Billionaire's Fake Fiancé (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #10)

by Claire Adams

  I knocked on the door, but she didn’t answer. “Lilah?” I called out. All I heard was a groan from within. Something wasn't right. “Lilah, are you all right?”

  Still no answer. I tried to open the door, but it was locked.

  “Lilah, answer me!” I cried out, a sharp edge of worry and concern lacing my tone.

  My tone was not one of anger, but of sharp, worried concern.

  “Shit. Lilah, are you okay? I’m coming in.”

  I stepped back, breathed in deeply, and then unleashed a savage Muay Thai kick on the door. The lock smashed instantly and the door swung open.

  I gasped at the sight of Lilah curled up in a ball on the floor near her desk, whimpering in pain and clutching her stomach. A pool of dark blood was slowly spreading around her.

  “Oh Jesus, oh my God,” I gasped. “Come on, we're going, we're going to the ER right now.” I wasn’t about to wait for an ambulance. I could have her at the hospital before they could even get to us.

  I bent down and scooped her into my arms as gently as I could, then sprinted to the elevator. I called out for my new assistant to let the police department know there would be a white Ferrari driving like a bat out of hell to St. Patrick’s Hospital.

  I was glad I'd driven my Ferrari to work—we were going to have to get to the hospital as fast as humanly possible. As soon as I got into the parking garage, I dashed over to the Ferrari, put her gently in the passenger seat, then screamed the motor and raced off to the ER.

  ***

  I had been pacing around the waiting room for almost an hour and had been given no word on what was going on. I'd called Meg a few times, but had only been able to reach her ten minutes earlier. She was calling Eddie and was on her way.

  Finally, the doctor emerged. I couldn't get an immediate reading from his expression because of the surgical mask covering his face.

  “You're here with Ms. Maxwell, yes?” he asked.

  “Yes. What can you tell me?”

  “Well, the good news is that your daughter is going to be just fine.”

  “My daughter? Lilah isn't my daughter.”

  “No, I mean your unborn daughter. You are the baby's father, I presume?”

  The news nearly knocked the wind from me. Two words and my entire world turned upside down. Your daughter. Two words explained everything. Everything!

  I tried to play it cool. I needed to know Lilah was going to be okay. “Oh, um, yes, yes, I'm the father. A daughter, yeah. Wow, a daughter.”

  The tilted his head a little. “I take it you didn’t know you were having a girl.”

  I shook my head. “How’s Lilah? Is she okay?”

  “That’s the bad news, I’m afraid. Ms. Maxwell cannot work again until after the child is born. It's obvious that she's been under far too much stress recently, and if she keeps pushing herself like this, the likelihood of a miscarriage severely increases. I know that this type of situation can sometimes cause more stress due to financial burdens, so pardon me for asking, but are you able to support yourself and her on your income alone?”

  “That will not be a problem, Doctor, I assure you.”

  “Good. Because I'm going to have to insist that she does not go back to work. I'll talk to her employer myself if I have to.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I'll take care of it.”

  “Good. She really must rest.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “You’re welcome. I'll check in on her later. You can see her in about ten minutes when the nurses are finished checking her vitals.”

  “Of course.”

  He walked off, and I was staggering on my feet. I grabbed a chair, unsure of my ability to stand. Leaning over, I rested my elbows on my knees and shoved my hands roughly through my hair, completely overwhelmed. I was going to be a dad. We were having a daughter!

  “I guess you know the news now, huh?”

  I looked up and saw Meg standing in front of me.

  “I . . . I'm going to be a father,” I managed to utter in disbelief.

  “Yes. Yes, you are,” she confirmed.

  “Why didn't she tell me about this? Or you? You could have told me.”

  She looked suddenly ashamed. “Look, I need to let you in on a few things,” she said, and sat down next me. She proceeded to explain everything about how Lilah had felt, from the very first time she and I had kissed, right up until the present. She told me about Lilah’s fears that I would be like my father—a risk that she hadn’t been willing to take with regard to her child. Our child.

  “I understand why that might have concerned her,” I said, “but I would never do that. I love Lilah. When I say I'm not like my father, I not only mean it, but I can also prove it if she’ll let me.

  “Hell, I even have medical documentation to back it up. My grandfather was a very thorough man. Even though he knew in his heart that I was nothing like my father, he was also a logical man and knew that intuition wasn't always concrete. He needed proof.

  “So, before signing over the company to me in his will, he made me undergo a barrage of psychiatric tests to just confirm that there was no evidence of sociopathy, psychopathy, or violence in my personality. I passed with flying colors. I truly am nothing like my father. Looks are the only thing I share with that monster.”

  Tears rimmed Meg's eyes. “I knew it. Somehow, I just knew it. And, I think she knows it, too. She just needs to hear it. Asher, she loves you. She hasn’t said the words, but I see it in her eyes when she talks about you. That's why I invited you for sushi. I wanted you two to talk—really talk. But you bailed! You didn't even show up. Why?”

  “I did—but she was there with Savage. I just . . . I just assumed.”

  “You know what they say about assumptions, Asher. They're the mother of all fu—”

  “I know,” I said, ashamed. “But why was he there?”

  “It was a total chance encounter. And, he was harassing her like the ass hat that he is. She called a waiter to have him thrown out of the restaurant. If you'd stuck around for longer than ten seconds, you would have seen that. Hell, you could have saved her yourself, instead of letting some waiter do it.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry. I wish I had.”

  “There’s just one other thing,” Meg announced.

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Yeah. Well, do you remember on the flight to Hawaii when you told Lilah that you didn’t want children?”

  My head fell back against the wall and I slumped in my chair. “Damn. I did say that. But I didn’t mean it—not like that.”

  “Well, here’s your chance to tell her and patch things up. You’ll have plenty of time for making it up to her . . . as in the rest of your lives, with your beautiful daughter.”

  I smiled. A daughter who was going to be the most loved child in the world!

  “Now,” Meg pushed me out of my seat, “get your ass in there and tell the woman you love how you feel. And don’t take no for an answer this time.”

  Epilogue

  Lilah

  THREE YEARS LATER

  “Honey, do you think she'd prefer the red drums or the blue ones?”

  “She's a fiery character,” I said, “so let's go with red.”

  Asher looked across the room at me with a smile. “Just like her mother,” he winked. “Red it is. I’ll have them delivered tomorrow.”

  “It's amazing that she's shown such an interest in music at such an early age! I mean, she's only two and a half years old, but already she's keeping better time than you are. Where do you think she gets it from?”

  Asher chuckled. “Must come from your side of the family.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I guess it does. My mom was apparently a talented musician, and both of my grandfathers played several instruments, according to my dad.”

  “Well, our little Hope is going to be a drummer, it looks like. And, one of the best drummers in the world, I'll bet.”

  “Yes. I’m sure t
hat’s exactly what she’ll be,” I laughed.

  “There we go, ordered and paid for,” Asher chimed. “Our little girl's first set of drums will be here tomorrow.”

  “You do realize the house is gonna get a lot noisier.”

  “I'll build her a soundproof studio.”

  “Good thinking, build the two-year-old a music studio. That’s not spoiling her,” I gave him a look.

  “What? Eddie can use it, too,” he defended himself.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now, about next month . . .”

  “Our wedding anniversary,” he said with a sly grin as he pushed up next to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I know, and I've been thinking about it. I'm really leaning more towards the Seychelles for our trip. How do you feel about that?”

  “The Seychelles sounds just perfect, my love. White sand beaches, snorkeling, and boating on a turquoise ocean. That sounds like heaven right now.”

  “I know. I can't wait! I'll go ahead and get everything booked.”

  “How are things at the agency?” I asked him.

  I'd stopped working there the day I'd almost lost Hope—the day we finally dropped our walls and started our life together. But that didn't mean I'd lost my ambition or my drive. We just realized that it would be better for us if we weren't working together. So, after I'd given birth, I'd started my own consulting company, taking my experience and talent to the highest bidders—unless that bidder was Brendan Savage—and doing it from the comfort of home.

  Despite the money, the success, the house, and the cars, the most valuable things in my life weren't those that money could buy. They were my adoring husband Asher and my beautiful daughter Hope, the light of both our lives. I didn't know what I'd do without either of them. Hope was napping on the sofa, looking too cute for words. I had to take a picture of her to send Eddie, so I stretched and stood in the Sunday morning sunlight beaming through the wall of windows as I took out my phone and got the camera ready.

  “She looks absolutely adorable, doesn't she?” Asher said as he gazed lovingly at our daughter.

  “She has your eyes,” I said.

  “And your smile,” he replied.

  I crept up to her as she slept, doing my best to keep quiet and not rouse her from her slumber. She stirred, and I froze momentarily, but then she smiled in her sleep and burbled softly. I aimed the camera at her cherub-like face and snapped a shot. The lighting was just perfect. I uploaded the picture to Facebook, with a suitable amount of hearts and smiley faces.

  The first “like” came from Asher, of course. I looked up at him with a grin.

  “Mr. Sinclair, are you stalking me on Facebook?” I whispered.

  “Why, I'd never do such a thing Mrs. Sinclair. You’re a married woman,” he said in a tone of mock shock.

  We both laughed, and I eased over to him and jumped into his arms. He caught me with a laugh, swung me around in a circle and then planted a deep, sensuous kiss on my lips, which got my heart racing and my cheeks flushed with heat. Even after marriage and a child, he was still able to turn me on with a mere glance, or a touch.

  Still in his arms, I disengaged from the kiss as the phone in my hand buzzed. It was a notification from Facebook.

  “Eddie likes the photo,” I said. “And he just sent a message saying hi to both of us.”

  “Say hi back. He and I need to have a beer when his band gets back from touring.”

  “I'll tell him.”

  “Oh, and Meg wants to come over early before dinner. Shall I tell her we're free now?”

  He kissed me before answering, and again electricity rippled across my skin.

  “Not just yet,” he said. “You and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

  “Oh we do?” I asked with a cheeky grin.

  “Yeah. In the bedroom. Around . . . now, I think.”

  “I'll tell her to come over in an hour then.”

  He kissed me passionately, and we were both panting when he disengaged.

  “Make it two hours,” he whispered. “Make it two . . .”

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  THE SINGLE DAD

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams

  Chapter One

  Blake

  I could feel the sweat dripping down the back of my jersey as I adjusted the flag sticking out of the waistband of my sweats. It was a chilly December afternoon to wage a touch football war between the Waltham Police and Fire Department, but a big storm was predicted for the following week, and we were determined that if this were to be our last game of the season, we were going to go out with a bang.

  It was the fourth quarter and the score was tied 21-21 as my firefighters took the field. I listened as my best friend, Tony Williams, outlined our last chance at scoring on our opponents, but in my head I was calculating how much longer I could play before I had to call it quits and go pick up my 16-year-old daughter, Nina, from my ex-wife’s house.

  “B, you listening?” Tony shouted.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said with a sheepish grin, knowing that he’d repeat the play as soon as we broke out of the huddle.

  “Get your head on, man,” Beatty, the acting offensive lineman, scolded as we lined up for the play.

  “Mind your own fuckin’ business, Beatty,” I shot back, as I took my place at the end of the line.

  Tony moved behind the center and started the call, I watched out of the corner of my eye until I saw the snap, and then took off down the field.

  “Go wide, Gaston! Go wide!” Tony called, as I ran toward the sideline. I turned and saw him drop his arm back and then launch the football in my direction just before two defensive players knocked him over. I could hear Tony swearing a blue streak as I kept my eyes on the ball hurtling toward me. I caught it and took off in a dead run heading for the end zone.

  “Run, you slow son of a bitch!” Tony screamed, as I evaded the defensive players who were definitely bigger, but decidedly slower than I was. A half a yard from the goal line, Joey Vanetti, a young and fit detective who’d recently joined the Waltham PD, grabbed me and yanked me to the ground.

  “Uhf!” I grunted, as I hit the grass and felt the wind rushing out of my lungs. I lay there still clutching the ball to my side trying to catch my breath. When I did, I sat up and grumbled, “It’s touch football you stupid fuck. No tackling!”

  “I didn’t tackle, old man,” Joey laughed, as he offered me a hand. “I pulled you down by your flag.”

  “The hell you did,” I shot back, as I ignored his hand and pushed myself up onto my feet. I was in damn good shape for a 38-year-old man, but not as good as a 23-year-old just out of the Academy. I knew I’d pay for this tomorrow, but right now I was pissed at the guy who’d punched tomorrow’s ticket for me.

  “Chill out, Gaston,” Tony said, as he walked over and stood between the two of us. “Vanetti, you are one seriously stupid mofo. Don’t make me call your CO and tell him how you’ve brought shame upon the squad.”

  “Fuck off, Williams,” Joey said with a grin.

  “Ahh, I love good healthy competition between those who are charged with protecting and serving the public,” Tony crowed, as he took the ball from my arms. Lowering his voice, he added, “It helps me work out the frustration from not getting laid.”

  “Trouble in paradise, Big T?” I asked, as he turned back toward the guys waiting for the next play.

  “My friend, without trouble there would be no paradise,” he sighed. I smacked him on the back of the head as we bent down for the huddle.


  A half an hour later, our victorious team was shaking hands with the vanquished and making plans to meet over at The Lucky Clover on Lexington. Tony pleaded with me to join them all for just one beer, but I had to beg off since Nina was waiting for me to pick her up.

  “Aww, man, I thought divorce would make you more fun,” Tony complained. “Now you’re always going to pick up the kid or heading over to take care of something at Remy’s condo. Why did you even divorce her if you’re going to still be doing all her work? At least if you’d stayed married, you’d be getting the benefits.”

  “You have no idea what you are talking about,” I chuckled as I shook my head.

  “Oh, that’s right; how are the swingers?” Tony asked, a little too curiously.

  “They’re still after me,” I said, wanting to avoid having this conversation within earshot of any of my co-workers. Tony’s idea of what swingers did was based on out-of-date stereotypes and internet porn, and it often irritated me when he brought the subject up.

  “Yeah, but that wife is smokin’ hot, man!” Tony said, lowering his voice. “I’d hit it if it wasn’t for her old man.”

  “And the fact that you love your wife,” I said with a wry grin.

  “Yeah, well, there’s that, too,” Tony grinned. “But seriously, what a bunch of weirdos, right?”

  “Dude, I’ve explained this to you a million times,” I sighed. “Swingers aren’t the weirdos you imagine them to be. They’ve got their kinks, but a huge part of the whole thing is based on consent and communication. It’s not the pill-popping hippies you think you remember from the life you never lived.”

  “Harsh, man,” Tony said, giving me a fake hurt look. I laughed and slapped him on the back before I climbed up into my pickup and backed out of the parking lot.

  It didn’t take long to get to Remy’s since nowhere in Waltham is more than a short drive, but by the time I was pulling into the drive, my phone was blowing up with messages from Remy asking where I was and when I would pick Nina up. I took a deep breath and reminded myself not to lose my cool in front of my daughter.