Page 61 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

“Sabrina was just walking me through her proposed strategy,” Leo says, his tone clipped, all business.

Luca drops into the chair beside Leo, across from me, and props an ankle clad in a ridiculously expensive Italian loafer onto his knee. He gives me a dismissive once-over. “Ah yes, the miracle worker. Hope you’re worth the hype, sweetheart. Leo here needs all the help he can get, especially now he’s entering his… what did you call it yesterday, Leo? Your ‘daddy phase’?” He chuckles, a low, condescending sound.

My blood runs cold.

Daddy phase?

Leo told Luca? Already? And Luca’s mocking him for it?

Leo shoots Luca a look sharp enough to draw blood.

“Knew I shouldn’t have told you, you fucker,” he bites out, low and venomous.

Luca just grins, utterly unfazed. “Hey, I’m your partner.” He leans back in his chair. “You don’t keep secrets from me. Besides...” He turns his vaguely predatory smile back to me. “Makes things more… interesting, wouldn’t you say, Sabrina?”

I just stare at him, my professional composure threatening to crack. This man… he’s not just Leo’s partner. He’s obviously poison. The casual cruelty, the way he undermines Leo, the possessive claim… it’s toxic. This is the influence that likely fueled the GHB in Vegas, that encourages the recklessness. My earlier assessment of Leo being unsuitable father material suddenly feels terrifyingly reinforced, not by Leo himself, but by the company he keeps. The company hepartnerswith.

The rest of the meeting is strained. Luca interjects occasionally with comments that are either unhelpful or subtly designed to needle Leo. Leo remains cold, distant, his contributions purely analytical. The fragile connection, the potential for common ground we’d started to build, is gone, bulldozed by Luca’s presence.

Finally, Leo glances at his watch. “All right. We have enough to move forward. Sabrina, refine the phase one deliverables based on this discussion. Sendthem to Vivian by end of day tomorrow. We’ll circle back early next week.”

“Understood,” I say, gathering my tablet and portfolio, desperate to escape the suddenly frigid atmosphere.

“Pleasure meeting you, Sabrina,” Luca says, standing and offering a hand. His grip is firm, his smile slick. “Looking forward to seeing those miracles of yours.”

I murmur a noncommittal reply and turn, heading for the door on shaky legs. Leo remains seated, staring out the window again, lost in thought.

“Ah, Sabrina, one final item,” Luca calls out just as my hand reaches the heavy, imposing door handle. His voice is smooth as silk, that condescending charm back in full force, but there’s an undertone that makes my skin prickle defensively.

Oh, here we go.

I turn back slowly, schooling my features into neutral territory. “Yes, Mr. Briggs?”

“Did Leo talk to you about signing the NDA?”

I stare at him, confused. “The NDA?”

“Yes,” he replies. “Regarding the baby.” He gestures casually with a manicured hand, like he’s discussing the catering arrangements for a company picnic, not the most sensitive secret of my life. “A non-disclosure agreement. Standard procedure in... delicate situations like this. Vivian has it drafted and ready for your signature. Just ensures everyone’s on the same page regarding information control, moving forward.”

I stare at him blankly for several moment.

He thinks...theythink... after everything, after guarding this secret with every fiber of my being for twenty goddamn months, that I wouldrun to Page Six? That I would leveragemy own daughterfor some kind of payout or attention?

My face flushes hot, a wave of pure, unadulterated rage washing away the lingering fear and anxiety. The absolutenerve.

Are you fucking kidding me right now?

Before I can unleash the torrent of furious, probably career-ending words clawing their way up my throat, Leo speaks.

His voice is flat, devoid of inflection, cutting through the suddenly thick tension in the room. “That won’t be necessary, Luca.”

Luca turns to him, raising a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. The picture of condescending patience. “Leo, let’s be pragmatic here, shall we? We’re navigating an extremely delicate PR landscape.”The one I was hired to fix, you asshole. “Protecting the firm’s substantial interests, not to mention your personal reputation, requires certain standard formalities.” He shifts his gaze back to me, his smile thin and utterly devoid of warmth. “I’m sure Ms. Taylor, being a professional in this very field, understands the paramount need for absolute discretion. It prevents... misunderstandings.”

Oh, I understand, all right, asshole.

I understand he trusts me about as far as he could throw this ridiculously oversized conference table.

“Myentire career, Mr. Briggs,” I say, my voice dangerously low now, “is built on discretion. It’s not just ‘understood,’ it’s the goddamn cornerstone of Taylor Strategic Communications. You hired me preciselybecauseI handle sensitive situations without leaks, without ‘misunderstandings.’” The anger makes my voice sharp. I can feel my knuckles whitening where I’m gripping my portfolio like a life raft.

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