Page 126 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

I’m expect something involving damage control or navigating difficult clients.

“Okay,” I reply cautiously. “What’s up?”

He turns, still favoring the leg, I notice, despite ditching the cane.

“My mother,” he says. “She’s… here. In New York.”

My eyebrows shoot up.His mother?“Here? Like,herehere?”

Visions of an awkward penthouse confrontation flash through my mind. I remind myself that I encouraged him to give her a chance.

“No, not here, thank fuck,” he mutters. “Hotel. Midtown somewhere. Flew in from Boston last night. She wants to meet. Wants to see Mia.”

“Okay.” I process this new development. Is he seeking my PR counsel? My emotional support? Or just backup? “What did you tell her?”

“I told her yes. Because of what Dom said. Whatyousaid. I’m going to hear her out. For Mia’s sake.” He shakes his head. “I still think she’s got an agenda. That opening this door invites back all the old bullshit I spent my life trying to escape. But… maybe you’re right. Maybe Mia deserves… something. Even if it’s complicated as hell. So. The favor. I told her we’d meet her for coffee this morning. Ten o’clock. Some café near her hotel. Will you and Mia come with me?”

I nod slowly. I remind myself thatIwanted this. Even though I’m having second thoughts. “Okay, Leo. We’ll come.”

An hour later, I’m sitting in a bustling, aggressively cheerful Midtown café, sandwiched between Leo, who looks like he’s about to face a firing squad, and Mia.

Charlie and Darius are positioned outside, standing guard. Meanwhile my personal detail, Jonas and Terrence, have taken up an inconspicuous position at a table nearby. Leo figured that since he’s paying for them, they might as well come along as well, even though it’s overkill security-wise.

If having them present makes him feel more comfortable facing his mother, then hey, I’m all for it.

I sip my decaf latte and scan the room, my PR senses on high alert. Trying to anticipate his mother’s arrival. Karen Maxwell.

What will she be like?

The brittle, smiling woman from the photograph?

Or someone else entirely?

Then the café door opens and a woman walks in, pausing just inside to scan the tables. Mid-sixties, blonde hair neatly styled, wearing expensive but understated clothes... tailored slacks, a silk blouse, a cashmere cardigan. She definitely looks put together.

But there’s a nervousness in her eyes, a slight tremor in her hands as she clutches her purse.

It’s her.

Karen Maxwell.

She looks older than the photo, the lines around her eyes and mouth deeper, etched by worry or maybe just time.

Her gaze lands on our table. On Leo.

Recognition flashes in her eyes, followed immediatelyby a complex wave of emotions. I see at minimum hope, fear, and regret.

Then her eyes find Mia, sitting on Leo’s lap, chewing on a teething biscuit.

Karen freezes.

Her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes widening, filling with instant, unmistakable tears.

Okay. Maybe not entirely an act.

Leo stiffens beside me as she hesitantly approaches the table. He doesn’t stand up. Doesn’t offer a greeting. Just watches her, his face nearly unreadable, save for the tension in his jaw.

“Leonardo?” his mother whispers, stopping beside our table. Her gaze drops to Mia, the tears now openly tracking down her carefully made-up cheeks. “Oh, Leonardo… she’s… she’s beautiful.”

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