Page 57 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Something...unfamiliar.

Not just possessiveness.

But something protective.

Fuck.

This changes everything.

17

Sabrina

The rumble of the Q train vibrates through the plastic seat and straight up into my spine.

Lovely.

Or maybe that’s just the residual adrenaline from yesterday’s billionaire-induced implosion of my carefully constructed life.

I don’t know anymore.

I stare blankly at the overhead fluorescent lights of the subway car, trying to process the whiplash.

One minute, I’m having a meeting with a potential lucrative client. The next, I’m standing before a furious baby daddy threatening legal armageddon.

Then… a tentative ceasefire? An offer to hire me back? A freakingretainer?

My brain feels like scrambled eggs. And I’m talking about the bad kind, you know: cooked too long on high heat and neglect.

I sigh.

He knows. Leo Maxwellknowshe has a daughter. A daughter with his ridiculously unforgettable greeneyes. Twenty months, and the Secret is officially out. Deployed. Exploded.

And the weirdest part? My reaction yesterday during the confrontation. After he saw Mia. After the initial wave of pure, unadulterated terror that made my blood run colder than Lake Michigan in January…

I’m still not entirely sure why I didn’t do more to stop him.

When he was looming there, I could’ve slammed the nursery door shut and used every PR deflection tactic I knew. I could’ve... donesomething. Anything.

So why did I just… stand there and let him see her?

Because a tiny, rebellious part of you wanted him to,whispers the sarcastic voice in my head.Because hauling that secret around was heavier than carrying Mia past due date. Because maybe you wanted someone else to share the goddamn burden. And because you wanted Mia to have the father you never had...

Excellent strategic leak, internal communications department. Really nailed the timing on that bombshell. Five stars for crisiscreation.

Still, he pulled back from the brink. Called off the lawyers, at least for now. Agreed to talk, and to supervised visits. Maybe seeing Mia, even for that split second, flickered something human inside the billionaire playboy casing?

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sabrina.

He’s still the guy who jumps off cliffs for fun. He’s still got the emotional availability of a granite countertop. This isn’t a fairy tale. This is… damage control. Co-parenting negotiations under duress. And now, apparently, a professional engagement layered on top like anchovies on a birthday cake.

So gross and fundamentally wrong.

But. The retainer. That 10k… it’s not just helpful; it’s a freaking lifeline. My business account is looking leaner than a runway model during fashion week. Pride is a luxury I apparently can’t afford right now.

The train screeches into the Wall Street station and I sigh.

Showtime.

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