Page 1 of Triplet Babies for the CEO

Prologue

Tasha

There’s a smell I don’t recognize as I push our creaky front door open.

A perfume, heady and musky, definitely not mine. The smell halts the thought that had just been tumbling through my mind.

Maybe Patrick and I can actually have a nice night together, eat leftovers, watch a movie… something normal, something nice.

It’s early for me to be home, but the restaurant was slow for a Thursday night, so I got to leave before closing, a rare treat for me.

When I step inside, however, the air feels wrong, like I’ve walked into someone else’s home.

Then I see them.

They’re kissing?

I see the girl first, her dark hair spilling across the cushions, her eyes flashing blue, bright and sharp, even in the dim light. Then I notice Patrick’s bare back, his muscles flexing as he shifts, dipping down over her.

She’s all smooth curves and pale skin. A black lace top and a red skirt are tangled at her feet.

I don’t realize I’m screaming until the sound rips from my throat, and she scrambles up in an instant, grabbing at her clothes to cover herself. She clutches them to her chest as she stumbles past me, nearly tripping over her unbuckled heels.

She’s halfway out the door, flashing me one last startled, guilty look before she bolts around the corner, slamming the door behind her.

I look in horror at Patrick, who just sits up, smirking, like he’s the one who caught me doing something wrong. “Tasha, calm down. You’re acting crazy.” His voice is lazy, almost bored, and I hate it.

I hate him.

“You’re insane,” I spit, wishing I could turn my words into real venom. “You’re a complete narcissist, just like Jasmine said.”

He narrows his eyes, a sneer crossing his gorgeous, devilish lips. I can’t stand to look at him anymore, I’m so thoroughly disgusted by him. “Three years, Patrick, three years down the fucking drain!” I shout, turning and heading straight to the bedroom.

He follows, uttering a volley of moronic words as I yank open drawers, grabbing anything that’s mine. Jeans, T-shirts, socks, bras, I’m stuffing them all into my old duffel bag, not caring how wrinkled they get.

“Babe, come on, it’s not what it looks like. You’re overreacting. You’re always overreacting. Leaving now would bea huge mistake, you know that. You know you can’t survive without me.”

I whirl around, my hands shaking as I shove my toothbrush and skincare supplies into the suitcase. “A mistake? You’re fucking unbelievable, Patrick. If this is the way you’re going to treat me, why would I stay?”

He steps closer, hands out like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Because you love me. And I love you, that’s why.”

I almost laugh, but it comes out as more of a choking sound. “Love? You callthislove? I literally walked in on you fucking another woman, and you’re trying to tell me I’m overreacting?” My voice is a tirade of anger and hurt feelings.

I feel myself on the verge of slapping him across his lying-ass face, and the thought makes me hurry to remove myself from the situation entirely.

I can feel my heart cracking open. The tears are threatening to pour down my cheeks, but I won’t let him see me cry, not yet. He’s still talking as I grab my phone charger off the nightstand, stuff it into my bag, and zip it shut. Still, he tries to say all the right words, but I’m done listening to his bullshit.

I sling the bag over my shoulder, swipe at my cheeks, and push past him.

“Tasha, please, baby, don’t…” he starts, fake tears welling in his eyes, but I’m already out the door, my anger the only thing keeping me moving.

Jasmine’s voice echoes in my head, loud and clear, the way they always do. when she’s right,“I never thought Patrick was good for you.”I think back to how angry I was when she first told me that but now—now I see it.

I stumble down the stairs, dragging my suitcase behind me as the bag thuds against my leg. Opening the apartment’s entrance, my vision blurs as a deluge of tears finally breaks loose, but Ican still see the taillights glowing in the parking lot as I press the button on my key fob.

I hurry to the same beat-up car that’s carried me through every moment of my life, good and bad.

I pull out my phone from my pocket, my shaking hands nearly dropping it. I hit Jasmine’s name, her picture smiling up at me, and hold my breath as it rings.

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