Twins For Christmas - A Billionaire's Secret Babies Romance Read online

  “Your workplace attire, while very sharp, is becoming something of a…distraction.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, feeling my cheeks redden as I spoke.

  “You’re a lovely young woman,” she said. “And I don’t blame you one bit for wanting to, well, show off your assets. Back when I was your age, you should’ve seen some of the outfits my friends and I would go out in.”

  She smiled and shook her head, as if momentarily transported back to some ’80s LA club.

  “Anyway,” she went on, snapping herself back into it. “There’s a time and a place, and this isn’t it.”

  “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I remember when I bought this blouse it was kind of big on me, if anything.”

  “Well, it’s not now,” she said. “Take a look.”

  She nodded toward the horizontal mirror on her office wall, low enough to the ground that I could see myself from the waist up.

  “Holy…boobs!” I exclaimed.

  My boss was right—I was damn near busting out of my blouse! The fabric was strained and the buttons looked like they were giving it everything they had to stay together. How had I not noticed?

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “How did my shirt get so small?”

  “Have you put on weight?” she asked. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but it’s common for people who’ve just made a major move to overeat to deal with stress.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Everything else is fitting normally.”

  “Hmm,” she said, stepping over to me and giving me a look up and down. She seemed to be searching for something, something that only she could see. Or knew to look for.

  “How has your appetite been?” she asked.

  “Good,” I said. “Really good, actually—been eating more than I normally do. Really putting the office gym to good use burning it all off.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Boobs are bigger than usual, big appetite. How about this—have you been feeling strange recently? Out of sorts in any way?”

  I was ready to say no, that I’d been totally fine. But I hadn’t. I remembered the nausea from just a little while ago, and all the times before that.

  “I guess I have been feeling a bit off,” I said. “Not full-on flu or cold or anything. Like, I’ll feel randomly sick and it’ll go away really quickly. Maybe once or twice I’ve actually thrown up.”

  “I…see,” she said.

  “What?” I asked. “What is it?”

  “Isla, do you have anything important to do today? Anything that can’t be covered by your team?”

  “Um, no,” I said. “Just getting everything ready for the week.”

  She nodded and headed over to the desk, flipping through a small stack of cards and settling on the one she was looking for. Then she approached me and handed it over.

  “Dr. Philip Mills,” I said, reading the card. “The office doctor?”

  “That’s right,” she said. “I want you to see him right now. There’s a full team, great facilities—like a little hospital of our own.”

  “Hospital?” I asked. “But why?”

  My boss gave me a smile, one warmer than I’d ever seen from her.

  “Because, Isla,” she said. “I have a feeling your life is about to change.”

  Chapter 21

  Isla

  I left the office in a daze, my mind replaying the conversation I’d just had with the doctor.

  Pregnant.

  That’s what he’d said, that’s what he thought might be what was wrong with me. Or right—who even knew?

  I was in no state to even think about driving, so I called a cab and spent the entire ride home wondering if he was right, if there was really a baby inside of me. Sure, he said I’d have to wait for the blood tests to know, but he seemed almost positive.

  And it made perfect sense. All of the symptoms lined up perfectly with what pregnancy was supposed to be like. Granted, that was all just stuff I’d heard, but it seemed to be what the doctor thought, too.

  I plopped into the back of the cab and stared at the city as it passed me by. Wait until tomorrow, I tried to tell myself. That was when the doctor had said the blood test results would be ready. But I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell I could wait that long.

  Sure, Dr. Mills had said that home pregnancy tests weren’t one-hundred-percent accurate, but that wasn’t going to stop me.

  I needed to know, and I needed to know right then.

  “Can we stop by a pharmacy?” I asked the driver. “Would that be a problem?”

  “Not as long as you pay,” he said.

  I gave the affirmative and he made a turn, pulling into the parking lot of a drug store not long after. Ten minutes later I was back in the cab with the bag in my hand and on the way to my apartment. As we drove I noticed that the sun was a brilliant, wild pink in the sky, filling the scenery with one of those incredible sunsets you only saw in LA.

  Or Rio.

  “Ugh!” I cried out, loudly enough to give the driver pause.

  “You okay back there, miss?”

  “Yeah, fine, sorry.”

  But I wasn’t fine. At that moment I realized I’d gotten so wrapped up in the whole idea of being pregnant that it hadn’t occurred to me who the freaking father would be.

  Adam.

  I’d been with exactly one man in the last few years—him. If the test told me that I was pregnant, that would mean that I was about to have Adam’s kid.

  I’d gone to such a length to get away from him and somehow, someway, he’d managed to follow me in the most unexpected, intimate way possible.

  Mere moments after we’d arrived at the complex I was in my bathroom and fumbling with the box, the test and the instructions spilling out into the basin of my sink.

  “Shit,” I hissed as I tried to collect all of the stray items in my hands, which were shaking like crazy by this point.

  Finally, I had the instructions opened and the tester in my hand.

  “Okay,” I said. “Just, um, pee here, and…”

  I got to it, and a moment later placed the tester on the counter. I set my phone’s timer to ten minutes, and waited.

  It was the longest three minutes of my life. I spent the time pacing back and forth, thinking about all the ways my life could go wrong. I knew that if it were positive—which I didn’t know for sure, I had to remind myself—that would mean I’d have two options, since I was determined to keep the baby: go it alone, or call Adam.

  I tried to think about it, to weigh the pros and cons. But I was so caught up in the wait that I could only get a few minutes into the thinking before I found myself glancing over at my phone as the seconds ticked down.

  Finally, the timer went off. I rushed over to the sink so quickly that I nearly tripped over the bathroom rug. My hand was shaking, barely able to hold onto the tester. After taking one deep, steeling breath, I raised it to my hands.

  Two bars. Positive. I double-checked the instructions to make sure it was the case, and it was.

  I was pregnant.

  “Okay,” I said, speaking out loud. “I just found out that I’m pregnant. Sure, the result could be a false positive, but come on, what are the odds of that?”

  Maybe good, maybe bad—I didn’t know. And I didn’t need to know, because somehow, in the pit of my stomach, I knew that this was the answer. I was pregnant. Why else would I be feeling these symptoms?

  I dropped down onto the couch, the tester still in my hand even though I’d already learned from it what I needed to learn.

  Pregnant. And Adam was the father.

  I sat in a daze for the time, the word “pregnant” bouncing around my head over and over, doing the thing where you say the word so many times that it starts to sound like a word that doesn’t make sense, like it’s from another language.

  Before too long the hopelessness and the fear faded—to my surprise. And then I began to feel…actually kind of determined. I kne
w that I needed to do something, something so that I could feel like I had some level of control over my situation.

  I had to call Adam.

  Sure, I was still shaking, and I still felt like I was floating in the air above my body. But I had to call him.

  But how to get hold of him? Could I really just call up the main office and ask to speak to the CEO? I’d have to tell them who I was and make sure Adam heard that it was me on the line.

  With a deep breath, I took out my phone and dialed up my office, then asked to be transferred to the San Francisco offices. That done, I asked to be connected to Adam Forde’s office. Surprisingly, that led me to getting put on hold for his secretary. After only a little doing, I managed to get right outside his office door.

  The light, jazzy on-hold music played, and as it did I found myself thinking, thinking about the baby, thinking about Adam.

  And then right in the middle of my racing thoughts, a single phrase stuck out to me.

  Was this really what I wanted?

  Adam was the father, there was no denying it. But did I really want him to be in my life? In my baby’s life?

  I considered the question, the on-hold music still droning on and on.

  If I were to tell him, to get him involved, what would that mean? Could I really expect him to do what needed to be done, to step to the plate and be a father?

  I considered it more.

  What about what he’d done when the whole incident in Rio had happened? What was his reaction? Apparently, he’d thought it was just fine to wave some money in my face and hope that I was a problem that’d just go away.

  Why would I expect him to do any differently now?

  I could already imagine the conversation—me feeling like I was on the verge of tears, him all cool and professional, telling me that he didn’t have time to raise a child, of course, but he’d be happy to chip in some money to make things a little easier for me.

  Cool and professional and unbothered, ready to send a problem off as easily as he could, just like before.

  I didn’t want it.

  “Mr. Forde’s office,” came the female voice on the other end of the line.

  I moved the phone slowly away from my ear and…hung up.

  At that moment I made a vow, that I’d handle this situation on my own, that I’d look out for myself without anyone’s help, especially not in the form of hush money from the billionaire asshole who fathered my baby.

  I placed my hand on my belly.

  I was determined. I was ready.

  Chapter 22

  Isla

  May

  A glimpse of myself in the wall mirror at the side of the waiting room was enough to give me pause. Sure I’d seen myself pregnant every day since, well, I’d gotten pregnant. But at that moment, it dawned on me exactly how pregnant I was.

  Twenty weeks. For twenty weeks I’d been dealing with aches and cravings and nausea, and not even a glass of wine to help me out.

  Well, I thought. This is what you wanted, right? You’re going it alone, exactly like you’d said you wanted to.

  I couldn’t argue with myself on that point. And I had to give myself some credit—I was really making the most of it. Aside from a few days off work here and there that I felt bad about having to take, I was carrying on. Sure, I knew that things might get a little more difficult as the pregnancy went on, but I was ready for any challenge.

  Look on the bright side, right? That’s what I’d always told myself.

  So that’s what I tried to do. I thought about months from now, how I’d finally give birth and be holding my little baby boy or girl in my arms, that all the struggle and hardship would be worth it. After all, I had a great job with benefits and childcare, and before too long I’d start looking for an apartment with a little more room. Sure, it’d be a stretch since I wasn’t exactly making Adam Forde money, but I’d do it, I was certain.

  Cutting through my thoughts, the soft voice of the receptionist carried through the waiting room.

  “Ms. Marten?”

  With no small amount of effort, I heaved myself up and out of my chair. As I did, I caught another glance of myself in the mirror. My belly was…huge. I wasn’t exactly an expert on how pregnancy looked at the different stages, but what was going on with my reminded me more of women in the last few months, not a little over halfway through.

  Don’t worry yourself about it, I told myself. You’re going to see the doctor now, and she’ll answer whatever questions you have. No sense in getting yourself worked up into a tizzy.

  That did it. Talking myself down like that had been a skill I’d really gotten down over the last few months. I found it the best way to handle going through this pregnancy all by myself.

  Still, I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to have someone, anyone by my side offering some words of calm and encouragement that I didn’t have to come up with on my own.

  Maybe someone like Adam.

  No, I thought, my inner voice taking a sharp edge. You made your decision with him and you’re going to stick by it. No going back now.

  It was a conversation I’d had with myself more times than I could count. Sometimes in my most difficult moments, I’d think about how easy it would be to call Adam, to tell him what was going on and demand some kind of help. What if he did simply write me a check and send me on my way? He was wealthy—surely the check would be substantial. Maybe even some monthly payments, money that could make the difference between a life of struggle and one of comfort.

  But as I had every other time, I dismissed the thought. I didn’t need his help. And as much as I’d accustomed myself to the idea that he’d likely pay me off and not want to be involved, I knew that actually hearing him say it would be difficult to take, to say the least.

  Focus on what’s happening now, I told myself as the nurse formed up on my side and escorted me down the hall. You’re pregnant, you’re alone, and you’re kicking butt. You don’t need Adam and his kind of support—you’ve got this.

  I smiled, pleased as the negative feelings slowly drifted away.

  As I walked, however, I found that it was kind of…hard, actually. My belly felt like it’d grown bigger between when I’d entered the office and when I’d gotten up.

  “Here you go,” said the nurse, seemingly sensing my struggle as she slipped her arm around mine. “Easy does it.”

  Having her help me like that, as nice as it was, struck me as against the whole idea of looking out for myself. I was quick to slip my arm out of hers and resume walking on my own as normal—well, as normally as I could.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But I’m okay. Got to get used to walking with a belly sooner or later, right?”

  She smiled, thankfully not appearing to take my independent streak in the wrong way.

  “That’s right,” she said. “And that’s a big belly to get used to. You’re what, twenty-four weeks along?”

  My eyes went wide. So it wasn’t my imagination that I looked huge for my stage.

  “No,” I said. “Twenty.”

  The nurse appeared impressed.

  “That’s a good sign,” she said. “Big babies are healthy babies. My first was nine-and-a-half pounds, if you can believe that. And now he’s thirteen years old and already pushing six feet. You might have a future linebacker on your hands!”

  She flashed me another warm smile.

  It put me at ease. Maybe that was it? Maybe I was about to give birth to a big, healthy kid. After all, Adam was tall and well-built, why wouldn’t any kid of his be the same?

  Tall and well-built, handsome, smart, ambitious…I had to admit that if I was going to have an absent father, there were far worse genes to be left with. Then again, there was the issue of him being something of a selfish prick. Maybe I could teach that out of the kid, letting him or her know the value of empathy.

  Focus… I reminded myself again.

  We continued on, eventually reaching the examination room where I’d been
so many times before. The nurse led me in and guided me to my place on the table.

  “She’ll be right with you,” she said right before closing the door.

  At that moment I hated to be alone. I wanted the doctor to come in and tell me that everything was going to be all right.

  Damn, Isla. She’s an obstetrician, not a therapist.

  My internal scolding made me think about what was going on, the true nature of the situation I was in. And the nurse’s words, while mostly reassuring, made me think about my future. Me with my son or daughter at thirteen…what would I tell them about their father? They’d surely ask. Would I lie? Tell them that it was some man who vanished without a trace? Or would I tell them it was one of the most powerful, wealthy men in the state?

  “Okay,” I said out loud. “You’re supposed to be thinking about the present moment, and thirteen years in the future is most definitely not that.”

  But my mind was racing by that point. Something about being in that room alone caused a mild tinge of panic to alight inside of me, the feeling growing by the moment.

  Finally, the door opened to the familiar face of Dr. Patricia Shepard, the obstetrician I’d been seeing for the last several months.

  She was wonderful. Middle-aged with smart, silver hair, kind blue eyes behind thick-framed glasses, she was everything you’d want from someone in that sort of position. Her simply coming into the room and smiling was enough to make me feel at ease.

  “Good afternoon, Isla,” she said, her eyes flicking briefly to the tablet she had in her hands. “How are you feeling today?”

  Normally, I’d keep such things to myself—never was one to shout my emotions from the rooftops. But with Dr. Shepard I knew she’d be fine with me telling her what was on my mind. My mental health during this process was just as important as my physical health, she’d repeatedly told me. In fact, they were one and the same.