Page 63 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

I let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

The elevator finally arrives. I step inside hurriedly, worried that Jen will decide to ride down with me anyway, but she stays at the desk.

The doors gratefully close on Jen’s resentful glare (and those two distracting vacuum-sealed cantaloupes), on Michelle’s blandly professional mask, and on the fifty floors of Leo Maxwell’s complicated, messy life.

And all I can think is, I’m in way over my head.

19

Leo

Friday.

D-Day.

Or maybe M-Day? As in... Mia-Day.

Jesus.

The appointment looms like a deadline on a Series A funding round. All week, it’s been sitting there on my calendar, inserted by Michelle.

Date: Friday. Time: 5 P.M. Visit: Mia Taylor. Location: Penthouse Residence (Supervised).

That last word in the appointment slot lingers in my mind.

Supervised.

Like I’m some kind of fucking predator needing a chaperone around my own kid. Technically, I guess I agreed to it. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Oddly, I’ve been looking forward to see her all week. Actuallyanticipatingit. Like waiting for an IPO to open so you can cash out you’re massive fucking investment. There’s anxiety, too, of course. You’re not sure if you’re going to get your money back. Or in this case, if Mia will like me.

What if she hates my guts?

Does it matter?

Yes. Yes, it fucking does.

Even weirder? My behavior. It’s Friday afternoon, usually prime time for lining up weekend distractions. A few lines with Luca maybe, definitely coordinating plans with Jen or Michelle or whoever’s turn it is on the rotation.

But this week?

Nothing.

Haven’t touched a fucking thing stronger than espresso since the meeting with Sabrina. Haven’t answered Jen’s increasingly pissed off texts demanding another ‘workout.’ Haven’t even returned Luca’s calls proposing celebratory drinks for… whatever funding round closed yesterday, I don’t even fucking remember.

It’s like finding out about Mia flipped some switch I didn’t know existed. Suddenly the usual shit feels… off. Wrong. Like wearing last night’s suit to a board meeting. I keep thinking about those green eyes.Myeyes. Staring out of that tiny face. The thought of being fucked up, even slightly, when I see her again… it makes my stomach churn.

I want to set a good example for her.

Where the hell did that thought come from? Me? An example? Of what?

How to build an empire while simultaneously being an emotionally stunted commitment-phobe with a penchant for near-death experiences and getting high, literally? Yeah, stellar role model material right here.

This ‘good guy’ routine won’t last. It’s bullshit. A temporary glitch in the system. The need for the edge, the silence I only find hurtling towards the earthinches from oblivion… that’s hardwired. That’s not going away. This feeling, this…wantingto be better… it’s probably just shock. Or maybe my brain’s still scrambled from Chamonix. Yeah, that’s it. Temporary insanity brought on by trauma and the sudden appearance of a miniature human with my DNA. It’ll pass. Back to normal soon enough.

But right now? Right now, I just want five o’clock to get here.

I just want to properly meet Mia.

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