Page 46 of The Damaged Billionaire

“Congratulations?” I say in question, having no idea why she is calling me about that.

“It’s yours. This baby is yours.” In an instant, my palms sweat and my heart almost stops in my chest. That can’t be right. My mind races, thinking about when our night together was, the day a blur. It must have been six or seven weeks ago. The only thing helping me to remember is that I saw Willow the very next day. That day is burned in my memory.

“Impossible.” I fake the confidence in my voice as I grab my cell in my other hand, my hand shaking as I quickly type in 911 to my brothers group chat.

“You are the only person I have had sex with in the last few weeks,” she spits out.

“I used protection. We used protection,” I grit out. Even though I was always drunk when I was with women, I always remembered to wrap myself. That little act is ingrained in me from my father’s antics. I have never had sex without a condom.

“What can I say, it didn’t work.” Her voice changes again. One that would match a very satisfied smile. Vomit feels like it is going to crawl up my throat at any minute. This is what happened to my father. He was with so many women, we couldn’t keep up with all the monetary demands in the end. After he died, so many women came out of the blue, demanding money to pay for children they said belonged to him. The fact that Ben and his legal team investigated every single one of them and none of them were a DNA match did little to settle any of our nerves.

“My lawyer will be in touch,” I say, slamming down the phone as I start to hyperventilate. This can’t be happening. This can’t be fucking happening. I look at the small bar at the side of my office, the decanter of whiskey looking at me. Sparkling in the lights, the vintage timber cupboard it sits on almost pleads with me to walk toward it. I need Willow or whiskey, and I am not sure the first option is a good idea right now. I push back from my chair and stalk to my liquor cabinet and grab a glass.

“Fuck it,” I say, reverting to my old behavior as I splash a small amount into the crystal glass, one finger at best, and then throw it down my throat. The burn is nearly unfamiliar since it has been a while, but it has the desired effect.

“What happened?” Ben pushes open my door, Eddie hot on his heels. They look at me, their steps paused as they take in my stressed state and the empty glass in my hand. It helps that all our offices are in the one building, and our penthouses take up the top four floors. We are close, both in terms of our loving relationships with each other, but also in terms of logistics.

“Fuck,” Eddie says, and my eyes ping to him. He is dressed casually today. Too casual, almost in workman attire, like he has been fixing something, although given he lives behind a desk and not in a workshop, I have no idea what he has been doing.

“What’s going on?” Harrison races through the door next. We have had enough 911s in our group chat to warrant the panic.

“I spoke to Katerina Newcomb,” I say, looking at Ben and his face contorts, already knowing it isn’t good.

“Who the fuck is Katerina Newcomb?” Harrison asks as he closes the door to my office, and my brothers crowd around me near the liquor cabinet.

“One of Tennyson’s many one-night stands,” Ben grits out, waiting for the bomb to drop.

“Daughter of Geoffery Newcomb,” Eddie says almost simultaneously. Harrison scowls.

“She’s pregnant. She says it’s mine.” My three brothers look at me first in shock, before it morphs into disappointment, and I have never felt more like a fucking failure than I do in this moment. I have let them all down. I have let myself down. And I know, without a doubt, that once Willow knows, I will let her down as well.

“Don’t you use protection?” Harrison seethes, stepping up to the cabinet and pouring himself a whiskey, throwing it back in one fluid motion.

“Get me one of those,” Ben murmurs.

“And me,” Eddie says, before Harrison just grabs the entire decanter and four glasses and motions for us all to sit on my couch.

“I always wrap it. I have never had sex without a fucking rubber.” I pace my office, trying my hardest to think about that night and coming up empty. Rubbing my head, I will the incoming migraine to retreat before I run my hand through my hair and pull on it roughly.

“Then we will get a test,” Eddie says, and I start to feel a little more settled. Sure, there is a possibility it is mine. But there sure as hell is a possibility that it isn’t.

“Paternity tests can be done at around ten weeks. How far along is she?” Ben asks, as Harrison lines up the four glasses and splashes a healthy amount of whiskey in each of them.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask,” I say, feeling even more like shit. I wish I could erase the past fifteen minutes of my life entirely.

“What, you don’t remember her? When did you fuck her?” Eddie asks, his eyebrows rising, surprised that I can’t remember the night.

“It was the night before I met Willow again at the estate,” I say to them. Willow is my only guiding light in all of this.

“That was about eight weeks ago, I think,” Ben murmurs, obviously thinking about that weekend since we were all at his estate with the kids.

“Fuck,” Eddie sighs, as we all pick up our glasses and throw back the liquor. The burn feels good, but I can’t say I enjoy it like I once did. I side the empty glass back on the coffee table and continue to pace.

“God, my head is a fucking mess. I have enough going on with dealing with the memories of Nanny Helen,” I say without thinking, pulling at my hair, my mind so busy I have no idea how to calm it.

“Nanny Helen?” Ben asks, looking at me as though I am crazy.

“Yeah. I have no idea why, but she has been popping up in my mind for weeks. Ever since I met Willow.”

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