Page 67 of My Bestie's Billionaire Brother

He laughs. "Fair enough. But give it time, Charlie. It'll come."

"What if it doesn't?" This is the fear that's been nagging at me. "What if I never feel that connection? What if I'm just going through the motions, pretending to be something I'm not?"

Stratton considers this. "Then you fake it until you feel it. You show up, you change diapers, you do midnight feedings. You act like the father you want to be, even when you don't feel like it. And one day, you realize you're not acting anymore."

His words settle over me, not exactly comforting but very helpful. "That simple, huh?"

"Nothing about it is simple," he corrects with a smile. "But it is worth it. And for what it's worth, I think you'll be better at this than you expect."

"Based on what?"

"Based on watching you with Hans," Stratton says, referring to my dachshund. "You spoil that dog and cater to his every need. You feed him fucking filet mignon. You care, Charlie. That's half the battle."

"A dog is not a child," I point out.

"No, but caring is caring. The stakes are higher with a kid, but the principle is the same."

We finish our meal, moving on to other topics—a property Stratton's considering developing, my plans for expanding Emerald City Coffee's online presence. But my mind keeps drifting back to our conversation about fatherhood.

As we stand to leave, Stratton places a hand on my shoulder. "Call me anytime when the panic sets in. And itwillset in, many times. That's normal."

"Thanks," I say, genuinely grateful for his openness, for making me feel less alone in my fear. "I might take you up on that, bud. And please don’t say anything to anyone else right now. We’re keeping it quiet."

We part ways on the sidewalk, both of us heading back to our offices. The afternoon sun breaks through Seattle's typical cloud cover, casting everything in bright light.

As I walk back, I realize I feel marginally better than I did this morning. The panic hasn't subsided—not entirely—but it feels less like drowning and more like treading water. Still exhausting, still scary, but hopefully survivable.

Maybe Stratton's right. Maybe I can do this. One diaper and one midnight feeding at a time.

Chapter 21

Tess

The gray vinyl chair squeaks beneath me as I shift my weight. The obstetrics waiting room is too warm, too quiet—just the burble of a fish tank and the whispered conversations of expectant couples. I flip through a parenting magazine from last year, not absorbing a single word about "Your Changing Body." I can't stop my knee from bouncing as I check my phone again. Still nothing from Charlie.

I replay his voicemail for the fourth time, pressing my phone tight against my ear like I might extract some hidden meaning from his words.

"Tess, I'm so sorry. The meeting with the Bolivian coffee cooperative ran long, and now there's some issue with the flight. I'm doing everything I can to get back, but it's not looking good for the appointment. I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything."

His voice had a practiced smoothness to it—the same tone he probably uses when he’s going through quarterly projections with his board. But underneath, I'd detected genuine regret. That should count for something, right?

I set my phone face down on the outdated issue of "Parenting Now" in my lap. I hope they call me back soon. I’m ready for this to be over.

When I told Charlie about the pregnancy, he'd promised to be there for everything. "Every appointment, every weird craving run, every midnight freakout," he'd said, his blue eyes earnest as he squeezed my hand. But here I am—alone—at the first doctor’s appointment.

I know his work is important. I know he's building something. But so am I—our baby. In my body. Right this very moment.

Last night when he called from Bolivia, the connection crackled with static.

"I'll try to be there tomorrow," he'd said. "I've got my assistant looking for earlier flights."

"The appointment's at ten," I'd reminded him.

"I know, I know." His voice had turned gentle, placating. "But if I can't make it, you'll have the ultrasound pictures, right? And you can tell me everything the doctor said."

"That's not the point," I'd said, my voice tight with tears I refused to shed.

"Tess, what do you want me to do? This deal could secure us ethically sourced beans for the next five years. It's important."

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