Billionaire's Baby Contract

Chapter One-2

DAMON

I was bored. This club was the same as ever. When my friend Micah first invited me to the underground scene of depravity and desires known as Flesh, I was titillated. That had been long ago, and the luster had worn off over the years.

It was no longer intoxicating to have my pick of the minxes around me. I could have any dream I wanted, live out any fantasy with ease, and structure the next one by the time I returned.

It didn’t matter. I was still bored.

It wasn’t just Flesh that bored me these days. Everything seemed to have lost its spark. I wasn’t unhappy, and I certainly wasn’t depressed. I was just existing. Nothing changed.

Oh, I suppose some things did. The clients and mergers changed on a regular basis, but the stakes, no matter how high, failed to get my blood pumping as they used to.

Everything was the same. None of it mattered.

It had to be my brush with mortality that had set me on this path. A misdiagnosis by my dermatologist a few months ago left me facing the thought of death at thirty-nine. He’d told me it was a malignant melanoma, and I’d grappled with the fact I wouldn’t be around forever.

Fortunately, lab results had confirmed his mistake, and I’d quickly switched doctors. That should have been the end of it, but the experience had me questioning everything. Suddenly, what used to matter meant nothing, and I was keenly aware of all the things I didn’t have.

As a billionaire, that was a short list. Short, but significant.

I had no family. My parents were dead, I had no siblings, and I was never close to my cousins. I’d grieved my parents when I lost them in my early twenties, but I’d gone on. I’d been young then and somewhat convinced of my own immortality.

My, how things changed. Now, I was practically obsessed with all the things I might be missing. I wanted a child.

It was getting so bad that I found myself eyeing Dana, one of the servers at Flesh. She wore a revealing outfit and a coy little mask, but I’d been coming long enough to recognize her.

I didn’t know anything about her, except she sucked c**k like a hoover, and I certainly had no indication she was maternal. She did have nice hips though. That was important in a brood mare, right?

That was essentially what I wanted. I wanted a legacy, but I didn’t want a wife. Been there, done that, and I was still writing the checks to Virginia. As much as I wanted a child, I was thankful it never happened with her. She would have only sunk her claws in deeper, and she had as much warmth as a pit viper.

No, I needed someone young, healthy, and not morally opposed to taking money in exchange for letting me rent out her body for a few months. I understood it was hard to ask a woman to walk away from her offspring, so I needed to find the rare woman who could pass on caring traits and empathy but still be mercenary enough to sell her interest in our child.

I winced at the blunt thought, but I had to be honest. I wanted a business transaction that ended in a baby and the mother exiting stage-right.

It was an epiphany to realize that was where my thoughts had led me. I finished my Scotch, nodded to Micah, and left the club.

Behind the wheel of my Ferrari, I raced down the empty street as my mind raced with the thoughts in my head. Could I find a woman to give me what I wanted? I knew there were agencies, but it felt too personal and intimate to trust the details to someone I didn’t know to arrange and find me a surrogate.

I grinned in irony at the idea of that being too impersonal, but I was okay with having a child with someone I didn’t know and didn’t want to know well.

I was so consumed with my thoughts that I didn’t see the woman running in front of me in the road. I cursed as I realized I’d been so distracted I hadn’t even turned on my headlights.

I slammed on the brakes, knowing it was too late to stop. The laws of physics said the car had too much velocity, but I tried.

My car hit her lithe frame with a terrible jolt that made me wince. She went flying. With her long hair framing her face, and the arms of her overly large sweatshirt fanning out around her, she looked angelic.

For a moment, I thought she might fly. It was a crazy, fanciful thought, but it still crossed my mind.

Then she crashed into the pavement, breaking my paralysis. I scrambled from the car and rushed over to her.

She appeared unconscious, and I was afraid she was dying. Her lids lifted, and her warm green eyes locked with mine with sudden intensity. She stared at me, and her lips moved.

“Are you okay, miss?” I knelt on the ground beside her, not giving much thought to my custom-tailored trousers.

I reached out to feel for a pulse, and she shivered when I touched her neck. So did I. Her skin was soft and warm despite the circumstances.

I felt awful for my thoughts until she said, “Your lips are beautiful.” Then I smiled. Not as beautiful as her, even crumpled as she was on the pavement.

When her eyes closed, the moment ended, and I realized I hadn’t even called nine-one-one. I hastily dialed it and sat with her as the sound of sirens rushed closer.

I had no idea how things would change, but I suddenly knew they would. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t numb. As I held her hand to make sure she stayed with me, I felt more alive than I had in a while.

How strange.