THE BILLIONAIRE'S CONTACT TWICE

Olivia Brown had never felt so tired in her entire life. Her feet ached from twelve hours of standing in cheap black shoes, her uniform smelled of spilled cocktails, and her head was spinning from the loud music pounding through the Grand Imperial Hotel bar. It was almost 2 AM, and the last of the rich guests from the billionaire's anniversary party were finally leaving. She just wanted to go home to her small one-room apartment in Queens and check on her mother. "Olivia, take these towels to Suite 2008," her manager, Mrs. Jenkins, barked, throwing a pile of white towels at her. "And be quick. The VIP guest in 2007 complained about noise. Don't disturb him." Olivia nodded. She was too tired to argue. She carried the towels, her eyes half closed, as she entered the elevator. The hotel was a maze of gold and glass, and all the room numbers looked the same when you were exhausted. She got off on the 20th floor. The hallway was dark and quiet. She saw 2007, 2008... She pushed the door that was slightly open. She didn't notice that the key card on the floor was for 2007, not 2008. She just walked in, dropped the towels on the chair, and turned to leave. That was when she heard the shower stop. A man walked out of the bathroom. He was tall, with wet black hair, water dripping down his perfect chest, a white towel wrapped low around his waist. His eyes were grey, cold, and sharp like ice. He looked like a god carved from stone, but his face was full of anger. "Who are you? Who sent you?" His voice was low, dangerous. Olivia froze. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. She had never seen a man like this in real life. "I... I... towels... 2008..." she stammered, holding up her hands. The man, Adrian Smith, stared at her. He was the CEO of Smith Global Enterprises, the most feared billionaire in New York. He was 28, ruthless, and he never let any woman near him after his ex-fiancee betrayed him three years ago. He had come to this hotel to avoid the party downstairs. He had asked for no service. But this girl... she was different. She wasn't wearing expensive makeup or a tight designer dress like the women who always threw themselves at him. She was wearing a cheap waitress uniform, her brown hair tied in a messy ponytail, her brown eyes wide with pure fear and innocence. She looked poor, tired, and completely lost. "You are in the wrong room," he said coldly. "I know, I'm sorry! I will leave now!" Olivia turned quickly, but her cheap shoe slipped on the wet marble floor. She fell. Adrian moved fast, instinctively catching her before she hit the floor. Suddenly she was in his arms. Her soft body pressed against his hard, wet chest. Her hair smelled like vanilla and cheap shampoo, not expensive perfume. Her eyes looked up at him, terrified, her lips slightly parted. Something in Adrian snapped. For three years he had felt nothing. No desire, no interest. But holding this poor little waitress, feeling her heart beating fast against his chest, he felt a heat he thought was dead. Olivia felt it too. Her cheeks turned red. She had never been held by a man before. She was 22 and she had spent all her life working, studying, and taking care of her sick mother. She had no time for love. "Let me go," she whispered, but her voice was shaking. Adrian should have let her go. He should have called security. Instead, he looked at her lips. And he kissed her. It was not a gentle kiss. It was hungry, desperate, full of three years of loneliness and anger. Olivia tried to push him away, but her body betrayed her. She had never been kissed like that. The music from downstairs, the stress of her mother's hospital bills, the exhaustion, everything faded. She kissed him back, just for a second. That one second turned into a night that would change both their lives forever. The morning came with harsh sunlight and regret. Olivia woke up first. She was in a huge, soft king-size bed, naked under expensive white sheets. Her uniform was torn on the floor. Her head hurt. Then she remembered everything. Oh God. She had slept with a guest. A VIP guest. She would lose her job. She looked beside her. The man was still sleeping, his handsome face peaceful for the first time. He looked less cold when he slept. She didn't know his name. She didn't want to know. She grabbed her clothes, put on her uniform with shaking hands, and ran out of the room, tears streaming down her face. She left no number, no name. Adrian woke up thirty minutes later. The bed beside him was empty, but the sheets still smelled like vanilla. He sat up, frowning. She was gone. He called the front desk. "Who was the girl sent to Suite 2007 last night?" The manager checked. "Sir, no one was sent to your suite. We had a new waitress, Olivia Brown, working the bar. Maybe..." Olivia Brown. He repeated the name in his head. He thought he would never see her again. One month later. Olivia sat in the small, dirty bathroom of the public clinic, staring at a white plastic stick in her shaking hand. Two lines. Pregnant. The word echoed in her head like a bomb. Pregnant. How? She had only been with a man once in her life, that one night in the hotel. She had been so naive, she didn't even think about protection in that moment of madness. And now twins. The doctor's voice was still in her ears: "Congratulations, Miss Brown. You are 4 weeks pregnant with twins." Twins. How would she feed them? How would she pay for her mother's dialysis? She could barely pay rent. Her mother needed $10,000 for surgery next month or she would die. She cried, alone in that bathroom, her hand on her flat stomach. She was poor, alone, and pregnant for a billionaire she didn't even know. At that same moment, across the city in a 50th-floor glass office, Adrian Smith was in trouble. His grandfather, the old chairman, was dying. The lawyer was reading the will: "To inherit the entire Smith fortune and control of Smith Global, Adrian must be married and have an heir within one year. If not, everything goes to your cousin, Richard." Richard, his greedy cousin who had stolen his ex-fiancee. Adrian clenched his fists. He would never marry for love again. Love was a lie. His assistant, James, came in. "Sir, we found the waitress. Olivia Brown. She quit the hotel job two weeks ago. She works now as a cleaner in a diner. And... there is a rumor from the clinic she visited... she is pregnant." Adrian's cold grey eyes widened. He stood up slowly. "Find her. Bring her to me. Now." That evening, Olivia was cleaning tables at the diner when a black Rolls Royce stopped outside. A tall, cold man in a $10,000 suit walked in. Every customer stared. It was him. The man from the hotel. Olivia's blood froze. Her hand went instinctively to her stomach. He walked straight to her, looked at her cheap cleaner uniform, and said in a voice everyone could hear: "Hello, Olivia. I believe you are carrying my babies."