Page 24 of Secret Baby for a Damaged Billionaire

A grin unfurls across my face. “Sounds perfect,” I say, elated by the prospect of having more time to savor with him.

We head to his massive kitchen, complete with marble countertops, shiny stainless-steel appliances, and enough gadgetry to make even Iron Man jealous. As we chop vegetables and whisk eggs, our laughter fills the air, making the space feel warm and inviting.

“Actually,” I say, pausing for a moment, “I know we have contracts to draw up, but instead of going straight to the gym, I need to swing by the shelter first, to drop off some papers.” I force a smile, my teeth peeking through my lips, hoping to alleviate any stress my detour might cause.

“That’s fine,” he murmurs, focused on his cast-iron pan as it heats up on the gas stove. “I need to get a workout in anyway.” He adds butter to the pan, then looks up. “Or I could go with you.” His eyebrows lift in silent question.

I smile, continuing to shred a block of cheddar, while inside, a swarm of butterflies takes flight, but I hope my exterior remains composed. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

After the best omelet of my life, we clean up the kitchen and head out the door, leaving his sun-filled penthouse behind us. As the elevator doors slide open, the doorman sees us and smirks, pushing open the large wooden door of the building, leading us onto the bustling sidewalk of Newbury Street.

A short walk and we find his SUV in the parking garage where we’d left it the day before, and I realize now how close we were to his apartment at that time. We likely walked right past it as we made our way to the theater district. I shook my head, replaying every event from the day before, each moment better than the last.

Bombing down Berkeley, feeling like a celebrity in his high-end vehicle, blacked out windows and rims that cause people to look twice, I glance over at him, noticing the muscles running up his arm from his grip on the wheel. He appears so unapproachable to most, tall, strong, ruggedly handsome, but to me, I seem to already understand who he truly is… and I like it.

“So, what made you agree to take a detour to the shelter,” I ask, brows lifted.

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Charlie again,” he says, a hint of fondness creeping into his voice, then glances at me. “And it seemed like a better idea than the two of us getting stuck in the grind at the gym. More time to relax.” His words hang in the air between us, sharing the understanding of wanting more time together.

I find myself nodding in agreement, fully aware that our casual demeanor would be shockingly replaced with professionalism once we set foot in the gym, as always.

After navigating a few more winding turns, the familiar sign of the shelter comes into view, the rich, cobalt blue letters popping against the faded sun-bleached wood. As we enter the building, I find myself drawn to the counter to talk with Jayne, and Lucas wastes no time and makes a beeline for Charlie’s cage.

“So, these are the tax documents you’ll need when you file,” I say, handing the forms to Jayne. “The tax-exempt number is here.” I point, but my words trail off as I notice Jayne isn’t paying attention. Her gaze is transfixed on Lucas and Charlie, watching their interactions.

“That’s just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she gushes. “The dog, I mean.” She laughs, nudging me. “No, but in all seriousness, those two were made for each other.”

Her words echo with my sentiments, thoughts I’ve been having since the moment Lucas and Charlie first met. But I just wasn’t sure if Lucas was ready to take on the reality of dog ownership yet.

“Hm,” I muse aloud, considering a way to help deepen their bond. “Maybe I’ll see if he wants to take Charlie for a walk.” I tip my head, knowing it will only bring them closer.

Before I even fully commit to the idea, Jayne, ever the intuitive soul, hands me the leash, and I flash a mischievous smile.

Approaching Lucas, I listen as he speaks soothing words to Charlie, and once I have the dog in my view, I see his eyes, usually a whirlpool of anxious energy, but now exuding serene tranquility as he stares at Lucas. It’s a sight that sends a flutter of hope through my heart.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Want to take him for a walk?” I hold out the leash, its worn leather handle swaying gently.

“We can do that?” he asks in surprise, his voice laced with a childlike excitement that makes me chuckle. “Absolutely.”

With a swift, confident motion, he clicks the leash onto Charlie’s collar, and we head out toward Peter’s Park, enjoying the crisp morning air.

As we stroll, we pass by a weathered VFW Post, its worn bricks bearing the invisible marks of countless stories. Two elderly veterans, their age-worn uniforms lending them an air of humble dignity, are leaving the building, their camaraderie holding them together stronger than any physical force.

Lucas halts mid-stride and lifts his hand in a firm salute. The sudden gesture causes the veterans to stop their conversation midsentence and return the salute with matching solemnity. As I watch this silent exchange, chills run up my arms making my fine hairs stand on end. Then we all continue walking in our separate ways, the moment imprinted in my memory.

“Oh my God,” I breathe, the impact of the scene still ricocheting in my chest. “That was so powerful.” I stare at him in awe. “There’s so much most people don’t know about the things vets have been through, the bonds they share.”

He slows and pats Charlie’s head. “You’re right. Very few civilians think about it—ever.” His gaze is distant as if lost in a memory. “And I guess that comfortable complacency is part of what we protect, part of freedom.”

His words linger in the air, a stark reminder of the sacrifices of those who serve. I exhale deeply, speechless at what goes on in the military, grateful for the ability to walk around this beautiful city safely and freely.

“It’s the haunting part that they don’t warn us about, though. The part that follows us when we return to civilian life.” Lucas’s hand continues to stroke Charlie’s fur. He holds the dog’s gaze and the two of them are content in the space between them. “Only those who have worn the uniform can fully understand that part.”

I nod in quiet acknowledgment, acutely aware of the internal battles he fights, the nightmares that refuse to let him rest, the PTSD that’s always an uninvited guest.

“And it’s always the least expected event that replays, like a broken record in the mind, over and over.” His voice is twinged with weary resignation.

“Is there one that repeats for you?” I gently probe, wanting to understand the labyrinth of his thoughts better.

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