Page 46 of Secret Baby for Dr. Billionaire

“I just do, okay?”I know because she was able to raise her child on her own without asking for anything from me,I wanted to tell her. “And isn’t it against feminism to be prejudiced against other women?”

“So you’ve been paying attention.”

“You’re going to love her, Maggie. Just give her a chance.”

“Fine, where is—”

“Hi.” Chloe’s melodic voice made my knees go weak.

“Hello.” She had excused herself to retouch her makeup in the restroom ten minutes ago.

“Chloe, this is my sister, Maggie.”

“Oh! I’ve heard so much about you,” Chloe chirped, her eyes growing wide in surprise as she extended a hand.

“All good things, I hope,” Maggie jested, and I could tell she was studying Chloe.

“Maggie, this is my girlfriend, Chloe.”

The girlfriend thing came completely out of nowhere. I had planned on introducing her as my plus one to keep the mystery, but with Mitchell at the party, I knew I just needed to mark my territory.

“Lovely to finally put a face to Ben's mystery woman tonight.”

“Maggie.”

“I’m kidding. I’m actually really glad you’re here because I couldn’t watch him talk to strange women again this year.”

“Strange women, you say?” Chloe narrowed her eyes at me, amusement laced them.

“Trust me, you do not want to know.” Before my sister could humiliate me even further, her phone started to vibrate in her clutch. “I’m sorry, it’s the babysitter.”

She paused to read the text message before turning the phone to me.

“Oh look, Billy Anne fell asleep in the middle of the painting.” I could see Billy Anne sleeping in one of the chairs in Maggie’s sunroom, a streak of yellow paint smeared across her cheek as she held onto a dried paintbrush.

Before I could complain and put in a funny remark, Chloe interrupted.

“I’m sorry, did you say Billy Anne?”

“Do you know her?” Maggie asked.

“She’s one of my students in fourth grade. She’s a great painter. Is she your daughter?”

“She’s mine. Wait, you’re her art teacher?”

Chloe turned her head towards me, a confused frown painted on her face as the fact that her student was my daughter registered in her brain.

“I am.”

“Oh, you’re the one she talks nonstop about.” This came from Maggie, who was now looking at my plus-one with clear awe.

“You’re the one who brings her flowers every day?” I asked.

“I mean, it’s the only way she’ll talk to me, and she seems to enjoy painting them.”

“She talks to you?” From the sound of Maggie’s voice, I knew that she was impressed.

“Occasionally. She likes to borrow the brushes from my table.”

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