Page 30 of Secret Baby for Dr. Billionaire

“It’s a wet floor.”

“It’s a death trap.”

It was attractive seeing him this stressed about my well-being because I had never really had someone worry about me like this.

“I have cooked in under worse conditions.”

“You don’t have to right now,” he pressed. “C’mon. Take Sofi to my place. I’ll whip up a quick pesto pasta, and then we can call it a night.” He must have read the hesitation on my face because he added, “You know I won’t hurt you, Chlo. You trust me, right?”

“I shouldn’t. But I do,”

“Good enough. Now, let’s go. I can hear your stomach growling.” My cheeks turned red. My stomach had been growling the whole time. I had skipped lunch earlier today because Savv had called a meeting for me to share the good news that I was officially a regular teacher at the school. “Grab Sofi, and I’ll grab her crib.”

***

Ben’s place almost felt like a completely different world. Although we had the same penthouse layout, his was adorned with darker neutral shades. It was a man’s penthouse, alright, because the throw pillows matched the charcoal color of his kitchen countertop and cabinets.

I had set up Sofi’s porta crib and prepared her bottle while he was changing his clothes. Now, he was bending down near the refrigerator, trying to find the basil leaves he said he had purchased a while back. If he was gorgeous lying down on my kitchen floor, he was intoxicating with his chiseled arms reached gently out on top of the icy surface of his fridge.

Sofi was in her crib drinking her baba, and I had invited myself to go into his clean kitchen. The first things I noticed were the matte personalized stools at the kitchen island and three slim cone pendant lights hanging over the top. It was cozy and masculine.

Charlie, the golden retriever, had positioned beside Sofi’s crib after he had sniffed the equipment multiple times until he deemed it safe. They were adorable together like that. I couldn’t help but snap a picture on my phone.

I cleared my throat, and Ben’s head cocked towards me in attention.

“So tell me about this gala we’re going to.” I leaned on the cool marble surface and studied him as he grabbed a jar filled with water and basil covered with a clear plastic bag.

“My mother hosts a gala every year. It’s a fundraiser to help people with prostate cancer.”

“Why prostate cancer?”

“It’s her way of showing love for my late father,” Ben pointed. “He was one a surgeon, the best in his days. He mostly did medical missions and did surgeries for free. He died of prostate cancer when I was sixteen. It was a long, excruciating process. Very emotional. They were each other’s soulmate.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“They were each other’s soulmates. So when he passed away, my mother did this gala in his memory. Proceeds go to research facilities and people suffering from prostate cancer.”

I gave him a smile, knowing that the talk about his father was a serious topic. So I changed the subject.

“Your mother? You mean to tell me I’m going to meet your mother at this party?” Then, it kind of made me nervous that I would meet his mother. I wouldn’t have agreed if I had known this detail before. I mean, everything was happening so fast.

“And my sister’s going to be there, too.”

“Yoursister? Is this your subtle invitation that you want your family to meet Sofi?” I couldn’t help but wonder what they might ask me and what kind of impression it would make that I had a kid with Ben. This was uncharted territory for me, and the anxiety it brought didn’t sit well.

“I think that it’s best if we keep Sofi between us for a while. I don’t want you to freak out. When you’re ready for them to meet her, you tell me. The ball’s in your court.”

Ben laid out the ingredients for his pesto pasta on the island and readied the stockpot, filling it with water and turning the stove on. He turned back to me, picking basil from the jar and putting it on a plate with the garlic cloves.

“Okay.”

“Hey, Chloe.” The warmth of his hand on mine sent tingles down my back. I didn’t realize that my fingers had been tapping the surface of the island until he put a hand over them. “Relax. They’re going to like you.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.” He turned and put the food processor on the countertop, plugging it into one of the sockets.

“Do you mind grabbing the pine nuts and the olive oil from the fridge?” he asked, putting the basil in the appliance. I hopped off the stool and headed toward where the fridge was.

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