Page 27 of Oops Baby for the Billionaire
“You have to know there are rules against that. You could be expelled. Or at minimum, kicked out.” I close the distance between us, my voice dropping to something softer, more coaxing. “Willa, please. Let me help you. Not because I’m trying to control you, but because the mother of my child shouldn’t be sleeping on a couch in a building where she’s not even supposed to be after hours.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity.” I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and cup her face in my hands. Her skin is soft, so soft, just like I remember. “It’s... fuck, I don’t care if it sounds wrong, given how I’ve hurt you. But I need to protect you now that I have you again.”
“I can’t go to your house,” she whispers, even though she’s leaning into my touch despite herself. “I can’t lose myself in The Thorne King’s mansion, you know?”
“No,” I say honestly. “I don’t really get that. It’s just a fucking house, Willa. It has real beds in it. Please use one of them.” And then I add, a little less honestly, “Just for tonight, and then we’ll tackle the rest of it tomorrow.”
If I believed in crossing my fingers every time I lied, my hand would be behind my back.
“How many beds?” She shrugs helplessly, and I realize her whole body is shaking. She’s not crying, but she looks like she’s on the edge of a complete meltdown. “Will our baby have a whole wing to itself? I can’t…I just…I can’t compete with that. I don’t want to see that tonight.”
Holy shit, that’s a whole other level.
I still don’t understand, but maybe I don’t need to. She’s twenty years old, and I’m overwhelming her.
The Thorne King.
Fuck my life.
“Fine,” I growl. “I have another idea.”
Chapter 13
Willa
I stareout the limo window as we return downtown. Everything I own is piled in the limo between me and Roman, so I can’t even pretend that I’m going to the Techbridge Worldwide penthouse for a single night.
It’s either move into the apartment where we met, or move into Roman’s house. He didn’t give me a third choice, and I’m tired of fighting against his reasonable offers to help me.
And his argument for the apartment wasn’t just reasonable. It made sense.
The penthouse isn’t being used right now. There’s no staff. It’s literally across the street from work.
And a big bed sounds amazing, I’m not going to deny that.
“How often do you go to the university?”
“Hmm?” I turn back to Roman.
He’s staring at me intently. His phone is in his hand, as it has been the entire time he was moving me out of the art studio. Somehow he managed to direct his chauffeur, herd me around, carry half my stuff, and respond to what felt like a non-stop stream of messages.
“You’re working full time at CurateMe. How often do you also have studies at the school?”
“I’m just taking one class right now.” I flush in embarrassment. “A studio credit so I could continue using that space.”
“Do you want to enroll in more classes? I will make this car available to you as needed.”
I don’t bother to tell him I can take the bus.
That’s a fight for tomorrow.
The car slides up to the parking garage entrance.
“I’ll probably continue to take one credit at a time until, um…” I gesture at my belly. “Well, I guess I’ll see how it goes.”
He taps something on his phone.
