My Stepbrother's Secret Baby: A Billionaire Stepbrother Romance (3 page)

BRENNA

I kicked off my heavy winter boots the moment I walked inside my warm apartment.

“You’re home early,” my roommate, Samantha said as her fingernails clicked loudly against the screen of her iPad Air. “Don’t you have to, like, work your other job or something?”

I unzipped my coat and hung it up. “I had a meeting today.”

“Oh,” she said, not looking up and not asking any more questions. She was a self-absorbed little rich bitch and the university just happened to pair us all together as roommates.

I tromped back to my room and pulled a bag out from my closet. I couldn’t believe I was going through with this. At twenty-two, I had no business having a baby, and I especially had no business shacking up with a complete stranger. But I’d be a damn fool to walk away from a couple million bucks and a free luxury apartment. With two million dollars, I could finish school and start my own accounting firm. Some people worked their entire lives and would never come close to making that kind of cash, but Mr. Ellsworth laid it all out in front of me. He had it all figured out. I had to do myself a favor and at least consider it. Working two soul-crushing jobs and living off ramen noodles was not what I ever pictured for myself. I wanted better. I deserved better.

I showered and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a silky blue blouse that brought out the subtle peach undertones of my skin. I applied a bit of makeup and smoothed out my hair. Winter hats and dry air was not doing me any favors but this was about as good as it was going to get.

By six o’clock I was standing in the Ellsworth Plaza penthouse elevator, riding it straight to the top where Trenton Ellsworth was waiting for me. My heart thumped hard in my chest and I licked my lips. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I braced myself as the elevator slowed down. Within seconds, the doors dinged and parted, revealing the most beautiful apartment in all of Manhattan.

“Brenna,” Trenton said, standing before me. He must have been waiting. “I knew you’d come. You’re right on time. I like that in a business partner.”

I smiled and stepped forward, my thick boots thudding lightly on his white marble floors. The entire place was nothing but floor to ceiling windows with sweeping views of the city, and at six o’clock at night in the middle of December, the sun was long gone and the city lights were twinkling various shades of yellows and ambers.

“This view…” I said, trying to catch my breath. It was quite simply romantic, a stark contrast to the reality of the situation at hand.

“You like?” he asked. A smirk on his face revealed a set of deep dimples I’d never noticed before. He raked his fingers through his hair as he watched me look around. A savory aroma of garlic hinted that dinner was just around the corner.

I removed my coat and out of nowhere, an older, thin gentleman in a black suit and tie ran up to grab it from me, whisking it away to a coat closet somewhere.

“Thanks, Harrison,” Trenton said to the man who must’ve been his butler. “Brenna?”

Trenton extended his elbow and I instinctively hooked my hand into the crook of it as he led me to a dining room. Nothing but twinkling city lights and a couple of flickering candles illuminated the space between us. Trenton pulled out a chair and pushed it in as soon as I took a seat.

“Dinner should be out shortly,” he said as he took the seat at the opposite end of the table. His eyes sparkled against the flickering lights, and I noticed he gave me the city view. His view was…me.

I fidgeted a bit, nervous, as I let the awkwardness of the situation wash over me. I had to accept it. I had to just own it. It was what it was. And just because I agreed to get to know him does not mean I’m agreeing to his completely insane surrogacy project.

Trenton laughed. “You look like you’re having a conversation with yourself. Your face is all scrunched up.”

Shoot! My cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”

Within seconds an older, plump woman carrying a couple plates of food came out and sat them in front of us. It appeared to be some kind of roast chicken and savory vegetables, and it smelled divine, a far stretch from the ramen noodles I’d become accustomed to as of late.

“Thank you,” I said softly to her as she scurried away, returning with a bottle of white wine.

“Thank you, Donna,” he said to her as she poured our drinks and quickly disappeared back into the kitchen. “Bon apetit.”

As we ate quietly, I focused on the view behind Trenton. The sparkling city lights, the hustle and bustle, people going places and living their lives. I thought about everything I wanted for my life. Everything my grandmother wanted for me. Everything my mother wanted and was denied. And sitting before me was a man who wanted to make all of that happen. I just had to have his baby.

What would my grandmother think? I wondered. I know what she’d say. But if she were in my shoes and at my age, would she have considered it?

“What’s on your mind?” Trenton asked, taking a small sip of wine and studying my face.

“Oh, nothing,” I said, brushing him off. “Just enjoying the view.”

He turned around and gave it a long look. “I never get sick of this view.”

I sighed dreamily.

“You know, the apartment next door has a very similar one,” he said, shooting me a wink. I knew exactly what he was getting at.

“So tell me a bit about yourself, Brenna,” he said, laser focused on me. “I want to know everything.”

I sat my fork down and swallowed my bite, washing it down with a sip of wine. “Well, I’m from Chicago. I attended Columbia on a partial scholarship. I’m an only child, and I was raised by my grandmother who still lives back home.”

“What do you do for fun?” he asked. “What are your hobbies? Interests? Extra curriculars?”

“Oh,” I said, racking my brain. School and work had been my life. I rarely had time for fun. “I like to read, when I’m not studying or sleeping. I like movies. Romances. And I love the ocean. It’s where I go when I need to be alone. To think. When I need a bit of solitude.”

“The ocean, eh?” he said. “Any particular place you go?”

“Since I’ve lived here, I usually just go to Fire Island,” I said. “They don’t allow cars. It’s a little touristy but nothing like Coney Island or anything.”

“Have you ever been to the Hamptons?” he asked, sipping his wine. “I’d love to take you to my home up there sometime. If you want.”

“I’ve always wanted to go, but I’ve never had the opportunity,” I said, instantly recalling an invite from my roommates to go with them one weekend. I’d have rather plucked my eyes out than spend two long days with those snobs. I could only take them in small doses.

“You know,” he said. “As the mother of my child, you would have access to all of my properties. I assume we would spend holidays and such together, as a family.”

“So how long have you lived here?” I asked, changing the subject. I wanted to get to know him first. He painted a very lovely picture, but I didn’t want any of that to cloud my judgment. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

He lifted the napkin from his lap and dabbed his full lips before opening them. “I, too, am an only child. The son of Margaret and Robert Ellsworth. Born and raised here in the city, in a high rise not too far from here. My father made his first million in real estate, and I joined the family business shortly after graduating from Yale. I guess you could say I’ve been living the dream ever since.”

He was one of them. No doubt he was better suited to hook up with one of my roommates.

“Wait. Robert Ellsworth?” I asked. “As in billionaire real estate investor?”

The very thought of him being the son of the man who screwed over my beautiful mother made my skin crawl.

“Is that an issue for you?” he asked, his face wincing. “I’m nothing like him. You should know that.”

“Really?” I asked, curiosity piqued. “You have no idea who I am?”

Vague memories began coming back to me, water-colored and foggy, but they were there. Those familiar eyes of his, the dimpled grin, the thick head of dark hair. He was the spitting image of his father and the grown up version of the “stepbrother” I’d been forced to spend a summer with.

I was twelve and he was nineteen. He was home from Yale and supposed to be spending time with his father. I had an innocent, albeit inappropriate, crush on him, and he wouldn’t even give me the time of day.

My most vivid memory of him was us eating breakfast together. I was painfully shy and quiet and he looked over at me, shot me a charming smile, and said, “You’re cute, kid, you know that?”

“The last thing this world needs is another Robert Ellsworth,” he said, staring off to the side and showing that maybe, just maybe, he was a man with a little more substance.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I huffed.”

“I want my child to actually know his father.” He looked down at the ground and for a split second I felt sorry for him.

“It doesn’t matter. The kid will still be born into privilege, an Ellsworth just like you are,” I said dryly.

“I want to break the cycle,” he said. “That’s why I want you to help me raise my child. You’re a real person. A hardworking, ambitious, determined young woman. You can teach my child things that I can’t. Wait a minute. How do you know my father?”

My lips curled into an ironic smile. “You really have no idea who I am, do you?”

He stared at me, concentrating so hard his brows furrowed in the middle. He shook his head, “You do look familiar, but I can’t seem to place you …”

“My mother, Barbara, was your father’s third wife,” I said. “Ring a bell?”

“Fuck,” he said. He sucked in a deep breath and raked both hands through his hair. “Well that explains a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“You looked so familiar when I spotted you at the department store,” he said. “Now it makes sense.”

“Still want me to carry your baby?” I laughed, as if the discussion had suddenly been rendered null and void.

“I do,” he said, his eyes honing in on me and his face becoming serious. “You’re perfect. We may have been brother and sister years ago, but it doesn’t matter to me. I want you.”

TRENTON

“I’d invite you for a drink on the balcony, but I’m afraid it’s a little chilly tonight,” I said as Brenna placed her napkin over her plate. She looked so gorgeous, glowing actually, as the shimmering city lights reflected off her soft skin. I stood up as she pushed her chair out from the table. We needed to step away from the heavy discussion we were having. I wanted to forget that she was once my stepsister. I needed to get things back on track.

“I always hate this time of year,” she mused as she turned to stare out at the falling snow beyond the window. “People get so damn materialistic.”

“You’re looking at it all wrong,” I said, stepping behind her and placing my hand into the curved small of her back. “It’s the season of giving. Maybe it makes people feel good to give things to other people.”

“Do you know how many items get returned after Christmas?” she snapped. “This is the wrong color. I don’t like the lining of these gloves. This purse is hideous. How dare my grandmother spend $5000 on it! Give me store credit!”

I laughed and moved my hands to her back, massaging her shoulders slightly. “Relax, Brenna.”

Her shoulders tensed under my grip and let themselves down slightly as she allowed herself to relax. “Would you care for a cocktail?”

She stayed silent and then nodded. “Yes, please.”

“Vodka sour?” I asked. “You seem like a vodka girl. Please don’t tell me you’re a frilly, fruity blue liquor kind of girl.”

“Have any scotch?” she asked, her lips twisting into a friendly curl. She was far from the dorky little girl I’d once spent a summer with. Well, I didn’t spend too much time with her. We had nothing in common. She stared at me every time we were in the same room together, but I ignored her. I knew in a year’s time my dad would leave her mom for someone else and I’d forget her name.

And I was right. I’d forgotten Brenna Winters even existed. Funny how fate brought us together again.

“Oh,” I said, heading over to the mini bar. “Curveball. I like that about you. Was not expecting that.”

I poured us both my finest scotch on the rocks and escorted her to the living room.

“Thank you,” she said. It must have been the wine coursing through her veins, but she was suddenly slightly more receptive. Her face had softened and she was warming up a bit.

“So tell me why you’re not the settling type,” she said, lightly licking the whiskey from her full pouty lips. “Do you know how many girls out there would kill for a man like you to whisk them off their feet and …”

She stopped short, not finishing the sentence, as she tasted the awkward irony of her words.

I smiled a knowing smile. “Every woman I’ve ever dated has been shallow. Vapid. Conceited. Self-absorbed. Money hungry. Power hungry.”

“When you live a certain lifestyle, you attract certain kinds of people,” she said.

“So I should live a more modest existence to attract regular people?” I asked.

“Regular people,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “There’s you and then there’s everybody else, huh.”

“I’m not like that,” I said. “Don’t paint me like that, Brenna. All due respect, you barely know me.”

“Which is exactly why I’m here. With you. Right now. Having this conversation with this very expensive glass of scotch in my hand,” she quipped. Her full lips curled into a smartass smile. The real Brenna was starting to shine through little by little, with every imbibed sip.

“I like women,” I said, clearing my throat. “Probably a little too much.”

She rolled her eyes.

“But I’ve never found anyone worth changing for,” I said in all honesty. “I’ve yet to meet one woman who blows the rest out of the water. So I’ll just continue on my merry way dating lots of British models and Manhattan socialites and having lots and lots of casual sex.”

“Ew,” she said.

I huffed. “Safe casual sex. There. That better?”

“I’m still not convinced we’re on the same page,” she said as she looked at me. Her scotch was nearly gone.

“You want another drink?” I asked, standing up and taking her glass. She didn’t answer fast enough, so I went ahead and made her a double. We had a lot of talking to do and I was determined to win her over.

“I probably shouldn’t,” she said.

“Too late.” I returned with her tumbler and placed it in her soft hands.

“You trying to get me drunk?” she asked, squinting at me through the corner of her eyes and then batting her long, dark lashes.

“No, I’m not that kind of man,” I replied. “Just trying to make you more comfortable around me. You seem so…tense.”

“You understand why a girl like me would be wary of a guy like you,” she said. “Promising me everything I’ve ever dreamed of and painting this fairy tale picture of how things could be for me if I just do this one thing for you. And also expecting me to overlook the fact that my mother was once married to your asshole father.”

I tried to imagine her sitting there pregnant, sans alcohol of course. I was sure she’d be glowing and that round full belly would be resting slightly in her lap. Pregnancy would look good on her.

There was always something so sacredly beautiful about pregnant women. The fact that a human life could start out microscopic and then grow inside the womb of a healthy woman and become a person always blew me away when I stopped to think about it.

In a perfect world, I’d have met a nice girl, fallen in love, and done the whole traditional thing. But it just wasn’t in the cards for me and life didn’t end up shaping me into that sort of a man.

Some nights I lay awake in my massive bed under my ridiculously expensive sheets and wondered what it would be like to hold my child in my arms. Would I feel anything? Would I feel like a different person? Would I become a different person? How would my priorities changed?

At thirty years old, I’d never been in love. I was almost in love. Once. Tierney Harrison. Broke my fucking heart into a million fucking pieces. Met her one summer in the Hamptons when we were nineteen. She was staying there with her family. Her father was some big-deal CEO of some multimedia conglomerate. She was beautiful as fuck. Tawny, tan skin, dark eyes, some melting pot of a handful of different ethnicities. We’d have made beautiful babies.

But that never happened. We dated secretly all summer and kept in touch when we both went to college in the fall, but her father got wind of her dating a white guy and freaked out. I never heard from her again after that. Last I knew she’d married some African American record producer and was living out in L.A. somewhere. She would’ve been the one, the one to make me fall to my knees and settle down.

I stopped giving a shit after her. I stopped seeing women as potential wives and girlfriends and started seeing them as potential pieces of ass that I could bury my cock into that night. I never thought about tomorrow. I never thought about next week. Not when it came to women.

So when my mother pleaded with me to have a child and I saw Brenna in the department store later that day looking like a familiar stranger, I knew what I had to do to move on from Tierney and my past. I had to turn the page. Start a new chapter. Focus my time and energy elsewhere.

Getting your heart crushed stays with you forever, especially when it’s your first love. Tierney Harrison and the illusion of what might have been had been with me for ten years. It was going to take a miracle to convince me that there was any other woman more fit for me than Tierney, but in the meantime, Brenna would get the job done.

“Can I show you the adjoining apartment?” I offered.

“Sure,” she said, standing up and stumbling a bit. I leaned over and grabbed her arm, steadying her. “Thank you.”

We headed across my penthouse to the northwest corner where a little door with state of the art security stayed hidden away from plain sight by a wooden bookcase. I pressed a button and the bookcase slid to the side revealing the secret door. I scanned my fingertip and the lock beeped, allowing entry.

“Fancy,” she said. “Why do you have this place?”

“Previous owner,” I said. “The person who lived here before had it for his, uh, mistress. It has it’s own separate entrance.”

Her face winced as if she were disgusted by the history. I couldn’t blame her. Despite my woman-loving ways, I’d never once cheated on anyone. I wasn’t that much of an asshole.

“It’s about four-thousand square feet,” I said as I switched on the lights. “Three bedrooms. A study. A theatre room. I think you’ll love the master bath and the views.”

She walked around, completely enchanted, and said nothing.

“You’d have your own separate elevator entrance,” I said, pointing to the far wall. “You wouldn’t have to come in through my place. Though you could if you wanted.”

I snuck a peek at her face, which was stifling a surprised smile, and took a deep breath. She seemed to be opening up a little more.

“This is nice,” she said. “I pay way too much rent for a little apartment crammed full of trust fund girls over by Columbia. It’d be nice to have my own…”

Her voice trailed as she caught herself loving the idea of living there. She just didn’t want to admit it yet.

“Stay here tonight,” I said as we walked to the master bedroom. I flipped on the lights and her eyes lit up. She liked it. There was no denying that. The huge bed, the downy pillows. The modern lines of the high-end furniture. The neutral, relaxing colors. The view. She wasn’t going to get this anywhere else in all of Manhattan. At least not tonight. Not for free.