The Billionaire’s Promise (A 'Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires' Romance) Read online

  "Stephanie, it's good to see you," I lied. "What can I do for you?"

  Stephanie leaned down to pick something up off the ground. "I need to talk to you," she said. "I have your daughter, and you need to take her."

  I blinked and shook my head as if I could somehow clear my vision and ears at the same time. As if I could erase the sight of Stephanie Albert holding a baby carrier. What the fuck? My daughter? Since when did I have a daughter?

  She was probably expecting me to say something. I had no words.

  I had zero words.

  All I could do was stare at the sleeping infant in the baby carrier. She was tiny, with a chunky scrunched up little face and a trail of drool coming from her rosebud lips. For the first time in months, I desperately wanted to drink. Beside me, a throat cleared. In her best crisply British tone, the accent more than faint, Magnolia said, "Why don't you come in, Stephanie? It seems we need to have a conversation."

  Mute, I held the door open to admit my unwanted guests, following behind as Magnolia led Stephanie back to the elevator. We rode up in silence. The second the elevator doors opened, I stalked out, heading for the kitchen. I could not have a drink. I was not going to have a drink. I'd been sober for well over a year, and I wasn't going to fuck it up now.

  Ignoring the three females following me, I poured a glass of cold water and drank the entire thing. It wasn't whiskey, but somehow, it seemed to clear my head.

  Magnolia led Stephanie to the kitchen, where she set the baby carrier on the island. Crossing the room to stand behind me, Magnolia looped her arm through mine and turned her attention back to Amy's sister.

  "I'm assuming you're implying this is Amy's child?" Magnolia asked in her starchy best. Stephanie's back went ramrod straight, and her eyes narrowed.

  "Of course it is. She's not mine. I never slept with that man-whore.”

  Her words hit, then skidded off me. I've been called worse. And I didn't care what Amy's sister thought of me. Magnolia ignored the insult.

  "If this is Amy and Vance's child, then where is Amy? It seems more sensible for Vance to deal with—"

  "Amy's dead," Stephanie said in a flat, empty voice.

  The strength drained from my muscles. I braced my palms on the island to hold myself up, my head dropping forward, my eyes staring blindly at the countertop. Dead? I wished I were more surprised. I didn't need to hear the answer when Magnolia whispered, “How? What happened?"

  It could've been an accident. She could've gotten sick. But I knew that wasn't what had killed Amy. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and gritted my teeth when Stephanie said, “She overdosed,” in that same flat, empty voice.

  "Oh, God. I'm so sorry," Magnolia said, her voice thick with tears. "When? How long ago?"

  She tucked her body into mine, pushing her shoulder under my arm and wrapping her arm around me, sliding her hand under my shirt so that her palm rested on the bare skin of my back. I leaned into her, grateful for the anchor of her touch when everything I knew was suddenly spinning out of my grasp.

  "Why didn't she tell me?" I asked, still staring at the countertop, my voice low and ragged.

  "I wanted her to," Stephanie said. "She said she wasn't ready. I think she wanted to be sure she could stay sober."

  "Was she? Sober? The last time we were together, she said she was clean." I had to force the words out. I wasn't surprised Amy was dead, but fuck, the thought of it hurt.

  "She was. She was clean the whole pregnancy. Then she relapsed right after Rosie was born. Just once. Then she stayed clean for a few months until last week—" Stephanie broke off with a choking sound.

  "So, what do we do now?" Magnolia asked gently. "Since you're here, I'm assuming that you want Vance to play a role in his daughter's life."

  "He's on the birth certificate. He's her father, and he needs to take her. I love Rosie, and I loved my sister, but I can't do this. I can barely support myself. I can't take care of a baby."

  Slowly, Magnolia said, "I don't want to make this more difficult, but just because Vance is on the birth certificate, it doesn't mean he's the father. I assume you want more than just for Vance to take the child?"

  Stephanie straightened, and in a hard voice, she said, "I want fifty grand, and you can have the baby."

  "What the fuck?” I said. She'd flipped from grieving sister to extortionist in a breath. Magnolia was right. Just because they said I was the father, it didn't make it true. Amy was a fun girl. We had some good times together, but she wasn't exactly a nun. I wasn't the only guy she slept with on a semi-regular basis back in the day. Fortunately, Magnolia was thinking, even if I wasn't.

  "Obviously, we’ll have to do a blood test before there's any discussion of payment. If she is Vance's daughter, and he agrees to take custody, you'll have to sign papers agreeing as well. He's not going to be open to blackmail."

  Stephanie's shoulders sagged. "Look, I'm not trying to be a bitch here. It's just that I'm a waitress, and I'm trying to go to school. I blew more than half of my savings on hospital bills for Amy, and the funeral pretty much wiped me out. I can't afford to take care of Rosie, and I can't pay next semester's tuition. This isn't my problem. You got her pregnant, and she left me with the baby. I don't deserve to have my whole life fucked up because of it."

  "I understand," Magnolia said in a crisply dismissive tone. "I need you to excuse us for a moment." She nudged me in the ribs to get my attention. I grunted in response. "Vance, I’d like to talk to you in the office."

  Obedient for once, I followed her into the office, saying nothing until she shut the door. My mind spun. Amy was dead. I was a father. I couldn't get a handle on it all.

  I braced for Magnolia to cut into me. Instead, she said, "Sit down. You look like you're about to pass out."

  I sat, resting my elbows on my knees and letting my head hang as I stared at the floor.

  "I don't think she's lying," Magnolia said, her voice barely above a whisper. The office had a door, but the walls didn't extend all the way the ceiling. I nodded, responding in the same low tone.

  "I don't think she's lying either," I said. "Fuck. How the fuck did this happen?"

  Magnolia leaned against the desk and surprised me with a wry laugh. "Considering how many times I've woken you up with a naked woman in your bed, I'm pretty sure I don't need to explain how this happened."

  "Bite me, Sugar."

  "I don't think so," she said tartly. "Look, I'm going to call Dr. Whitmore's office. The first thing we need to do is determine that she's your daughter. If she is, what you want to do?"

  "What you mean, what do I want to do? If she's my daughter, I want her. She's mine. It's bad enough that her mother died. No way in fucking hell will I walk out on her."

  Magnolia’s eyes filled with tears. One fell over her lashes to skate down her cheek before she lifted her hands and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. Sucking in and blowing out a quick breath, she said, "Okay, good. So, that’s settled. I'll call Dave Price and get him to put together papers so Stephanie can relinquish any rights, assuming the blood test comes back showing that you're the father."

  "I'll call Dave," I said. "But I'd appreciate it if you could get on the line with Dr. Whitmore's office and have them agree to rush the blood test. If that little girl is my daughter, I want to get this wrapped up as soon as possible."

  Magnolia nodded and walked out of our office. I picked up the phone and dialed my attorney. While I was waiting, Magnolia came back in, pulled out her own phone, and got on the line with the doctor's office.

  There were downsides to being a Winters. Most people didn't see them. They saw the money and thought we had it all. The truth was, a lot of it sucked. Dead parents, dead aunt and uncle, and the media ripping us apart on a regular basis before we could even walk. But at times like this, being a Winters made life so much less complicated. The tests to show paternity could be done in hours. Dave was already drawing up the legal work. If that little girl was mine, we'd know it by mor
ning.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  VANCE

  * * *

  Stephanie left with the baby shortly after we made our calls, heading straight for the doctor's office. Rosalie. Amy had named her daughter—our daughter—Rosalie. I wondered if she'd had that little pink rosebud of a mouth when she'd been born. I'd only seen her sleeping, but she looked like a Rosalie.

  I was in shock and totally fucked. I knew nothing about babies. Less than nothing. I'd never even held a baby, and assuming the test came out like I thought it would, tomorrow, I would be the sole caretaker of a three and a half month old. How the fuck was I supposed to do that?

  It bothered me, watching Stephanie leave with Rosalie. Stupid. I didn't even know that she was my daughter. The idea that she could be was absurd, and all too possible. Part of me wanted to snatch the baby carrier from Stephanie and boot her out the door, locking it behind her.

  How fucking dare she? How dare she call me a man-whore when she was here to extort money in exchange for my child? The more rational part of my brain reminded me that if she was telling the truth, she was my child's aunt, the only living reminder of Rosalie's dead mother. I had plenty of money. If Stephanie needed some help after taking care of my daughter, of course I'd help her.

  I wasn't a big fan of the rational side of my brain at the moment. I was pissed and freaked the fuck out.

  Magnolia fell back on her typical efficient organization in the face of our crisis. Yes, our crisis. She didn't know it yet, but no fucking way was Magnolia leaving me to deal with this on my own. I may have had my life under control again—my career, my investments, my sobriety—but I had no clue what to do with a baby. I might deserve to be abandoned with an infant, but Rosalie needed a competent adult taking care of her. Since she was stuck with me, it was all hands on deck.

  We ended up cooking dinner at Magnolia's house after a quick stop at the lab to give blood for the paternity test. It was after hours, but they promised we'd have the results first thing in the morning.

  Evers showed up at Magnolia's door halfway through dinner. I'd called him on the way home to ask him to look into Amy's death. I was sure Stephanie wouldn't lie about something like that, but I learned the hard way that when people started asking for money, especially tens of thousands of dollars, you had to be suspicious.

  I was well aware this could all be a big lie. Amy could very well still be alive, and Rosalie might not even be her child. People did some shitty things when they needed money. When you had a ton of it, you were a target. This was not the first time a woman had claimed I'd fathered her child. It was the first time I believed it might be true.

  Magnolia got a plate of stir-fry together for Evers, and he joined us at the table.

  "Did you find out anything?" I asked. Magnolia set her fork on her plate and watched Evers. I did the same.

  He finished chewing and swallowed, then he shook his head and said, "I'm sorry, man. We don't know about the baby yet, obviously, but Amy Albert overdosed five days ago. From the information I got, she'd been clean for a few months, then she fell off the wagon and miscalculated the dose."

  Magnolia let out a gust of breath. My eyes watered. I felt wet heat on my cheeks and realized I was crying. God dammit. I hadn't realized how much I'd been hoping that Stephanie was a con artist. Amy and I hadn't been in love. At our very best, we'd been two broken people in a fucked-up friendship based on sex and getting wasted. But she was a good person, and I cared about her. She'd cared about me.

  Her first overdose, the one she'd survived thanks to Magnolia, had been the beginning of the best part of my life. I owed her for that. It crushed me that she'd never know the same freedom, that she hadn't been able to escape the tentacles of her addiction. I wasn't fool enough to think that I was home free, that I'd ever be home free, but I'd gotten this far. It killed to know one mistake had stolen Amy's life. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand and heard Magnolia say, "What about the baby?"

  "The blood test will give us the truth," Evers said. "But she did put Vance on the birth certificate, which legally makes all of this much easier. I talked to Dave, and he's got a copy of the certificate. It also helps that she gave birth here in Atlanta. Easier to get ahold of the records. She gave birth on November twenty-fifth, which means she would've gotten pregnant around last February. That line up?"

  "Yeah, it does," I said, remembering the weekend Amy had shown up and we'd given a stab at getting back together. It hadn't lasted. We were not a good fit when we were sober. We'd used condoms, but everyone knew they didn't always work. Ironically, but very luckily, she'd gotten pregnant when we were sober. I shuddered to think about how half-assed my condom use had been when I'd been drinking. It was a miracle I was clean, all things considered.

  "What about Amy's family?" Magnolia asked. I answered before Evers could.

  "Amy and Stephanie were tight, but they've been estranged from their parents for years. I doubt they have any interest in Rosalie, and from some of the shit Amy told me, she would not want her daughter growing up in their house even if I was willing to give her up."

  "And you're not?" Evers asked, one eyebrow raised. I scowled at him. He should know me better than to ask such a stupid question.

  "Of course not, asshole. How could you ask me that? You think I would walk away from my own child? Fuck, even if she turns out not to be mine, I might pay Stephanie off and get her to sign the papers anyway."

  "What?" Evers said in confusion. I shrugged and gritted my teeth before I answered.

  "Look, Stephanie doesn't want her niece. She's made that abundantly clear. Amy's dead. The parents? From some of the things Amy told me, these are people who should not be raising goldfish, much less children. They're the reason Amy ended up the way she did. The last thing she would want is for her daughter to wind up with them. The kid could end up in the system. That's a shitty memorial to Amy's life."

  "I get where you're coming from, but you have to think this through, Vance," Evers said. "It's not like taking in a puppy. This is a child. You'd be a parent. That's a whole new level of responsibility. Are you're saying you're willing to step up even if she's not yours?"

  "We don't need to worry about that yet," I said. "If Stephanie is telling the truth about Amy, she's probably telling the truth about Rosalie, too. There's no way I'd ever turn my back on my own kid. If she's not mine, I promise I'll think it through before I do anything rash."

  I went back to my stir-fry, not interested in discussing the issue any further. I was already reeling from the news about Amy and Rosalie. I didn't need to get into a fight with my oldest friend on top of it.

  Evers left after dinner with a warning to be smart and a promise to keep digging. I wasn't sure what else there was to dig up, but if there were anything, Evers would find it.

  Magnolia and I barely spoke for the rest of the evening, both of us caught up in our thoughts. We did the dinner dishes and watched a movie, neither of us paying any attention to the action on the screen. A few times, I caught the glimmer of tears on Magnolia's cheeks. My eyes were dry, but my heart was heavy in my chest. Amy's death was such a fucking waste. I tried not to think about that little girl in the baby carrier. Whether or not she was mine, she'd lost her mother. Nothing I did could fix that.

  I spent the night on Magnolia's couch. I didn't want to leave her alone, and I didn't want to be alone myself. We were both still reeling from learning about Amy, and the next day felt like it was bearing down on us far too quickly. I woke the next morning to find Magnolia in the kitchen, making coffee. She wore her favorite pair of jeans, the pair that made her ass look fantastic, and a knit sweater with a cowl neckline that teased at cleavage but showed nothing.

  She probably had no idea how hot she looked. She almost caught me leering before my brain kicked into gear and the events of the day before rushed back. Even though it wasn't quite seven o'clock, I grabbed my phone. No messages. Of course not. The lab wouldn't be open until eight, and Stephanie wasn't du
e back at the loft until ten. I was just going to have to be patient in the meantime. I hated being patient. I wanted everything resolved right now. Was she my kid or not? If she wasn't, was I going to walk away and leave her with a woman who was willing to sell her?

  Coffee. I needed coffee, stat. I needed to clear my fucking head.

  "Drink your coffee," I said when Magnolia had poured us both a mug full. "We're going for a run."

  Magnolia shook her head. "Vance, seriously. I really don't feel like running today."

  "Yeah, neither do I, but what else are we going to do? We've got hours before we know anything. Even if we go to work, are you going to be able to pay attention to emails and contracts?"

  Magnolia didn't answer. She just stared at me over the rim of her coffee cup. Finally, she took a gulp, set the cup down on the counter, and said, "I'll go change."

  I had a gym bag in my car, just in case. Yes, I have an obsessive and addictive personality. Sometimes, it just hits me out of nowhere, the fierce longing for a drink. For something, anything, that will ease the hard edges, that will shut off the fucking nightmares I can't shake at almost thirty years old. I'm done with drinking. I'm done with that shit. Even if I hadn't been done with it before knowing that Amy was dead, alcohol was never going to be the answer for me again.

  But giving it up didn't kill the need. Working out and sculpting helped channel it. Every once in a while, the craving for a drink took me off guard. For that, I kept my running gear in the car. No matter where I was, I could throw on my gear and run until I'd burned it out of me and the only thing I wanted to drink was ice cold water.

  I drank half my coffee, grabbed my gear, and got dressed in time to meet Magnolia at the front door. We started walking, warming our muscles up, falling into the familiar rhythm. Sometimes, we talked when we warmed up. Now that Magnolia was used to it, we even occasionally talked while we jogged.