Making His Baby: A Billionaire Romance

by Lulu Pratt

  Bring it on.

  But only with the hot lawyer, because the idea of sleeping with David ever again is enough to make my stomach crawl. Dream Me slaps Dream Eric across the other cheek. To prove a point.

  My phone vibrates, pulling me fully out of the daydream. I don’t check it right away, but look around to see what I’ve missed. Vivian and Eric look like they’ve forgotten we’re even here. They are fully engrossed in their argument, pulling out pictures and scribbling notes on yellow pads.

  Vivian’s notepad, instead of drawings, is full of angry capital letters and heavy ink underlining words I can barely make out. Mediation has taken an abrupt turn, and I’m not sure how or why.

  Robolibrarian’s hair is as severe as normal, but her face is especially grim. It doesn’t make me feel any better. Through this whole thing, even with her remaining angrily silent in previous sessions, I had the impression she was on my side.

  I didn’t do anything inherently wrong. Maybe I didn’t use the crotchless panties and maybe I refused counseling the last time, but David and I had tried four other times in our marriage. Wasn’t I allowed to say I wasn’t comfortable with certain sex acts?

  David is staring at me with a look I wish I could forget. He winks and lifts his phone slightly. My phone vibrates again, reminding me I have a text. My throat is dry when I unlock it under the table.

  Wanna fuck after this?

  I stare at it for a solid minute, my face a plastic mask of indifference, but inside I am roiling. The nerve! After everything that happened? He cannot be serious. We’re in this stupid room because he liked to fuck anything with legs that wasn’t me and he has the audacity to proposition me?

  With a quick click, I lock my phone and pretend I didn’t see it. Let him think I got a text from someone else. Entertaining that shit is out of the question.

  I close my eyes and straddle Dream Eric. His whole body is tense and his face open. He’s waiting for me to make the next move. Dream Eric wants nothing more than to pleasure me. I smack him with the whip again and a tear falls down his face.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress,” he whimpers.

  “Sometimes sorry isn’t fucking good enough, Eric.” I pause, frozen by the words fresh from my lips. “I mean, Asshole.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  My lap vibrates. These distractions are becoming a real problem.

  You look really sexy in that dress. You want me to fuck you in it. Right here on the table.

  I repress a shudder and take a deep breath to still the churning in my stomach. Back in dreamland, I smack Dream Eric again. He likes it, though, his eyes hungry and desperate. I guess I can give him what he wants — just a taste.

  I recline on the table and spread my legs. He pushes himself closer to me and drops his head between the black leather. Like a good little submissive, he looks to me for permission. I make him wait, make him smell me without tasting, and finally nod.

  “You will put that dirty mouth to good use.” I order him.

  Vivian slams her palm down on the desk and I jump. Real Life Eric and David the Fuckface don’t look shaken by it. Instead, they have almost matching wry smiles. They feel the upper hand. They feel me losing.

  I, on the other hand, feel a panic attack bubbling in my chest.

  “I think we are done here.” Vivian neatly stacks her papers and notepads. She shoves them in her briefcase with a layer of cool that could betray even the most detail-oriented observer. “This is obviously not working. The point of mediation is to settle outside of court, gentlemen. If you are incapable of meeting us on anything, this just means we’ll have to proceed. Your client needs to evaluate what this means for his career.”

  My phone vibrates again. I don’t want to check it. David stares straight at me, waiting like a terrible lion. I stare back and rest my phone on the table. We never break eye contact as I recline in my seat and cross my arms.

  The smile on his face wavers for a moment but he returns to his phone and pecks out another message. The phone vibrates again, rocking around the table. Vivian glances over, reads my phone, and turns a pointed stare at David.

  “That’s private.” David says it with bite but keeps his face placid. It’s a Hollywood trait we all learn quickly.

  “I find it interesting, Mr. McArthur, that you are refusing to acknowledge how instrumental Kate has been to your professional career, and how important she was to you personally, while you are propositioning her via text message.”

  “I agree. I think we’re done here.” Real Life Eric stands and buttons his jacket. “Since your client is unable to see what she’s requesting is outside the realm of rationality, we’ll just need to take this to a judge.”

  “So it appears.” Vivian stands and motions for me to follow. “Mrs. Crofton, thank you for your time.”

  Robolibrarian stands with the others but says nothing. Her face is unreadable beyond the frustration. She’s a mirror of the storm swirling in my brain.

  “What the hell?” I hiss to Vivian by the elevator. “I thought our best chance was for this to go well in mediation?”

  “Not anymore.” Vivian jabs the elevator button with extra vigor. “Save those text messages. We’ll need them. Every scrap of evidence he cheated. Anything that could be misconstrued as infidelity. Phone records. Everything. It is imperative we take him down at the knees. Understand?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll try to take down Eric while we are at it.”

  Somewhere in the dark corners of my mind, an idea hatches.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ERIC

  “Shots on the house, boys.” Becky offers me a wink before running off to another table. I give it a sniff and wince. Tequila. I hate tequila, but if someone else is paying, I’m not passing.

  “Just take Becky home already.” Paxton clears his throat. “I’m tired of watching this cat-and-mouse shit.”

  “And ruin everything? Pass.” I clink his glass and shoot the tequila. Lime goes over my shoulder and I look Geoff in the eye while doing it. “If she falls into that woman scorned bullshit, our reign of free drinks comes to an end.”

  “So date her.” Geoff says. He sets his lime rind in the empty glass and folds his arms. “Or maybe leave her alone.”

  “Shut up.” Paxton rolls his eyes. “You’re the most single motherfucker I’ve seen in this bar, so it’s not like you’re a sage of wisdom.”

  “I’ve had plenty of girls.” Geoff puffs himself up. “Plenty.”

  At this, Paxton and I laugh heartily. I pretend to wipe a tear from my eye and clap him on the back.

  “That was a good one, man. Don’t let anyone ever say you aren’t funny.”

  “Fuck off.” Geoff growls and sips his beer. “How does McArthur put up with your shit?”

  “McArthur and Eric? They’re one and the same person,” Paxton smirks at his own joke.

  “Oh, you can die in a fire.” I point to Paxton and flick him off. “That guy is a real piece of garbage. I chase tail, he chases the goddamn devil. Don’t put him on my level. He wishes he was as badass as I am.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re a saint among men.” Paxton waves me off. He leans forward, waggling his brows. “You hook up with his wife yet? She’s fine as hell.”

  “She is.” I lean back in my chair and sigh heavily, picturing her in my head. That topless photo of her had become a favorite in the middle of the night. “But I’m a man of honor.”

  “Bullshit.” Both of the assholes at my table say. They clink glasses and Geoff looks smug.

  “He’s a pain in my ass, though. He catches second wind at three in the morning and blows up my phone. I haven’t slept more than four hours in two weeks. Tonight, I’m going home and sleeping through the entire weekend. Turning off my phone. Money be damned.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Well, call the press because Eric Stevens is closed for the next two days. If I don’t get some sleep soon, I’ll die and lose out
on the paycheck. This mediation bullshit is nothing more than a three-day-long guilty plea, man. We’re going to win. So I’m going to sleep.”

  “For you.” Becky hands me a whiskey. I take a sniff and am immediately impressed. This is good shit, way better than anything she’s ever brought us. It almost makes up for the tequila.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” I take a sip and close my eyes to enjoy.

  “Not from me.” She winks and walks away.

  I immediately survey the bar. This week, none of my old conquests are lining the walls, and no one takes credit for it. When life gives you free whiskey, though, you fucking drink it.

  “It could be poisoned.” Geoff offers after I drain the glass.

  “Fuck off, Geoff. No one likes you.”

  Five minutes later, Becky returns with another glass.

  “Who is it?” I ask, taking the glass. “Show her to me.”

  “Who says it’s a she?” Becky teases and leaves.

  Paxton claps loudly. I mull this over, staring at the brown water that saves my life every weekend. Taking it up the ass is not my style, but I’d gladly share a bottle with the dude if he wants to keep sending it my way. I toss the drink back.

  “I need to move to family law,” Paxton marvels. “Every one of you fuckers has liquor falling from the sky, wherever you go.”

  “It’s a shit pit. You don’t want in it. You’ll end up jaded like the rest of us and resist relationships to fuck everything that moves. On second thought, maybe you should.”

  A third drink is put into my hand. This time, Becky nods toward the end of the bar. I’d know that body anywhere. Kate McArthur. The beautiful brunette in a screaming red dress is spending a lot of time studying the beer list on the back wall.

  There is a certain power to whiskey when it crosses my bloodstream. Instead of whiskey dick, I become invincible. Sex for hours, up all night, luck at the casino. Name it, it happens. Suddenly my plan to sleep the weekend away no longer looks appetizing.

  “I thought you were going to—”

  “Geoff, none of us like you. Go home.” I toss Paxton a two-fingered salute at my temple and skirt around the full bar tables to the vixen responsible for feeding me booze. “I understand you like good whiskey.”

  Thick curls I can already envision wrapped around my wrist bounce as she turns around with a smirk.

  “I knew you wanted me.” I drop into the seat next to Kate McArthur. Without David mouth-breathing next to me, it’s easier to check her out. She looks better than she did six years ago on that topless beach. “But this is pretty brazen.”

  “I know you think this cocky asshole routine is cute, but it’s really not.” Kate tosses back with a flirty smile.

  “I’m not the one buying you drinks.” I spin the half-empty glass on the bar and give her a hard look. “You can’t buy me off, no matter how good the whiskey is.”

  “Who said I was looking to buy you off?” She checks her phone, bored. “You looked like you wanted to kill your friend over there and blood makes me nauseous. Your kind usually shuts up with a little booze.”

  “I don’t think you know anything about my kind.”

  “Try me.”

  It’s a threat. It’s an opening. It’s a heavy suggestion. Her eyes are heavily lined and her lips are as red as her dress. Everything about her screams fuck me.

  “If you fuck me, I’ll nail you for infidelity.”

  “Ridiculous. Everyone knows we’re getting divorced. We’ve been separated for a year. It means nothing anymore.” Here, she sounds a little bitter. The mask shifts just a bit. Everyone in Hollywood has their tells. “Besides, everyone in town knows you like to sleep with your clients’ exes.”

  “Who says I’m interested in you?” I stand and lean over her. She smells sweet, tinged with something dark. It’s my favorite smell. “Who says I’ll take your whiskey and then let you touch my dick?”

  “I think you hate David as much as I do. Wouldn’t it be worth it, then? Fuck him over by sleeping with me?”

  I don’t like where this is going. I grab her chair and spin her around to face me. I hook a finger under her chin and pull her up to look at me.

  “What are you trying to pull? I’m smarter than you, Kate. Don’t cross me.”

  “You don’t scare me.” She breathes.

  “I should.”

  She pulls something out of her tiny purse and sets it on the counter. She shoots the rest of her glass and stands so we’re almost humping already. I can feel every inch of her pressed against me and my pants run tight.

  “I’m in room 1275.”

  “I’m not going to sleep with you, Kate.”

  “I never said anything about sleeping, Eric.”

  I palm the key and stick it in my shirt pocket. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  KATE

  Making good decisions is one of those things I always grappled with: what, exactly, made something a “good” decision or a “bad” one? Everything is so subjective and someone’s moral tailspin doesn’t always jive with mine.

  Consequences aren’t always bad things, either. Maybe going to jail for a weekend keeps someone from getting into a car wreck or hides them from a serial killer. Maybe a house fire frees a family from financial burden. Maybe getting caught in a compromising situation means a jackass named David can finally abandon the wife he kept for publicity more than anything, and paying out millions is just a means to an end.

  You know. Whatever.

  I stare at myself in the soft hotel bathroom lighting and take a deep breath. What I’m planning could sit on either side of the moral decision spectrum. Legally, I’m still a married woman. Legally, this could be considered adultery. Legally, my lawyer would probably kill me.

  But David has already broken our bed. We are already separate, independent entities. We are only tied together in name and tree scrapings, nothing else. There is no more weight to this marriage that ended over a year ago.

  “Shut up. Stop thinking so much. Put on the goddamn lipstick.” Lily yells at me over speakerphone. “God help me, woman, if I need to come up there and do it for you, I will.”

  “He might get off to that.”

  “Probably. But no.” Lily makes a gagging noise. “I’m not getting involved in your mess, Kate. I’m just the instigator, the enabler. You put that nightie on, swipe on some lipstick, and sex-kitten your hair. Fuck that man like you’ve been fucking him in your daydreams.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to talk me out of this?” I sigh and line my lips. I almost feel cheap, like I’m selling myself. But wouldn’t that mean I’m in charge of my own agency? That’s almost empowering. “You aren’t supposed to coerce me into it.”

  “Shut up. How much alcohol have you had?”

  “Enough.”

  “Clearly not. I’ll have them send up another bottle.”

  “Pinot Grigio, please. I don’t want to stain this thing.” I gesture pointlessly to the white lacy nightie I’m wearing. “My dry cleaner would hate me then too.”

  “Everyone’s dry cleaner hates them. It’s a fact of life. Jamie will be up there in three minutes. Chug it and do the deed, girl. If you can pull this off, you’ll have the best revenge possible. We can watch David’s head explode together.”

  “Chilled, please.”

  “You’re lucky I love you. Three minutes.” Lily hangs up.

  My best friend managing one of the swankiest hotels in Los Angeles comes with a lot of perks. Like private doors and free rooms and wine. I need a lot more wine.

  A steward, nametag Jamie, shows up in exactly three minutes with a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio. Not top shelf, but nothing to sniff at, either. I fill up a wine glass to the top and gulp it down while watching the clock.

  Almost thirty minutes passed. What if he doesn’t show? That’d make for an even more awkward event in the courtroom.

  “Oh, hello David. Hello lawyer I propositioned but
was turned down by. Hello judge who now thinks I’m a whore.”

  Like Goodnight Moon, but so much worse.

  I’m halfway through the bottle, lounging on a lush chaise and envisioning my demise, when the door makes a clicking sound and swings open. Framed in the hallway lighting stands the man who has made me crazy for a dozen different reasons for the last several weeks.

  “I didn’t think you’d have the balls to show.” I say, wine-brave.

  Eric says nothing. He shuts the door and takes off his jacket, throws it on the bar near the door. Next comes his tie, effortlessly undone and flung over his shoulder. He advances on me like a panther: sleek, sexy, predatorial. Nothing like the big, bumbling, out-of-shape lion I’m used to.

  I take another sip of wine to steady myself. No one has touched me intimately, in a way I enjoyed, in longer than I cared to admit or think about. Watching Eric Stevens advance on me like this has every nerve in my body standing at attention.

  Is it hot in here or just him?

  “I had some things to take care of.” Eric unbuttons his shirt and lets it hang, framing his impeccable washboard abs.

  Abs I’d love to touch, lick, whatever. Forget the whole animal kingdom analogy, this man is carved out of granite like one of the gods they’d paint on pottery. He deserves a statue in his likeness.

  Maybe this is all the wine talking.

  Eric takes the wine bottle from my hands and presses it to his lips. He drains the rest of it and strips off his belt. His gaze burns through me. The pants drop to the floor and leave him in tight boxer-briefs.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “What are you offering?” I manage. I can only hope to remember this moment in the future so I can high-five myself over it. As it stands, my brain has gone near-hypothermic from the strip show going on before me.

  He offers a cheeky grin that changes into a smirk and rests a cupped hand over his crotch. I’m drawn to it, desperate to know what lies under his fingers.

  “You said you weren’t going to sleep with me.” I remind him. I force myself off the couch to regain a sense of self, some control over the situation. This is my game. I can feel him watching me now like I could feel him staring across that lacquered table twice a week.