by Leslie North
The paper fluttered to the ground. “Claire? Are you okay?”
She looked as bewildered as he felt. “I’m pretty sure that was a contraction.”
The sounds of the party fell away, and Archer took her hand, pulse racing. “The doctors said this could happen before forty weeks. Do you think you can walk?”
“Um, yes.” She gave him a look. “I walked over here, didn’t I?”
“Everything’s different now,” he said.
“Now?” Claire laughed, and he joined in, laughing until his stomach hurt. “Now it’s different. You’re a funny man, Archer Preston.”
Drew and Charlie jogged up then. “Everything okay with you lovebirds?”
“Claire’s in labor,” he announced.
“I had one contraction,” she said. “It’s not a big deal.”
The brothers exchanged a look. “Okay,” said Drew. “Archer and Charlie, one of you on either side. We’re going to get you to the car.”
Claire leaned her head back against the chair. “Guys, we’re not—” Her breath left her in a whoosh. Another contraction, Archer realized. She squeezed his hand until it was over. He felt almost breathless with excitement and fear. Oh, my god, she’s in labor. She was going to have the babies. He was going to be a father. It all hit him at once, then again, like relentless waves. Claire lifted her head. “All right, all right. I guess going to the hospital would be a good idea right about now. It might not be real labor.”
“What? You think you’re having false contractions? Those look real to me.” Archer heard the shake in his voice and vowed to get it together. “Either way, we’re going to the hospital. Charlie? You ready?”
He and his brother helped Claire stand. Jasper came tearing by, yelling at the top of his lungs.
“Happy birthday, bud,” Claire called after him. “You might have to share it.”
Jasper didn’t hear a word of what she said.
“This way,” Archer said gently, turning her toward the house. He took out his phone with his free hand. “I’m texting the driver now. We’re ready to go when you are.”
Claire shook Archer and Charlie off. “I can walk. Charlie, thanks for the offer, but I’m fine. We’ll be fine. We will all be fine.” The brothers moved toward her again, and Claire held up a hand. “I said, we’ll be fine. Back off. Back off, you two. Archer, you can stay.” Charlie and Drew laughed, but he could see how much they wanted to help.
Claire just wasn’t that kind of person.
“We can carry you.” There was the last-ditch offer from Drew. “It would be no problem at all.”
“She’s not going to let anybody carry her,” said Archer. “I’ve got it.”
Stephanie came up then, cheeks pink, out of breath. “Are you leaving?”
“Labor,” said Claire. “I’m in labor.”
Stephanie clapped her hands to her mouth. “That is so exciting! It is, isn’t it? It’s not too early?”
“Not according to the doctors,” Claire said. “But we probably should—” Claire doubled over, clutching Archer’s arm.
“Oh, man.” Stephanie stepped forward and rubbed Claire’s back. “You were serious.”
“No, I was kidding,” Claire said through gritted teeth. “This is all for show.”
Stephanie laughed, and Claire straightened up. “All right. You get out of here before the next one hits.”
“I’ll try,” Claire said.
Stephanie gave her a big hug, pulling in Archer, too. “Good luck. To both of you. Let us know how everything goes, okay? We’ll be rooting for you. All four of you.”
He hugged his sister-in-law tight, and then he and Claire made their way through the house. It took two more contractions to get to the front, where the car was waiting, and by the time they stepped in, Claire’s eyes were wide. “This is serious,” she said. “Call Dr. Lindstrom and Bristol, and have them meet us at the hospital, okay?”
“I already texted her. I’m several steps ahead of you.”
“That’s only because you can walk a lot faster than I can,” she joked.
The driver pulled the car out of the driveway, and Archer scooted in closer and put his arm around her. She was going to be his wife. She was going to be the mother of his children. And they would have the adventure of a lifetime. A year ago, he couldn’t have pictured doing this with anyone. Now he couldn’t picture doing it with anyone but the woman beside him.
“We’re going to be parents soon,” whispered Claire. “I’m so excited. I’m so scared.”
“It’s going to be wonderful.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. I’m here with you, and we can do this.”
He held her close as they drove away. Sure, the trip around the world would be an adventure. But becoming a dad? That was the adventure of a lifetime.
End of The Billionaire’s Pregnant Employee
Preston Brothers Book Three
The Billionaire’s Pretend Wife, 26 March 2020
The Billionaire’s Secret Son, 2 April 2020
The Billionaire’s Pregnant Employee, 9 April 2020
PS: Do you love bad-boy billionaires? Then keep reading for an exclusive extract from The Billionaire’s Pregnant Assistant.
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About Leslie
Leslie North is the USA Today Bestselling pen name for a critically-acclaimed author of women's contemporary romance and fiction. The anonymity gives her the perfect opportunity to paint with her full artistic palette, especially in the romance and erotic fantasy genres.
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LeslieNorthBooks.com
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BLURB
Billionaire Connor McClellan knows the worth of a woman—at least in business dealings. Which is why he depends on Rosalie Bridges, the ever-reliable outreach manager from his Aspen office, to pose as his girlfriend when he woos a potential client. Connor’s next client represents the only business he’s ever lost. Gaining them back would make his record perfect. He assumes that Rosalie is available—only to find that she’s pissed off at him and pregnant…with his baby. Their hookup at a previous business meeting was the hottest of his life, and now it’s the most complicated, too. Still, they need to fake this relationship to land the deal. But Rosalie isn’t interested in playing along.
Rosalie has wanted Connor from a distance for years, and always thought she’d get her chance to impress him when he came to Aspen. After they’d hooked up, she thought she was making headway, but when Connor sent carnations along with a generic note and didn’t call till he needed her again, she decided she was done being used.
With Connor desperately needing to land this deal, and Rosalie no longer willing to be a part of his fake relationship scheme—especially with a baby on the way—a deal of a different kind needs to be struck. She'll be his fake girlfriend one last time, and in exchange she'll get the promotion to head the region’s outreach and out of his life. As much as she wishes to be with Connor and have him help raise their child, she isn’t sure she can risk her heart on a man used to taking others for granted. But Connor isn't planning on letting her get away without a fight. He's got a week while they woo the client together to win her back—and if there's one thing Connor knows how to do, it's win.
As business and pleasure become further intertwined, Connor realizes for once in his life he’d like this fake relationship to be something more. If the two of them can pull this off, they may land the deal, and the love, t
o last them a lifetime.
Grab your copy of The Billionaire’s Pregnant Assistant (McClellan Billionaires Book One) from www.LeslieNorthBooks.com
EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT
Chapter 1
Rosalie Bridges didn't consider herself a complainer. She prided herself on seeing the positive, finding the bright side, and seeking out the little moments that she could point to and say, "There. Right then I was really, really happy."
Some days though, she had to concede, that finding those moments was really hard.
Today, for example? Leaving the safety of her bed had become really hard to justify.
"Okay then, I'll go over it again from the top. Maybe I'm just not explaining it correctly?" Pasting a bright, winning smile on her face, Rosalie gripped her pen tightly to keep from throttling the unctuous restaurant manager who'd barged into her office without an appointment, only to demand she deal with him immediately. "We understand it's a clumsy workaround, but until the tech team installs a suitable patch in the system, it's the only way to keep this from happening again. Would you like to show me what's tripping you up?"
As outreach manager for the Aspen satellite office, Rosalie was used to fielding McClellan Systems’ less sophisticated clients. The pace was slower and sleepier here than in the main New York office—during last year’s visit, she hadn’t been able to believe how fast everyone moved—which normally suited her fine. Only the people who primarily bought their systems—the geriatric owners of family restaurants and passionate hippie-chefs with no common sense—often needed a patient, guiding hand.
And today, Rosalie was quickly running out of patience.
Taking a deep breath, Rosalie crossed and re-crossed her legs before smiling at the client across from her. “We'll take as long as you need." She shut the valve on her irritation. After all, it wasn’t the customer’s fault that her desk was sporting a sad lump of yellow carnations.
Carnations!
How had she been so wrong? When Connor had looked her in the eye and known her favorite flower, he’d convinced her this was it. After all these years of loving him from afar, he finally reciprocated all her admiration and desire. He knew her, well enough to know how much she valued the language of flowers. Roses meant passion.
Carnations?
Carnations—yellow carnations—meant … disappointment. Rejection.
As if the carnations hadn’t been insulting enough, the card hadn’t helped. Bland, boring, and printed—not even handwritten—on an insipid cardboard cut-out more suitable for a funeral arrangement.
Inside, all it said was “Thanks for all you do for McClellan Technology Group." No name. No signature.
At first she'd thought it was a joke. She'd even stood at her doorway, waiting—for longer than she cared to admit—certain that the real, promised bouquet of roses would arrive soon after.
After all, she'd forgiven the flowers’ late delivery. Since their encounter at the lodge, she'd barely even been in the office until this week. For the past six weeks, she’d bounced from smoothing out their client relations with information-gathering visits to their businesses to attending a mandatory training in Denver before flying out to Singapore for a development workshop from which she was still jetlagged.
But she couldn't forgive this card.
All she did?
What she did was help him win over clients by pretending to be in love with him—no matter that she actually was. What she did was always remember his clients’ names and add the right people to the company’s Christmas card list? What she did was send a case of Vince Judson’s favorite IPA, sealing Connor’s most recent deal, even while in another freaking country.
What she did was make him look so good that he was in the running for Esquire's Man of the Year again. Was that all she did for McClellan Technology Group?
Or, was all she’d done was have sex with him in a moment of weakness she regretted more and more with every awful day that passed?
He hadn't even thanked her for all she did for him. Rosalie had always brushed off Connor's single-minded focus on business, but there was no brushing off how he'd thanked her for helping his company.
“This is completely unacceptable—” The client’s voice rose, calling her attention back to him as he threatened to "—take this to someone higher." Rosalie jerked the leash on her runaway thoughts and sighed.
"You have every reason to be frustrated." Her words felt disloyal, but screw it. "The president of the company is aware of this issue." She glanced at the vase of carnations one more time before arriving at a decision. "Here's the number for his personal cell." She scribbled Connor’s direct line on a scrap of paper. "You can call him any time, day or night."
Handing the piece of paper to the suddenly pleased client, she bid him farewell, feeling petty but triumphant. Connor wouldn’t like being sold out like this. She was supposed to handle these issues so they wouldn't land in his lap. It was what she did for McClellan Technology Group.
She brushed her hands together, trying to hold on to the rush from petty revenge. But as soon as the client left, it faded, leaving her alone in her office with the carnations again. For all the satisfaction knowing that the client was about to ruin Connor's day gave her, she was pissed that they had come to this.
They'd known about the weakness in the software for months now.
Connor had known.
She'd told him, multiple times, that they needed a suitable patch for this stumbling block, but had he listened to her?
Did he respect her as more than a prop girlfriend at all?
Rosalie curled her fingers tightly, digging her nails into her palm to keep her cool. What the hell is going on with you? It wasn’t like her to react so strongly.
But this was Connor. Goddamn Connor McClellan. He made her feel like a million bucks every time she was at his side.
And an insignificant speck when he left.
Especially when he’d left her bed.
Her stomach clenched. Her usual breakfast of yogurt and granola wasn’t sitting right. Absently rubbing her belly, she steadied herself against her desk as dizziness hit. “Whoa,” she breathed. "Time for lunch."
She poked her head out of her office. “Are you over there?"
Rosalie’s office assistant Anna poked up from behind the high-walled desk at the front of her office. “Geez, that took forever! I thought he was going to grab a cot and sleep here! Whoa, you look like hell!" Bubbly and blonde, she had a way of framing the most cutting insults as endearing.
Rosalie laughed, rubbing her stomach again. “I don’t think I've fully shaken off that virus I picked up in Singapore.”
She’d gotten back from the international intensive only a few days ago. Clearly she was still jetlagged and queasy from the unfamiliar but delicious food. It would explain her craziness, her general irritation, and low mood. She glanced over at her desk.
The carnations were a pretty good explanation too.
Anna caught the direction of her gaze. “They are pretty though.” She smiled brightly. “Want me to order in for lunch? Something carb- filled and delicious to settle your stomach?”
Rosalie massaged the throbbing place between her eyebrows. “Yeah,” she sighed. “That would be great, thanks a lot." Retreating back to her office, she shut the door with a groan.
The lodge. The trip to Singapore where she'd represented McClellan well. All signs, she'd thought, pointing towards something more with Connor.
Until this.
With a grunt, she tore the sappy, impersonal card out of its holder and ripped it in two. "Thanks for all I do?" she hissed, shredding it into tiny pieces which drifted down to the garbage in irritating snow. "Sure, Connor. More like thanks for nothing."
Connor set his phone back on his desk and stretched his hands over his head in silent triumph. He'd just hung up with Ed Coney of Ventura Enterprises.
The one who’d gotten away was back.
And this time, Connor would get his business.
He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the gleaming surface of his antique oak desk. His one concession to frivolity, it had been his grandfather's, and though the sight of it drove his mother nuts, Connor had thought taking the token from the nasty old man after his death was appropriate.
Growing up, it had been just Connor and his mother. But he still thought grimly to this day, it shouldn’t have been. The fact that his mother had gotten pregnant, and then refused to marry the father was enough for Connor’s grandfather to cut her out of the will. Everything Connor had, he owed to his mom’s scrappy, ruthless drive to provide for them both. He’d built this company as a monument to her. He’d amassed his first million just to prove that everything she’d done had been worth it.
But there’d been a tiny --okay bigger than tiny – part of him that wanted revenge. See Pops? Look at what I accomplished. Bet you wish you’d treated Mom better now, huh?
Taking his desk was petty. But Connor felt entitled to a little pettiness every so often, at least when it came to his mother’s family.
He brushed his hand over the sleek surface of his grandfather’s desk, only to lift his phone absentmindedly and check it again.
No calls. No texts. He glanced out the window. Not even a freaking carrier pigeon.
All day he’d waited for Rosalie’s response. His secretary had been given explicit instructions. Four dozen yellow roses to be delivered right to Rosalie’s desk at the Aspen office. "You’re really good with words.” He'd winked at Jenny. “Make sure there'd something nice on the card. Romantic. Meaningful. I’m no good with that stuff.”