Page 33 of Faking Love with the Billionaire Boss

That implies that I still have an effect on him. My lips curve up.

In Auckland, he told me,Shame we only have one night. I could torture you for days like this and not get bored.Every night before I go to bed, I think about that night. And now he’s sitting here in front of me.

“Are you seeing anyone at the moment?” I ask, dreading the answer.

He has a long swig from his bottle of water, then screws the lid back on. “No.”

I feel a swell of pleasure that he’s single, and the smallest flicker of hope, that maybe, just maybe, life has something in store for me that isn’t all doom and gloom.

Then I look down at the swelling beneath my shirt and feel a twist of resentment. If anything was going to ensure I remain single, it’s this. Not that he’d ever have been interested in more than a one-night stand with me. I can’t imagine I’m his type. I’m sure he usually dates sophisticated girls with designer clothes who know which fork to use in a restaurant.

He finishes his apple pie and licks his fingers. “You told me you were twenty-four in November. Have you had your birthday?”

“No…”

“When is it?”

I sigh, cursing my big mouth. “Tomorrow.”

He grins. “You could have lied.”

“I didn’t think about that.”

He gathers up the rubbish and takes it over to the bin. When he’s done, he says, “Come on. Let’s get back to work.”

I follow him out into the weak sunshine. It feels good to have a full belly again.

As I walk, I rest my hand on my bump, thinking about what he said,You can’t keep ignoring the baby. I’ve done my best not to think about what’s inside the bump, but I’m going to have to face it at some point. I don’t like accepting help. But maybe with Saxon by my side, it won’t be quite as scary.

I know he won’t look at me the same way again. I’ve never thought of myself as sexy, but I definitely won’t be seducing anyone looking like I have a cushion stuffed up my shirt.

But it’s not about that anymore. It’s about the baby we’ve made.

Holy shit, we made a baby.

I’m going to be a mother.

And Saxon’s going to be a dad.

Chapter Eight

Saxon

When we get back, I leave Catie at her desk, collect the report she typed for me before lunch, and go into my office. I’m due over at Pikorua Computers at two, but it’s only a five-minute drive, so I have a little time.

I close the door, take out my mobile, and call Mathew Clinton. I’m expecting it to go to voicemail, but to my surprise he answers after two rings, obviously spotting my name on his screen. “Hey, Saxon!”

“Hey, Mat. Sorry to bother you—do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, I was having a sandwich at my desk. What’s up?”

“I was wondering whether I could ask a favor.”

“Of course. Name it.”

“I know you’re a busy guy, but…” Suddenly I’m not sure how to explain the situation. “Um… I have a friend…”

“Good to know,” he says with humor. “Spit it out, man.”

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