Page 586 of Most Eligible Billionaire CEO

“Great suit, Beckett.” Her amber eyes eat me up. “Impeccable as always. Bespoke, I’m sure.”

“Thanks,” I say. “And yes, tailored is the only way to go in my world.”

The redhead shifts her attention to my girl. “Arianne, how is bad boy Beckett Christensen as a boyfriend?”

Arianne bites her lower lip before answering. “I know this sounds cliché, but I’m the luckiest woman in the world.” Pride puffs up my chest, but she takes it one step further. “He’s absolutely wonderful. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Well, hell.

“By the way, you two would make super cute babies,” the redhead says. “I’m talking baby-model cute.”

“Err…” Arianne hesitates and looks up at me, her eyes shimmering with something I can’t read. Her cheeks are as rosy as her dress. She tears her gaze away from mine and sets it on the reporter. “Thank you?!”

I’m not sure if that’s a question or an exclamation. I suspect, she’s as thrown off as I am. Holt is right, words like baby usually scare the shit out of me. Why I’m now picturing my girl’s belly swollen and tight with our child is beyond me.

A booming voice puts an end to my musing.

“I knew I saw a baby bump!” Enormous Glasses shouts.

My head whips in his direction.

Where? Behind her ears?

“Are you looking forward to fatherhood, Beckett?” he asks.

What an asshole for fanning a lie that has the potential of going viral even before we enter Building 22.

“Do you want a boy or girl?” a reporter asks.

“Any names for the baby yet?” That question comes from the celebrity blogger.

“What if you’re having twins?” Another female reporter wants to know.

“Or triplets?” the male reporter standing next to her asks.

I’m floored.

The redhead’s comment starts a wildfire and Enormous Glasses poured gasoline all over it.

The press starts shooting a barrage of questions at us, fishing for a scoop. Since they’re speaking over each other, it’s impossible to make sense of anything. Not that it matters.

We’re done here.

“Ladies! Gentlemen!” I shout over the chaos, lifting a hand to silence them. “This is as much as we’re willing to discuss about our personal life. If you have questions about why we’re gathered here tonight, Arianne Buchanan—the mastermind behind SCORE Yours—has all the answers. If she’s busy, our PR agency will be more than happy to schedule interviews.” I point to the four women standing near the door, flanked by bodyguards.

Another frantic round of flashes ensues, blinding us in the process, as the press throws more questions at us.

“What about a kiss?” The provocative question comes from the reporter wearing the giant glasses. “After all, Arianne Buchanan makes history tonight by being the first woman to capture the elusive bad boy rock star turned CEO.”

He was irritating the hell out of me a few minutes ago, but now, I’m warming to him.

I turn to face a blushing Arianne.

“The guy’s right,” I say. “If we’re going to make history, we might as well seal it with a kiss.”

She smiles, her eyes gleaming with mirth.

I reach out and dip her, Hollywood style.

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