Page 99 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Right now, she’s on a video call at her workstation, looking sharp and competent in some kind of silky blue blouse, negotiating with a particularly slimy journalist from theFinancial Times, spinning the tabloid narrative into something resembling ‘responsible fatherhood’ and ‘renewed focus.’

She’s fucking brilliant at it, if I’m being honest. Calm, controlled, deflecting intrusive questions like a boss. Watching her work is almost as distracting as watching her… exist.

Still, I can’t help but feel a moment of guilt. The paparazzi didn’t just get photos of me and Mia; they got Sabrina too. And someone, probably a disgruntled doorman bribed with pocket change, leaked that she and Mia moved in here. Now the narrative isn’t just ‘secret baby...’ it’s ‘secret baby and live-in mom.’

Sabrina’s own professional reputation is now tangled up in my mess.

Mia is supposed to be napping in the nursery down the hall. Supposed to be. But thebaby monitor on my desk crackles to life with a series of demanding squawks.

Nap time is officially over.

Sabrina glances towards the monitor, then back at her screen, clearly torn. She murmurs an apology to the journalist, puts him on hold.

“I got it,” I say quickly, pushing back from my desk and grabbing my cane. Another new development: me volunteering for diaper duty.

It’s still awkward as hell, my hands feeling too big, too clumsy for the tiny snaps and tabs. But Mia seems… tolerant of my incompetence. And the feeling of holding her afterward, that warm, solid weight against my chest… it cuts through the usual bullshit cynicism like nothing else.

I limp down the hall to the nursery. Sure enough, Mia is standing in the crib, rattling the bars like a tiny inmate demanding parole. She beams when she sees me, bouncing on her little legs.

And when I see that face, I remind myself why I haven’t hired a nanny to do this. She’s too adorable, too important, too fragile to let any one else other than her parents touch her.

“All right, all right, Killer,” I chuckle, reaching in to scoop her up. “Heard you the first time. Someone needs a change, huh?”

Ten minutes later, after another successful diaper change, complete with expert-level Diaper Genie deployment, I carry Mia back towards the office. She babbles happily against my shoulder, patting my cheek with a slightly sticky hand.

Sabrina is just finishing her call as we re-enter.

“Excellent. Thank you for your time, Andrew,” she says smoothly, then disconnects. She lets out a long sigh and rubs her temples.

“Fun times?” I ask, settling onto the leather sofa in the office seating area. I rest Mia on my lap.

“Just managing expectations,” she says, turning her chair towards us. She offers Mia a tired smile. “He’s angling for an exclusive interview. Tried to frame it as a ‘human interest’ piece on your recovery and newfound fatherhood.”

“Translation: digging for dirt,” I snort. “What did you tell him?”

“That your focus is currently on Maxwell & Briggs’ Q4 projections and philanthropic initiatives, but we’d keep his outlet in mind for future announcements regardingappropriatepersonal developments.” She shrugs. “Standard deflection. Bought us some time.”

“Good work.” I bounce Mia gently on my knee. She giggles, grabbing for my shirt. “See? We make a good team.”

Sabrina gives me a look I can’t quite decipher. Wary? Amused? “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re a crisis management necessity. Not ateam.”

“Whatever you say.” I grin, letting Mia tug on the fabric. Feels weirdly… nice. Domestic.

Fuck, listen to yourself.

Just then, my direct line rings.

The Caller ID flashes:Accel Partners.

Mark Balinski.

Shit.

One of the big Limited Partners who got spooked by the tabloid leak.

This is it.

The real test of Sabrina’s strategy.

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