Boxed Set: Dominated by a Billionaire - Part 10-12: Irresistible Billionaire (6 page)

"Sophie, from now on, if you answer all my questions in two words, there might be some hope of getting out of the office before 9 p.m. for once."

"Can I play, too?" Clarence asks, distracted by one text message after another from his vibrating cellphone.

"Yes, as soon as you’ve texted Clémentine and told her that we’re trying to work right now!" I scold, smiling.

"You can tell her yourself – tell her that just because she's nine months pregnant doesn't mean she's the center of the world. I personally am not taking any more chances!"

"Hey, Alma, did you know that our Will Smith is a scaredy cat?" Sophie teases, whispering, with one hand around her mouth, like a gossip.

"OK, I'm sure our big sissy can handle it. Back to
Twirling
! Two words about casting?"

"In progress."

"Financing?"

"Approved."

"The technical teams?"

"Reserved. The contracts are being drawn up in the legal department.

"Too many words! Costumes?"

"Underway."

"Sets"

"Ordered."

"Kate Monkov?"

"Neutralized: no sabotage in sight; everything’s under lock and key."

"Locations for the outdoor shoots?"

"Underway. Just waiting on administrative permits."

"Advertising partners?"

"Hmm… On the to-do list," the production director says, nudging Clarence with her elbow.

"Yeah, it’s… What was the question?" Clarence confesses, hiding his phone under the table.

"OK, go home! Sophie, you are a gem. And you, go pamper your dragon wife, I want a full update on the sponsors first thing Monday morning."

"You’ll get it! Thanks, you’re the best! I’m off!" my head of distribution exclaims as he runs towards the exit.

"Have a good weekend!" Sophie says, imitating him as she merrily goes on her way.

After dinner on the rooftop bathed in sunlight, Vadim decides to make me pay. When I spend a day avoiding him, I am always “punished” the following night: he doesn’t ever let me off the hook . And this little game, the rules of which I know perfectly well, is not exactly unpleasant. Terribly short on sleep, I spend my Saturday afternoon lounging around the penthouse, at my favorite observation station: the couch. My mission: ogle at my bare-chested lover doing uninteresting things. I watch him walk through the living room, go to the kitchen, bite an apple, make an important call, run his hand through his hair, straighten a theoretically lopsided painting. All of it, bare-chested.

What, have I got a fixation?

Around 7 p.m., I get a text from Clémentine which has almost as many letters as exclamation points:

[Crisis situation!!! Maximum alert!!! D –10 and baby unnamed!!! SOS best friends!!! If you want the father of my child to remain alive, come save me!!! Now!!!]

I burst out laughing and quickly slip on shoes and a jacket, while I call Niels to make sure he’s on the way. Vadim prevents me from leaving for three delicious minutes, taking off the jacket I just put on and trying to remove my other clothes. I tear myself away, moaning with frustration.

In this state, Clémentine D’Aragon won’t wait.

And you, Vadim King, I’ll get back to you later!

"Who asked for an emergency intervention?" Niels says to no one in particular, entering Clem’s apartment.

"This way," she screams from the living room. "Can someone throw my man out the window on the way through?"

"OK, you can have her!" Clarence says, visibly relieved, grabbing his keys. "I’m going for a drive!"

"What’s going down, Mama Bear?" I say, finding her lying on her side on her couch.

"He thinks the baby should have a first name starting with 'CL,' like Clémentine and Clarence," she says, rolling her eyes.

"That’s a great idea! So romantic!" our tall blond buddy exclaims, smacking a noisy kiss on her forehead.

"Oh yeah? And you know what he suggested? Clint, as in Clint Eastwood! Do I really look like someone who’s going to give my son an eighty-year-old actor’s first name?"

"It's just that he's crazy about the movies, that explains it," I say, giving it a try, in the future daddy’s defense.

"Oh, give me a break – Clint?! Alma! Clint! Doesn’t that make you think of another word? Clitoris, for example?"

"Hmm… Let’s just blame your dirty mind on your hormones, OK?" I reply, patting her hand.

"So, a first name that starts with 'CL' and something to do with cinema," Niels recaps, thinking aloud.

"Clark?" I suggest, thinking of the handsome Clark Gable in
Gone with the Wind
.

"Clark, really? You’re not coming up with old actors anymore; now they’re dead!" Clem yelps, fed up.

"Oh, come on, there’s Clark Kent, too! Superman! Your son will be a superhero!" Niels delights, all smiles.

"Alma, tell him…," she sighs, hitting her forehead with her hand.

"I think it’s the image of a guy in underwear and tights that doesn’t cut it, on that one," I explain.

"Oh, hold on, I’ve got it! You’re going to love it!" our hyper buddy says, jumping up and down. "Clyde!"

"What?! Is he making fun of me now?! Alma, tell me he’s joking! Say something, please..."

"Her daughters’ names are Madeleine and Séraphine, not Bonnie and… Bonnie," I say, making some attempt at getting Niels to understand.

"It’s the name of a criminal! This is my son we’re talking about!"

"Movies have been made, songs written; he’s a legend, Clyde Barrow!" Niels tries to justify himself, disappointed.

"Niels, get out!" the future mommy yells, collapsing on the couch in exasperation.

"Any ideas if it's a girl?" I ask cheerfully, trying to cool things down.

"There’s Cleo, Chloe, Cléa, we’ll come up with something!"

"Oh yeah, Cleopatra, the first name of a queen!" Niels says, excited, miming an Egyptian dance.

"Is there anyone in this house that likes normal names that don’t already belong to someone famous, old or dead? Please!" Clem pleads at the top of her lungs, raising her hands heavenwards.

"Hug sandwich!" Niels whispers to me, and we both jump on the couch to smother our best friend (carefully avoiding her stomach).

"You are both perfectly useless, but I love you anyway," she concludes from beneath the human pyramid.

Returning to the penthouse that Saturday night, I tell Vadim what a big failure our intervention was. Laughing the whole time, he discreetly slips in a sentence that I hear perfectly well but which doesn’t please me in the least.

The “mumble under my breath” technique doesn’t work with me!

"Can you say that again?" I say, scrunching up my eyebrows.

"I said that we won’t have that problem since we'll call our first son Volodia, after my father."

"And that's it, end of the discussion? Did you really think you were going to get away with it just like that?"

"What? Volodia is nice, isn’t it?" he says to me with that languorous look of his that is meant to make me give in.

"It might be nice, but it’s Russian, Mr. Selfish! What about my French and British ancestry?"

"That’ll be for the other children!"

"Is that so? And as far as how many, were you planning on deciding that your own, too?"

"No, I’ll let you know beforehand," he teases me, coming closer in his lustful stride, a smile beginning to spread over his lips.

"Don’t even try," I threaten him, trying to stay serious.

"Right now, for example," he continues, getting dangerously close, "I’m warning you that I’m not going to make a baby with you. But it’ll be just like I was," he adds, biting into my neck.

"Dream on, King! I’m on strike!"

"We’ll see about that!"

He lifts me off the floor, places a hand on each of my thighs and presses me against the closest wall.

The “I’ll keep you quiet by coming on to you” technique won’t work either!

Or will it…

"What’s that sex-toy vibrating in your pocket?" he hisses, looking up from between my breasts.

"That’s the best I could do to replace you during the strike," I snap back, looking sassy.

He pulls the vibrating device out of my jeans pocket and, almost disappointed, sees it's my cellphone.

"Clémentine. Let's just make it a missed call," he whispers as he resumes the conquest of my skin.

"She’s calling me; it must be important!"

"You just left her place!" he steams angrily, letting me slide all the way to the floor.

"Hello?" I answer, looking at him mockingly.

"Alma, I’m going into labor! You have to come and get me! Clarence isn’t answering his cellphugh… Ugh!" she says, interrupted by a contraction.

"OK, don’t budge, I’m on my way! I’ll stay on the line with you, OK?"

I don't have to explain anything to him – Vadim grabs his jacket, my jacket, the car keys, and opens the apartment door for me.

Forgiven this time, Mr. Almost-Perfect!

My lover dropped us off at the maternity clinic’s emergency room then went to pick up the suitcase Clémentine forgot in all the excitement. His other mission is to find the future daddy who wasn’t there at roll call. Meanwhile, the midwife who has just greeted my best friend congratulates her for having come so fast. And informs her it’s too late for an epidural: the baby seems to be in a hurry.

More so than his daddy, anyway…

"It’s been a pretty long time for someone who’s just 'gone for a drive,' don’t you think?" Clémentine asks, lying on her bed in the labor room. She looks worried.

"Vadim's gone to look for Clarence; he’s coming, I promise. Breathe!"

"Oh, no, don’t start telling me to breathe! I’ve given birth to twins I know how it’s done! Whoa…" she screams, grinding my hand squeezed in hers.

"OK, OK, don’t breathe, then. It’s up to you!"

"Whoa!" she screams again, this time louder.

"That's it – scream. That’s better!" I encourage her, squinting in the face of her beastly roar.

"Whew, the contraction's over. That was just a little one."

Oh…

"What about if we change hands, then? If you break all my bones, I’d rather save my right hand for writing."

"You are such a wuss," she gripes, sighing. "How’s my hair?"

"Umm… red?" At least, she can't argue with that.

"No, I mean, how's it looking! I can’t stand those mothers who deliver with their sweaty hair stuck to the pillow! Personally, I'd like to keep my dignity… whoa!"

"Here, take my hand! Your hair’s great! You’re perfect! Brea… No, don’t breathe! Scream! Do whatever you–"

"Be quiet!" she interrupts me, annoyed. "I can’t focus on the pain!"

"Sorry," I quietly say, pinching my lips.

More screaming …

"Why aren’t you talking anymore?" she asks once she’s stopped screaming like a raging animal.

"You told me to be quiet…"

"Well, not all the time, just during the contractions!"

"OK! So that was a big one, huh?"

"No, that was nothing."

Oh…

"You think I’m screaming too loud?"

"No, not at all! You’re screaming… really well!"

"No, I’m not. I can tell by the shocked look on your face! I know perfectly well that you’ve just decided that you’ll never have a baby!" Clémentine declares, looking me straight in the eye.

"No, I haven't! I was just thinking that adoption might not be such a bad idea," I say, half-joking.

"OK, how are my screams?"

"Very dignified!"

"Tell the truth or I’ll crush your hand to pieces!"

"Like a pig being slaughtered," I blurt out, to save my fingers. "But a pig with a great hairdo, Clem!"

Thirty minutes later – and just as many contractions – a smiley midwife with a ponytail comes into the room to check on how things are progressing. I leave them alone and go out into the hall where I find Vadim, finally back, alone… Clarence is still missing, despite dozens of calls and messages left on his cell.

Not good…

Ponytail sticks her head back out the door and says:

"Fully dilated: the baby won't be far away! Any news from the father?"

"No, but he won’t be long!" I say, mostly to convince myself.

"He might be too late. Will you come with Mrs. D’Aragon until he gets here?"

Not good at all…

"Almaaaaaa! Get your butt back in here!"

Clémentine’s voice echoes around the whole floor. I give my lover a quick kiss and rush to her side, my heart pounding with both happiness and fear.

How do you help a dragon give birth?

"Let’s go for it, at the next contraction!" Ponytail says, laying her hand on my friend’s belly.

"Ohhhh!"

I just lost a hand.

"Alma, promise me you will raise the baby with me if Clarence doesn’t come back."

"Come on, you can push harder than that, Mrs. D’Aragon!"

"Aghhh!"

"Clarence is going to come, sweetie. You’re two weeks early; he couldn’t know it was going to be tonight!" I try to reassure her, laying my only good hand on her forehead.

"Come on, Mrs. D’Aragon! Push harder! Start getting mad!"

"I’m already mad!" Clémentine screams and pushes at the same time. "You're the only one who hasn't noticed!"

I’m so embarrassed.

The midwife backs up a step as if the baby could potentially be as aggressive as its mother. That’s when Clarence Miller shows up, a blue hospital cap covering his hair, two plastic slippers over his shoes and a few tears in the corners of his eyes.

"I’m here, darling! I came as soon as I found out!" My phone battery died. "How’s my little Clint?"

"Give me your hand and shut up!" Clémentine tells the future dad, giving me the most knowing wink ever in all our years of friendship.

Less than five minutes later, Vadim and I, sitting against each other in the hallway, hear a newborn’s first cries. Judging from how sharp and loud they are, it can only be my best friend’s child. My King turns his handsome face towards me, smiles at me, wipes the tear that has just rolled down my cheek with his thumb and wraps his big manly arm around my shoulders.