Page 112 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Yeah, probably.

This whole relationship, co-parenting, business arrangement thing… it’s uncharted territory. There’s noplaybook on this. No fucking hint as to what the next move is.

When I was a kid, you used to be able to buy these little things called hint books that would show you how to solve video games. You’d just slide a magic marker over the page and it would tell you outright how to defeat the evil dragon that was guarding the treasure. Some designers even went all-out and purposely designed their games to make them super hard so you’d have to buy the fucking book to finish the game.

But in this case, there’s no magic marker. No obvious solution. Hell, there isn’t even a page.

I glance at the cane resting against my desk. I haven’t needed it as much the last couple of days. Or even weeks, for that matter. Stephen’s torture sessions are actually finally paying off.

The pain is still there, sure, a dull throb instead of a sharp scream, but it’s manageable. Healing.

Time heals all wounds.

Physical ones, anyway. Emotional ones?

Jury’s still out on that fucking verdict.

Maybe Mia… Sabrina… maybe they’re part of that healing too?

A different kind of physical therapy?

Jesus, Leo, listen to yourself. Getting fucking sentimental.

Or worse. Because my cock just got hard again, thinking about last night’s fucking physical therapy session with Sabrina...

I shake my head, focusing back on the Bloomberg terminal. Need to work. Distract myself.

But my eyes keep drifting to the baby monitor, waiting for the first sign of movement. Surprisingly, I’m not dreading it, because if she wakesup I know I can handle it now. I can change her, feed her that mushy orange crap she likes, maybe even attempt another block tower.

And you know what? All of it is weirdly… satisfying. Because it’s something concrete. Something that doesn’t involve calculating risk/reward ratios or navigating Luca’s increasingly erratic bullshit.

Speaking of Luca… I need to deal with him sometime. I’ve been pushing it off. But eventually, we’re going to have to butt heads. And it won’t be pretty. Partnership doesn’t mean free rein to be a fucking prick or snort coke at all hours of the day. Especially not now, not when I have Mia and Sabrina to protect.

Yes, a long conversation with him is overdue.

A potentially explosive one.

Another fucking thing to handle.

But I know I’m just going to put it off. When it comes to Luca, I always do.

Still... mark my words, one of these days, he’s going to go too far, and I’m going to explode on the fucker.

My private line rings, startling me out of my thoughts. Restricted number.

Could be anyone.

A reporter who somehow got the number? An investor?

I answer cautiously. “Maxwell.”

“Leonardo?” The voice is hesitant, female, and achingly familiar. A voice I haven’t heard in… years.

My blood runs cold. Every muscle tenses. “Mother?”

What thefuck? How did she even get this number?

God damn it. Yetanotherfucking thing to handle.

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