Page 26 of The Grumpy Billionaire Baby Daddy

Abruptlyawokenbyaloud ringing, I groggily glance at my phone screen, only to see that it's Eleanor calling. With a heavy yawn, I answer the phone.

"There are better times to check on your best friend that wouldn't be considered terrorism, you know?"

She giggles.

"What kind of best friend would I be if I didn't terrorize you?"

"It's so good to hear your voice, El."

"Same, Fifi. How are you? What's it been like at his house? Did you ask about me visiting?"

"Woah. Woah. Easy."

I slowly rub my eyes with the back of my palm, attempting to wake myself up, and sit up in bed, squinting as my eyes adjust to the light.

"I'm okay. The morning sickness just really knocks my brains off. Everyone at the house is pretty nice, especially his brother, Richard. He's such a perfect gentleman, handsome too."

"Uh oh, don't tell me you already have your eyes on him."

"What? No! Jason is a little cold, it's refreshing to know that there's someone who isn't."

"So about my visit?"

"Right, I've not really spoken to Jason since I got here. He's alwaysO at work, or just somewhere. I'll ask him, don't worry."

"Okay. Gotta bounce. Take care, okay?"

"Hey before you —-"

As the call is abruptly disconnected before I have the opportunity to inquire about my parents, my heart plummets in dismay. Casting a gaze about my bedroom, I take note of the surroundings. It is commodious, yet snug, and the bed is capacious enough to accommodate three individuals with ample space to spare. The soft sheets, which enfold one's body, seem to beckon a restful slumber. The brown marble flooring resonates beautifully with the matching bed stand and living room sofa, imparting a delightful warmth to the room. Across the room, my eyes alight upon the television, resting on an elegant stand flanked by two flower pots and two speakers in the living room.

"Fiona?"

A knock comes on the suite door. I move off the bed and walk toward it.

"Yeah?"

"It's Bertha."

I unlock the door to find a disheveled Bertha yawning.

"Good morning,” I say, glued to the floor.

"Come on, I could use some help with breakfast."

"Oh, okay."

She studies me as if deciding whether to ask or hold back. Finally, she asks

"How do you feel?"

"Like shit."

She chuckles and walks downstairs, and I follow behind.

"When I was pregnant with Jason and then Richard, I felt like a war was going on inside of me. It was horrible."

I laugh. It's a good thing there's some mother figure to help figure things out.

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