Page 22 of Secret Baby for Dr. Billionaire

“Fine,” she pouted, crossing her arms. I hoped she’d have this sass in her classroom every day. She grabbed her bag from me to indicate that our conversation was done.

“Make good choices today, Billy Anne.”

“I will,” she answered as she started to walk toward her classroom. And as I stood, I heard her say. “You, too, Daddy.”

***

My first good choice didn’t happen until Billy Anne and I arrived home.

Our drive to the penthouse was quiet, and it had given me ample time to decide what to do with Chloe and Sofi.

I didn’t want to hurt Chloe even more by demanding a paternity test. I was aware that Chloe wasn’t the issue.I was. Because trust and I weren’t exactly best buddies at the moment, and with my history, it was clear why trust was difficult for me.

Sofi was my child, and I didn’t care what Chloe’s plans were or if she wanted to make my life a living hell. I deserved it, and I was willing to take the blow. But I would provide for my daughter in all the ways I could, regardless. I needed to find a way for Chloe not to hate me as much and to allow me actually to see her.

I knew that she wouldn’t let me off the hook that easily, so forcing my way in was not the right move.

The first right move, though, was unblocking her number from my phone. And I did exactly that as I prepared a meatball sandwich for dinner.

Billy Anne was in the living room, watching a cartoon show with Charlie on the couch. The latter’s head was on her lap, enjoying the little scratches his owner offered.

“Dinner’s ready, Billy Anne.” I didn’t have to call her twice because she was up and off the couch in a second, leaving Charlie. Her tiny feet thudded against the hardwood floor.

Billy Anne was still wearing the same headband from school, but her hair was a mess already. She was wearing a pair of pink cotton shorts and a ruffled orange top her grandmother had gotten her for Christmas last year.

I waited for her to round the counter, and she took her spot on one of the stools. I watched her carefully from behind in case she fell backward, but when she was up and sitting, I took the spot next to her.

“How was school?” I asked before taking a bite of my sandwich. It was not special or anything but it was a lazy night and I was sick of cooking pasta. It was either this or pizza. And pizza was usually for Fridays.

“It was good,” Billy Anne answered nonchalantly, opening the sandwich and poking one of the meatballs with her finger, curious about the texture.

“Don’t play with your food, baby.” She obeyed and finally gathered the sandwich with both hands before taking a big bite. At least as big as her small mouth could manage. “How’s your art teacher?”

“She was nice, I guess.”

“Was she scary?”

“No, she was actually really…sublime.”

Sublime. Jesus Christ. It sounded like a word my sister knew.

“Maggie taught you that word?”

“Nope,” she shook her head. “Ralph did. He told me that Aunt Maggie wassublime.”

“And what does sublime mean?”

“Very, very,verybeautiful.”

“And you believe your new art teacher is very, very, very beautiful?”

“Very. And she was nice too. She whispers when she talks to me, like she really wants me to listen. She told me she liked my flowers.”

Billy Anne had a talent for painting flowers, and I wasn’t just saying this because she was my child. The way she painted them was actually breathtaking. I’d framed a few around the house. Maggie did the same. Even Billy Anne’s grandmother, who had niche taste when it came to hanging paintings on her walls, had a few of Billy Anne’s flower paintings hanging up in her living room.

“Did you talk to her?” I asked.

“No.”

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