Page 14 of Oops Baby for the Billionaire
Chapter 8
Roman
three months later
I hearthe whispers as I storm into the building. I’ve always been a demanding boss, but I know that’s gotten worse in the last four months.
It doesn’t help that it physically hurts to be in such close proximity to where I had Willa for a single night before she disappeared.
Not even an entire night.
Some days, I work from home. Other days, I come in just to punish myself for letting her slip through my fingers.
Today, I have a fucking meeting.
A significant part of acquiring Techbridge Worldwide is figuring out which of the startups it funds deserve more investment. One of the most promising companies is an art auction site called CurateMe. I’ve summoned their leadership team to my boardroom this morning. They’re probably waiting up there for me now.
I like this company so much that they were one of the first I moved into my own office tower, installing them on the third floor. And that’s where I’m going first.
In my experience, when the boss is away, the mice will play—and I want to see what the rest of their team is doing when they know management is upstairs.
The elevator doors open, and I stride through their office entrance. The space hums with productivity, which is a good sign. Workers who stay focused on their tasks when their managers aren’t around are well-motivated people who’ve bought into the company’s vision.
Good. I’m about to turn and leave when there’s a giggle behind me.
“What, you don’t think that’s the customer discovery path?” a masculine voice says.
Then a woman responds, her voice oddly familiar. “I’m hardly the target audience, am I?”
“Why is it that the best curators for rich people aren’t other rich people?”
“Beats me,” Willa says.
Willa.
Not a ghost after all. Because I know it’s her, even before I see her.
“But I think you’re going through this website looking at the most affordable pieces of art, and I don’t think that’s what our… “ Her voice trails off as I appear at the entrance to the open cubicle where she’s leaning over the shoulder of one of her colleagues.
She’s dressed very similarly to how she was that night, a white blouse and black pants, although the curvy little body poured into them looks different.
It takes me a second to process why, but as she takes a step back, crossing her arms over her chest, my hungry gaze landson the snug pull of her trousers across a slight but unmistakable swell of a pregnant belly.
“Mr. Thorne,” Willa breathes, as if the last time we spoke she wasn’t moaning my given name into the night sky.
Trembling shock doesn’t do anything to diminish her lush beauty. Her dark hair is still long enough to spill in glossy waves over her shoulders, and her pink mouth is still utterly hypnotic, even if she’s not laughing right now.
I toss the briefest of glares at her co-worker. “Get out.”
Willa immediately comes to his defense. “This is his workspace.”
The guy looks back and forth between us. “I can go.”
“Do that.”
“Stay,” she says, putting her hand on his forearm.
I bare my teeth and growl.
