Page 131 of Babies for the Big Shot
“You’re having three babies.”
I manage a half-smile, though it feels heavy in my chest. “Apparently, my swimmers are overachievers.”
Jonah makes a sound somewhere between disbelief and the faintest trace of humor, rubbing a hand over his mouth as if trying to process a dozen different thoughts at once. “You just spent two weeks convincing the board this wasn’t a relationship. That Sara had nothing to do with the leak. That this was all tabloid garbage…”
“I know.”
Jonah leans forward, his tone becoming more serious. “Nick?—”
“I know,” I cut him off, more firmly now. “But I’d lie again. I’d lie every goddamn day if it meant protecting her from this.”
There’s a long silence. Jonah studies me for a moment, absorbing everything I’ve just said. And then, finally, he speaks.
“You’re all in.”
I don’t hesitate. “I’m all in.”
Another beat. Jonah exhales slowly and mutters, “Well, shit. Guess I better find out who’s trying to ruin your life before the baby shower.”
I give him a grim nod. “Yeah. And Jonah?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s keep this between us. Just for now.”
He meets my gaze, his expression solemn. “Your secret’s safe. But you know this won’t stay buried forever.”
“I know.”
And I do. But I’m not focused on the potential fallout, this time. I’m not planning for the worst anymore.
I’m planning for them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Sara
Turns out,Nick’s penthouse is not designed for pregnant women, emotionally unstable tea drinkers, or French bulldogs with zero spatial awareness.
I might as well be living inside a tech billionaire’s Pinterest board.
Everything is cold, sleek, and somehow always whispering “you don’t belong here.” I’m padding around in leggings that gave up at breakfast and Nick’s white Oxford shirt, because it’s comfortable, trying to find a kettle in a kitchen so futuristic I’m scared it might yell at me.
Meatball is having the time of his life, chewing on everything in sight.
“Meatball, no!” I hiss, my heart racing as I imagine the cost of that rug.
If I’m being honest, it’s a little bit of an overreaction, but I’m on edge. The last thing I want is to ruin anything in Nick’s perfectly curated fortress of wealth. I don’t even know the proper way to apologize for this kind of thing.
“Stop it!”
I am on a mission. I just want tea. Just one soothing cup of peppermint tea because my body is being used as a deluxe Airbnb for three tiny, high-maintenance roommates.
“Meatball, c’mon,” I mutter, as I scoop him up.
But instead of tea, I get disaster.
It starts when I reach for what I think is a canister of loose leaf tea, except Nick has stored it in something that could belong in a NASA lab. And in the process of pulling it out, I accidentally elbow a weird metal… thing.
