THE BILLIONAIRE'S BABY (A Secret Baby Romance)
Page 1
Contents
TITLE: THE BILLIONAIRE"S BABY
Lexi
Braden
Lexi
Braden
Lexi
Braden
Lexi
Braden
Lexi
Braden
Lexi
Braden
Lexi
Braden
Lexi
Braden
Lexi
Braden
Lexi
Braden
Lexi
BONUS BOOK #1 - SECRET BABY
Mel
Will
Mel
Will
Mel
Will
Mel
Will
Mel
Will
Mel
Will
Mel
Will
Mel
Will
Mel
Mel
BONUS BOOK #2 - PLAYBOY'S BABY
Tia
Tia
Tia
Neal
Neal
Tia
Tia
Neal
Tia
Tia
Neal
Tia
Tia
Neal
Tia
Tia
Neal
Tia
CONNECT!
THE BILLIONAIRE’S BABY
By
Mia Carson
COPYRIGHT © 2016
All Rights Reserved
Lexi
I inhaled the salty ocean breeze and let it out before taking a sip of the dark roast coffee. My feet ached, and my hands smelled strongly of lemon cleaner. I turned from the view of a hot-orange setting sun to my best friend, Clara.
“Tell me why I thought creative writing was such a good idea back at UC Berkeley?” My tone was half joking, half whiny.
Clara let out a laugh and ran a hand through her blonde, pixie-cut hair. “The same reason I thought trying to become an actress in L.A. was a good idea?”
We leaned back against the cafe chairs. In an attempt to revitalize ourselves with caffeine, we had come to a beach-hut coffee shop on Santa Monica beach. It had been a long day for both of us, and to sit on the café’s open patio was therapeutic. Clara’s chocolate brown eyes met mine across the table.
“But seriously, Lexi, you won’t have to clean houses forever. The key to breaking into the film industry is persistence, whether you’re trying to be an actress like me or a budding screenwriter like you. That’s what they say, anyway.” She heaved a wistful sigh, and her eyes moved to watch the crashing waves.
I followed her gaze and watched as two surfers cruised along a medium-sized wave. I wished I’d brought my surfboard to work today so I could get out on the ocean and forget my career and money issues and just ride the waves.
I’d surfed since I was thirteen, which had been easy since I’d grown up in a poorer part of Santa Monica, twenty minutes from the beach. My younger brother and dad had saved up all year and given me an old-school used board for that birthday. Dad, my brother Sean, and I had been on our own since my mom was killed in a car accident on the Pacific-Northwest Highway when I was eight. I’d been devastated, but I’d gotten used to family life with just the boys.
Since I’d officially become a teenager on that birthday long ago, I surfed as a way to feel better. Something about the cool ocean water, the adrenaline of riding a wave’s curl, and the tangy salt air cleared my head and lifted my spirits. Even the worst days would get better if I spent at least an hour catching waves.
But today, I’d left the board in my small apartment in Santa Monica, about twenty-five minutes inland from the beach. I lived three blocks from the tiny duplex where my dad and fifteen-year-old Sean lived. I’d left my board at home because I’d taken an extra cleaning job with my co-worker, Beth. We cleaned two Hollywood mansions, a six-in-the-morning-until-six-at-night job.
I thought I’d have no energy left, but I wished I could get the smell of lemon cleaner off my hands and replace it with saltwater. “I should’ve brought my board.” I voiced my thoughts to Clara.
She grinned and shook her head. “I don’t know how you find the energy after cleaning for twelve hours. I just did two casting calls and no manual labor today, and I’m wiped out.” She sipped her coffee, her expression frustrated. “Over two hundred other actors auditioned for each part, and I didn’t get either, I can tell.” Clara pouted, then brightened. “Hey, how about we surf together tomorrow? I don’t have to be at the bar until six.”
Clara bartended at a little pub at night, so her daytime hours were free for casting calls and auditions. She was petite and curvy with lots of energy and had a pretty, heart-shaped face—needless to say, Clara got good tips.
We’d both graduated from UC Berkeley three months ago. It was mid-August, and neither of us were any farther along in our desired career paths.
“Sorry,” I told Clara, “I only have one house to clean tomorrow morning, but I promised to take Sean to his summer soccer league game in the afternoon. Dad’s coming as well. I’ll probably head out tomorrow evening on my own while you’re at work.”
She shrugged and drained her mug. “Well, another time. And speaking of work, I have to get ready for my shift tonight—eight until closing.”
We stood and walked out the patio exit onto the warm sand. Clara was able to walk the four blocks to the beachfront pub, but she walked with me to my car first, which was more like the family car, as neither Sean nor my dad had one. Sean didn’t even have a license, much less money to buy a car. My dad had been in a wheelchair from MS for several years now, his legs mostly paralyzed, which meant he couldn’t drive anymore. So I was the designated family chauffeur as well the one who earned the most money at the moment. Sean was in tenth grade, getting part-time lawn care gigs in his spare time. Though Dad got a monthly disability check from the government, it was only enough to cover rent, utilities, and the necessary groceries.
Not only did I have my own bills and student loans to pay off from Berkeley, but I also earned all the extra money I could in order to give Dad and Sean funds for clothing and extra groceries, not to mention doctors’ bills for my dad. He had minimal medical coverage that didn’t meet all the costs of neurologist visits, MRIs, and the immune-suppressants he needed to survive.
My work at the cleaning service paid well because I worked in upscale L.A. mansions in Hollywood, the Santa Monica beachfront, and Malibu. The owners tipped well, but I still held onto my dream of becoming the screenwriter of a big hit movie. I’d applied to production companies, both small and large, all over the Los Angeles metropolitan area. Yet, like acting, trying to get your foot in the door for screenwriting, especially in L.A., was highly competitive.
When we reached my car, Clara asked, “So, no luck with the latest round of interviews?”
I rummaged through my tote bag for keys and replied, “Nope. Not even with the lowest of low assistant coffee-retriever positions at the small cable TV production company.” I’d applied to any and every position, however low-paying, at a movie or TV company, figuring I could work my way up.
Clara gave me a sympathetic look. “Sorry, Lexi. There’s always tomorrow for us both, I guess. You could bartend with me, you know. I don’t know how you do all that heavy-duty cleaning stuff. I hate mopping my own little kitchen.”
I opened the driver’s side door and looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “No thanks. I don’t know how you stand all those ogling, overly-flirty guys. I’ll take cleaning with Beth any day over that. It’s usually just us, and possibl
y a cat or dog. No womanizing men.” Then I paused and added, “Well, except for that one time last winter.”
My eyebrows furrowed at the thought, and a shiver of disgust ran through my body. I’d worked this past winter with the same cleaning company I currently did to earn some extra cash while home for the break.
“Oh, right.” Clara nodded sympathetically. “I remember that incident. Even I might have slapped that rich bastard if he was as bad as you say.”
“Oh, my God. Trust me, you would have. Ugh, no more talk of him, please. I need to relax and get ready for more cleaning tomorrow. Luckily, I’m cleaning a nice, older couple’s house in Hollywood once a week. Not some chauvinistic, dirty-mouthed, rich playboy like that guy.”
Clara barked out a short laugh. “Why don’t you tell me what you really think of him?” “Though,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, “he’s sinfully hot, from your description.”
A second repulsed shiver ran through me. It may also have been from the memory of how hot this man had truly been, though I’d never admit it. Despite my level of hatred for the guy, he’d been insanely gorgeous.
“Well, on that note, I’ll text you tomorrow, okay? Good luck at work, Clara.” We hugged quickly, and I got in my 1990 four-door sedan and started the engine. With a last wave goodbye to Clara as she walked back to the beach towards the bar, I headed out of the parking lot, across 3rd Street promenade, and battled traffic to get home.
***
After a hot shower and a dinner of chic-pea salad, I brushed my long, raven-black hair and stared absently at my reflection in an old mirror on my dresser. Though my pale skin never tanned, it was a half-shade darker than its usual opalescent hue, and I had a smattering of freckles across my nose. I had always been acutely aware of how non-typical I was for a California girl. I was the opposite of tanned, blond, and blue-eyed. Though I didn’t fit into that stereotype, I was proud that my green-gold eyes were exactly like my mom’s had been, and my pale skin and high cheekbones came from my dad. I might not look like Malibu Barbie, but at least my looks showed pieces of my heritage and genes, which meant much more to me than fitting in.
As I laid in bed trying to fall asleep, my mind drifted stubbornly to the incident when I’d cleaned that gorgeous billionaire’s estate in Malibu last summer. I remembered everything vividly. The huge house up on a hill overlooked the ocean and had a stairway straight down to the beach.
I’d worked with Beth then, too. She was close to my dad’s age and played the mom-role in some ways. She’d been cleaning the house with me one Friday afternoon during my winter break in preparation for the owner’s big celebrity-filled party that night. Beth was beyond exhausted, not having the stamina of someone in their early twenties like me. I’d told her to head on out and that I’d finish the last room—the dining room.
The house’s owner, Braden, was a CEO for some business. Even though he was well-known, I’d forgotten his last name and wasn’t even sure what type of company he owned, since I couldn’t care less about the man. Whatever he did for a living, he clearly made mega-bucks.
Braden hadn’t been around for most of the cleaning, though caterers and an event manager scurried through the rooms. As I waxed the last part of the hardwood dining room floor, I felt someone watching me. His presence was so strong, I didn’t even have to look to know a man was watching me with palpable intensity.
I’d turned instinctively and straightened my white apron. As a cleaning company that served the higher, wealthier class, we were expected to wear a version of the traditional maid uniform. The outfit was composed of a knee-length, black dress with short-sleeves, a white half-apron edged with ruffles, and a frilly white collar to match.
The moment I’d made eye contact, my breath caught. His piercing, crystal-blue eyes had held mine like magnets, and I had to force myself to ignore the instant flutter that started in my stomach and worked its way to my fingertips. His eyes traveled slowly down my body, causing my skin to erupt into goose bumps.
I gave him the once-over as well. His dirty-blond hair was purposefully disheveled, his arching eyebrows a solid brown, and his face was a deep, golden tan, as if he spent a good amount of time outdoors. With high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a devilish quirk on his full mouth, he was beyond cute. This man was breathtakingly beautiful. To go with his strikingly handsome face was a tall, broad frame. He wore flawlessly tailored dress pants and a fitted white button-down shirt with a blue tie, and I could tell he had a rock-solid body underneath.
As if in a trance, I stood frozen, mop in hand, as my eyes roamed back up and lingered on his full lower lip for a moment.
“Ahem.” The deep sound of a throat clearing broke me out of my daze, and my eyes flicked back up to meet his again. His eyes danced with amusement, and he took a step closer with a hand held out. “Hey, there. I’m Braden.” His voice was deep and sexy to match his looks, “And you are?”
I blinked twice and placed my free hand tentatively in his. The second my hand touched his strong, warm one, tingles shot along my arm and into my spine. His touch was so powerful I almost jumped back. I forced myself to shake his hand, drawing mine back quickly as my pale cheeks blushed furiously. His quirked mouth widened into a full-on boyish grin, and I realized I hadn’t answered his question.
“Oh, I’m Lexi, with the cleaning service,” I squeaked. Damn. I wasn’t normally so easily frazzled by men, but there was something about this guy that made me feel like a stuttering idiot. Sure, he was ridiculously hot, but that had never caused such a strong reaction in me before, and it scared the crap out of me.
“Well, ‘Lexi with the cleaning service,’ nice to meet you,” he said, as his eyes raked over my figure again. I could feel him undressing me with his gaze, and my entire body flushed. One of the disadvantages of having such a fair complexion was that people could always tell if I was even a tiny bit flustered.
I had no doubt Braden saw my entire face and neck turn bright pink. His eyes glinted dangerously and locked onto mine. “So, going with the traditional maid outfit, huh?” His fingers played lightly with the end of the short sleeve on my right arm and sent a fresh course of tingles through my veins. He continued casually. “They should make it a little more modern. Shorter skirt and lower neckline, you know?”
My mouth dropped open to tell him off as my mind screamed with rage at his audacity, but my ability to speak or move my body appeared to be gone. Braden stepped closer, his solid frame only inches from mine, and I could feel the heat radiating off his body.
“Now that you’re done with this room, why don’t you come assist me in cleaning my bedroom? And Lexi,” his face was an inch away as he leaned in, and his mouth lightly brushed my ear as he spoke, “I’m hoping you do other kinds of servicing as well.” His hot breath tickled my ear.
Even though I was completely turned on against my will, he’d crossed too many lines. My heart hammered as I unfroze and pushed his chest with my open palms as hard as I could, letting the waxing mop clatter to the floor. He took a few surprised steps back, and I pointed an angry finger at him.
“Don’t you dare put your hands on me,” I hissed at him. I maintained my death glare and added in a low, seething voice, “I don’t care if you’re filthy rich, Braden. I’ve never in my life been treated with such blatant, womanizing disrespect!” I moved closer to him and stuck my finger at his very broad chest as he gaped at me, his eyes wide in a mixture of surprise and guilt. “And I won’t be servicing you again in any way, shape, or form. Not housecleaning, or catering, or anything—ever. Do I make myself clear?” I left a stunned and speechless Braden standing in his dining room while I marched out the back door to the serving staff parking area. I drove off in the cleaning company’s van as tears of anger and humiliation streamed down my face.
I completely loathed that man, but as I drifted to sleep that night, all I could see were his penetrating, icy-blue eyes and his impish smirk.
Braden
As I
passed by the dining room on the way to the kitchen of my Malibu estate, I glanced in at the young woman from the cleaning service, wiping dust from the window ledges. The sight of the woman cleaning triggered the memory of another young lady from the same cleaning service who had been in last winter.
I don’t know what had come over me the day I said those chauvinistic things to the beautiful cleaning girl, Lexi. Actually, that was a lie. I knew exactly what had come over me—or rather, who I was acting like. I’d been behaving just like my dad. After four marriages followed by four divorces, my dad was currently running around Brazil leaving broken hearts in his trail.
For as long as I remembered, my dad had been a womanizing playboy. I’d been closer to my mom, his first wife, and viewed Dad as an immature, though charming man. He was mostly on cordial terms with my mom, who lived nearby in Pasadena, which was why I didn’t hate him. I’d just never specifically wanted to follow in his footsteps. However, I’d started seeing my dad’s behavior emerging in my own actions after high school. None of it was intentional, and after I’d taken over my dad’s multi-million dollar Hollywood production company, I was known by all as an infamous, womanizing playboy, just like him.
To be fair, I wasn’t actually like that, not underneath the image. Unknown to the media, I often hung out with my younger sister and my mom, or my graphic designer best friend, Scott. I’d had my fair share of women, though, and had never been in a relationship that lasted past three months. At big celebrity parties or in a VIP club, I felt myself sliding into the flirting playboy role, even though I seldom meant it. Often times, when I acted macho and demeaning towards women, I felt pangs of guilt and an underlying emptiness inside.
After I’d treated Lexi the same way I acted towards women at the club, and she’d called me on it, I was determined to find her and apologize. I wanted to do more than apologize. I wanted her—and not just in a physical way, though my body had burst into flames the second I’d seen her. Even in that dowdy maid’s uniform, Lexi’s stunning curves, wide green eyes, and long black hair were hot as hell.