The Billionaires Surprise Baby: A MFM Billionaire Menage Romance

by West, Harper

  “Ill?” he asks, looking gravely concerned. “Oh my God, Ivy. What happened? Why didn’t you tell Logan and me? We could have helped you.”

  “Well, as you can see, I’m fine, Tyler,” I assure him, “Let’s not make this all about you and Logan, shall we?”

  Tyler looks put off. “Well, excuse me for being worried about someone I love.”

  I look over at him, shocked.

  “Used to love, anyway,” he says, correcting himself.

  “Well, thanks,” I tell him, “But I’m fine.”

  “What was wrong, anyway?" Tyler asks. "You know Logan gives all of his employees' great benefits. If it were something serious…"

  It was serious. I've always had high blood pressure, and it made for a very complicated pregnancy. Around my third month, I reacted oddly to the medication I'd been on for nearly a decade and was taken off of it. My heart was working overtime, and the stress wasn't helping the situation.

  “It’s over now,” I say, hoping to change the subject. “I’m fine.”

  “Good,” he says. He really does sound relieved. “Then what happened to everything you worked for?”

  I lean back in my seat and let myself enjoy the warm air coming through the vents. There was a time that I could’ve owned a car like this. I would’ve bought one just because I could, and it would’ve sat in the garage for years. I chuckle inwardly, a little jealous of Tyler. Not just because he has money and nice things. But because he can just drop this kind of money on something that’s clearly a plaything for him. He doesn’t have responsibilities to anyone but himself.

  “Ivy, are you there?” he asks, waving a hand in front of my face as we wait for the light to change. “Where’d you go?”

  “Sorry,” I stammer, “You asked me what happened to Lawrence Vines, didn’t you?” Gosh, I haven’t said the name of my now-bankrupt business until now.

  “Yeah. But if it’s too much and you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I say, taking a deep breath to collect myself. “When I got sick, I decided to unofficially promote one of my executive assistants, someone I trusted implicitly, and give her most of my day-to-day responsibilities. And a hefty pay raise. But I forbade her from telling anyone that something was wrong with me.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “Tyler, being in charge of a multi-million-dollar operation is…” my voice trails off. “Have you ever heard the expression, ‘heavy hangs the head who wears the crown?’”

  “Logan uses it occasionally,” he says with a nod.

  “Well, the CEO of a company like that is almost always a target for scandal. There’s always someone looking to dethrone you. And when you’re a woman in charge, holy hell, Tyler, those attacks are even more intense,” I explain. “I didn’t want to let anyone see any weaknesses in me. No cracks in my armor. Because they would be exploited.”

  “I see.”

  “So I kept my issues a secret and let another woman make big decisions in my stead. She meant well, but she made some terrible choices and got in bed with the wrong people.”

  “How so?” he asks, “You were in the wine business, how much could she possibly have screwed up?”

  I sigh. “She thought that she was saving me tremendous amounts of money by going with a supplier that was offering her a discount, but it turned out that he was trying to unload a sub-par product,” I explain, “And when you’re dealing with wine that costs thousands per bottle and is being served to royalty and celebrities, it’d better be the best damn bottle you’ve ever tasted. Suddenly Lawrence Vines didn’t have the name it used to. No one was buying. Almost overnight we were blackballed. God, it all happened so fast.”

  “You couldn’t sue this woman?” Tyler wonders, “Or the shady supplier?”

  I shake my head. "I couldn't sue my assistant. I honestly do believe that she meant well, and I don't think that I could sue her for naivety. Plus, I was the one who told her to trust her instincts. So, her mistakes were technically my mistakes," I say, "And as far as the supplier goes… well, I could've sued them. Sure. But it would have been a lengthy lawsuit, and I was just too sick."

  Tyler doesn’t say anything for several minutes. Then, as we pull up to a spot in front of my apartment, he looks at me, strangely.

  “Ivy, I’m calling bullshit,” he says with a scowl on his face.

  I’m taken aback.

  “The Ivy Lawrence I know wouldn't let anything stand in her way. She was tenacious and dynamic. Determined. Passionate. She wouldn't let any illness get the best of her. She could be on her damn deathbed, and she'd still be fighting for what she loved," he says.

  “I was ill, Tyler. Bedridden,” I reply.

  He shakes his head. “Something else happened, Ivy. Something you’re not telling me.”

  Yeah. Something major. But cocky playboy Tyler is years away from being ready to meet our child.

  “I’ve told you everything you need to know,” I say flatly. I grab my bags and paperwork. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Stop. Ivy, please,” he implores, “I’m sorry I pissed you off. Really.”

  I don’t say anything, but I don’t get out of the car either.

  “It's just that you used to be so alive. I know this is the first time I've seen you in well over a year, but you're like a different person now, and I don't like her. The fire that used to burn inside you all the time is out," he says.

  I still don't say anything. I just feel heavy. He's right. I have no passion for business or anything anymore. All of my energy goes into raising my son, which, of course, I love. But single motherhood is draining. Especially when you're still recovering from severe postpartum depression.

  “Although maybe that’s a blessing in disguise,” he says with a chuckle, “Since you’re going to be around all the times, it’s going to be a lot easier if you don’t remind me so much of the woman Logan and I fell in love with.”

  He looks at me menacingly. He's baiting me, and I know it.

  Logan may have gotten to me by being bossy and domineering in a way that I hate how much I love. But Tyler got to me by pushing my buttons. He knows that if pushed hard enough, I will snap back.

  “Yeah,” he says, “Way easier to deal with you when you’re just a shell of who you used to me.”

  I’m fuming, but I don’t bite.

  “Way less likely to fall back in love with you,” he taunts, “And it’ll be easier for Logan to…”

  Fuck this.

  I launch myself at Tyler, my lips on his, both of us grappling for dominance. His arms wind around my back, and he pulls me down hard on top of him. My hands are in his hair, tugging lightly as I work him over with my mouth. Fuck, he feels good. I haven't so much as kissed anyone since I left him and Logan and I'd forgotten how full and sweet Tyler's lips were. I'd always loved kissing, and Tyler was always happy to indulge. Seems that he still is. He lips feel perfect against mine.

  And I know how they’d feel even lower.

  I break the kiss to moan against his mouth. I open my eyes. Tyler's are closed. He's so beautiful like this. Like he's lost in his pleasure. His hair is all mussed, and his cheeks are a little red. I push my hips into him, feeling his erection through my dress and his suit pants.

  He may not be in love with me anymore, but he can still get hard for me.

  And that does something to me.

  “Ivy,” Tyler whispers in my ear, trailing light kisses down my neck.

  “Yeah?” I breathe.

  His lips dip lower, to my collarbone. Then to the space at the bottom of my throat.

  “Nothing,” he husks, “I just missed saying your name.”

  “Missed you too,” I confess. I fumble with his belt and move onto his zipper. I need to feel him, all hard and throbbing, in my hand. I need his taste in my mouth. I need to hear him moan my name. I need his release as much as I need my own.

  It’s a tricky maneuver, but we move the driver’s seat bac
k as far as it’ll go and I crawl to the floor, kind of half kneeling-half squatting before him. It’s not a comfortable position, but I hardly care about that right now.

  I pull out Tyler’s cock. He hisses. His breath catches.

  “Please,” he begs, “I need you, Ivy.”

  Even though I’m on my knees on the floor of Tyler’s insane luxury car, I feel like the powerful one in this exchange. I’m making him beg and sputter. I’m making him go speechless. I’m making him dizzy with desire.

  And now, I’ll make him come so hard he sees stars.

  I part my lips and slide his head between them, swirling my tongue around it to get him good and slick. I trace the thick vein on the underside of his cock with my tongue, then take as much of him in my mouth as I can without choking, giving him a long, hard suck.

  “Fuck,” he groans as his head rolls back and his eyes close.

  I moan around his cock, knowing that the vibrations will feel good.

  I take him as deeply as I can, bobbing my head and working his base with my hand in a quick rhythm.

  “Baby, I’m so close,” he warns me, his voice cracking. His hands move to my cheeks and then wander into my hair, holding my head in place. He wants me to swallow.

  Fine by me.

  I fondle his balls for a second and dip my tongue into the slit on the tip of his cock, relishing the salty sweet taste of pre-cum, before diving back down, taking as much of him as I can, almost so hard that I gag on his length. I don’t, though. I work him with my tongue. My lips. The back of my throat. My hands.

  “Fuck," he seethes. He lets out a low, masculine, growling noise and comes suddenly and forcefully down my throat. I swallow every drop, and he holds my face while I do, gently brushing my hair back, and murmuring his appreciation.

  When he’s all spent out, I playfully kiss his tip and crawl back into his lap.

  “Good girl,” he teases.

  I sigh. Good girl. I missed that. Both he and Logan used to whisper, ‘good girl,’ to me after I made them come. It came out of my hatred for that term. I’d always thought it condescending. The guys started teasing me with it. But, after a while, it started to mean something different. I couldn’t explain why, but I started liking it. Loving it, even.

  Still fully exposed, Tyler pulls me in for a kiss.

  Then we hear the knocking at the window.

  Chapter 6

  Tyler

  Christ on a cracker.

  That rap at the window was startling enough, but then to look up and see the unbearable Mrs. Lawrence, Ivy’s mother, standing above us with that ever-present judgmental scowl on her face… That was not what a man wants to see thirty seconds after coming his fucking brains out.

  Ivy struggles to right her dress and opens the door to let herself out before I’ve even got my dick tucked away and my pants zipped up properly.

  “My esteemed daughter, ladies, and gentlemen," Mrs. Lawrence says, hands on her hips. "You wonder why you live like trash, Ivy. Well, here's your answer. You behave like a two-dollar whore and yet you're surprised that you can't find a nice man."

  “Hey!” I snap at her.

  “I’m just saying…”

  I expect Ivy to stand up for herself, but she doesn’t argue.

  “Where’s Oliver?” Ivy finally spits back.

  Excuse me. “Who’s Oliver?” I ask.

  “Inside, of course,” Ivy’s mother answers.

  “You left him inside?” Ivy screeches, “Alone.”

  “For one goddamn minute, Ivy,” Mrs. Lawrence says, “Stop being such a drama queen.”

  Ivy rushes inside. “Thanks for the lift, Tyler,” she says, kissing me on the cheek, leaving me out here with this terrible woman. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Wait,” I call after her. She doesn’t stop.

  I still don’t know who Oliver is and I have the terrible feeling that I’m not supposed to know. Whoever he is, she’s hiding him away from me for a reason.

  Mrs. Lawrence looks down her nose at me. “Thank you for driving my daughter home,” she says.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I hate thinking of her taking the train all the way down here at night.”

  I look around. This isn’t a great neighborhood. The buildings are all run-down. Several are even boarded up. There are a few used needles in the gutter along with the cigarette butts and used condoms.

  “I don’t like it much either,” I assess.

  “She’s been mugged twice since moving down here,” Mrs. Lawrence informs me.

  “What?” I do a double take.

  Mrs. Lawrence makes a tsk sound.

  “Then why don’t you let her move back in with you?” I ask, immediately furious with this woman.

  “Ivy wouldn’t move back in with her father and me if we paid her,” Mrs. Lawrence explains, “She’s too stubborn.” That, I buy. “But even if she wanted to come back, that’s not going to happen. Not with her… current baggage.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Mrs. Lawrence continues to tsk. “You know what her lifestyle is like, Tyler.”

  I nod. I do. I was part of it for a while.

  “So you’re saying that you wouldn’t help your daughter after she lost everything?” I ask, bewildered. “After she was so sick?”

  “Sick? Is that what she’s telling people?”

  I blink. “What?”

  Mrs. Lawrence crosses her arms over her chest. She purses her lips. “Tyler, get back in your fast car and fuck off home to Neverland with your other half. And, both of you, leave my daughter alone.”

  And, with that, she follows Ivy back into the apartment.

  I head back to the penthouse and say goodnight to Mrs. Little. Logan is already home, sitting on the sofa, reading something on his laptop.

  “Where were you?” he asks.

  I head into the kitchen, grabbing myself a beer. I swallow half of it before returning to the living room and responding to him. “Drove Ivy home. She was a little stranded.”

  Logan makes a sound in the back of his throat. Kind of like a grunt. Definitely not a pleased sound. But I can’t figure out his expression.

  “Her mother was there,” I offer.

  “And how is the old bag?”

  “Charming as always.”

  This time Logan chuckles.

  “Do you know anyone named Oliver?” I ask him, wondering if he has any insight.

  Logan creases his brow, not understanding the question. “I’m sure I’ve met someone named Oliver at some point in my life, Tyler.”

  I sigh. “I mean someone connected to Ivy.”

  “Why?”

  “When I dropped her off, she ran into the apartment to tend to someone called Oliver,” I explain.

  Logan makes that inscrutable sound once again.

  I look at the floor. I’m dreading saying this, but feel I have to. “I think Ivy might be seeing somebody.”

  Logan doesn’t move. His face is stone. He looks back down at this computer. “Good for her,” he mutters.

  We’re both quiet for a moment. I sit down next to him on the couch and turn the television on very low, not so much to watch something, but for the background noise. I drain the rest of my beer.

  “She blew me,” I finally tell him.

  “Who? Ivy?”

  I nod.

  Logan smirks.

  “What’s with the face?” I ask.

  “If she went down on you, then whoever this Oliver guy is, she’s not serious about him.”

  I think about it. That makes sense.

  “But it sounds like they’re living together,” I tell him.

  Logan frowns.

  “Fuck, you should have seen that neighborhood, Logan,” I say, remembering the boarded-up windows and drug paraphernalia littering the streets.

  “Hardly Fifth Avenue,” he assumes.

  “Not just that,” I tell him, seriously, “It’s dangerous. Her mom told me that Ivy’s been mugged
twice.”

  Logan swallows.

  “She’s not safe there,” I conclude.

  I wait for Logan to spring to action. Or at least to react in some way. But he remains still.

  “We need to help her,” I tell him, “She could get attacked again. Or worse.”

  “Oliver will protect her,” Logan taunts.

  “Be serious, man.”

  “What do you propose we do, Tyler?” he says.

  “The Kenabes moved out of the two-bedroom on the seventh floor," I remind him, "Let's at least get her out of that god awful apartment."

  Logan stands up to pour himself a few fingers of brandy. He only drinks brandy when he’s stressed. I look at the bottle. This isn’t his first glass.

  “She’s down on her luck, so we should just hand her a pricy apartment in a luxury building? Just because?” he says sarcastically. “Just think for a second how that would look to the rest of my employees. Like I’m treating the new receptionist like she’s fucking royalty.”

  “None of the other employees have to know,” I tell him, “You can have her sign a confidentiality contract.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, Logan,” I argue, “You, Ivy and I have a history. We may not be together anymore, but don’t you care what happens to her?”

  Logan swallows his whole drink in one gulp. Okay, that clearly wasn’t the way to get through to him.

  “We’ll be able to find out who Oliver is if she’s living under our roof,” I point out.

  Now, Logan looks interested.

  “I’ll draft the documents,” I say before Logan can argue.

  Chapter 7

  Logan

  I do a thorough inspection of the vacant seventh-floor apartment in the building myself. I have the walls repainted, and the countertops refinished. I make sure that the appliances are in working order and that the unit is internet-ready.

  And I do something… questionable.

  I install a small security camera. In what will be Ivy’s bedroom.