Page 192 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

There’s a terrifying amount of vulnerability in it.

I actually already deleted my carefully drafted resignation email, the one that was supposed to be my grand gesture of self-preservation.

Of course I’m not going to quitnow... after he just retired from wingsuiting forMia. For…us. And not after he laid bare his childhood trauma, his fears, his goddamn soul, right there while sitting on my desk.

“And now,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady even though inside I’m a mess. “Now, we have a brand to rebuild. A narrative to reshape. And a certain rogue ex-partner to strategically neutralize.” I allow myself a small smile. “Quitting? Leo, please. Taylor Strategic Communications doesn’t abandon a client mid-crisis. Especially not when the crisis just got upgraded to DEFCON Freakin’ Insanity.”

He blinks in surprise, then lets loose this big belly laugh. It’s so unguarded, so real that it makes mystomach do that stupid little flip again. “You’re… you’re not quitting?”

“Are you kidding?” I scoff, trying for a light, breezy tone that doesn’t quite match the frantic hammering in my chest. “Afterthatpress conference? This is PR gold, Leo! Tragic hero, devoted father, betrayed partner… we can spin this a hundred different ways. The media will eat it up.”

And I’ll be mainlining Maalox for the next six months, but hey, details.

“Besides,” I add, a softer note creeping into my voice. “Your retired from wingsuiting. That… changes things. That was the narrative I couldn’t spin, Leo. The one my heart wasn’t in. But this? A man choosing his daughter, choosing… a different future? That’s a story I can get behind.”

Even if it scares the absolute hell out of me.

“Thank you, Sabrina. I really mean that.” His eyes become soft, intense, that familiar green gaze locking onto mine. He leans closer, and his eyes drop to my lips…

And then, of course, because the universe clearly has a twisted sense of humor and hates to see me even momentarily not teetering on the brink of an emotional meltdown, my mother pokes her head around the doorframe.

“Everything okay in here, sweetie?” she asks, her eyes flicking from me to Leo and back again, her ‘protective mom’ radar clearly on high alert.

Leo startles, leaning back abruptly, that familiar guarded mask slipping into place. He clears his throat and stands up from where he was sitting on my desk. “I should let you get back to work, Sabrina. Call me.” He nods curtly, then excuses himself, retreating from my tiny office.

My mom escorts him to the front door, and when I hear it shut, I exhale.

I’m not sure whether to be furious at my mother for her impeccable timing or profoundly grateful.

Probably the latter.

Because I wasthis closeto saying something stupid, when I’m not even done processing everything he just told me. Something like:

Actually, Leo, your heartfelt confession about choosing us over wingsuiting kind of makes me want to rip your clothes off right here on my IKEA desk and ride you like a stallion. PR strategy be damned.

Yeah. Probably best Mom interrupted.

I spend the rest of the afternoon in a blur of damage control. Luca’s bombshell about starting his own firm, effectively declaring war on Maxwell Capital (the new, slightly less catchy name for what’s left of Maxwell & Briggs), has sent shockwaves through the financial world. Investors are spooked. The portfolio companies are panicking. It’s a fucking mess.

“The key, Leo,” I explain later on a conference call that feels more like a therapy session for traumatized billionaires. “Is to frame this proactively. Maxwell Capital is evolving. Streamlining. Focusing on a new era of sustainable, responsible investment under your sole, clear-headed leadership. Luca’s departure, while unfortunate, allows for a more cohesive vision.”

Blah, blah, blah. Standard corporate spin.

God, I’m so good at this.

Mia gurgles happily in my lap. I’m on diaper duty while simultaneously trying to salvage his empire.

Multitasking, thy name is single mother.

“And the wingsuiting retirement?”Leo asks.

“That,” I say, bouncing Mia gently, “is the emotional core of the new narrative, Leo. The ‘priorities have changed’ angle. Devoted father. Man of substance. It plays beautifully against Luca’s… well, Luca’s Luca. The reckless gambler. The old school shark.” It’s a good angle. A strong angle. And the fact that it might actually betrueis just… a bonus.

A terrifying, hope-inducing bonus.

Over the call, we work late into the evening, strategizing, drafting statements, coordinating with his legal team. It’s almost like old times, the two of us, a well-oiled machine. Except now, there’s a whole universe of unspoken things hanging in the air between us.

Just as I’m about to hang up, thinking I might actually get more than four hours of sleep tonight, my phone buzzes with a news alert.

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