I laugh, though the sound is an admittedly hollow one.
“I didn’t come to argue. I was just hoping you could join me for a drive while we discuss things,” I explain, tapping my fingers nervously against the leather upholstery of my seat.
She considers me critically, and I’m somewhat surprised by the lack of scorn in her stare. I can only reason that she’s taking comfort in the effect her words have on me.
“I actually came to apologize,” I continue, meeting her gaze and holding it.
Determination sweeps over me, and more than anything, I want to show her how deeply sorry I am. More than anything, I long to take her into my arms. I know that idea is too far gone to ever consider again, but…a man can dream, can’t he?
She seems troubled by the intensity of my stare, glancing away and picking at her cuticles. Briefly, she makes a disgusted face before knocking on the window between the driver’s seat and the interior of the limo. Milo rolls it down, glancing towards her with a sheepish smile.
“You said you’d give me a napkin,” she says, and I can’t help but stare with vague amusement.
I glance towards Milo, trying to get a read on the situation. He says nothing, reaching into the glovebox and tossing a pack of said napkins towards Charlotte. She catches them with a faint smile, ripping the pack open. Milo keeps the window down for a moment longer, looking between the two of us.
“I would advise wiping off the back of your shirt as well,” he says quietly.
I raise a brow, but Charlotte simply grumbles, struggling to reach behind herself with one of the napkins. I roll up the window, restoring our privacy before taking one of the wipes into my hand.
“Turn around. You’re not going to be able to get it,” I insist, giving her shoulder a slight nudge. She groans pathetically, and it’s enough to bring a smile to my face. “Come on. Don’t be so dramatic; let me see,” I assert once more, chuckling as she levels a glare upon me.
“If you laugh, I’m getting out,” she says very seriously.
I hold my hands up defensively, offering her a gentle smile. She watches me for a moment before breathing a sigh and turning her back towards me. She continues to wipe her fingers, and I can’t help but make a face at the vaguely pink-tinted stain on the back of her shirt. I swallow my chuckles, reaching out to dab at the mark.
“What is this mess?” I ask softly, and she sighs as she finishes scrubbing her hands.
“I got gum on my shirt,” she replies blandly.
“I thought you fancied yourself more of a gumshoe,” I retort unthinkingly, nearly flinching as soon as the words pass my lips.
Her shoulders go stiff, and I’m almost certain she’s about to go off on me. However, she begins to snicker softly, and disbelief washes over me. Her snickers soon evolve into laughter, and I find myself chuckling as well. I continue to dab the stain on her shirt, and she turns to face me with a faint smile.
“I didn’t play a very good detective,” she admits.
I shrug my shoulders, folding the napkin up and putting it in the cup holder.
“You’re not the one who needs to apologize, you know,” she says after a thoughtful moment, and I can’t help but laugh, trying to disguise it with a cough.
“That’s certainly not how you felt at my apartment,” I hedge.
This time, she shrugs and considers me earnestly.
“I’ve had time to think. While I still hold that your actions ruined my life, as well as many others, I realize you’re right. It was never personal until I decided to take it a step further, and I suppose that was rather unfair of me,” she mumbles.
I find my lips curling in a smile as I lean back in the seat and cross my arms over my chest.
“Well, I should have looked into your past a bit deeper before agreeing to hire you for the maid position. That was a mistake on my part. Also…as much as I shouldn’t say this, I do regret the negative impact my business choice had on your life. I can’t say I haven’t considered the consequences of my actions; I’ve just never been faced with them so directly,” I reply gently.
She hums softly in acknowledgement, and we fall into a comfortable silence for a bit. She seems lost in thought, and I’m content to piece together my own thoughts before we reach our destination.
Soon enough, the limo pulls to a stop. Charlotte glances towards the window, somewhat surprised to see a picturesque picnic area laid out before us. There’s a few wooden tables lined up, as well as a swing set near the shallows of the lake I’ve brought her to.
She looks to me with curiosity in her gaze, a perfectly shaped brow curled inquisitively. I simply smile, remaining silent as Milo opens the door for us. Charlotte carefully shuffles out, and as soon as I step out, I can feel the pleasantly cool breeze wash over me.
“This place is beautiful,” Charlotte says decisively, sprinting in the direction of the swings.
Though I’d expected her to choose one of the simple wooden benches, I find myself chasing after her and plopping down in the second swing. She glances towards me with a faint smile, a lock of her hair obscuring her eyes. I reach out to brush it away, meeting her gaze again. Something in the air seems to shift, and she averts her eyes towards the water.
“I can’t say I understand why you brought me here, but…it’s nice,” she tells me with a smile.
“My parents brought me here when I was young. Though I have to attribute much of my wealth to them, I don’t have many happy memories of my parents. My father was a rather strict man, and my mother was prone to turning him against me in the worst of situations. This is…they brought me here from time to time, when things were good,” I explain.
“I suppose even the rich want for something,” she muses quietly, staring out towards the water.
My heart lurches in my chest, and for a moment, I reconsider my reasons for bringing her here. As much as I wanted to see her and apologize, I do have an ulterior motive. I know it could potentially break this tenuous kindness we’re showing each other, but, I can’t find it in me to let it go. All the same, I take a moment to stare out towards the water as I formulate my thoughts.
“Have you ever wanted children, Charlotte?” I ask, idly fidgeting with the chains on my swing.
If she notices my unease, she gives no indication. She simply laughs awkwardly, shrugging her shoulders. I consider pressing her, but before I can make a decision, she answers me.
“I’ve never really thought about it. I always thought I would be too busy with work, having a career that I could be proud of. Truthfully, I couldn’t imagine bringing a child into my life, as it is. In the future…maybe, though I guess the right man would have to come along. It’s just too much for me to take on, as it stands.” She pauses thoughtfully, turning to face me and tilting her head slightly. “What about you? Have you ever thought about settling down?”
I give pause for a moment, and though I’ve agonized over and rehearsed this conversation what seems a thousand times, I know it’s going to be awkward to explain. It’s too sudden, it’s too far, and too fast. However, I know what I want, and I’m not willing to let the opportunity slip away. I just have to plead my case properly. I meet the intense stare of those brilliant green eyes, a thrill shooting through my body.
“More than anything, I’ve always wanted an heir to leave my fortunes to. Someone to share this life with, a child to treat like royalty,” I begin, and she seems amused by the response.
I hesitate, carefully considering my phrasing and tone before continuing. This request must be asked with perfect delivery.
“I’m not looking for a relationship, however. Every woman I’ve been with has been limited to a purely physical affair. I want the reward, without all of the baggage,” I tell her.
Her expression shifts to one of confusion, but she still seems receptive to what I’m saying. At the very least, she seems curious.
“You’ve really never cared that deeply about someone? Enough to be with them?” Charlotte asks, an
d though my heart gives a painful throb in response to the question, I shake my head. She shrugs her shoulders, beginning to swing back and forth. “To each his own,” she says quietly.
Realizing I’m not making myself as obvious as I’d intended, I try again.
“I would be willing to offer the right woman a very sizable check, in exchange for providing me with an heir. I just never thought I might meet the right woman. Funny, right?” I prompt, glancing towards her with a nervous half-smile.
Her brow furrows, and about halfway through swinging in the air, she yelps and leaps out of her seat. She hits the ground awkwardly, her legs going askew before she hits the dirt.
I jump out of my own seat, racing towards her. “Are you okay?” I cry out.
Slowly rolling over, Charlotte groans and cradles her scraped knee. She seems too caught up in the pain to notice me, or perhaps she’s not heard me. I repeat myself, and she turns towards me with wild eyes. She struggles to lurch to her feet, pointing a finger at my chest almost accusingly.
Dread creeps up on me as I realize she’s finally understood the extent of my proposition. At least, it seems she’s finally concluded that I’m making a proposition.
“You’re asking me to give you a child?” she yells, confirming my suspicions.
I hesitate for a moment, briefly wondering if it’s too late to take it all back. I could play it off as a joke and she may believe me. I’m not quite willing to do that, however—not after coming this far.
“One child for one million dollars. I would take care of all of the medical expenses, any fertility treatments, and I would see that you received impeccable care,” I offer, laying all my cards out on the table.
Charlotte continues to stare at me with those eyes I so adore, her pouty lips hanging slightly open.
“Why me? Why, after all the crap we’ve been through, would you choose me?”
As much as I’d like to confess my desire to keep a piece of her with me, however small, I realize that it’s not the most conventional or sane answer.
“Your eyes. I love your eyes,” I answer abruptly, as soon as the answer pops into my mind.
The eyes in question bulge in disbelief, and she looks as if she may shout at me again. However, after a moment, her shoulders simply sag in a rather defeated sort of way. She turns away from me, taking long strides towards the limousine.
“Charlotte, wait,” I call out, moving to follow her.
“You know, I thought you really meant it. I thought you were sincerely sorry for what you’ve done to me, what you’ve done to hundreds of people. I thought you might even want to be friends, or something equally ridiculous,” she blurts out, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Then you pop this strange idea of yours on me, and I guess it’s clear now! You only want people in your life if they can serve a purpose for you. Having a friend isn’t enough. You want me to have your baby because you like my eyes?!” she shouts incredulously.
As ridiculous as I realize my offer seems, I can’t deny that I had hoped she would accept with little fuss. The fact that she was even considering being my friend doesn’t occur to me until she’s already at my limo. I rush to catch up with her, huffing and sputtering.
“Charlotte, please,” I implore.
She stares daggers at me, sitting in the back of the limo and closing the door before I can get in as well. Milo glances towards me in confusion, but realizing how thoroughly I’ve screwed up, I decide to give in to what she obviously wants.
“Take her home. Come back for me later,” I say, keeping my voice calm and level.
“Mr. Bradshaw—” Milo begins to argue, but Charlotte thumps her fist against the window.
“You heard him!” she snaps.
Milo frowns, but nods shallowly and starts the ignition. I step away from the car, watching as it pulls out of the parking lot. Knowing it will be some time before Milo returns, I make my way back to the swings and sit in the one I’d previously claimed.
It’s not the same without someone at my side…a friend. I would have been as lucky to have her as a friend. At least then, she would be in my life.
I don’t know how to let her go, but it seems I have little choice, now.
Way to go, Dillon.
Chapter Nine
Charlotte
Of all the dirty, rotten things! Even as I make my way back upstairs to my apartment, I can’t get over this all-encompassing anger. I can’t believe I fell for that bastard billionaire’s trap! I can’t believe I even entertained the idea of forgiving him.
It’s clear that he cares nothing about me, that he only wants me for my body. He doesn’t even want me to satisfy his sexual desires—he essentially wants to use me as a damn vessel! What he’s suggesting is outright sick, and, saying that…not all that different from any other surrogate situation.
While I can acknowledge his reasoning for wanting a surrogate mother, I simply can’t begin to fathom why he would choose me. In spite of his assertion that he likes my eyes, it’s not as if I’m some fashion model. He could probably pay off a famous actress if he wanted—seems he’d get his money’s worth much easier in that case.
Granted, I don’t even know why it matters if his child is attractive. Why else would he choose me based on my eyes, though? I can’t think of any reason he would choose me.
Panic grips me as I consider that perhaps it’s a farce, that maybe he’s hoping he’ll be able to screw around with me and then…then, I’d die in childbirth! Smacking my fist into my open palm, I lurch towards my computer and bring up a search engine.
I search all sorts of phrases that would make anyone else think I’m a serial killer, along the lines of ‘intentional death at childbirth’. None of the searches return anything particularly helpful, and I sag in my chair as the adrenaline begins to fade.
Okay, so maybe the murder idea was a bit of a stretch. It would make more sense that he was being upfront with me. Maybe he just likes my eyes, not to mention my vivacious personality and profoundly witty mind. It would make sense—if he were trying to gain an heir to his empire—for that child to be career-driven and nothing short of brilliant. While Dillon had his share of smarts, most of his riches came from dumb luck. Without his parents…
Wait.
Had the story about his parents been part of luring me in? It seems like a strange story to make up, and altogether unnecessary considering his end goal. Why would he open up to me about something so personal? He claimed to not want baggage, yet he seems to be trying to draw me deeper into his snare.
How I became caught in his web to begin with is a mystery to me. It isn’t as if I have some fixation on rich boys—all the guys I’ve dated in the past were just broke college students. Granted, my last serious relationship was years ago.
Why am I even overthinking this? I made it plainly obvious that I want no part of his little body renting notion, or covert murder scheme, or…sincere request. I grit my teeth, bringing my search engine back up. It provides me with a few suggestions based on what I’ve previously searched for, and I feel utterly ridiculous faced with my strange theories.
Resting my fingers on the keyboard for a moment, I consider how to phrase my question.
“What is the typical pay for a surrogate mother,” I muse aloud, typing the text in before I can talk myself out of it.
I press the enter key, and what seems an endless amount of results is returned. I click the first link, muttering under my breath. It seems the average is a little over forty thousand dollars, which is a little surprising considering the offer I’ve received. I guess Dillon thinks he will have any pick of women for a cool million, or maybe thinks that I’d be unable to turn him down.
It’s not as if I’d ever consider being a surrogate mother. Especially not for Dillon Bradshaw. I can’t even begin to fathom bringing a child into this world, a child that I would never get to know or grow close to. A child that would never know its mother. A child who…would have an absolutely doting father w
ho could provide them with the world. A child who would be given an empire, and the life of luxury as well as the love of a parent.
Unbidden, an image of what our child might look like springs to my mind. My heart aches at the thought.
Glancing towards my phone, I tell myself that I’m not going to call Dillon. Under no circumstances am I going to call him and let him plead his case. Even if he would arguably be the best father for a child, and he has every right to want an heir of his own blood. The million-dollar paycheck is on the back of my mind.
It’s not as if I’ll sell my body for even a million bucks. The thought of bringing happiness to not one life, but two, while receiving a heaping chunk of cash isn’t…that appealing. It’s not appealing at all! I’m not considering it! Except…I very much am, now that I think about it.
Grabbing my cellphone, I make quick work of calling Dillon’s number, which I should have deleted weeks ago. The line rings for a moment, and I’m sure he won’t pick up. At least I tried. Nothing more I can do if he won’t even answer my calls—
“Hello? Charlotte?” he answers, sounding out of breath.
My mind wanders to what might have him so breathless, but I quickly dispel those thoughts.
“Hi, Dillon,” I manage weakly, curling a lock of hair around my finger.
For a time that seems to stretch on forever, we’re both silent. He clears his throat, clearly waiting for me to speak.
“So, a million dollars?” I inquire softly.
He is quiet for a moment longer, though it sounds as if his breath catches.
“You’re actually considering it?” he asks, and I find myself growing flustered at the situation.
Even he is surprised that I called him back; if that’s not indicative of this being a bad idea, I don’t know what is.
“Oh, Charlotte, thank you. Yes, yes. Not to pressure you, but all the terms I outlined at the park are still, uh…on the table,” he says nervously.
I find my palms growing rather uncomfortably sweaty, my phone nearly slipping out of my hand.
Power Play - A MFMMM Reverse Harem Billionaire Romance (You Can't Resist a Bad Boy Book 6) Page 76