THE BILLIONAIRE'S BABY (A Secret Baby Romance) (38 page)

After my face was clean, I went back to my room and turned the shower on cold. I slipped out of my dress and stood under the chilled water for a long time. When I emerged, I was trembling with cold but squeaky clean.

My mom used to do yoga to pull herself together. I remembered the peace she always seemed to find, so I sat down on the rug with my legs crossed and took a few deep breaths. Neal Callaway’s face swam in front of my eyes, and once again, the thought hammered at my brain: why hadn’t he followed me?

Because he is playboy and probably doesn’t care enough to follow if you don’t put out.
I told myself that a few times, but it didn’t really help.
Serves me right, too. What the hell was I thinking?
Kissing him back—I was a fool, an idiot… and thoroughly disappointed in myself.

Ella had gone out with a man who was her superior at the firm where she worked, sort of her boss, actually. Harry was charming, polite, and good-looking. I liked him. He had asked Ella out a few days ago, and tonight was their first official date, which meant I had the place to myself for at least another two or three hours.

I fixed myself a sandwich and ate it in front of the TV because I could not bear to be alone with my thoughts. Afterwards—though I normally rejected even the possibility— I took a Xanax with a cup of tea. I really needed to get some sleep, and hopefully a fresh perspective on tonight. On its own, sleep would never come. I found the tablet on Ella’s dressing table, the place of magical problem-solving. Within five minutes, I had plopped down on my bed and gone straight to sleep.

***

I don’t know when the dreams started. I do know that I slept peacefully for a few hours before they began.

Neal’s face swam in front of me, the look in his eyes pleading, different from anything I had seen during the course of the evening. He reached for me, but I stepped away; he looked so dejected that I was ashamed. The dream changed. I saw my mother sitting cross-legged on a rug on the floor. She looked up at me and cried out, “My daughter! Do not run!” I woke up, gasping and sweating, tears in my eyes.

Going back to sleep was not an option, so I got up. I washed my face and once again reached for my gold chain, absent as it had been for weeks. I had worn that chain for more than ten years. Mom had given it to me on my twelfth birthday. Would I always reach for it?

By the time I emerged from my room, Ella was making coffee. “Morning,” she chirped. At least someone around here was happy.

“Morning,” I replied, trying to infuse as much brightness into my greeting and my smile as possible. The result was a loopy, zombie-like effect which Ella chose not to comment on in order to continue in her happy mood.

“How was your night? And more importantly,
how was your night?
” She winked and grinned at the same time.

“It was… okay,” I lied, my face impassive. “Nothing remarkable… you know, the usual. But I wanna hear all about yours.” Heavens only knew I was in a hurry to change the subject from me and my night.

Ella grinned again. “Gooood!” She laughed. “Good, good!”

Wait. That was not a usual Ella response to my vague and unsatisfying answer. She was so giddy that she wasn’t worried about me, which was a nice change. I glanced at her again and gasped. “Ella!” I choked on the coffee she had just handed me. “You little whore! Is that a hickey?!”

She grinned as a man’s voice sounded from behind us. “So… Ella, mind if I use your shower?”

We turned at the same time, and in the doorway stood a six-foot-something man with not a hint of clothing on his body. In my haste to turn back around, I barely managed to hang on to my cup, though with difficulty. Tall, dark and handsome: this was definitely not Harry from work.

“Help yourself, Guy.” She chuckled. He disappeared into her room, and I fixed Ella with a pointed stare, not bothering with words. “Oh, what?” she hissed. “Harry bored the hell out of me, so I ditched him and went to a bar where I met Guy. You know… the usual.”

After Ella and her… well, her whatever left, I tried to think of ways to occupy myself. I still felt tired from last night, so I laid down for a bit. Just as I found a comfortable position in my bed, my phone buzzed.

I picked it up. It was a notification from the damned app.
Money has been transferred to your account by Neal Callaway
.

My blood boiled in my veins. Who the fuck did he think he was? I didn’t need his money. I was just doing it because… Why
had
I done it? Why had I ever let Ella talk me into doing something so stupid? In light of this morning’s conversation and the appearance of Guy, it wasn’t as if her
judgment could exactly be trusted.

I was immersed in these thoughts when my phone buzzed again. An unknown number had texted:
Tia.
My heart leapt to my throat, and before I had even checked the sender’s identity, I knew who it was. I opened the messenger and tapped on the number.
N. Callaway
was accompanied by a photo of him in a deep blue blazer, looking unbelievably handsome. My heart beat faster.

He was typing again.
I’m sorry about last night.
I would like to get to know you, and to do that, I would really like to take you out sometime.

I blinked at the screen several times, then turned it off and put it to the side. My resolution not to pick it up lasted only a few seconds. Before I could stop myself, I was typing back.

Why did you transfer money into my account?

Oh, um, my assistant must have done that. I am sorry if that offended you.

Oh.

Can I take you out to dinner tonight?
I stared blankly at the screen, my mind apparently in pause mode.
So we can start over?

I thought for a moment, though it didn’t do much good; my mind was as blank as a slate.

Coffee
, I responded after a too-long pause.
Five p.m. And surprise me.

I put my phone in my drawer and lay down again, but that only lasted a few seconds as well. Damn it, I had never been this obsessed with my phone, even as a teenager.

I’ll pick you up at five
.

Tia

At half past four, I was ready. I wore a short, white, sleeveless chiffon dress with white Louis Vuitton peep-toes, my last birthday present from my mom. I had pulled my hair back in a low bun at the nape of my neck and wore a thin, silver necklace with small crystal earrings. For courage, I had sprinkled white eye shadow on my eyelids and put on strawberry pink lip-gloss. I looked in the mirror and thought I looked quite charming.

At one minute to five, my doorbell rang.
It’s him.

I looked out the window and saw him leaning casually against his car. I was a noob when it came to cars, but even I was familiar with this one—it had been plastered all over the advertisements in papers and on billboards: a BMW i8, in black. And the only thing hotter than the car was the man leaning against it.

Neal wore cream-colored pants with a light, camel-colored shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, and the front buttons of his shirt were open to catch the light evening breeze. With a pair of dark shades, he looked like a model on the runway. My heart skipped a beat. I forced my legs to move; I could look at this view forever.

I negotiated the stairs very carefully—I did not wear heels often. As I emerged from the front door, Neal looked up from his cell phone and took off his shades. “Hi,” he broke into a smile upon seeing me. “I was just about to text you.”

“Hi.” I managed to smile back.

He stared at me for another few seconds. “You look stunning,” he said finally.

“Um, thanks,” I stammered.
Way to go, idiot, stammering already!
I scolded myself in my head. How long had it been since I had received a compliment from a man, let alone one as handsome as this one? He held the door open for me, and I stepped in. The car was as plush inside as it was outside. “Nice car,” I said as he slid into the driver’s seat.

He chuckled. “I felt like splurging.”

As soon as he sat in his seat and closed the door, the atmosphere in the car changed. The tension felt so real it seemed to suck up all the air. The temperature was mild, yet I had goosebumps on my arms and legs. Unconsciously, my mind drifted to the memory of his lips on mine last night, and my insides melted.

Get yourself together
, I scolded myself again. This was not good. Not even five minutes together, and I had already felt the need to reprimand myself twice. And who was this hormonal maniac I morphed into as soon as this man showed up? I wished I had put on something more sensible—like a pair of jeans and a shirt with long sleeves. I was weirdly conscious that he might notice the goose bumps on my limbs.

He looked very much at ease beside me. For a second, I resented it. Hard to believe this was the same guy who had lost all control last time we had been together.

He looked at me. “You look… confused,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course. I was… I was just thinking about whether or not I turned off the lights in my room before leaving.” Lame, I knew, but it was the only bogus excuse that came to mind.

He chuckled. “Really? Do you worry about that sort of thing regularly?”

“No, not really.” My face reddened. “But I like to think I care about the environment and preserving resources, that sort of thing.” Goosebumps and now a tomato-red face. Thank God he was driving and couldn’t stare at me.

“I admire that. I respect people who care about that sort of thing,” he said.

“So, where are we going?” I asked, eager to change the subject.

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.” His eyes crinkled, and he looked so unbelievably handsome that my body automatically relaxed.

“Let’s see, then.” I felt the corners of my mouth turn up and realized that for some reason, smiling came easily again.

***

Half an hour later, we parked outside an early twentieth-century warehouse in the Depot District. Despite having spent all of my life in Richmond, I had never seen this place before. A vintage, red brick building with square windows would instantly appeal to visitors. Over brown wooden doors with old-fashioned lamps, the board out front read
Ghyslain
, and underneath it,
Chocolates, Bistro, Pastries, Gelato
. My excitement bubbled up and made me feel warm inside; the delight had to be plain on my face.

Neal watched me closely for my reaction. As soon as I smiled, his features relaxed into a grin. “I had a feeling you have a bit of a sweet tooth, especially for chocolate,” he said, “and I didn’t want to do something too extravagant, like fly you to Zurich, for fear you might get offended. Which, from our text conversation, I figured you easily do.”

“No, this is perfect. And I’m not easily offended. Most of the time,” I said with a smile. The place was
perfect. A combination of vintage, homey, sweet, and down-to-earth… Lord knows, I did hate extravaganza!

“It is one of my favorite places in Indiana,” Neal continued, “but wait until you’re actually inside. You’re going to love this.”

I knew what he was talking about as soon as we walked in through the wooden doors. This place was a haven for chocolate lovers—how had I not known about it all this time?! There were rows and rows of handcrafted, gourmet chocolates on display in the counters, pastries and chocolates that were works of arts, all of them perfect miniature sculptures. From eight-pointed, marbled stars to Santa’s sleigh—complete with reindeers and presents—to baby pianos, violins, animals with their young, and models of historical monuments. I gazed at all of it in awe like an entranced child, oblivious to the amused expression on Neal’s face. This was now my favorite place in this city!

We walked out of Ghyslain a couple of hours later. The wind tugged a few strands of hair loose from my bun and whipped them around my face as soon as we walked out of the warm, chocolate-scented café. I tried, without much luck, to tuck them behind my ears, feeling warm and happy. Neal reached out a hand to help me with my hair but caught himself halfway through. I couldn’t decide whether I was happy or unhappy that he’d held back.

“There is one more place I’d like to show you tonight, if you’d like to go,” he said when we were safely back in the car.

“Mmm?” I was still brooding over his efforts at self-control and good behavior today.

“Did you want to go home now?” he asked, looking slightly puzzled at my sudden distraction.

“No, no. I’d love to see whatever it is,” I murmured, trying to sound more carefree.

He drove for a little over half an hour until we were well outside the city. The sun had set and night was falling rapidly. We were having a good time, laughing and talking about some of our favorite artists. I had to admit, he knew how to keep the atmosphere light. If I were out with anyone except him, I would probably be a little jumpy by now. In his presence, I felt safe. This thought left me feeling warm and fuzzy inside.

The sky outside the city was a deeper shade of blue, and stars were beginning to come out when he finally stopped at the entrance to what looked like a vast soccer stadium. I was stunned. What was a soccer stadium doing in the middle of nowhere, and what were we doing at the soccer stadium in the middle of nowhere?