Billionaire's Secret Baby: A Billionaire Romance

by Claire Angel

  “I’d like that.” I smiled back. Then I walked across to him, kissed him on the cheek, and got the hell out of there before I did something stupid.

  “Chat tomorrow,” he said and escorted me to the door. “Sleep tight, sexy lady.”

  I was out the door before he could say, ‘horny hooligan coming through’. I marched down the hall to the elevator, piss and vinegar oozing from my pores, and a swollen vajayjay. Sadie owed me large!

  After I talked Adam off the ledge, I had a hot shower, went over the event prep for the next day, and climbed into bed. My thoughts kept drifting to Chris Carter. Perhaps it was a good thing that Sadie called. I didn’t want Chris to think I was easy, but the way we left it was rather disappointing. He handled it brilliantly, I thought. A lesser gentleman would certainly have thrown his toys out, but not our Mr. Carter. He obviously didn’t get to where he was by being an impatient prat.

  I decided that I’d never get to sleep if I kept straying back to thoughts of Chris cupping my ass and fondling my breasts, so I rolled onto my side in my favorite fetal sleeping position and bid the day farewell.

  Happy smurf’s wake-up call was right on cue. I tried my best to be civil, but I doubted it was successful. The coffee and croissants went down like a homesick mole, and after a quick freshening up, I put on my most efficient looking outfit, and left the room.

  The day would be spent babysitting the who’s who, and granting their every wish, from breakfast time, to a few rounds of golf, and everything in between. Scotty was in fine form, beaming from ear to ear when he saw me walking down the hall toward him.

  “So, did you get yourself some quality Carter last night?” He grinned at me.

  “Scotty, what do you think I am? A tart?”

  “Yeah, yeah, just answer the question, you hussy,” he said as he pulled a face at me.

  “No, actually. I thought I’d leave him wanting more.”

  “Okay, what went wrong?”

  “You mean apart from Sadie interrupting my fun with one of her ill-timed phone calls?” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “NO! Not the dragon. Does that woman ever sleep?”

  “No, she hangs upside down until she hears her employees having fun. Then, she swoops in and spoils the fun,” I said with a dreary look.

  “Okay, batshit crazy Sadie notwithstanding, spill it, sista! Is he a good kisser?” Scotty’s beady eyes were laser sharp.

  “Amazing,” I teased.

  “Ahhh, some bitches have all the fun.” He laughed.

  “Okay, horndog, time to work. How’re things looking downstairs?”

  It was odd, but I didn’t feel comfortable talking about Chris with Scotty, or anyone else for that matter. Usually, I’d be on the phone to Diane before my ovaries had a chance to stop bouncing, but something kept me from gushing. I wanted to keep him all to myself.

  “All good. The MC is ready for the little golf-do this arvie, the meals are sorted, and the rest of our little team is on hand for any emergencies.”

  “Good. By the way, I had to talk Adam off a ledge last night. He was having a small stroke over the Mitchum account. I knew he wasn’t ready, but Sadie didn’t want to hear it. Now, I have to swoop in and save his ass.”

  “Yeah, no prizes for guessing why Adam was chosen for the job. The She-devil would love to sink her claws into his soft toosh,” Scotty snarked.

  Sadie had a bit of a thing for younger men. They were like catnip to her. The fact that she scared the shit out of them was lost on her. Adam was fresh meat, the poor thing, and worthy of her lustful intent. I guessed he would be punished for making her look bad. I’d miss his cute buns around the office.

  “Good morning,” I heard behind me. The voice was unmistakable.

  “Hi, there.” I turned and smiled at the beautiful Chris Carter. Was there anything he couldn’t wear? He had on his golf gear, and I had to admit that the idea of teeing off suddenly made total sense to me.

  “Good morning, Mr. Carter,” Scotty gushed. His eyes ran up and down Chris’ person like he was a crispy pork chop.

  “Hi. Scotty was it?”

  “Indeed. You look well rested. If you need anything, please feel free to call on me.” Scotty winked at me, without Chris seeing, and tootled off to rearrange something or another.

  “Helpful chap.” Chris grinned.

  “Isn’t he just? Anyway. How are you this fine morning? Did you sleep well?” He was smiling at me, which made my knees slightly wobbly.

  “Slept like a baby. You ready to kick ass on the golf course?”

  “Of course.” She grinned. “It’s not like these lily livered suck ups are going to let me lose, now are they? Being the boss makes for boring outdoor sports. If only I had a proper challenge. You don’t play, do you?” he asked me.

  “Golf, no. But give me a hockey stick, and I’ll run circles around you.”

  “Maybe I’ll take you up on that someday,” he said.

  I had to get the hell out of there. The longer I spoke to him, the more desperate I was to rip off his shirt and lick his perfect pecs. The heat rose to my cheeks without warning, and I pretended to look for something in my leather case.

  “I’m keeping you again,” he said apologetically. “I’ll see you later.”

  He flashed his pearly whites at me and then walked away, casual as can be. I stared with wicked intent at his ass as he went. Get your shit together, Lauren. Go do something productive.

  ***

  CHRIS

  It took me a while to fall asleep after ‘Laurengate’. Her perfume was all over my shirt, and the smell of her shampoo lingered on my fingertips. I’d tried my best not to pout like a petulant toddler when she had to leave, but I was sure I pulled it off successfully. I stared after her as she left my suite, disappointed as hell.

  I had to do something to keep myself occupied, so I checked my voice messages. Pierre had called, and by the tone of his voice, I gathered the deal had gone well. I was pleased for him. He was a good guy and he worked like a trojan. I was fortunate to have him on my team, people who I could trust in and rely on, which, in my world, was a rarity.

  I had my mother’s instinct for people. Her discernment was razor sharp—the woman could smell bullshit a mile off. If I was serious about a woman, I’d only have to take her to meet my parents once. If she was no good, Mom would give me ‘the look’, signaling that I was a moron and knew exactly squat when it came to matters of the heart. She wasn’t wrong.

  When it came to the intricacies of a business deal, most men scored high on the smart o'meter, but understanding and appreciating the inner machinations of women, left most of us feeling around in the dark like star-nosed-moles.

  It was time to call it a night, so I caught up on the news, then tucked myself in. As I drifted off to sleep, I thought of Lauren’s beautiful eyes. I wondered what the rest of her body would be like. Tongue or fingers, I planned on exploring her sooner rather than later. Who knew? If I was a good boy, perhaps I could plant my flag, too.

  I awoke long before my alarm sounded. With all the stuff happening that day, the only thing I found myself thinking about was dinner with Lauren. Despite my billions and occasional cocky self-assurance, I was just a little boy staring through the window at the shiniest bike on the shop floor. Was I really that shallow, or did I want more from Lauren than a piece of fine tail?

  Unfortunately for me, I’d become accustomed to shallow women. The wannabes, the social scalers, the fame seekers. But Lauren was different. I wasn’t sure why I thought that, but I did. I would find out soon enough, I suspected. There’d be plenty of time to figure it out. I did have her in my ‘employ’ for the week. Seven days was a long time to hide bad habits, and if the stunning Lauren had any, I’d root them out.

  A continental breakfast was waiting for me in the dining room when I opened the double doors that led from my bedroom to the living area. No croissant ever went spare when I was around. After breakfast, I got ready for the day and headed to th
e conference area.

  The lobby was buzzing with staff and guests, leaving no quiet haunts for anyone to relish. Summer in France beckoned tourists from all around the globe to enjoy her spoils. It was a glorious morning, and the holiday feel was all around.

  The plan for the day was to hit a few balls—and play a bit of golf at the same time. As I approached the conference room, I caught the familiar scent that got my jockstrap in a bunch. I followed my nose, which led me to her, the green-eyed goddess with dark hair and olive skin. She had her back to me, but I would have recognized that ass anywhere.

  She had on a tight pair of white slacks, a teal green cotton shirt, tied at the waist, and wore her hair down. I saw the faintest outline of a white gstring showing through her pants, and almost tripped over my tongue. Thank goodness she wasn’t looking my way, or I’d have felt a right tit.

  She wasn't expecting to see me. That was evident from the look on her face when I spoke from behind her. Her green eyes sparkled as she looked me over. I could only hope that she liked what she saw.

  “Good morning.” I smiled, and she and I moved away to talk.

  “Hi, there. No hangover I see. I guess you’re tougher than I thought.” She grinned.

  “Strong as a Texan ox,” I said, while soaking up her beauty.

  “Now that I know who I’m dealing with, I’ll be sure to bring the strong stuff next time.” She laughed.

  “We’ll see about that.” I grinned. “See you later, pretty lady.”

  “À toute à l'heure,” she greeted and off she went without fanfare.

  Innocuous small talk done and dusted, I left her to her job, and made my way out to the garden.

  “Ahoy, me matey,” I heard a Scottish accent hollering at me from across the green lawn.

  Harry was up and about, no doubt dying to kick ass on the golf course. He was about the only one who tried his level best to whip my ass when it came to the ‘gentlemen’s game’. The irony wasn’t lost on me—golf was just another way to rip your opponent a new one, nothing gentlemanly about that.

  “Hi, there, Harry. Love the checkered Knickerbockers,” I said as he proudly sported his tartan golf shorts.

  “Why, thank ye, young man. Maybe someday ye’ll let me take ye shopping for real golf clothes, not the yuppie stuff ye youngsters wear.”

  “I may just take you up on that offer, Harry. In fact, if you whip my ass today, I’ll call the pro-shop myself and book a tailor.” I grinned at the crazy Scotsman.

  “So,” He grinned, “where’s that young filly I saw ye talking to last night? Pretty little thing, she was. Planning on getting yer heart broken, are ye?”

  “Don’t you worry about my heart, Harry.” I laughed. “Worry about your golf swing rather.”

  “Och, ye can’t hide it from me, laddy. I saw the way ye were looking at her. The same way I looked at Irene when I first saw me bonnie lass.” Harry’s face softened whenever he spoke of Irene. Totally smitten, he was.

  I wasn’t about to spill my guts to old Harry. He was a good sort, but it felt wrong objectifying Lauren. I changed the subject to golf matters, and was glad when Harry dropped the subject.

  The rest of the morning was spent psyching out the competition, rushing around the 18 holes on carts, and laughing hysterically at Harry’s Scottish humor. I was very happy to stave off the checkered golf pants shopping expedition by pulling off a solid victory. Then, I went to the club house for a drink, and upstairs to my suite to wash the spittle from my ass cheeks.

  Chapter 7

  LAUREN

  I caught a glimpse of Chris here and there during the afternoon. He was mingling, and I was working my magic to make sure there weren’t any cockups. By six o’ clock, I was ready to hand the crowd over to the delectable cuisine of chef Francois. I was looking forward to dinner with the sexy one.

  I found a note pushed under the door of my room, when I finally dragged my weary bones upstairs. The handwriting was beautiful, long broad strokes, the handwriting of someone who was confident and to the point. No waffling.

  Hi, Lauren.

  You looked beautiful today. I’m looking forward to our dinner. I’ll see you downstairs in the lobby at eight.

  Chris

  My heart did a little flutter when I read his name. I knew it was a tad juvenile, but I didn’t care. I’d be the best temptress I could be, without being slutty, of course, so I chose my outfit carefully. I chuckled at my indecisiveness—you’d think I was meeting the queen.

  Just before eight, I had a critical look at myself in the mirror. Satisfied, I grabbed my purse and headed for the lobby. My stomach was playing hide and seek with my colon as I stepped onto the elevator. A couple was holding hands, and talking lovingly to each other. It was rare to see such a display of affection. I wanted what they had.

  My parents, despite the fact that they were opposites, were a good match. It hadn’t always been plain sailing, but they seemed to pull it together when the chips were down. I hoped to find someone with which to share that kind of love. Thus far, I hadn’t had much success, but I was the eternal, incurable romantic, and Mr. Carter, with his excellent manners and ridiculously tight ass, appeared to be an excellent candidate. Or so I told myself.

  The light breeze outside, carried the fragrant scent of flowers wafting into the lobby. He sat on a leather couch, near the front desk, looking like he’d just stepped off the cover of a ‘Hunk of the Year’ Magazine. His face was clean shaven—thank God, I hated beard rash—and when he saw me, he had a bright smile. He wore black chinos with a white shirt and white sneakers. I could smell his subtle cologne as I approached.

  “Ah,” I said, “there’s my drinking partner. You clean up nice, Mr. Carter.” He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

  “You don’t look too scrappy yourself, Miss Styles.” He looked down at my legs and smiled. “Nice pins,” he commented with a grin.

  I had on a short white skirt, a pale blue top, and flat, brown leather sandals.

  “I’m glad you approve. I’d hate to have to rush upstairs and change,” I snarked.

  He laughed. “Are you ready, pretty lady?”

  “I do believe so.” I smiled.

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  He took my hand and walked toward the entrance to the hotel. Outside, a driver brought his car around, and Chris opened the door for me.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not kidnapping you. Not yet, anyway.”

  “I’ll try and stay calm.” I grinned as he came around the front of the car and got into the driver’s seat of his vintage 1960 Ferrari 250 GTO. I felt like a sixties Hollywood actress dating the heartthrob of the moment. “Where are we going?”

  “I thought we’d take a break from prying eyes tonight. I made a reservation at a bistro not too far from here, where we can enjoy dinner in peace.”

  “Sounds lovely. Always good to have home advantage, isn't it?” I said.

  “Relax, honey. You’re in my hood now,” he said with a devilish look.

  I couldn’t help laughing. He was relaxed, and I supposed it was the fact that he wasn’t in work mode just then. I had no idea, nor did I want to, what it was like to be in charge of so many people and their dramas. Chris seemed to take it in his stride. I wondered if he was always that confident and calm. Did anything rattle the billionaire’s cage?

  “I hope you’re hungry,” he said. “The chef has two Michelin stars, and he makes a moules mariniere that will make your toes curl. That’s assuming, of course, that you like mussels,” he said, sounding a tad unsure.

  “Doesn’t everybody?” I asked. “I’m not the kind of woman who picks at food or pushes it around on my plate. And if you want to get on my bad side, then order me a measly salad with gluten free croutons and low-fat salad dressing for dinner. I love food and I’ll eat just about anything, including Brussels sprouts.”

  “You realise I’m going to have to marry you now, right?” He giggled.

  His words made me blush, and I felt
rather silly about it. I was glad that the inside of the car was rather dark.

  “So, apart from tequila and food, what are your passions?” He looked straight ahead as we were rounding a tight bend.

  “Work. Oh, and hiking,” I said.

  “Hhmm, yes, I did recognize that workaholic look about you. Do you ever give yourself a break?”

  “Not often. My friends tell me I’m OCD, but I prefer to call it pursuit of precision,” I said in a jocular fashion.

  “Hey, no judgement here,” he said. “I know what it’s like to want to do things right.”

  “No kidding. I take it you're not a trust fund baby then?”

  “Far from it. I made my fortune the old American way.”

  “Bribery and corruption?” I giggled.

  “And then some.” He laughed.

  It was surprisingly easy to talk to him. I didn’t know what I expected, but casual as can be, shooting the breeze with a billionaire, wasn’t it. The more we talked, the more I liked him. He seemed open and keen to share his opinions, and his personal life, which was unexpected. He never once dropped names or alluded to his wealth and possessions, and most important of all, he made me laugh. The night was young and I was relaxed.

  ***

  CHRIS

  The girl had a set of legs that would make men weep and women green with envy. Even in flat shoes, her calves had defined muscles standing proud. My favorite bit was the rounded muscle above, on the inside of her knee. I tried to be cool and not stare at them but it was damned difficult to focus on anything else. I always had her eyes to fall back on, so I kept my head up.

  All the way to the bistro, I fought the impulse to run my hand up her smooth thigh. Her witty conversation and lightning speed comebacks kept me occupied enough to abandon mission ‘jump her bones’.

  I reserved a private dining room at the bistro. The last thing I wanted was to share Lauren with anyone. One wouldn’t think so, but running into an acquaintance in France in summer, was as common as green on grass. The private room led out onto a terrace, overlooking an olive grove. It was roughly an hour before sunset when Lauren and I were seated at our table; the orange and pink hues of sunset played across the rows of vines. French music played softly in the background, and the champagne that I’d ordered beforehand was on ice.