Page 71 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

“Ms. Taylor,” he says slowly. “You don’t know me. You know what you’ve read, what your own experiences taught you. And I won’t stand here and pretend my reputation doesn’t precede me. I won’t pretend I haven’t made... choices... that might seem reckless from the outside.” He looks down at Mia, his expression softening for a fraction of a second. “But finding out about Mia... changes the landscape. Drastically. Whatever assumptions you’re making based on my past, or your own...” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “They may not apply anymore. I haven’t had a chance toproveanything yet. Sabrina didn’t give me that chance. Until now.”

“And why should she have given you anything?” Diane demands. “Based on what? Your public persona? Your track record? The fact you almost killed yourself jumping off amountain? What possible evidence did she have that you would be anything other than a liability, a source of potential heartbreak for her and for Mia?”

“Mom,” I finally intervene, unable to stay silent any longer. This is turning into an interrogation. “That’s not fair. You don’t know...”

What? What doesn’t she know? That he might actually be different? That holding Mia has changed him?

It could all be temporary. Or an act. Who knows? It’s too soon.

Holding a baby just once doesn’t change a man.

Does it?

“You don’t know the whole situation,” I finish.

Lame.

But it’s all I’ve got.

“I know enough, Sabrina,” my mother insists, her voice softening slightly. “I know I raised you to be strong, independent, to not rely on men who will inevitably let you down. And now you’re tangled up with one who will do exactly that. Forgive me if I’m concerned.” She clears her throat. “So, Mr. Maxwell. Let me ask you directly. What are your intentions? Is this a fleeting curiosity? A sense of obligation? Or are you actually prepared to step up, consistently and reliably, for the long term? Because Mia isn’t an investment you can sell when itunderperforms. She’s a lifelong commitment.”

It’s the million-dollar question. The one I’ve been terrified to even articulate myself.

Whatarehis intentions?

Leo looks down at Mia again, his thumb gently stroking her tiny hand still wrapped around his finger.

“Ms. Taylor,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Honestly? I don’t have all the answers right now. Finding out I have an eleven-month-old daughter afew days ago... it’s world changing. My intentions are... to figure it out. To get to know her.” He meets my gaze across the room, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. “My intentions are to be present. Consistently. Reliably.” He looks back towards the phone. “I understand your skepticism. I know I have a lot to prove. To you. To Sabrina.” He pauses, then adds, his voice barely above a whisper, “But mostly, to Mia. And to myself.”

The raw honesty in his voice throws me completely off balance. It’s not the slick deflection or angry denial I expected.

It’s...real.

My mother is silent for a long moment on the other end. I can picture her, brow furrowed, processing this unexpected response. Weighing the sincerity. Looking for the catch.

“All right, Mr. Maxwell,” she says finally, her tone still wary, but maybe a fraction less hostile. “Talk is cheap. As I told Sabrina earlier, we’ll be watching your actions. And Sabrina, call me tonight. After your… meeting is finished.”

“I will, Mom,” I promise, relieved that the immediate confrontation seems to be over. “Love you.”

“Love you too, honey. Be careful.” The line clicks dead.

The silence that descends is awkward.

Leo carefully shifts Mia in his arms, his gaze distant again. I walk over and sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. Refereeing that conversation felt like running a marathon uphill in heels.

“Well,” I say finally, trying for a lightness I don’t feel. “Welcome to the family?”

Leo looks over at me, a wry, almost pained smile touching his lips for the first time. “Yeah,definitely feeling the love.” He looks down at Mia, who stirs slightly, making a soft smacking sound in her sleep.

He meticulously sits down beside me, wincing as he does so. Without a cane, his movements are awkward and obviously painful, but he’s very careful not to wake or otherwise disturb Mia in his arms.

We sit there in silence, the tension slowly easing, replaced by a shared, awkward uncertainty.

He just met my mother via speakerphone and we all survived.

Maybe this is the starting point.

Not common ground, not yet.

---