This is part three of the “Making the Billionaire’s Baby” series.
Finally pregnant with the billionaire’s baby, Shannon is having a hard time keeping their contract and the pregnancy a secret, especially when her best friend becomes suspicious about her expensive new apartment.
Marcus is increasingly busy with work and Shannon hasn’t seen him in months. Even in their time apart, her feelings for him are growing stronger and she questions their arrangement. When it’s finally time for her to meet Marcus’s wife and convince her to adopt the baby, Shannon realizes what a mess she’s gotten herself into and starts to wonder if she’ll ever be able to go through with it.
This 13,000 word short story contains explicit material, including sexual situations, and is intended for adults only.
“Miss Martinson,” she said, shaking my hand weakly before turning back to the house and walking ahead of me. “I’m Hannah, Mrs. Harmon’s assistant. Please follow me.”
I hurried to keep up, following her down a hallway that led toward the center of the house, giving me glimpses of the rooms as we passed by open doorways. Everything looked like a catalog spread. The furniture was new and pristine. The artwork complemented the wall colors, which complemented the fabrics, which complemented the tiny nick-nacks spread here and there to add personality. Everything was in its proper place as if tiny elves sped around dusting and tidying when no one was looking.
Eventually, the hallway opened into an entryway, a staircase winding up to the second floor. We took a right, heading through a large doorway into the sitting room. Though ornate light fixtures hung from the ceilings, the room was illuminated by bright midday sunlight, pouring in through the wall-sized window opposite the doorway.
The billionaire’s wife was already there, perched on a square leather couch scrolling through her phone. She wore a sky blue business suit (though I knew from Marcus she hadn’t worked in nearly a decade) and white pumps, her ankles crossed neatly.
As we approached, the clacking of the assistant’s shoes on the hardwood floor signaled our arrival.
Mrs. Harmon looked up, an over-exaggerated smile already spread across her perfectly made face. She rose in a single smooth movement, her hand outstretched. “Hello, Shannon, it’s nice to meet you.”
I shook her hand gingerly, her skin soft and a little greasy from moisturizer. Her perfume wafted around me, another oppressive reminder of how put-together her life was. I secretly hoped to see some sort of immediate flaw—a crooked nose or a wayward mole, maybe even an indication that she liked to kick puppies.
Instead, she could be any other woman strolling the sidewalks downtown, wandering in and out of fashion boutiques, a Starbucks latte in hand. And her beauty, whether manufactured (like her bleached blonde hair) or natural (like her eyes, the color of the ocean) was overwhelming. I could see how Marcus loved her—she was the perfect arm candy for a billionaire.
“Likewise, Mrs. Harmon.” I smiled, hoping she didn’t notice that my hands were shaking.
“Please, call me Crystal.”
Making the Billionaire’s Baby
Try, Try Again
Without His Embrace
The Other Woman
The Final Secrets
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