Baby Batter: A Baby For The Billionaire Single Dad Romance

by Alexis Angel

  I walk home, making my way along slowly. Of course, as soon as I plop back down on the couch, there’s a fucking knock at the door.

  What the fuck? Who is at my house at this fucking hour? Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I realize it might be Piper coming for a late-night love making session.

  With a racing heart, I throw open the door expecting to greet her but instead, I see a courier at the door. Buzz kill at its finest, I begrudgingly retrieve the package from the gloomy looking package dealer and look at the sender information.

  I immediately notice that it’s a manila envelope and the label proves that it’s paperwork from Piper’s ex-boyfriend regarding the blackmail.

  Anger heats my face and I throw the documents onto the kitchen table, refusing to even open them much less take a look at their contents.

  I already fucking know what they are going to say and I don’t want to deal with this bullshit so fucking late at night.

  I vow right then and there to use liberal determination to get that asshole off of Piper’s Lacy Desirable’s board.

  That fucker is going down and I’m going to make fucking sure of it.

  32

  Piper

  I walk down the hallway to Zane’s apartment, nervousness creeping up my spine. Why the fuck am I being such a wuss? I need to snap out of it, and fucking quickly because I’m standing at his door giving myself an internal lecture.

  I take a deep breath and prepare myself for anything and everything. Being prepared just comes with the territory of being an awesome badass chick, right?

  I knock on the door and wait for him to answer. I’m met with silence, so I ring the doorbell, thinking that maybe he can’t hear me knocking.

  I don’t hear anyone moving on the other side. Maybe he’s not home, or he’s sleeping so he can’t hear me knocking. I thank my lucky stars that by now, in our relationship built on the foundation of fantastic lovemaking, I have a key to his place.

  I place it in the deadbolt and turn the knob, grateful that it works because I’ve never had to use it before. I step inside and enter his kitchen.

  “Zane?” I call out and wait for him to appear, but he doesn’t.

  I walk down the hallway towards his bedroom.

  “Zane?”

  His bed is made and there is an open magazine lying on the comforter. A wet towel is laying beside the magazine on the bed and I cringe. There’s nothing I fucking hate more than a wet towel on a bed.

  I pick it up and bring it to the bathroom, placing it back on the rack where it belongs so it can dry. Fucking men, even the rich charming ones are still sloppy pigs who need female guidance.

  I shake my head and chuckle with the irony of it all.

  I guess he’s not home, and I walk back to the front door. I could stick around and snoop, but I have shit to do today too.

  I think about taking off my clothes and sending him crazy selfies of me in his apartment doing weird shit, but then come to my senses. I’m never one to send anyone a naked picture of myself. You never know where it might end up.

  Before I leave, my bladder tugs at me again. If this is the way pregnancy is going to be, then I’m in for hell. I’m not sick yet, thank goodness and I pray that it’s not on its way.

  I’m a terrible at throwing up, and I can’t imagine how women go through multiple pregnancies dealing with the burden of morning sickness.

  I walk to the powder room just off the living area and turn on the light. I’m surprised to see that it’s clean in there, and tidy. Maybe he keeps up the places in his apartment where he knows company and visitors might lurk.

  I check myself out in the mirror and hold my flat belly, imagining what it’s going to look like once it swells up. I don’t allow myself to anticipate things like this too much just in case I never get pregnant at all. Now, I can do it as much as I want, confident that it’ll be coming to life soon.

  I smile at my reflection and relieve my demanding as fuck bladder, flush, and walk back the way I came. I decide to write him a silly note, letting him know a ‘sexy intruder’ came into his house and ‘violated’ his things.

  I’m sure he’ll appreciate it, so I look around for a piece of paper and a pen.

  That’s when everything crumbles.

  I notice some documents with my name printed on the top, so obviously, curiosity is going to kill the cat here and I pick them up.

  It doesn’t count as being invasive or nosy if your own name is on something, right?

  Forgetting all about my fun note, my mind switches to horror as I scan the pages. Words fly out at me and slice through my heart like a dagger.

  Negotiation deal. I read more, desperately searching for something to help me make sense of this. Backing out of the Baby Batter contract for a larger lump sum agreement.

  What the fuck is this shit?

  Fresh tears fill my eyes and spill over, wetting the documents. I don’t fucking care if I’m ruining them. Apparently, Zane is in another deal with someone else to where he’s going to get more money with if he backs out of the contract with me.

  Just when I think things can’t get any fucking worse, I hear the door open, and I turn to face the culprit. The heartbreaker.

  It’s not until I’m dealing with the sting of betrayal that I realize how much I really do love Zane, and he’s fucking shattering my life into a million pieces right in front of me.

  “Piper?” His eyes are surprised, and then his face drains of color when he notices the documents in my hands.

  “I’m guessing you aren’t expecting me to be here?” I snarl and bite through the pain.

  I’m devastated, because I actually fucking allowed a man to have my heart. And now he’s stomping all over it.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, his tone has worry in it.

  “You are playing me after all, and you were from the start,” I spit out at him.

  He shakes his head, in apparent denial.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t really love me, do you?” I sob.

  “Of course I do,” he says and takes a step closer to me.

  I back away.

  “Don’t fucking come near me!” I shout.

  “Piper, let me explain…” he trails off.

  “I think it’s perfectly clear,” I yell. “Here are your precious papers to get out of the deal with me. I know what I am now to you, just another fucking deal to make and then leave me screwed in the end.”

  I throw the papers in the air and they flutter around and land everywhere, like particles of dust symbolizing our broken relationship.

  “Piper, wait, please…let me explain!”

  Zane’s voice is frantic but I shake my head. I’m pregnant with his baby and he’s going to dump me for something or someone better.

  I run from his house, storming out as tears blur my vision and my path. I can’t believe he has the nerve to hurt me like this, but I’m just as angry at myself for believing he’s trustworthy. I should have trusted my own heart and known that all men are fucking jerks.

  I try to compose myself before I get on the elevator. I frantically punch the down button before Zane can get to me, because he’s calling my name and burning my soul. Just before he makes his way to the elevator, the doors shut me in, and I’m safe.

  33

  Zane

  “Dude, can we meet up for a drink tonight?” I’m hopeful as I ask Rob for some bro time on the phone.

  “Tonight? I’m not sure; the wife might not like me going out two nights in one week.”

  “Oh come on, you fucking pussy,” I say, more of a whine than a dignified request.

  “You’ll understand when you have kids,” he laughs.

  “That’s exactly why I need to talk to you tonight dude,” I say.

  Rob sighs audibly into the phone. “Seriously, man, you have more girl problems than any fucking person I know.”

  “You are fucking preaching to the choir,” I respond.r />
  “Fine,” Rob says. “Where are we meeting?”

  “How about that new bar Pour Me One?” I offer.

  “You really think we can get in there? That place just opened up last week,” he says.

  “You are also talking to the king of Manhattan,” I joke.

  Rob roars with laughter. “Dude, you live in your own little fantasy world,” he says.

  “Whatever. Are we meeting for drinks or not?” I ask.

  “Sure, what time?”

  “How about now?” I’m desperate.

  Rob sighs again. “Okay. but I’m going to make you read my eulogy when my wife kills me.”

  “I already plan on it,” I laugh.

  A half an hour later, Rob and I order beers and sit at the bar next to each other. I chug my beer, mainly because I’m thirsty, but also because I’m wallowing in my own fucking despair.

  “I’m in so much deep shit,” I say and place my head in my hands, leaning my elbows against the bar top.

  “Wow, Zane, you look like a fucking mess.”

  I glance up at Rob, and he has so much fear on his face that I burst into laughter.

  “What?” Rob raises his eyebrows. “What, man? What the fuck are you laughing at? Is this just a fucking joke to get me out of the house? My wife says I never fucking help with the kids; I’m going to send you home to deal with her.”

  I continue to laugh and shake my head, trying to form the words but I’m too hysterical in my fit of laughter.

  “I’m totally dead fucking serious,” I say, and a few people sitting near us look at me like I’m fucking bat shit crazy.

  “Then, what is going on with you, man?” Rob sounds frantic.

  I take a few moments to compose myself and take a deep breath. “Piper came to my house and saw the contract with David fucking Brigman.”

  Rob’s face grows as white as a fucking ghost. “What the fuck, man? What are you going to do?”

  I shake my head, feeling crazy. “I don’t know. I have no fucking clue. I’m so fucking scared now.”

  “Zane Tanner is scared? Now I fucking know it’s the end of the fucking world.” Rob shakes his head and takes a swig of his beer.

  “She won’t answer my calls or texts,” I add.

  “No shit, I’m sure she’s pissed,” Rob offers.

  “Yeah, tell me something I don’t already fucking know,” I say sarcastically.

  “She threw the papers at me and told me I don’t love her.”

  “Dude, you will have to do some serious damage control here,” Rob says.

  I look at him. “How the fuck am I supposed to do damage control when she won’t speak to me?”

  Rob looks up at the ceiling and ponders my question. After a few moments, he shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

  “Thanks, I’m glad I brought you out for drinks then,” I say dryly, but I’m only teasing him. I fucking love Rob, and I know he would take a bullet for me. I would do the same.

  “Are you saying you’re buying my beers?” he asks.

  “Sure, why the hell not,” I say. “I’ll buy them for the whole damn bar. My life is over anyway,” I wave my arms around dramatically.

  “Don’t talk like that, man,” Rob tries to give me a convincing look. “Shit always works out the way it’s supposed to.”

  “I don’t know, I hurt Piper pretty fucking badly,” I admit.

  “She’ll come around,” Rob says.

  “You don’t know her like I do.” I shake my head. “She’s the hardcore female version of me.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you two aren’t getting together, that would really be the end of the world,” Rob laughs.

  “I know you’re trying to joke around to make me feel better, but I’m really fucking depressed over this shit,” I say, and we make eye contact.

  Rob winces. “I’m sorry man, I hate it for you.”

  “Is that all you have to say?” I ask with exasperation. I’m not really mad at Rob; I’m just fucking frustrated with the whole damn situation.

  “I told you from the beginning to follow your heart,” Rob attests.

  I scoff and smack my hand on the bar top. “Like hell you did! You and Jack both told me to take the money and run!”

  “Yeah, but you don’t want to do that,” Jack reminds me. “You really love Piper.”

  I lean back in the barstool, calming down. “Yeah…I know…you’re right.”

  “Damn right I’m right.” Rob tosses me an apprehensive look. I’m the best friend and best friends always have the best judgment.”

  I smirk at Rob, because his track record with gambling and cheating isn’t exactly winning him any Husband of the Fucking Year awards.

  “Okay, well, maybe I just mean going forward, I am learning from my mistakes,” Rob says, catching onto my wayward thoughts about his background.

  “I fucked up big time.” I sigh and run my hands through my hair.

  “Everything is fixable; look at how Toni took me back, man,” Rob glances at me.

  “You have a point there,” I agree. “You may be on to something.”

  “Just tell her the truth,” he says.

  “I wish I had fucking done that in the first place,” I groan. “That would save me a lot of fucking trouble right now.”

  “You know what they say―hind sight is 20/20.” Rob takes the final swig of his beer and sighs. “Anyway, I gotta bounce, dude.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I say, feeling defeat settle in as I realize I’m going to have to spend the fucking night alone once again.

  After I leave the bar, I walk home, trying to think of some grand gesture I can do to win Piper back over. What is the key to her heart? Apparently, the answer to that is children and a family.

  I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do to show her how much I care about her and to right all the wrongs I’ve made.

  But Zane Tanner doesn’t give up.

  I brainstorm all the way home, and by the time I jog up to my building, I’m excited, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I look at the world with a fresh perspective, and I fucking know that my plan will be so grand and amazing that Piper will fall back into my arms once again.

  Now I just need to get all the details in place and let the countdown begin to when everything can be sublime once more.

  34

  Piper

  This is seriously the longest fucking day ever.

  I’m typing a text to Molly before a board meeting at my office headquarters.

  Will Zane be there? Molly asks.

  Fuck, no, I type. He’s not a board member. I know what your next question is going to be, too. So, no, I’m not talking to him. His number is blocked right now on my phone.

  I don’t hear back from Molly for a few seconds, and then she hits me with this fucking bombshell. I think you should give him a chance to explain himself.

  I take a deep breath and rub my temples. Why can’t anyone ever fucking support my point of view? I mean, does my best friend in the whole entire world really have to take his side?

  The meeting is about to start. I’ll just talk to you about it later. I punch the words into the screen and push my phone deep into my purse pocket.

  I just can’t fucking deal with talking to Zane right now. Think of a pile of shit on the ground, then set it on fire and bury it. Yeah, that’s totally me right now.

  I mean I’m talking the lowest of the low. I’m underneath the burden of a million tons of conflict, and I can’t seem to escape. I’m just struggling to fucking make it out of bed each morning.

  This board member meeting I’m getting ready to begin is super fucking important, too. If I don’t get this brand new lingerie line complete for the fall and winter line, then I’m more screwed than a wine cork at a girl’s night out.

  Oh, yeah, and I forgot to mention that completing the line is only half of the fucking battle. I still have to have it delivered on time, or I can kiss my business and all my hard work goodbye.

&nb
sp; People filter into the room, but I only see blurry human shapes; my mind won’t connect the faces or the features.

  The beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but right now I can’t see anything but despair and sorrow. I try not to allow it to show, and I mask my pain behind a gruesome smile.

  Most people treat me the same as usual, so I’m hopeful that no one is catching on to my bottomless pit of self-pity.

  How the fuck am I supposed to piece myself together enough, to not only appear in this meeting, but also lead the damn thing?

  I’m still trying to figure it out, and as I look at the clock on the wall, I realize I only have a few minutes left before its fucking sink-or-swim.

  Morning sickness ebbs and flows, so I just pray I don’t get punched in the gut by a fresh bout of it during this meeting―but by the way things are going for me lately, I won’t be surprised if I puke all over the board room table.

  I’m going to be a single parent. Yep, that means alone―fucking alone with a baby. Do I even know how to care for a baby?

  I’ve continuously doubted myself ever since I found Zane’s second secret contract―or, as I like to affectionately call, it the ‘Destroy Piper’ contract.

  I imagine the baby screaming through the night, and the fear of being unable to comfort him or her. What if I can’t produce breast milk? Do I even know how to fucking put on a diaper the right way?

  Granted, I have yet to go to the obstetrician, but I’m still going to freak out and have several panic attacks a day, because I’m an emotional cutter who loves to compete with myself and up the ante. Each day, I make a fucking bet with myself to see how many times I can cry over this shit.

  Stop feeling sorry for me; all of this is my fault. Why, you ask? Well, I put myself in the vulnerable fucking position I’m in―not only to create the contract for Zane to sign, but also to sign it myself and believe that he’s actually going to follow through.

  They say stereotypes are true for a fucking reason, you know. How else do they become stereotypes unless there is data to back them up and prove them? My current example and point being Zane Tanner, a.k.a Prick of the Century.