Page 27 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

“Adrian?” Mom’s voice pulls me from my daydream. “Everything okay?” She leans against the doorframe, eyes soft with concern.

“Perfect. Just reliving Caleb’s greatest hits.”

“That’s sweet, honey. We can all take a look after we eat. Dinner’s ready,” she says, smiling.

“Great, I’m starving.” I shut the album with a snap, decision heavy in my chest. It’s like deciding to jump out of a perfectly good airplane—thrilling and terrifying.

Walking towards the dining room, the corners of my mouth lift in a private smile. Decision made. But for now, it’s mashed potatoes and spending time with the two people who matter most—for now.

Chapter eleven

Isabella

The elevator dings its arrival on the executive floor with all the subtlety of a trumpet blast, and I shuffle out, still trying to figure out if my stomach is tangled in nerves or last night’s Thai food. I glance up, and there he is—Adrian Cole, looking like a GQ cover model that got lost and ended up in a law firm. Our eyes snag, but he’s quick to break away, striding into his office without so much as a nod.

“Great,” I mutter under my breath, adjusting my grip on my leather briefcase. “Ignore me. That’ll make everything better.”

I keep my head high, ignoring the persistent throb behind my eyes—a souvenir from last night’s cryfest. I had gone full-on Niagara Falls after dropping the baby bomb on Mr. Emotional Fort Knox. Sure, I laid it out all cool and detached—I’m good at that—but a tiny, ridiculously hopeful part of me wished for ... what? A hug? A “we’ll get through this”? Instead, I got the emotional equivalent of a brick wall.

“Composure, Isabella,” I remind myself as I push open the door to my office. “You’re a shark, not a goldfish. Be a shark.”

Settling into my chair, I eye the fresh stack of papers right in front of me—updated merger financials courtesy of Kate, my lifesaving secretary.

“Need anything else, Ms. King?” Kate pops her head in, her tone bright enough to give me a sugar rush.

“Nothing but a time machine and a bottle of wine,” I say with a half-smile. God, I miss wine. “I’m just diving into these financials.”

“Added them to your desk five minutes ago,” she says, proud as if she’d just solved world hunger.

“Thanks. You’re the best,” I reply, though I can’t help thinking that instead of numbers, I should be crunching prenatal vitamins and nursery color schemes.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” she offers before slipping out, closing the door with a soft click.

“Thanks,” I sigh, staring down at the papers as if they might contain a hidden message on how to navigate impending motherhood with the stoic Mr. Cole. At least I have my first Lamaze class in the afternoon to look forward to. Alone, most likely.

Chuckling dryly, I brace myself for the day ahead. Whatever Adrian decides about being involved with our kid, I know one thing for certain—I’ve faced down tougher opponents than parenthood. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

I flip through the papers, my brain already fried from the numbers swimming before my eyes. I’m looking for the cost projections from Aurora and NexGen, but no dice. I shuffle through the other stacks of documents on my desk. Perhaps Kate didn’t bring everything out after all.

“Kate,” I call out as I step into the hallway, my voice echoing off the walls a little more sharply than I intend. She looks up from her desk, her expression morphing into concern.

“Those projections from Aurora and NexGen seem to have sprouted legs and walked away,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

She furrows her brows, a clear sign she’s taking this personally. “I triple-checked everything when I printed them out. Everything they sent us is all there.”

“Maybe our friends at Aurora and NexGen decided to play a little fast and loose with their numbers,” I suggest, though I’m not quite ready to let them off the hook.

“Should I dig through the emails again?” Kate offers, already half-standing, eager to fix what isn’t her mistake.

“Stay put,” I tell her, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll take this up with Mr. Cole. We’ll need all hands on deck if we’re going to make sense of this mess.”

With an encouraging nod to Kate, I make my way to Adrian’s office. The door is slightly ajar, and I push it open without knocking—because formalities are overrated.

“Enter and close the door,” he says without looking up from his computer screen, his voice smooth like whiskey and just as dangerous.

“Um … right. Missing documents,” I begin, cutting straight to the chase. “We’re short a few key figures from Aurora and NexGen.”

“I’ll have Suzy take care of it.” He doesn’t even flinch, just keeps typing as if we’re discussing the weather.

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