The Billionaires Surprise Baby: A MFM Billionaire Menage Romance

by West, Harper

  Either way, it’s their favorite. I put on some sexy black stilettos and do my makeup. I smile in the mirror. I feel so hopeful. So whole. Tyler and Logan… well, they’re my family now. And this baby will make us complete.

  I arrive at the restaurant and find the guys at their table. Logan sees me and pours me a glass of wine. Tyler kisses me first. Then Logan, as he hands me the glass. I thank him and take a big sip.

  Fuck. What am I doing?

  I hurry to set the glass down. No drinking for me.

  “Are you okay, Ivy?” Logan asks.

  “Yeah,” Tyler echoes, “You look different.”

  Hmm. “Good different?” I ask, hoping he means that I’ve got that glow or something and not that I’ve already started to put on weight.

  “Yes,” Tyler answers, “Good different. And I love that dress on you.”

  The waiter introduces himself and asks how we’re liking the wine. The guys look at me for the answer. “It’s fine,” I say.

  “You haven’t touched your glass,” Logan points out.

  “I’m not drinking tonight,” I tell him, “No drinking for a while, actually.”

  I order my appetizer and entrée, and the guys do the same. I wait for them to ask me why I’m not drinking, figuring that’s a natural enough segue to my big news. But, for whatever reason, they don’t mention it.

  “So, what’s new?” I ask with more enthusiasm than necessary.

  “Tammy’s pregnant,” Tyler answers.

  “Congratulations,” I tell him. Logan groans. I look at him, confused.

  Tyler sighs. I notice he’s not looking too excited about becoming an uncle again. His sister is a sweet girl, but unfortunately not the most responsible person in the world. But, still, a baby is great news, right?

  “I kind of can’t believe her,” Tyler says, “I mean, how irresponsible can you be? At least she knows who the father is this time. I think she even suckered him into marrying her.”

  I swallow hard. I know that our situation is different, but I don’t know exactly who the father of my baby is either. I know it’s one of the two men in front of me. That makes it okay, right?

  Logan shakes his head. “Well, her career is tanked.”

  “How so?” I ask.

  “She barely made it through school,” Tyler answers, “She thinks she’ll just bounce back after giving birth like it’s no big deal. But she’s going to be breastfeeding for a while. And after taking all that time… the company’s going to move on without her. She can’t expect to leave for so long and then come back, at the same level, and everything will be exactly the same.”

  “I guess not,” I say.

  The appetizers arrive. I was looking forward to my arugula salad, but as I eat, it’s suddenly tasteless.

  “So… you don’t think you’ll ever have kids?” I ask.

  Tyler chuckles. "You've seen how I live," he says like it explains everything. "I'm not responsible enough for a child. I'll do something stupid like drop it. Or scar it for life. I can't handle that kind of commitment. I mean, kids are for life. Non-negotiable."

  Tyler’s more of an adult than he gives himself credit for, but he doesn’t see it that way. Maybe Logan can convince him.

  “Me neither,” Logan adds, looking down. “You know about my family. Depression. Mania. Addiction. Alcoholism. I don’t want to pass those genes on to the next generation.”

  “Understandable,” I tell him.

  “Plus, it’s not like I have a great example of parenthood to look up to,” he continues, “I pretty much raised myself. Until Tyler’s family all but adopted me.”

  I nod. He’s right. Logan’s parents were awful people, at least the way he describes them, and they saw having a child as a burden.

  And as I look into Logan’s eyes, I’m afraid he feels the same way.

  “I can’t see myself as a parent,” Logan says.

  “Me neither,” Tyler chimes in.

  Both sip their wine, oblivious to the fact that they’ve just broken my heart.

  “How’s your salad, Ivy?” Logan asks.

  My eyes well. Maybe it’s hormones. Maybe it’s my disappointment. But either way, I’m seconds from dissolving into tears. I stand up and throw my napkin down.

  “I have to go,” I announce, running out of the restaurant.

  “What the hell,” Logan says, “Where are you going?”

  I don’t answer. I flag down the nearest cab and climb in. I know that the guys will try to follow me, so I don’t go to Logan’s apartment or to mine. I head to my mother’s place. It’s awful, confessing the news of my pregnancy to this incredibly judgmental woman. But I need somewhere where the guys won’t be able to contact me.

  It takes months, but finally, they stop calling.

  Present Day

  Staring into Logan’s cold blue eyes, it’s hard to believe that I ever loved this man. I know that he thinks that Oliver is my lover and he’s ready to throttle him. But I’d rather that than know that if Logan knew the truth, that Oliver is my son, he’d see him as a burden and want nothing to do with him.

  I couldn’t stand to see him reject my child.

  “Yeah,” I finally answer, “Oliver is the reason I left.”

  Logan says nothing and his facial expression barely changes. But I know he’s hurt.

  And, quite frankly, so am I. What started out as a lovely morning has turned into something stressful, dredging up with the past.

  “Logan, I’m taking the rest of the day off,” I say, taking a deep, fortifying breath, “After what you’ve put me through, I feel that you owe me that much. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  I hear him say, “fine,” but I’m out the door.

  I don’t explain myself to Ms. O’Dell. I just leave.

  Chapter 9

  Tyler

  “I have to find out who Oliver is,” Logan says as soon as I get home that night.

  “How?” I ask, “Also… why?”

  “Excuse me?”

  I shrug. “Why do you need to know who Oliver is? Some guy Ivy’s with, that’s who. There. End of story.”

  “He’s more than that,” he says gravely, “She left us for him.”

  “Ouch.”

  That stings. I pour myself two fingers of Logan’s brandy and down it more than one should. The brandy bottle is almost empty, meaning that Logan’s been doing a lot of mulling.

  “Are you sure?”

  He nods.

  “Well, that’s it then, isn’t it? Ivy’s made her choice?” I asked, “Why should we work ourselves up over this?”

  “Don’t you want to know the bastard she left us for?” he asks.

  “Not really,” I answer. It’s only half a lie. I’m curious, sure. But I’m not in love with her anymore. I’ve moved on. Been with loads of other women.

  Logan, on the other hand, had taken forever to come out of his depression. When Ivy left, he was in denial for months. He called her and left voicemails. Sent texts and emails. Even wrote her letters and had them sent to her house. He did everything but stalk her outright, and that was only because I told him not to.

  It was almost a year before he finally realized that she was gone and wasn’t coming back. And that that point, he just became despondent. He didn’t go out. He didn’t want to even think about dating. He pretty much just worked and slept.

  It's only in the past few months that he started going to the gym with me again or staying up to play video games or watch movies. Only recently has he begun to show signs of moving on.

  And now Ivy’s back. I expected Logan to either retreat into his depression or become manic and frenzied. He’s chosen the latter.

  “Well,” Logan starts, pouring himself another glass of brandy, “I want to know. I want to know everything about this fuckwit who stole Ivy from us.”

  “You can’t steal people, Logan,” I point out, fruitlessly.

  “Then I want to know what this guy has that we don’t.”


  I shrug. “I don’t know,” I tell him, “I don’t think it’s any one thing. Ivy just loves him more than she used to love us. End of story.”

  “How can you be so easy-going about this?” he asks me.

  “I don’t know,” I reply.

  “Don’t you even care that she left? You act like it never hurt you at all.”

  I almost break the glass with how hard I slam it down on the end table. “Are you fucking kidding me, man?” I practically spit, “I was devastated when Ivy left. She was everything. Our relationship was everything to me.”

  “You’ve got a fucked up way of showing it,” he says, “Fucking everything that moves.”

  “Yeah, I sleep around. You have a problem with that?”

  “You just say that Ivy meant everything to you and yet you throw yourself around like a cheap whore,” he grits out.

  “Fuck you, Logan,” I shout, “I loved Ivy. I loved the three of us together. We were perfect, and nothing will ever come close to that. And that’s why I sleep around. I don’t get attached or promise anyone any kind of commitment. I don’t give my heart away. I don’t trust anyone with it.”

  Logan blinks a few times, taking in my words.

  “I don’t want to love anyone like that ever again,” I conclude, “Don’t want to hurt like that anymore.”

  I take a few deep breaths. It’s been a long time since I admitted that to anyone.

  “But you are over her?” Logan asks, “Truly and completely over her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like, seeing her doesn’t make your head spin?”

  “No,” I answer solemnly, “I don’t love her anymore.”

  “Oh.”

  Logan looks disappointed.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” He shakes his head.

  It’s not nothing. I can tell.

  “I know why you’re so hell-bent on finding out who Oliver is,” I tell him, “It’s obvious. You want her back.”

  “I…”

  “I’m right,” I assess, “And that’s unhealthy. Just let it go, man. She’s made her choice.”

  Logan, surprisingly, seems to accept that.

  “I’m going out,” I tell him, grabbing my jacket and slipping my wallet into the pocket. “Do you want to come?”

  Logan shakes his head no.

  “Suit yourself.”

  He flops down onto the sofa, drink in hand, and stares off into space, looking even more dejected than before.

  Christ, that's not something I'll want to deal with later. Depressed Logan is about as pitiful as it gets and since Logan Rutledge is the CEO of a major company and he projects power and dominance, the only people that he'll let help him when his depression rears its ugly head are me and Mrs. Little.

  Well, if that’s what I’m coming home too, then I’d better enjoy the hell out of my night out.

  When I finally reach the lobby of our building, and the elevator lets me out, I see Ivy, wearing jeans and a sweater, talking to a younger woman. The woman is holding what looks like a gift bag.

  I get closer in order to hear their conversation.

  “Thank you so much, Patty,” Ivy tells the woman.

  “Of course," the woman, Patty, says. "My sister wasn't using them anymore, and we figured that you and Oliver would like them. Consider it a little housewarming gift."

  I cringe. So, whoever Oliver is, Ivy is bringing him by. And introducing him to her friends, apparently. I can’t help but be a little hurt. Ivy rarely introduced Logan and me to any friends. Then again, Ivy claimed not to have many female friends. Maybe that’s changed.

  Then Ivy does something strange. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out some cash. She hands it to Patty.

  “See you Monday,” Ivy calls to the woman as she leaves.

  I’m confused. Why is Ivy paying her friend? Why will they see each other on Monday? Ivy has to work Monday and then help with inventory will into the evening. I doubt they’ll have time for anything that evening.

  “Tyler?” Ivy says as she passes me. Damn it, I’ve been so deep in my thoughts that I didn’t have the foresight to hide before she spotted me.

  “Hi Ivy,” I tell her.

  “Headed out?”

  I nod.

  “Anyplace interesting?” she asks.

  “Usual spot,” I answer.

  “Let’s see,” she says, thinking, “It’s Friday. And on Fridays, if I remember correctly, Tyler Pearson is found in the Savoy Lounge. Am I right?”

  Her eyes twinkle. She smiles.

  “Um,” I start, shaking some sense into myself, “Yeah. You’re right.”

  Ivy sighs. “Must be nice,” she says, “I haven’t been out for a night on the town in ages.”

  I squint. Is she looking for an invitation to come with me? Cause that’s not going to happen.

  “Ivy, we need to talk about something,” I tell her.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Oliver,” I say.

  A shiver runs through her. I’ve hit a nerve. She looks pale as a ghost.

  “Oliver is none of your business.”

  “I know,” I start, “I don’t know who Oliver is and, quite frankly, I don’t care.” I sound cold, but it’s out of necessity. “But please, for the love of God, don’t bring him around here.”

  “Tyler, you can’t tell me who I can and can’t have in my apartment,” she says, looking seriously pissed.

  “I know that,” I say, “But please don’t parade your new boyfriend in front of Logan.”

  Ivy’s mouth opens. She looks surprised.

  “You think Oliver is my boyfriend,” she says. She looks like she’s about to start laughing at me.

  “Well, who is he then?”

  “None of your goddamn business,” she says, now looking angrier than before. “Someone that both you and Logan made it very clear was unwelcome in your lives.”

  I shake my head. Fuck, this is like some cryptic brain teaser puzzle. Not her boyfriend, but someone that Logan and I wouldn’t want in our lives? Ivy doesn’t have any brothers or male cousins.

  I don’t get it. But that’s hardly the point.

  “Look,” I say bluntly, “Logan is…”

  I guess I take too long to answer because Ivy cuts me off. “Logan is… sitting in his ivory tower looking down on the rest of humanity, judging silently,” she says.

  “Logan is still in love with you, Ivy,” I tell her, “And he knows that whoever Oliver is, that he’s the reason that the three of us aren’t together anymore. When you left us, he spiraled out. He drank his weight in liquor. He barely left the apartment.”

  Ivy swallows hard.

  “He was just starting to look like himself again," I start, "And then you came back. Now he's upstairs looking like hell, and I'm going to have to deal with this all over again. Just… keep your private life to yourself, Ivy. Please don't flaunt it in front of Logan. He's more breakable than people think."

  Ivy looks like there’s a storm brewing behind her eyes. Tears prick up in the corners.

  “Fuck you, Tyler,” she says, clearly trying not to cry. She’s failing. “Fuck you and fuck Logan.” She’s losing the battle with her emotions. Tears begin to fall and run down her cheeks.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  She looks so vulnerable right now. So small. She frantically wipes her eyes and tries to steady her breathing. I feel terrible. Despite myself, I still have this deep-seated need to comfort Ivy when she’s sad. I want nothing more than to hold her in my arms and keep her sadness at bay. I want to stroke her hair and calm her down. Feel her heartbeat slow against mine.

  “I love Oliver,” she whispers, “He’s my whole world.”

  And with that, she runs back into the elevator and heads upstairs. I'm left in the lobby, stunned. I feel gutted. Like I've been stabbed, and all of my blood is pooling around my feet until I'm left lifeless.

  I love Oliver. He’s my whole world.

  M
ere words have never hurt me more. I wait until I know that Ivy is safely upstairs in her apartment before getting back in the elevator and heading back to the penthouse. I don’t feel like going anywhere anymore.

  I’m not as over Ivy as I thought.

  Chapter 10

  Ivy

  “When you list your previous responsibilities on your resume, start each bullet point with an active verb,” I tell my students, “Words like led, spear-headed, or organized are more dynamic than terms like was responsible for or was an assistant to.”

  The women in my seminar nod in assent.

  “Ms. Lawrence?" a student asks. She's sweet, and she's been attending for a few weeks, but I always forget her name. Bailey, maybe? Hailey?

  “Yes?”

  “What do you do if you have a significant gap in your resume?” she asks, “I took time off to have my daughter. And a few months quickly turned into a few years. Now my husband’s gone, and I have to get back out there, but I’m afraid the no one will hire me because I’ve been out of the workforce for so long.”

  I nod. I know exactly what that’s like.

  “Should I lie?” she asks, “Not lie, per se, but maybe fudge the numbers a bit?”

  “No," I answer, "Absolutely not. An employer might actually call your references or research the company, and you'll be caught in your lie. The best thing to do is, to be honest with whoever you're interviewing with."

  Then women look defeated. Apparently, a lot of them are in the same boat.

  “If you have the time and financial resources, a class or two might be helpful,” I add, “Technology changes almost daily and if you can develop a new, marketable skill, that would help your resume stand out.”

  A few of them write that tidbit down.

  But, unfortunately, we’re all faced with the realization that it’s very hard for single mothers to get back out there after time spent tending to our families.

  I lecture the women on the finer points of how to dress for business meetings and remind them to always look people in the eye and give a firm handshake. We talk about backing one another up in conference rooms; when a woman makes a good point, another should acknowledge that point. This way, we can make sure we're heard can get credit for a good idea, and no one gets steamrolled.