Page 206 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Definitely different.

Less ‘distracted sex with really good catering’ and more… actual cohabitation? With a man who, against all odds, seems to be genuinely trying to de-asshole himself. It’s a work in progress. For both of us.

Four days since the Great Wingsuiting Retirement Announcement and Luca Briggs’ dramatic stage-left exit. Four days of navigating the ensuing PR shitstorm, which, thanks to Leo actually listening to my advice, has been downgraded from a Category Five hurricane to a manageable tropical depression. Okay, maybe that’s a little optimistic. Downgraded to a Category Three hurricane. No higher, though.

We’re still bailing water, but the boat, Maxwell Capital, is no longer actively sinking.

And us? Leo and Sabrina?

Well, that’s a whole other level of complicated.

Every night, no more retreating to the guest suite. I stay in his ridiculously large bed.

Tangled in his ridiculously expensive sheets.

Snuggled in his ridiculously buff arms.

And the sex…

Holy mother of god, the sex.

It’s not just simple rutting anymore. It’s… this super deep, super passionate connection. Like we’re both finally, tentatively, showing our true, vulnerable selves to one another.

It’s terrifying.

And amazing.

And the days?

The days are still a weird tightrope walk between ‘PR consultant managing billionaire client’s dumpster fire’ and ‘single mom trying to co-parent with said billionaire client who also happens to be the father of her child and occasionally makes her forget her own name with his mouth.’

It’s a niche market, I guess.

I’ve actually taken on another new client since this whole saga began, for a total of two in addition to Maxwell Capital.

The new clients are smaller gigs, of course, nothing that clashes with the Maxwell Capital behemoth, but necessary. Taylor Strategic Communications needs to, you know,strategically communicatewith more than one entity if it’s going to survive.

I mentioned the new clients to Leo the other day, half-expecting some kind of possessive billionaire meltdown. Instead, he just… nodded. Seemed genuinely pleased I was getting more work. No jealousy. No interrogation. Just… support.

Which, frankly, was more disorienting than if he’d thrown a tantrum.

Which brings me to today. And the email currently burning a hole in my inbox.

An acquisition offer from Vanguard Global. Vanguard is one of the biggest PR conglomerates on the planet, and the offer they’ve made for Taylor Strategic Communications is eye watering. It’s a number that would mean financial security (without having to beg Leo for more work, not that I’d everdothat, but you get the idea). Money like that would also allow me to expand. I could get a fancy downtown office again, maybe even one with windows.

But it would also mean… giving up control. My autonomy. My independence. I’d be a cog in their massive machine, not the scrappy yet determined captain of my own ship.

Assuming the offer is real, of course, and not some kind of scam.

I’m still staring at the offer when Leo walks into the home office.

He’s… so much softer now. Since the decision. Since his mother’s visit. Since... us.

He’s morepresent.

He still has that restless energy, but it’s channeled differently now. He spends hours with Mia, patiently enduring endless rounds of ‘pat-a-cake’ and ‘where’s your nose?’ When he’s doing that, his green eyes,hergreen eyes, are always filled with a tenderness that still makes my heart ache.

“Hey,” he says, perching on the edge of my desk, that familiar scent of ozone and fig leaf (and now, faintly, baby powder) washing over me. “You look like you’re about to launch a hostile PR campaign against a small nation.”

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