Billionaire Baby Bump

by Chance Carter

  My jaw dropped open. I’d never heard her sound so serious before, and she rarely swore, choosing more dramatic forms of speech. I tried to recall the last time I heard her say a swear word any more brash than shit. This was strange, especially considering she was sober.

  “I think you’re over—” I tried to say, but she held up a hand to silence me.

  “Listen to me, darling. I’ve had my hang ups about your relationship with Emma, and I’ll be the first to admit that perhaps I judged her a bit too soon. That being said, I can see how happy you are with her. You’ve suffered from a few of your father’s faults in your lifetime, but one in particular has been your coldness.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “I’m not cold. I’m always very friendly.”

  “Ah, but that doesn’t mean you’re warm,” she said. “You’re friendly and polite, sure, but you don’t make connections with people, Maximilian. You’ve got one true friend, and I suspect the only reason you two are friends in the first place is because you grew up around each other and Jeremy annoyed you until you finally gave into him. You’ve never opened yourself up to another person so easily as you did with Emma. Perhaps part of the reason I’ve been so adamantly trying to set you up is because I feared you wouldn’t come across a partner naturally. I won’t always be around, dear, and the thought of you living out the rest of your days as a lonely old man was positively taxing. I was hoping that you’d form the same connection with one of my girls that you eventually went on to form with Emma. And, yes, perhaps I was a teensy bit offended when none of the girls I’d chosen were good enough, but your new assistant was.”

  I stared, trying to think of a response. She was being so open with me that I didn’t quite know how to handle it. I felt like I could ask my mother anything right now and she’d reply honestly and without hesitation. Normally digging deeper than the surface led to a few hasty redirects and a reminder that it wasn’t polite to pry.

  “I didn’t expect that out of you,” I replied. “I appreciate it, though.”

  “Good.” She picked up her food and started eating again. “Now are you going to do something about it, or are you going to continue moping until I start parading women through your office again?”

  I laughed. “Much as I’d love to do something about it, Emma has said her piece. I can’t expect her to change her mind any more than she expects me to change mine.”

  “Just because she doesn’t expect you to change your mind doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.” She pointed her chopsticks at me demonstratively. “You’ve forged this ridiculous anti-marriage attitude based on the farce that was the only marriage you’ve really ever been exposed to. I’ve never bothered to sit down with you and help you understand the way things went with your father and I. I should have, and that is my fault.”

  “He’s dead, Mother. You don’t need to make excuses for him anymore.”

  “I’m not making excuses! Sit back and eat your food.”

  I did as she said, enjoying this more lucid side of my mother very much.

  “I know that you think poorly of your father based on his many affairs. I don’t blame you. My opinion of him, which had always been nearly immaculate, took a nose dive the first time I found a pair of panties that weren’t mine under our bed. Our bed, Maximilian. Christ, it tore me to pieces. I agree with you that to vow to be with someone for the rest of your life and then to go off and do something like that is a grievous crime.

  But I also know that you’re not the same man your father was. You share many of the same characteristics, and sometimes yes, it is like looking back on an old photo of him, but there are far more differences than there are similarities. For one thing, your father treated me like a queen. He doted on me hand and foot, buying me little presents and always remembering my birthday and our anniversary. He told me he loved me every day, even long after I had stopped listening.”

  “And you’re saying I’m not like that?” I scowled. “I’m not sure how this is supposed to be inspiring. So far you’ve told me that I give off the impression of a cold fish.”

  She sighed, “Listen, darling, listen. Yes, your father was sweet on me like honey. He was also just as sweet to Ruth, Merida, Brenda, Tiffany...” She trailed off, her lips quirked into an amused smile. “Am I making my point?”

  I nodded, and she continued.

  “And you know, I wouldn’t have had things any other way, as far as your father was concerned. Our marriage was fraught with difficulty, but the one thing I’ll never regret, so long as I live, is having you. Loving someone as wholly as I love you is worth all the complications in the world. It’s worth everything. My only hope is that you get to experience that kind of love in your life, but without all the negativity that came with mine.”

  This was not how I expected this impromptu dinner with my mother to go.

  “Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “No thanks necessary,” she replied, waving me off with her chopsticks. “It has been my pleasure raising you, even if you are at times an abhorrently rude boy.”

  She smiled mischievously and continued digging into her food.

  For the first time in such a long while, I felt like my mother and I were on the same team. It felt good.

  Mother left just after we’d finished eating. I cleaned up, carrying the garbage over to the kitchen and putting the food we hadn’t touched in the fridge as a free lunch for someone tomorrow.

  Afterward, I finished up my work for the day and left my office. The sun had long since slid below the horizon, and it looked more like the middle of the night than late evening.

  I grabbed some papers I needed Emma to scan on the way out, sliding them atop her desk. I noticed her computer was still on, which was unusual for her. She was normally all about saving energy where she could. She must’ve been stressed out from and forgotten.

  Out of curiosity, and because I knew I’d probably never get the opportunity again, I leaned over the back of her chair and clicked to pull the computer out of sleep mode. Then, feeling like a complete creep, I pulled up Pinterest. She was still logged in. Her wedding planning board, her raison d’etre, was mine to browse at my leisure.

  Chapter 31

  Emma

  “This one sounds interesting,” Willow called from the other side of the couch. “Creative individuals wanted for temporary, cash work.” She frowned, mumbling the next part. “Must be comfortable with nudity.”

  “Someone else’s or my own?” I replied.

  She shrugged, “Doesn’t say. Shall I send you the link?”

  I laughed and tossed a pillow at her. Looking at jobs was stressful, but at least with Willow around it wasn’t as bad as it could be. I should have started scouring for any and every job I was qualified for the moment I decided to hand in my notice at Goodman-Westfield, but I’d been dragging my feet. Now I was officially unemployed. Just me, a dwindling lump of savings, and selection of listings to weed through to find ones that didn’t involve nudity. Mine or otherwise.

  “Are you sure you want to leave the business world so soon?” Willow asked. “I’m finding tons of jobs for office admin and that kind of thing.”

  “I’ll go to it as a backup, but I’d rather find something where I can flex my creative muscles a bit. I’ve got some money while I figure things out.”

  Not much, though.

  “As a kindergarten teacher, I completely agree that you should find a job that suits you spiritually as well as financially,” she said, her tone diplomatic. “But I do think you need to take into account the fact that creative jobs usually require some sort of post-secondary degree. Being a self-taught artist isn’t enough.”

  I sighed, “I know, Will. Like I said, if I don’t find anything I can fall back on my office experience. I just really want to try something new. Something fresh.”

  Something that wouldn’t remind me of Max.

  “Maybe you don’t even need to be looking at jobs right now.”

>   I tossed a quizzical stare at my best friend. “What do you mean? Of course, I do.” My tone came out harsher than I intended. I sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. This whole process is just taking a toll on me, you know? I feel like I’m running out of time to find my place in the world, meanwhile everybody else seems to have it all figured out.”

  “You could take some time off, do some soul searching.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes, still staring at the screen of her laptop.

  She’d been acting strange all day since I first asked her to come over and help me look for jobs. Willow was normally a fairly strange person anyway, so I didn’t think much of it at first. But telling me not to apply to any jobs was distinctly out of character. When I first quit two weeks ago, she’d sent me an email with links to several job boards that very same day.

  “I don’t understand you at all,” I mused.

  Willow laughed. “Me neither sometimes.”

  Her phone trilled from the arm of the couch, and Willow practically leapt into the air.

  “Oh my God, relax,” I said, laughing. “It’s just your phone.”

  She snatched it up and rose to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

  I lifted a brow in response to her strange and sudden need for privacy, but didn’t press it. She was entitled to not have me listen in on her phone calls if she wanted.

  Willow slipped off to the bathroom. While I continued searching for jobs, finding nothing that I was qualified for much less interested in, I was feeling even more demoralized by the second. The anxiety swirling thick in my chest refused to abate, and all I wanted to do was call Max. I’d been fighting the urge all week. Willow was great, but I knew a few words and a hug from Max, and I wouldn’t be worrying anymore. Too bad I’d burned that bridge.

  She came back a few minutes later, smiling nervously at me as she resettled into her spot on the other side of the couch.

  “Right... where were we?” She rubbed her hands together and pulled the laptop back over her knees.

  “Maybe I should just go home.” The words came out small and weak, which was exactly how I felt for saying them in the first place.

  “You are home.”

  I tossed her a pointed look and her mouth formed into a silent “O.”

  “You can’t go back there,” she said, less than a second later. “You hated it there. You spent all your teenage years plotting your escape.”

  “True,” I said, “but I also know that my parents will take care of me. I’ve got some money to get me by, but rent isn’t cheap and if I don’t find a job soon then I’ll blow through my savings in no time.” I shrugged. “Besides, maybe it’s gotten less horrible. I mean, it’s not like they ever beat me or anything. Surely they can’t be as controlling, now that I’m a grown adult and all.”

  She snorted. “Less horrible? I doubt it. If anything, you going back would just give your parents the motivation to tighten things down even more. I might never see you again.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. This is all just stressing me out. I’m beginning to wonder if leaving Goodman-Westfield was a mistake.”

  Willow reached down the sofa and rested her hand on my arm. “You did what you needed to do. Now you just have to trust that things are going to work out. Don’t go home. Stay in New York with me and we’ll find you a job if it’s the last thing we do.”

  We lapsed into silence, save for the clicking of keys as we scrolled through pages of job listings.

  I wondered if Max missed me. As an employee. As a lover. Probably a little of both, though I hardly found the idea comforting. At the end of the day, he had still let me go. He’d let me leave. It wasn’t like he was supposed to chase after me on a white steed or anything, but he didn’t exactly put up much of a fight. I barely spoke to him during those last two weeks, and he did the same. Maybe he was secretly relieved that I quit the job… and him.

  Our quiet was interrupted once more by Willow’s cell phone. She swore and jumped off the couch, bounding to the bathroom without even excusing herself this time.

  I tried to listen to see if I could catch any lines of her conversation, but she was too far away and I didn’t think it would be right to get up and snoop. She returned a couple minutes later, her face a little pinker than when she’d left.

  “What is going on with your phone today?” I asked jokingly, even though I was completely serious. “Have you started a telephone sex line or something?”

  She burst out into nervous laugh, “No, nothing like that. I’m getting a haircut next week and they keep having to move my appointment.”

  That was one of the worst excuses she’d ever come up with, but something about her evasiveness told me not to press further. She leaned over her laptop, letting a curtain of her hair cover her face as she got right back down to business.

  “You know Emma, if it comes down to it, that telephone sex line thing, might not be a bad idea for you.”

  Chapter 32

  Emma

  For the third time in the past minute, I reminded myself to breathe.

  It wasn’t a big deal, just a job interview for a cushy position in a consulting firm. Granted, it was a firm I couldn’t even remember applying to and a job that I was undoubtedly unqualified for, but still. I was going to be fine. If I didn’t get it, no big deal. I wanted to stick with more creative stuff anyway, didn’t I?

  I took another breath. In. Out.

  It had been a week since my last day at Goodman-Westfield and I hadn’t had any other bites on my resume yet. Much as I told myself this wasn’t a big deal, it was kind of a big deal. I needed to start earning income soon.

  I straightened my blouse again, unnecessarily so, then grabbed my keys and purse, and was out the door. The company’s head office was in a swanky building in downtown Manhattan, not too far from where I’d been working only a week before. It was almost like going home.

  I couldn’t help but think about Max the entire subway ride downtown. I wished I was heading back to his building instead, and that I could walk right back in like I’d been on a long coffee run and nobody would be the wiser. But there was a new person sitting at my desk now, a young woman named Farah who I tried not to be too jealous of when I was training her. She was sweet and clever, and would probably be a great personal assistant to Max. I knew I had no claim over him anymore, but all the same I hoped that a personal assistant was all she would be.

  I re-straightened my blouse. Again. Staring up at the glass skyscraper, I gulped. Over the past week, the stress of not having a job had been getting to me. Not quite as much as the angst of not having Max had been getting to me, but the two together combusted into something quite desperate indeed. Because of that, this whole situation felt very life or death.

  I lowered my gaze and prepared to walk through the revolving front doors, only to see Willow blocking my path. She was grinning from ear to ear, and I frowned as I approached.

  “Are you here to wish me well?” I asked.

  She laughed and grabbed my arm, tugging me in the opposite direction. “Not exactly.”

  I struggled against her grip. “Hey! I’ve got a job interview in ten minutes. What are you doing?”

  “I need you to trust me,” Willow said, still dragging me down the street. “Can you do that?”

  I stopped resisting and starting walking alongside her. She still didn’t let go of my hand, and in fact squeezed it harder than ever.

  “Willow, tell me what’s going on.”

  “What’s going on,” Willow said, pulling me to the curb in front of a big black limo, “is that you’re getting in that limo.”

  The driver got out when he saw us and walked around the back, opening the door. Willow waved impatiently toward it.

  “Come on, girl. We don’t have all day.”

  I took one last look at the building I was leaving behind and groaned. “Fine. But you better tell me what’s going on once we get insid
e.”

  Willow did not tell me what was going on when we got inside. In fact, she stayed irritatingly silent as she uncorked a champagne bottle and poured me a glass.

  I wasn’t stupid. I knew that Willow didn’t have this kind of money, which only left one question—where was all of this coming from?

  “Willow,” I said. “Does this have something to do with Max?”

  She spilled a little of the champagne as she handed it to me, wincing. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Willow...” I lowered my voice but accepted the glass all the same. I needed a drink. I’d been on one roller coaster ride of a day so far and suspected it wasn’t going to be over anytime soon.

  “It’s a surprise,” she persisted. “You’ll ruin it if you keep asking me questions. You know I’m not a great liar.”

  “Which is why I’m asking you in the first place,” I muttered bitterly.

  Willow laughed and tipped back her head as she drank more of the champagne. I watched out the window, looking for clues. If this did have something to do with Max, then why was Willow involved? And what was up with the limo?

  “Did you fabricate a job interview to get me out here today?” I asked.

  Willow’s only response was a mischievous grin. I sighed.

  The ride only got more confusing when we arrived at our destination.

  “We’re here!” Willow announced cheerily while we waited for the driver to come open the door.

  I peered out the window, not quite believing my eyes. “The Fulton?” I asked. “What are we doing here?”

  “You really don’t understand the concept of a surprise, do you?”

  I glared sourly at her.

  The Fulton Hotel was an elegant, art deco building that had stayed relatively untouched in terms of style since the 1920s. I picked it out when I first moved to New York as the dream venue for my dream wedding. Everything about it, from the golden geometric patterned lights to the sumptuous maroon carpeting spoke of old world glamor. They had a gorgeous honeymoon suite too, one I would kill to spend the night in. Especially if it meant I got to have my dream wedding beforehand, too.