Page 39 of Dirty Billionaire

His kiss is long and demanding, taking my breath away.

Goddamn him.

“Have your meeting, sweetheart. Then we talk.”

Sweetheart.

The doors ping open, and I walk out robotically and into the doctor’s office, glancing over my shoulder as Ward lowers his huge body into a chair.

His eyes never leave mine as the door closes between us.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WARD

CHRIST.

I went to the studio to tell Penelope I was proud of her, that I wanted to date, and ended up telling her I loved her and promising to give her a child.

When you’ve thought about this, you’ll change your mind.

Jesus Christ.

She might be right.

But as I sit here, knowing she’s in there talking about how many eggs she has and choosing the type of sperm doner she wants, I grind about ten years of enamel off my teeth.

I stand and begin to pace.

“Excuse me. Can you please take a seat?” the receptionist asks.

No.

No, I can’t.

But with one glance at the other patients in the waiting room, I notice the anxiety they’re already under and how my pacing is stressing them out further. I’m a large intimidating man, I get it.

Running a hand through my hair, I exit the waiting room and continue my pacing in front of the elevators.

Another child?

A baby? Again? I have grandchildren for fuck's sakes.

I don’t even know Penelope very well. We have had sex twice. Technically, seven or eight times if you count orgasms.

I know her body.

I know...I know I want to know her more.

I know that I don’t want her having another man’s baby!

Fuck, I’ve lost my damn mind.

This must be a midlife crisis. Maybe I need to buy a convertible Maserati and go cruising the California coastline.

Stoned.

Fuck, I don’t know.

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