My Stepbrother's Secret Baby: A Billionaire Stepbrother Romance (2 page)

TRENTON

“She never called,” I said to Rolland, “did she?”

Rolland took a seat in the chair across from me. The city hustled and bustled below, but my office, in the 70
th
floor of a lux Manhattan skyscraper was quiet, serene, and peaceful as we were practically nestled in the clouds.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, his head low. “She seemed a little, uh, disturbed when I approached her.”

I smiled. “It’s good for a young woman to be skeptical I suppose. She must be smart.”

“Maybe you should find another woman to…proposition?” Rolland suggested.

“I know perfection when I see it,” I countered. “And a girl working at a department store for workman’s wages gives me the sort of leverage I need. You think I can walk up to some silver-spooned, spoiled little Park Avenue Princess and ask her to have my baby, no strings attached?”

Rolland smiled. “You do realize this isn’t normal, right? No one else does this sort of thing.”

“When have you ever seen me live my life conventionally?” I smirked, standing up to pour myself a glass of bourbon at ten in the morning.

“Can I ask what brought this about all of a sudden?” Rolland said, treading carefully. “I’ve known you all your life, Trenton. I’ve seen you grow from a boy to a man. You’ve never been the settling down type.”

I sat back down in my desk, taking a sip of bourbon and leaning back. “Who said anything about settling down?”

“So let me get this straight,” Rolland said. “You want this woman to have your baby, the traditional surrogate way, and then walk away like nothing happened? Leaving you to raise her child?”

“Something like that,” I said, amused. I knew exactly how crazy it seemed, but I had my reasons.

“With all due respect,” Rolland said with a chuckle, “what makes you think you’re capable of raising a child?”

“My mother raised me and I turned out all right,” I said with a shrug, taking another sip.

“And your tutor and a whole team of nannies,” Rolland reminded me. “It took a village to raise you, Trenton.”

“Then I’ll hire a village to help me raise my child,” I said, eyebrows raised. “I’m a man of vast wealth and resources. You forget that, did you, Rollie?”

Rolland’s face twisted into a perplexed expression as he tried to wrap his head around all of this. I realized from the outside it seemed completely insane. No sane man would do such a crazy thing, but losing my father last year changed me.

My father was a stereotypical billionaire playboy. And I barely knew him. He was on his sixth wife by the time he died, and somewhere after his third or fourth wife we sort of lost touch.

“Please, Trenton,” my mother begged me last time I visited her. “Think about settling down. You’re an only child. You’re my only son. You need to pass on the Ellsworth name. Our legacy will die if you don’t have a child.”

“We can leave a legacy in other ways, Mother,” I said to her as I stared into her teary, blue gaze. “For the love of God, not everyone has to procreate.”

“I’m not getting any younger, my son. I’d love to have a little grandchild to hold before my time is up. That’s all,” she said, placing her frail hand over her chest and clutching at her Chanel pearls. “That’s what life is about. Not money. You love money too much. And fast cars. And nice things. And women.”

I laughed, not wanting to continue the conversation with my mother about my love of money, cars, and women. “If it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen naturally.”

“Trenton,” she said, not dropping the subject. “
There are ways
.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. “You can hire people to have babies for you. You can pick your surrogate and everything, sort of like going to the store and picking out a pair of new shoes.”

Her hand traced her collar as she spoke. Those kinds of things were taboo in the world of the Manhattan elite and upper crust. Pedigrees and heredities and silver spoons and inheritances and those types of things were to be passed down the traditional way. Everything else was hush-hush.

“You really want a grandchild that badly?” I asked her, studying her face.

She nodded, closed her eyes, and raised her manicured hands to her mouth. “More than anything in the world, Trenton.”

She walked up to me and placed her hands on my broad shoulders, smiling. “Having a child is the most wonderful thing in the whole entire world. I want you to experience that, Trenton. It’ll change your life.”

Her wrinkled blue eyes filled with tears as she likely recalled memories of me as a baby. Her entire foyer was plastered with tiny mementos. Bronzed baby shoes. Restored baby photos in gold plated frames. A Tiffany rattle. I was her miracle child. An unexpected twist of fate brought me to my parents when they were forty and my mother convinced they could never have children after a fruitless decade of trying. Now, at 70 years old, my mother’s years were numbered.

“I just want you to love something the way that I loved you,” she added with a bittersweet smile. “It’s the most beautiful, perfect kind of love.”

“Alright, alright,” I said, taking her hands into mine. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

I wrapped her lithe body into a big hug before heading to her private elevator and going on my merry way.

The chilly December air nipped at my bare fingertips as I made my way to my Town Car, which was parked a block away.

“Samson,” I said to the driver as I climbed in. “I need to stop and get a pair of gloves. Take me to that department store on Fifth.”

It was there, that fateful Sunday after my conversation with my mother when I saw her. The beautiful milky-skinned woman who would someday be the mother of my child.

BRENNA

I tied the green canvas apron around my waist and clipped on my nametag before heading out to the cash register. Another day grinding coffee beans and taking orders from entitled Columbia students. Lucky, lucky me.

“Brenna, we’ve got customers. Hurry up,” my manager shouted from the front. A line of students all willing to run late to their eight A.M. classes lined up behind the counter.

It was a snowy morning with huge flakes that floated down from the sky. If I’d have been in a better mood I’d have probably enjoyed the beauty of it.

“Can I help you?” I asked a young white man on his cell phone. He stood there, ignoring me and finishing his call before spouting out his order.

“Triple whip, no foam, extra shot, half-skim latte,” he said.

“Next,” I called out when he was finished.

A girl stepped forward with a face caked full of makeup and a bag that cost more than what I made in six months. “I’ll take a small chai. And make sure they don’t water it down. Last time you guys watered it down and it was dis-gusting.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, ringing up her order.

How did I get here? How did Little Miss 4.0 Columbia Scholar get here? I hated my job. Correction. I hated my jobs.

The students shuffled through the line, grabbing their coffees and hurrying to class before the sidewalks got too slick. The last customer of the morning rush was a man who appeared much too old to be a student. His thick, dark hair was combed into a side part and his long, wool coat masked the hint of a well-tailored suit beneath it.

“May I help you?” I said as he stepped forward.

The man said nothing as he stood, nearly mesmerized and staring. I looked around, trying to break his gaze but he continued to stare.

“Why, hello,” he said, his lips curling into a half smile. “I had no idea you worked here.”

“Do I know you?” I said, growing worried. He did look vaguely familiar.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.”

I stared into his deep green eyes, racking my brain as to where I’d seen this man before. And then it hit me. The weird guy at the department store. The business card. The internet search. Standing before me was T. R. Ellsworth.

“I’m Trenton,” he said. The man oozed confidence. It seeped from his every pore.

“Okay, Trenton,” I said with a shrug. “Would you like to order something?”

“Black coffee,” he said.

“You came all the way to the Upper West Side to order a black coffee?” I said with a scoff. I was onto him.

“What do you mean ‘all the way’?” he asked.

“You’re obviously not a student here,” I replied.

“How do you know I’m not a professor?” he replied. Point. Counter point.

“I guess I don’t,” I said with a sigh. “Are you? Are you a professor?”

He shook his head.

“That’s what I thought,” I said. “That’ll be four dollars and fifty-three cents.”

He slid a twenty across the counter. “Keep the rest.”

I didn’t know what he was trying to prove, but I thanked him anyway. “It’ll be ready shortly. You can stand over there. They’ll call your name.”

He stood, frozen. Not moving. I’d never prayed for a rush of customers so hard in my life. I wanted a rush, but we were between class periods. It was our dead time and there was no way around that.

“What time are you off today?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What time does your shift end?” he rephrased him question, as if I didn’t hear it the first time.

“That’s none of your business,” I said, holding my head up.

“I’d like to meet with you,” he said, unrelenting. “I can have my driver pick you up when you’re off work. He’ll take you to my office and bring you back to your place when we’re done.”

“Meet about what?” I was almost afraid to ask.

“I can’t say here,” he said, turning his head when his name was called.

“I don’t know what you could possibly want to meet with me about,” I said, biting my lip yet somewhat intrigued.

“I promise it’ll be worth your while,” he said, walking away to grab his coffee. He returned. “So what time should my driver pick you up?”

“Two,” I said, giving in after a long pause. “I’m off at two.”

TRENTON

By two-thirty I was growing unusually anxious. At any minute Brenna would be walking up to my floor and asking my secretary for directions to my office. I sat in my chair, smoothing my navy silk tie flat against my ripped chest, and waited patiently.

“What if she doesn’t show, sir?” Rolland asked as he paced the room. I had to stop and ask myself who was more nervous: me or Rolland.

“She’ll show,” I said like the confident asshole I knew I was. “Believe me.”

“Mr. Ellsworth,” my assistant’s voice came over the intercom. “I have a Miss Winters here to see you.”

“Send her in, Michelle,” I replied. “Rolland, if you’ll excuse me.”

Rolland scrambled out of my office and bumped into Brenna in the hall as he held the door open for her. She walked in, shoulders held high and lips covered in shiny lip gloss. She did care.

“Brenna,” I said, welcoming her in. “Have a seat.”

She clutched her leather bag to her side as she hesitantly took a seat across from me. She removed her fur-trimmed parka and crossed her long legs, which were still covered in jeans from her shift at the coffee shop.

“I honestly didn’t know you worked at the coffee shop,” I said as I sat down across from her. “It was a chance encounter.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

“I’m glad you decided to come,” I said, locking my blue eyes into her chocolate brown gaze. “I have a bit of a proposition for you.”

“And what’s that?” she asked, eyeing me with an air of skepticism about her.

“What if I said you’d never have to work retail or food service for the rest of your life,” I said. “So long as you live. That you’d be very comfortable and never have to want for a single thing in your entire life.”

“Sounds like a fairy tale,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Not realistic.”

I laughed. “I’m looking for someone to…provide a service for me. And in exchange for that service, they will be compensated very well. As well as some other perks.”

“What…kind of service?” She was intrigued.

“Surrogacy,” I replied point blank. “I need someone to carry my child.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “They have services for that type of thing.”

“Yeah, but someone like me needs to do this on the down low,” I said. “I can’t be seen walking into a surrogacy agency, and I certainly can’t risk someone selling a story to a tabloid for a quick buck.”

“So why me?” she scoffed. “You don’t know me from anyone else walking down the street.”

My lips twitched. The truth was, I didn’t exactly know why I wanted her. I just knew there was something about her. She had a familiar look about her, like an old friend from long ago. And she was was hot. That was obvious. No, not hot, beautiful. We’d make some fucking beautiful babies. With her milky skin and my bone structure. My height and her Kim Kardashian curves.

“You seemed like you might be in a position to help someone like myself,” I said. “You work two low paying jobs, but I can tell just by looking at you that you’re intelligent. It’s in the way you carry yourself.”

“Okay, so I’m smart and I’m broke,” she said with a shrug. “How does that make me fit to be your surrogate?”

“You’re beautiful, Brenna,” I said, watching as she squirmed uncomfortably with my directness. “We’d make beautiful babies. You’re young. The picture of health. And I doubt you want to grind coffee beans the rest of your life.”

“This is just temporary,” she said. “I’m saving up to finish my degree at Columbia. I have two semesters left.”

“Well lucky for you, I can help you pay for school,” I said. “That is…if you’re willing to help me out.”

Her eyes fell towards the ground as she looked deep in thought. “I don’t know. This is just so weird for me.”

“I’ll admit, it’s slightly unconventional,” I said. “But it’s certainly not weird. If you only knew what goes on amongst the Manhattan elite.”

“So you want to use my body?” she asked, smoothing her hand down her flat stomach. “Where would you get the egg?”

“You,” I said with a smirk.

“So you want me to give you my biological child and just walk away from it?” she said, growing defensive. “Absolutely not. I could never do that. Never. Not in a million years. Family is family.”

“No! Here’s where the rest of the deal comes in,” I said as I crossed my hands and stared her straight on. “You will not just be my surrogate. You will be the mother of my child. You will be in my child’s life. It will be our child.”

“Why don’t you just find a nice girl and settle down and have babies with her?” Brenna objected. “This is ludicrous.”

“I’m not the settling down type,” I said. “I have no intentions of falling in love or getting married or any of that. I just want a kid of my own.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated,” I said, not wanting to go into detail about my dear mother’s teary-eyed pleas.

“I’m not saying I agree to your insane little project here,” she said. “But what exactly do you have in mind? How would this work?”

I sat back in my chair and looked her dead on. “You sign a contract, basically giving yourself to me for one year. For one year, on paper, you’ll be mine. You’ll escort me to events and we’ll appear to be dating at first so that when you start showing, it won’t raise a red flag. For all intents and purposes, we’ll be dating. But not really. Don’t expect candy and flowers and I love yous and all of that. This is, after all, a business transaction. “

“And what’s in it for me?” she asked, intrigued still.

“Two million dollars and a neighboring apartment in one of my buildings,” I said. “If you’re raising my child, I want you to be right next door.”

She was quiet. Almost too quiet. I hoped that was a good sign.

“So, what do you think?” I asked her after a few long minutes.

“I never dreamed of having a child with a man I didn’t love,” she said.

“But the
child
would be loved,” I said. “That’s all that matters. You’ll love it because it’s yours, and I’ll love it because it’s mine. At the end of the day, the child will be wanted and loved. What more is there?”

“Mr. Ellsworth, we just come from two different backgrounds,” she said, holding her head high. “Family must mean something different to you than it does to me.”

“Family is what you make it,” I shot back. “I’m a fan of bucking tradition.”

“I’m a traditional kind of girl,” she said. “Maybe I’m not the one you need.”

“Oh, but you are,” I said. “My mind is made up. I know what I want.”

She stood up to leave. “You’re crazy.”

“Brenna,” I called after her as she walked to the door. “What if you spent a little time with me? Got to know me a little better? Would you at least consider it?”

She stopped but stayed facing away from me. “Maybe.”

“I have a fully furnished apartment next to mine,” I said. “Ellsworth Plaza. Penthouse. No one knows about it. It’s sort of off the grid. You could live there.”

She turned around, her face softening and her brown eyes intensely staring into mine.

“No pressure,” I said placing my hands in the air. “You can spend some time with me. Get to know my lifestyle. And if none of it appeals to you and you hate my fucking guts, you’re free to go on your merry way and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”

“I don’t know,” she said, staring down at the ground.

“Let me make this easy for you,” I said, walking up from behind her and slipping an elevator key into her hand. “There’s my key. 7300 Ellsworth Plaza. Go home. Pack a bag. And come over at six tonight. My chef will make us dinner. We can get to know each other.”

I felt her hands grip around the key, taking it from mine. And then she walked out. Not saying a single word.