stretched out before him, I know the truth. Staying close will be harder than we can imagine. There’s an entire country between Chicago and Seattle, miles upon miles that will only magnify the absence of our daily interactions. And yet, despite the gnawing ache that comes with acknowledging my romantic feelings for him, I’m determined.

Because Oliver isn’t just the guy I almost kissed at a party or the one who helped me survive statistics with a sense of humor. He’s my friend — my steadfast, infuriating, and utterly irreplaceable friend. And while love stories are beautiful in their own right, friendship… friendship is the quiet constant I’m not willing to give up on.

So, as I take a deep breath and turn towards the crowd, towards the family that’s waiting to celebrate my achievements, I make a silent commitment. Oliver may have a piece of my heart, but our friendship has the rest of it, and that’s worth fighting for. I’ll text him, call him, and send ridiculous memes across the internet to bridge the distance. Because when it comes down to it, no matter where life takes us, he’s my person. And that’s not something you let go of — not without one hell of a fight.

CHAPTER 5

OLIVER

EIGHT YEARS LATER

“Absolutely, Mr. Davidson. The property will be everything you envisioned and more.”

Phone pressed to my ear, I lean against the window in my top-floor corner office. The echo of Chicago’s midday hustle filters through the windows, a symphony of ambition that plays well with my mood.

“Thank you, Oliver. You’ve got a vision. I’ll give you that. Let’s touch base tomorrow for an update.” His tone is that of a man used to getting what he wants, but there’s a tinge of respect there too. Respect I’ve earned.

“Looking forward to it,” I reply as the call ends.

Putting the phone down, I grin to myself and take a seat. The deal isn’t closed yet, but we’re almost there. Like nearly everything else I do in this office, I’m crushing these negotiations.

I swivel back in my chair, glancing instinctively at the to-do list on my sleek, black desk. It’s almost laughable how much I’ve demolished it today — task after task marked off in satisfying little ticks.

I push back from the desk and stand, stretching out muscles tense from hours of negotiations. My reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows shows a man in his prime, his crisp suit tailored to perfection, a skyline that’s both a battlefield and a kingdom stretched out before him. The Windy City is bustling below, oblivious to the man who’s shaping its very bones.

I own one of the biggest real estate companies in the country. And as a result, I’m worth over a billion. The numbers are staggering even to me, and they’re mine — every digit hard earned, every dollar a story.

Leaning against the cool glass, I let my mind wander back to those early days, fresh out of grad school, fueled by nothing but drive and the daily pot of coffee that could put hair on your chest. I remember the nights spent hunched over blueprints and contracts, the social life I sacrificed like some sort of offering to the gods of success.

It wasn’t long before my one-man operation grew, blooming into the powerhouse it is today. I built this empire from the ground up, nurtured it from a dream whispered in the dead of night into a roaring reality that, even now, doesn’t cease to amaze me.

But the sacrifices added up, and it was a lonely climb.

Pulling away from the window, I shake off the nostalgia. No time for that now. There’s always another deal to close, another property to revolutionize. And yet, I wonder — if I’d done things differently, would I have someone to share this view with?

The thought nips at me, persistent as the chill off Lake Michigan. But I shove it aside, focusing instead on the future and on the goals I’ve set for the next quarter. They’re ambitious, sure, but if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that I thrive on challenge.

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