Page 1 of Secret Baby for a Damaged Billionaire

Chapter One (Emily)

Stepping into the grand ballroom, my stilettos click sharply on the marble floor, and I feel all eyes on me as if my single status is in direct disrespect to my best friend’s engagement party. The chandeliers cast a mocking golden glow. A wave of insecurity washes over me as I search for my seat among the round tables, ivory linens, and centerpieces bursting with pink peonies.

I spot Chloe in a cloud of tulle, her Oscar de la Renta dress exuding classic glamor as she stands near the champagne tower, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She waves me over enthusiastically, nearly upending a glass of bubbly in the process.

“Emily! You made it!” She throws her arms around me, the familiar scent of her perfume instantly easing my discomfort. I relax in her embrace, giddy energy radiating off of her.

“You look beautiful,” I say. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“I know,” she gushes. “I feel like we’ve been planning our weddings since college.” She catches herself and bares her teeth apologetically.

Her soon-to-be mother-in-law appears and takes hold of her arm. “Chloe, come see my cousins from Ohio. They’re dying to meet you.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she’s whisked away.

I scan the tables again, searching for my seat, trying to forget about the memory of us planning our weddings together, destination Cape Cod, and starting our married lives in the same neighborhood in the posh suburbs of Boston. But then Dominic dumps me out of the blue, shattering those plans to bits, returning me to square one, while Chloe forges ahead.

“Emily, over here.” My attention is pulled to a table in the middle of the room. Chloe’s fashion-industry work friends call me over, pointing to an empty seat.

“You look stunning!” one of them gushes, her designer dress putting my little black number to shame. She touches my arm, her red nails a jarring contrast against my sun-starved skin. “How do you get your hair that perfect strawberry blonde color?”

The others chime in, showering me with compliments on my makeup, wondering if I go to the gym every day, and asking how I could possibly be single. Their kind remarks accentuate my awkward dateless state, so I force a smile, taking a large swallow of champagne to avoid responding. I know the reply of being cheated on and my hair color being natural would only bore them.

Twenty-five. The number looms in my mind as the conversation drifts to wedding details and future family plans. In a few short months, I’ll reach that milestone, with nothing to show for it but a neglected dating life and an overscheduled calendar of contract negotiations and volunteering at the dog shelter.

The music shifts to something loud and pounding, the bass vibrating through my chest. Couples flood the dance floor, spinning and twirling under the swirling lights.

I stand abruptly, nearly upending my glass. “I’ll be right back.”

The girls barely notice my exit, already deep in debate over the pros and cons of local or destination weddings. I weave through the crowd, dodging Chloe’s doting aunts who always ask me when I’m going to get married, practically squeezing my cheeks every time. The heat and noise and laughter press in on me until I think I might suffocate.

The lobby is blissfully empty, silent but for the muted music from the ballroom. Taking a deep inhale, and closing my eyes, I kick off my heels and drop onto an upholstered loveseat, just as someone else lands on the sofa with me at the same time.

The couch shifts from the sudden weight and hits the wall with a thud. I turn in shock and my eyes meet a piercing blue gaze beneath knitted brows. I flush, taking in the sight of a ruggedly handsome man, sitting only inches from me, dressed in a sharp charcoal designer suit, with muscular broad shoulders and a sharp jawline.

He tips his head, cropped hair giving a strong, military vibe. “Not a fan of the swan napkins?”

His joke catches me off guard and puts me immediately at ease.

“More like all the crazy aunts asking when my turn to get married will be,” I scoff.

“No surprise. My aunts have been doing that to everyone all night, including me.” He shakes his head, sitting deeper on the couch.

“I—what? Your aunts?” My eyes widen from what must be the earliest I’ve ever put my foot in my mouth, but also from the curiosity of how he might be connected to Chloe’s aunts.

He groans lightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Gets to be a bit much, doesn’t it?”

I grin. “So, I take it you’re not much for big family parties either.” I glance at the couch and then back toward the ballroom, making it clear that we’re both avoiding it.

He presses his lips together. “Noise and chaos send me running for the hills.” I catch his eyes moving over my dress as he casually looks in the direction of the music. “I’m Lucas, by the way.” He holds out a hand, gazing straight into my soul.

“Emily.” I take his hand, startled by the warmth and strength of his grip. I hope he can’t sense my nerves, but he’s just so hot.

His eyes light up with understanding as a grin spreads across his inviting lips. “Ah. So, you’re the infamous Emily.”

My spine straightens, as I wonder who this gorgeous man is, and how he knows about me. With my brow furrowed, I ask, “Infamous?”

And just as the pieces start coming together in my mind, he confirms my suspicion.

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