Page 34 of The Grumpy Billionaire Baby Daddy

“Fifi?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“No one’s giving you a hard time over there, right?”

I wish I could tell her someone really is giving me a hard time, and his name is Jason Greene. But then she’ll ask me how they’re doing that. Then what? It’s not like I can say he got me pregnant, and now he’s mean to me. He also thinks he can have sex with me whenever he wants and treat me like trash right after.

“Fifi? Are you there?”

In the background, Dad yells, “I’ll be ready to throw hands!”

“I’m here, Mom. No. No one’s giving me a hard time.”

I shut my eyes and imagine I’m at home and Mom’s making my favorite meal — stir-fried spaghetti and meatballs.

“You can always talk to me if something bothers you, Fifi.”

“I know. Thanks, Mom.

As soon as the call ends, I slump onto my bed, consumed by a whirlwind of emotions. I can't afford to wallow in self-pity, not now. I need a distraction, something to keep my mind occupied and prevent it from wandering back to Jason. That's when my favorite fantasy of donning a graduation gown and becoming a successful veterinary doctor flashes before my eyes. I sit up, fueled by newfound determination. It's high time I give my scholarship applications another shot.

Chapter 12

Jason

DespitenotseeingFionafor weeks, our last encounter has been etched in my mind. It haunts me even at work. One moment, I'm engaged in a conversation with Gabe about finances, and the next, I'm hearing her moans echo in my ears. Or, I'm playing snooker, and the gentle touch of her fingers in my hair leaves me numb. I've tried to sleep with other women, but it's been futile. The only time I tried, with a French woman named Aurélie I met on a business trip, I couldn't even get to the second base. We sat next to each other on a flight to Belgium, and she introduced herself with a sexy accent. Aurélie was the daughter of a wealthy shipping magnate, and we made small talk until she invited me to her penthouse. I had time to spare before my meeting with the suppliers, so I agreed. But, after one kiss, all I could think about were Fiona's luscious lips. It was alarming how her memory consumed me, and I had no choice but to leave Aurélie's penthouse immediately. I lied and told her I had received an urgent text that required my immediate attention.

Now, sitting in my therapist’s office, the thoughts claw at my heart, and the helplessness of it all drowns me.

“Jason?”

I'm snapped back to reality by the gentle voice of Sean, my therapist. I'm sitting in his small, yet cozy office, surrounded by abstract paintings of various colors and moods. Each artwork on the white walls is unique and captivating in its way, but one, in particular, catches my attention every time I'm here. It's a colorful masterpiece, with brushstrokes that seem to depict a whirlwind. Sean once told me that the paintings help him understand how his clients perceive the world in their unique ways.

“I’m sorry.”

As I look up at him, I notice that Sean has cut his hair shorter and dyed the grey strands. It's a small change, but it's noticeable, and it makes sense why he would want to do it. Despite being in his late forties, he always had a lot of gray hair, which sometimes made him look older than he actually is. But with the new haircut and dye job, he looks younger and more vibrant.

“Did you hear my question?”

Of course, I did. His question was the trigger that relaunched thoughts of Fiona.

“You asked what kinds of dreams I’ve been having lately.”

“Yes. You went quiet. What were you thinking about?”

I shift in my seat, leaning back.

“Uhh…I’ve been dreaming about Fiona.”

His stare is blank as he fixes his gaze on me, leaning forward.

“You mean Fiona, who’s currently in your house?”

I told him about Fiona months ago, complaining about her pregnancy and having to take her in. He didn’t consider it a bad thing that she was pregnant. In fact, he congratulated me and suggested I try looking at the positives. At the time, though, there was nothing positive about it except the prospect of an heir. I told him that. He didn’t push.

“Yes.”

“What kinds of dreams have you been having about her?”

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