Carrying the Billionaire's Baby (Breeding Erotic Romance)

  CARRYING THE BILLIONAIRE’S BABY, BOOK 1

  THE BILLIONAIRE’S OFFER

  Gwendolyn Bridges

  Smashwords Edition, Copyright 2013

  LICENSE NOTES

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  Somewhere between my 25th birthday and the note Jason left near the front door, I hit rock bottom.

  My birthday itself hadn’t been that bad, really. Good friends and better wine. But hitting the quarter life milestone was hard on me. I was forced to look at all that I had accomplished since I had dropped out of college following my freshman year. And the truth was that there wasn’t much to look at. A few crappy part-time jobs. A checking account always at risk of overdraft. A too small apartment that had twice been hit with bed bugs. That was hard to take.

  Jason’s note hit even harder. April, it read. I have to leave. And then nothing else. He had taken all his stuff when I was at work and moved on after four years of dating. I didn’t hear from him again. My texts went unanswered, my phone calls straight to voicemail. He was a ghost.

  So there I was, seemingly an adult now, but with no degree, no real work experience and no boyfriend, facing a one-bedroom apartment lease that I couldn’t even begin to afford on my own, even if it was a roach-infested hellhole. I was in trouble. Big trouble. I hadn’t been able to land a full-time job for six months, which meant my credit cards were close to their limit. That plus the rent would be the end of me. I thought about going to my parents for a loan, but that seemed so sad. I was 25. I needed to stand on my own. That meant finding some dollars quickly. I was desperate.

  That’s when I saw the online ad that changed everything.

  “SURROGATE WANTED,” it started, in big bold letters. “Family seeks experienced surrogate to carry child to term. Must be discreet. References required. Will pay upwards of $50,000 for successful insemination and delivery.”

  That figure caught my eye. Fifty thousand dollars. I had never made so much money in my life. With that kind of cash, I’d be set. I could go back to school and get my degree. Do things right this time.

  But carrying another couple’s child? That was something I had never considered. I hadn’t even really ever thought of having children. It seemed like an impossible dream with the kind of men I had ended up dating. None of them were really father material.

  But, as I sat and stared at my laptop screen, I tried to convince myself I’d be good at it. I had always had the kind of wide hips that made my grandma talk about how I’d be able to deliver her a whole mess of grandchildren. Truthfully, I had never really taken that kind of thing as a compliment. I had spent most of my life trying to make my hips smaller. But now, I thought, maybe my birthing hips could pay off.

  It seemed crazy. But the note stuck with me, especially as time wore on and the due date for next month’s rent got closer. Fifty thousand dollars. That would change everything.

  “Strip,” ordered the older woman in a brusque voice. “Remove your clothes now.”

  She was all business, this Ms. Brook. I don’t know what I had expected, going in to interview for the right to carry another man’s child. But I could never have predicted this.

  The whole process had felt weird from the day I finally worked up the courage to call the number in the surrogate ad. I had worked out in advance everything I’d say, but the call was surprisingly brief.

  “What’s your name?” the women’s voice on the other end of the life asked.

  “April O’Connor, ma’am,” I responded, doing my best to sound polished and professional.

  “Right,” said the voice, sounding bored. “Okay, the first interview is Tuesday at 6 p.m. You know where the Atherstone Tower is?”

  I did know. Everyone knew. The Atherstone Tower was the biggest building on the city skyline, topped off just a few years ago.

  “Um, yes,” I answered.

  “Right, okay. Well, your interview is there. Top floor. Just talk to the desk when you arrive.”

  I was confused. “It’s at the tower?”

  The voice sighed. “Yes. 6 p.m. Bring your résumé and references. Thanks.”

  The line went dead after that. I spent the next few hours trying to figure out what it all meant. An interview to be a surrogate at the swanky headquarters of one of the country’s largest consulting firms? That didn’t make a lot of sense. Weren’t these things usually held at people’s houses? And the top floor — wasn’t that the penthouse?

  It turned out the top floor was the penthouse. That’s where I met Ms. Brook along with two dozen other girls who were apparently also in the running for this surrogate job. The other girls were similar enough to me — mostly young, mostly nervous. The majority of them were skinner than me, I guess, but we were all cut from the same cloth. We all looked nervous in our ill-fighting professional clothes. I had worn a grey pencil skirt and a simple white blouse. The other girls were similarly dressed, some in pantsuits, some in simple dresses.

  Not that what we were wearing mattered much. Ms. Brook ordered us to remove our clothes soon after she introduced herself.

  I was surprised when she entered and began talking to the entire group. I had figured we’d be interviewed one-by-one, presumably with questions asked by the family. Was Ms. Brook part of the family that wanted the child? Or was she some kind of broker or specialist? It was impossible to tell. And she wasn’t coming forward with any information.

  “Ladies, this is not your typical surrogacy. This is a very exclusive and demanding opportunity. Only the very best of you will be asked to carry this child.” She was an older woman, in her late fifties, I guessed. She carried herself with an exact grace, her body tiny and slender in her perfectly-fitted pantsuit, her auburn hair tied back in a bun so tight it looked painful. She spoke in a British accent, enunciating her words as if we’d have trouble understanding her otherwise.

  The would-be surrogates and I looked at each other nervously when she ordered us to remove our clothes. We hadn’t said anything at all to one another when we sat waiting in the opulence of the Atherstone penthouse. I felt very small in the cavernous room, standing next to big glass windows. Looking at Ms. Brook, I felt even smaller.

  When none of us moved, Ms. Brook repeated her order. “Remove your clothes, ladies. I will not be asking again.”

  With that, four of the girls in the room turned to leave, crowding into the elevator and descending away from the odd scene in the penthouse. That left twenty of us, standing and staring, gobsmacked, unsure of what to do next.

  Finally, I decided to be bold. What did I have to lose? With fifty thousand dollars at stake, I could stand a little weirdness. And it wasn’t like Ms. Brook looked like she could really hurt us. Besides, while I’ve never been particularly proud of my body — too curvy, I’ll admit, to match the kinds of girls you see in magazines — I had long resolved to never be ashamed of it.

  So I took the lead, unbuttoning my blouse with determined fingers, revealing my plain black bra. Next, I unzipped my skirt and started pulling it down. As I did, I noticed that the other girls in the room had taken a cue for me, starting to shed their clothes. One girl with a skinny build hadn’t even bothered to wear a bra. Her small breasts were exposed to the room, tiny nipples
standing attention in the air-conditioned air.

  When I stepped out of my skirt, I realized suddenly that Ms. Brook had approached me.

  “Good girl,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  She stood in front of me, so close I could feel the warmth of her breath on my skin. I wore only my bra and a mismatched pair of white cotton panties. The older women stared at me with fierce eyes.

  “Um,” I stammered. “A-april. April O’Connor. Ma’am.”

  Ms. Brook gave me a half-smile. “Good, April,” she said. “I appreciate very much your initiative.”

  She stepped back and looked around, surveying the women in the room, all of which were now standing in some variety of underwear. I found myself gawking at the woman next to me, heavyset and older, whose breasts seemed so gargantuan it was hard to imagine how she managed to walk upright.

  “I said strip, ladies,” announced Ms. Brook. “Everything off.”

  There was little hesitation this time. I reached behind me and unclasped my bra, only allowing a small thought to cross my mind as I did. This is crazy, I thought. This is a perverted game. But then I weighed the possible outcomes. Either I made fifty thousand dollars or I’d lose my apartment. Put like that, nakedness was no big cost.

  This is worth a shot, I reminded myself, as I let my bra fall to the floor. Despite my better instincts, I enjoyed the feeling of cold air on my full breasts.

  I glanced around. Most of the remaining women had joined me in nakedness, though another few had taken the opportunity to grab their clothes and head for the elevator. This seemed to be a game of attrition, though it was maybe the weirdest game I’ve ever played.

  There was maybe a dozen of us left in the room, all naked. Across from me stood an incredibly striking blonde, who looked almost as if she could be a model. Her full breasts seemed almost impossibly firm, showing no signs of sagging. I felt embarrassed for a second, comparing my own body to hers. Despite being about the same age as her, my chest had already started to sag. And while I kind of liked my hourglass figure, her body fit the magazine ideal — skinny all the way down.

  I was convinced that the blonde girl would be the one chosen for the job. My face fell. All this for nothing, I thought.

  Ms. Brook commanded us to gather in a circle. We obeyed. She had us spread our arms and turn around as she stood in the centre and surveyed the scene. We obeyed. I didn’t know why all of us girls in the penthouse were so obedient — I could only assume that maybe the other girls were in the same boat as me. They must have been desperate.

  “All right,” said Ms. Brook finally, speaking in a quiet monotone voice. “Thank you all for coming. Thank you all for listening. I am rather glad you are not like those… other girls.” She scoffed, gesturing toward the elevator that the other applicants had used to escape.

  A silence hung in the area. None of us knew what to do. Ms. Brook finally cleared her throat, surveying us again. “I have selected three of you to go on to the interview with Mr. Atherstone.”

  Mr. Atherstone? The name took me by surprise. Maybe I should have figured it out earlier, but I had never even considered that the surrogacy would be for the billionaire owner of the building we all stood in. Besides, Mr. Atherstone was single, wasn’t he? His wife had…

  Ms. Brook interrupted my train of thought by announcing her choices. “You,” she said, pointing to the skinny blonde girl. Of course, I thought drily, trying not to be too jealous. Next, she pointed to a full-hipped Asian woman on the other side of the room, who had a pretty round face and an amazing smile. The Asian woman grinned widely when she was chosen.

  That left just one remaining slot. Looking around the room, I didn’t hold out much hope. I was one of the bigger girls there — and I certainly didn’t like anything like a woman who might deliver an heir to a billionaire. I couldn’t even imagine what kind of life a man like Mr. Atherstone might lead, but I knew it would be far different from what I was used to in tiny apartments and paycheck-to-paycheck living.

  “Again,” Ms. Brook said. “Thank you all so very much for coming. And I remind you all that discretion is the better part of valor. But my last selection will be…” She turned and trailed a finger over the remaining circle of naked women surrounding her. “You, Ms. O’Connor.”

  The old woman’s long, boney finger pointed at me.

  I was stunned. I couldn’t believe it. She had pointed at me. Me! April O’Connor, the plain jane girl from nowhere. And now I was about to be ushered in to meet with a billionaire?

  I didn’t know what to say. I had spent some time this morning going over answers to probable questions. I knew exactly what to say about my family health history, my education, my skills and interests. But now the game was different. There was no way to prepare for this.

  Ms. Brook handed the three of us heavy, thick robes, which we wrapped around ourselves gratefully. The cold in the penthouse had made our nipples hard and erect, and it felt good to envelop my naked body in warmth again.

  The old woman left for a moment, heading through ornate double doors to the other wing of the penthouse. The three of us selected made awkward small talk when she was gone. I learned that the blonde girl’s name was Samantha. She was younger than me, a student at the local college whose parents had fallen on hard times. She would have to drop out unless she managed to make extra money.

  The striking Asian girl, Karen, had a similar story. She was in her early 30s and had come to the United States from the Philippines with her mother when she was just a girl. Now her father back home was sick, and the family desperately needed money to bring him overseas.

  We were all different, I realized, surveying their faces, half buried in their robes, but we had one thing in common: we were desperate.

  Samantha went in first, vanishing through the double doors. Karen and I sat in silence for more than twenty minutes as we waited. Finally, Ms. Brook returned, without Samantha, and called Karen’s name.

  I spoke despite myself. I’ve always had a problem with asking questions even when I know I’m not supposed to. “Where’s Samantha?” I asked, as Ms. Brook put her hand on Karen’s shoulder and started directing her through the doors.

  “Hm,” said Ms. Brook, eying me suspiciously. “Please wait your turn, Ms. O’Connor.”

  That’s all she said. Then the proper woman and Karen left through the doors, leaving me all alone.

  I sank into the robe, glancing around the room. My eyes fell on the elevator and I thought about leaving. My clothes were gone, though. I don’t know when that happened, but someone must have come along and scooped them up when we were talking to Ms. Brook. The robe was all I had. Still, I considered leaving — figuring it all out later. But some force held me in my seat in the penthouse. Something compelled me to stay.

  Another twenty minutes passed and the doors open again. Ms. Brook didn’t say anything, her face betraying no sign of emotion. I knew what she wanted. I got up and walked toward hers.

  “Smile, girl,” said Ms. Brook as we walked into the room. “This is a grand opportunity.”

  The doors closed behind us heavily.

  The soft robe clung to my naked body. Ms. Brook led me down a corridor and through another set of heavy doors that opened with a soft clang. The room in the back of the penthouse was dimly light — our shadows tumbled across the floor. Giant picture windows lined two of the walls of the room, offering incredible views of the city at dusk. On the horizon, tiny cars streamed across the bridge, their headlights like orderly fireflies.

  “Mr. Atherstone,” announced Ms. Brook. I couldn’t see who she was talking to. In one of the corners of the room sat a big oak desk and, behind it, there was a high-back leather chair. But it was turned away, so that I couldn’t see who occupied it.

  “Yes, Ms. Brook,” came a response from the chair. “Is this the third candidate?”

  “Yes. May I present to you Ms. April O’Connor.”

  My heart was racing and my palms sweaty. I wanted
to sink even further into the robe and hide myself from the world. I don’t know how I got to be so nervous. All of this was so strange. So hard to understand. But I knew there was no turning back.

  The chair swivelled around to face us. And my eyes caught the eyes of Alexander Atherstone for the very first time.

  He was a striking man. Younger than I anticipated. Maybe mid-40s, but he could have passed for a man in his 30s. He kept his dark hair short atop his head, and he had blue eyes that seemed to glow even in his dimly-lit office. He wore a perfectly-cut navy blue suit, with golden cufflinks. His skin was perfect, save for one soft, jagged scar that was just barely evident on the left side of his face.

  He didn’t smile.

  “Ms. O’Connor,” he said. “Come and sit.”

  My heart was still racing as I approached the desk and sat in the chair in front of him. There was just the one seat, which made me think about Ms. Brook — but the old woman had left the room. It was just me and Mr. Atherstone.

  I tried not to forget myself, despite the anxiety I was feeling. “Mr. Atherstone, it’s so nice to meet you,” I tried. “It’s —“

  He raised a finger to silence me.

  “It’s okay, Ms. O’Connor. I know this has all been very strange for you. Ms. Brook insisted on doing this her way. And her ways are… unorthodox, to say the least. But she’s been my advisor in business since she first started as my secretary twenty years ago, and she has never steered me wrong. I hope you understand.”

  He paused, waiting for a response. I just nodded.

  “Good,” he said, forcing a half-smile. “This is my situation, April. I very badly want to be a father.. I once had plans to make that happen. Those plans changed very abruptly. I hope you won’t ask questions about that.”

  I had so many questions. How do plans to start a family change abruptly? What was he referring to? I made a mental note to Google this later. And then I nodded again.