Carrying the Billionaire's Baby: A Clean BWWM Billionaire Romance (The Billionaire Baby Mystery Book 1)

by Courtney King

  Carrying the Billionaire’s Baby

  Courtney King

  Part One

  of the

  Billionaire Baby Mystery

  Copyright © 2015 by Courtney King

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author or publisher.

  Chapter 1

  Sherry Stevens sat nervously on the stage, picking at the skin around her fingernail. She was systematically peeling the dead skin away from the cuticle, in an effort to avoid making eye contact with the other three women on the panel. Each one of them had a swollen pregnant belly, like hers.

  The cue cards off to the left revealed that it would soon be time to announce the results. The show host straightened his tie and practiced his fake smile as the on-air light glowed above the camera. His silver hair and middle-age wrinkles made him an unlikely commentator on the topics he chose for his show. From cheating spouses to paternity reveals, every day was a scandal waiting to explode. Yet, his talk show remained one of the most popular, likely for its outrageous, televised fights and socially inept guests.

  Sherry Stevens was not one of those people. In fact, she was college-educated, gainfully employed, and a woman who paid her own bills. She just happened to be six months pregnant and in search of the identity of her baby’s father. She never would have even put herself in this position, but the producers had agreed to pay for the paternity test for all their guests—and they had access to a lot more DNA records than Sherry ever could.

  The cameraman counted back from five, signaling each number with his fingers. Sherry stared blankly out into the rowdy audience, wondering what kind of people bought tickets to a show like this. She lowered her hands, letting them rest on her belly. She was still getting used to the idea that she was even pregnant.

  She’d spent the last six months trying to explain to her friends and family exactly how all of this had happened. Of course, they knew how it happened—they knew how pregnancy worked. But the truth was, Sherry had no idea when this baby was conceived or who was responsible.

  A single woman, living in the city, Sherry was independent and career-focused. She had never been promiscuous. She just wasn’t that kind of girl. She also wasn’t the kind of girl who identified her ‘baby’s daddy’ by sitting on a talk show panel.

  She focused on taking deep breaths, the kind she had learned in yoga class, and prepared herself for the big announcement.

  “Don’t worry button,” she murmured to the little life inside her. “We’ll get through this okay.”

  ***

  Sherry sat backstage, holding a tiny cup of water and dabbing her face with a crumbled, used tissue. Her hand shook the piece of paper she was holding, with the name Richard Black in large print. The rest of the pregnant girls walked into the green room, staring at her.

  Sherry stared at the floor, avoiding eye contact while trying to wrap her head around the idea that this white man—this somewhat older white man—with loads of money was the father of her baby.

  She had seen Richard Black on television, and she knew who he was. Sure, he was the richest and most powerful man in the country, and he was always making the news for some extravagant adventure or huge donation to an art gallery—which he probably gave just to get on the news again. But, to Sherry, he seemed pompous. He had a distrusting face, almost like a cartoon character. His thick eyebrows always concealing some shady dealings, she assumed. She only knew of his persona from television news shows and tabloid magazines. She had no recollection of ever meeting him, let alone, sleeping with him.

  She gathered up her things and stood up to leave. The staff escorted her out of the television studio and into the waiting car. She sat in the back of the black Lincoln and leaned her head against the soft leather seat, staring out the window at the dirty city as the car pulled away from the curb. She stared at people on the street, the moms pushing strollers and families walking together, and let herself cry.

  The driver let her off at her building, and she hurried up the stairs. Once inside her apartment, she closed the door and kicked off her heels. Her meticulous apartment was just as she left it. She set the wrinkled paper on the kitchen table and her keys on top of it. She stared at the name on the paper, Richard Black, and shook her head.

  Worn out both mentally and emotionally, she headed straight to the bedroom and collapsed onto her queen-sized bed. She reached for the distraction of the television, and the first image to appear was her shocked face receiving the news of the paternity of her child. Her private moment, not only played out on national television, but being recapped as the headlining story of the day.

  Ready for the day to end, she clicked off the TV, threw her head back onto the pillows and closed her eyes.

  ***

  She woke up the next morning on top of her duvet cover, having never even crawled into bed. Her phone was blinking wildly with notifications of email messages, voice mails, and a barrage of text messages. She wiped the sleep from her eyes

  “What do we do now, button?” she said as she got out of bed.

  Alone in the city, and with no family to call upon, Sherry had been dealing with her unexpected pregnancy on her own. Speaking aloud to her baby helped her feel not quite so alone, and she thought it probably helped her baby, too.

  She felt the baby kick, and immediately placed her hand over her belly. These moments, the baby’s movement, had the ability to stop her in her tracks. Regardless of how this little life was conceived, this was her baby and she would care for it. Giving up the child had never crossed her mind, and she had accepted the news of her pregnancy calmly. It had felt right, somehow, and only the need to know more of the story had led her to seek the father’s identity on the talk show. She regretted that decision now, though.

  “We should have kept our secret,” she said, reaching for her robe. “We were doing okay, before. But don’t worry, we’ll be okay again.” She gave her belly a pat and snugged her robe gently over it.

  She staggered to the kitchen and reached for the tea kettle, filling it with water. Today’s routine would have to be altered, tea would be made at home and work would have to be put on hold. She peeked outside her tiny kitchen window at the busy commuters rushing by and saw a news van parked at the end of the street.

  She settled her tea bag into the dainty tea cup and sat at the tiny kitchen table, alone. The buzz from the television drowned out the knocking at the door and the chaos in the hallway. She could hear the reporters arguing with her neighbors, and eventually she could hear them walking away.

  She carried her tea cup into the living room and slowly positioned herself on the sofa, staring at the news story on the television. The news ticker scroll read Breaking News: Scandal: Richard Black is the father, and pictures of Sherry from her Facebook page accompanied the story.

  “That’s right, Jim. In a late-breaking story from the set of the Barry Spencer show, millionaire mogul, Richard Black has been identified as the father of Sherry Stevens’s child. Stevens a 26-year old Atlanta resident, is expecting the couple’s child, but only found out recently who the father was.”

  “Cha-ching! That kid will be set for life!”

  For six months she had been enjoying every minute of this unplanned pregnancy the best she could, and now her personal life was being turne
d into a nationwide scandal. She scrolled through her phone, past the waiting emails and voice messages, and clicked on the internet icon. She needed to learn everything she could about this Richard Black, and piece together how in the world she was having his baby.

  Richard Black, according to one website, was born into wealth and opulence. At the age of 36, he had acquired his third NFL team. He not only had wealth, but he was a world-renowned bachelor. His face had been splattered on gossip magazines for much of his life.

  A phone call from a local number interrupted her search, and she answered against her better judgment.

  “Ms. Stevens, we must speak with you immediately regarding Mister Black. You’re going to require legal representation in this matter.”

  “Yes. I understand. Leave me your name and I will have Ms. Stevens call you back,” she lied. She clicked END and turned off the ringer on her phone.

  The rest of her day was spent flipping to channels that didn’t broadcast her ‘scandal’ and deleting hundreds of voicemails and emails from her queue. She knew she would need to speak to a lawyer eventually, but she was not ready to leave her house and brave the hordes of reporters.

  The day turned into evening and the news vans and gangs of reporters finally thinned out. Around dinner time, a knock sounded on her door, light and persistent. She hadn’t heard any reporters in the hall for some time, so she got up peeked out to see a suited man standing at her doorway. She hesitated, then opened the door. He was clad in an all-black suit and stood back away from the door, unassuming.

  She opened the door and he slowly entered her apartment with his hands folded in from of him, holding an envelope.

  “Ms. Stevens?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve come to collect you at the request of Mr. Black.”

  “Where am I going?” Sherry asked, reflexively covering her swollen belly with her hands.

  “That’s not your concern.”

  His words were clear and direct, and he left as quickly as he came. She closed the door behind him and stood there for a minute, then opened the envelope and slid out the typed message.

  Pack a small bag

  A car will pick you up at the 7-11 store at the intersection of Broad Street and 7th at 2 AM sharp

  This is for your protection. Do not be afraid.

  She reached for the small suitcase at the top of her closet and laid it on the bed, then stopped.

  “What are we doing, button? Can we really be thinking about having a Secret Service rendezvous in the middle of the night? How do you pack for something like that?”

  She walked to her closet, grabbed her maternity jeans and laid them on the bed with the sweatshirt. She threw her necessities into the suitcase; her phone charger, toothbrush, and plenty of clean underwear. Even at six months pregnant, she could manage to fit into her regular, roomy clothes. Her years of yoga and meditation had given her a strong, healthy body, and thankfully, an uneventful pregnancy. She laughed at the thought of the word “uneventful,” although up until yesterday, it had been.

  She fixed herself a cup of tea, propped her feet up on the sofa and stared out the window at the darkness. With her phone and her television silenced, she could only hear the distant sounds of her busy city street.

  Chapter 2

  Jolted awake by her cellphone alarm, Sherry reached for it to check the time. It was 1:34 a.m.—time to head to the designated location. She positioned the strap of the bag across her belly, holding it close, then took one last look around her apartment. She secured the dead bolt lock from the outside and pulled the door, tight.

  She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up over head as she walked, listening to the sounds of sirens and distant yelling in the cool night air. The 7-11 sign glowed in the darkness and her heart beat faster as she got closer. She could see a black car with tinted windows and she slowed her pace as she got closer, nervously waiting for a sign. The same man who had visited her earlier that day emerged from the driver’s seat and opened the back passenger door, signaling for her to get in. She looked up at the man, then took a deep breath and lowered herself and her bag into the car.

  The car pulled out of the 7-11 parking lot and onto the empty Atlanta streets. She rested her head against the back of the seat and tried to relax, but her leg twitched and bounced as she worried about her decision to accept this ride. Sometime later—an hour, maybe more—they turned off the highway and headed into a parking garage. The spiraling ascent to each level left her feeling like she was on an amusement park ride that wouldn’t end. Finally, she saw the lights that lined the rooftop of the garage.

  Sherry straightened her sweatshirt and jammed her hands into her pockets. The secret service-looking guy stepped out and opened her door, motioning for her to step out. She grabbed her bag and climbed out of the back of the car, repositioning her sweatshirt to cover her belly.

  A repetitive, thumping noise from the sky grew closer and louder as a large helicopter came into view. The helicopter made a slow descent and Sherry braced herself against the car, and shielded her eyes. Random pieces of litter and dirt lifted into tiny tornado clouds from the ground in a swirling motion, then fell back to parking deck as the propellers slowed.

  Sherry leaned against the car and peeked over the roof to see who would appear. Instead, the driver gently tugged her arm and motioned for her to follow him. She clutched her bag close to her belly and followed. Waiting in the helicopter was a pilot and another black-suited man in sunglasses. The driver helped her climb in, and the other man extender her hand to help her in as well. Neither of them spoke, simply communicating with head nods to one another.

  Sherry sat uncomfortably on the edge of the helicopter seat. The man next to her extended a seat belt for her to buckle, which she did quickly, pulling it as tight as she dared. She held her hands on her belly and tried to think positive thoughts as the helicopter pulled away fast and steady away from the parking garage. They sped into the air, and for what felt like eternity to Sherry (though it was probably just a few hours), they hovered and jerked in and out of air pockets until the pilot alerted them they would be making their descent.

  The ground below was mountainous and green, and she looked out the window as the helicopter aimed itself at a large X painted on a helipad. The copter tilted as it turned and a sprawling estate came into view. Finally, the helicopter touched ground and the pilot disabled the engine. Sherry let out a large exhale, relieved for the moment just to be on the ground.

  The waiting staff approached the helicopter door and held it open while placing a stepstool close to the opening. Sherry made her way out of the helicopter and onto the tiny stool. She wobbled and almost fell, but one of the staff caught her and supported her weight. The man in the black suit followed behind, handing her luggage to the staff.

  Sherry surveyed the house and grounds while the black-suited men disembarked the copter. There were no other houses as far as she could see. She joined the group as they walked toward the building. Its exterior was lined with exotic foliage, perfectly appointed seasonal flowers, and manicured grass. She followed the staff into a large lobby, a mix of marble and granite that could fit her entire apartment inside. She stood silently as the staff lined up on the edges of the room, and felt the uncomfortable stares upon her.

  Almost immediately, a woman dressed in a silk suit entered the room. She instructed the staff to leave, then turned to Sherry with a smile.

  “I know this is all very strange,” she said. “It was a surprise to us, too. We thought you would appreciate an escape from the media, and the late night ride and secrecy was an unfortunate requirement. We will try to find out precisely what has occurred, but meanwhile, we want to keep you comfortable. Mr. Black will see you soon, but perhaps you would like to rest, first? And eat?”

  “I would, thank you. Like to rest and eat, I mean,” her head buzzing with exhaustion and adrenaline, Sherry just wanted to be alone for a little while, to rest and get her thoughts together. Ea
ting felt far from possible.

  She followed the woman down a long hallway and into what appeared to be a master suite. A king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by plush carpeting and a large window opening onto a view of the rolling landscape.

  “Your breakfast will be delivered shortly. Make yourself comfortable.” The woman left, quietly closing the door.

  Sherry sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her belly. “Wow, button, this is beautiful.” She slipped off her shoes and lifted her legs up onto the bed, then she slid herself up onto the mountain of pillows and rested her eyes.

  She awoke to the smell of bacon and fresh brewed coffee sitting on a tray beside the bed. She hoisted herself up on the edge of the bed and reached for the food, then stopped.

  “Do you think it’s safe to eat, baby?” Her stomach growled, and she took it a sign to take a chance. The bacon was crisp, the eggs were perfect and the coffee tasted better than anything she had ever ordered in any café.