The Billionaire and I (Part Three) (2 page)

My mother's dark eyes were electric with annoyance when she faced off with my friend. "There will be at least another Megan in all of her classes. Not that it isn't a lovely name dear, but my granddaughter was born to stand out in a crowd."

Megan and I locked gazes, smiled discreetly, and got back to eating our food. Only my mother could simultaneously say something incredibly sweet and be completely dismissive. I chose to give a reply a politician would whip out; answering the question, but not really. "Cheryl and Megan are both beautiful names."

My mother cradled her coffee, looking around us like someone out there would be able to decipher my vague statement. "I don't think the question is whether or not our names are beautiful, Leila. We want to know what names
you've
picked so we can talk you out of any of that celebrity ridiculousness."

On that my mother and Megan were agreed. "Abstract and philosophical works when you're in college, or on the first date when you're trying to figure out what to talk about,” Megan added. “It sucks when you're seven and trying to make friends on the playground."

"If you name her something ridiculous like Serendipity-"

"Or him something like Badass..." Megan threw in. She had the nerve to say it with a straight face.

They didn't finish the sentence, but it wasn't really required. The first test was coming at me right now. The test was whether or not I'd saddle my unborn child with a name that would haunt them for their entire childhood, lead to a decade of dead end dates in which they picked the least sucky of the bunch, then an unhappy marriage, etcetera, etcetera. All of that hinged on the name apparently.

I couldn't help but bristle, partly because their misguided attempt to steer me away from colorful names was not only unnecessary (
Badass? Really?!
) but pretty insulting.

I put down my spoon and put one hand over the other, taking a few moments to remind myself that they were coming from a place of love and not trying to micromanage my parenting decisions before I even had the baby. "I hope you two know me well enough to know I'm not going to brand my child with a name they have to live up to or hide from their whole life."

"Oh, I'm sure most of those parents didn't intend to saddle their kids with unbearable names either, but oh well. You know what they say about the road to hell and good intentions." It didn't matter if we knew the saying or not, because my mother recited it, loud enough for the entire cafeteria to hear. "'The road to hell is paved with good intentions'."

I eyeballed my mother, not even needing to turn down my glare or look away when she met my eye since she was still in the moment. She looked right through me, like she was standing in front of a podium, looking out into a sea of attentive and adoring faces. The actual scene was closer to a buzzing hive of people. Some were in hospital gowns, wishing they didn't have to eat flavorless hospital food. Then there were the worried family members who weren’t eating anything at all.  And I didn’t forget about the haggard looking medical staff who were trying desperately to enjoy a few moments of rest. All of them were staring at our table like they wanted us to scarf down our lunch and get out of there.

My mother's proclamation seemed to shake Megan from her 'But I'm just trying to be helpful' stupor and she blinked at me guiltily, one side of her mouth dipping toward the floor.

"Sorry," she mouthed.

I flashed her a tiny smile and forced the sides of
my
mouth upward when I took on my mom. A subject change was definitely in order. "So, the baby is doing great-"

"But what names do you have percolating?" Mom elbowed her way back in, not ready to let go of the naming ceremony I'd apparently rsvp'd to. "I know sometimes it helps to bounce the names off of other people."

Like my husband, for instance
. "Not really feeling up for talking about names right now, Mom."

"There's no need to get snippy, Leila," she chided me, taking a sip of her coffee. "We're just trying to be helpful."

I made sure I kept my voice level and respectful, but I didn't mince my words so they'd be easier to swallow...I gave it to her straight. "I know you're just trying to help, but what I'm going to name my child is something I don't take lightly. And I haven't even discussed it with my husband yet."

She gawked at me like I'd just said something horrifying like me, Jacob, and the baby were relocating to the Maldives and we’d see her at Thanksgiving and Christmas. "You haven't talked about baby names yet?"

"It's only been a few hours since I learned I was having a baby at all. Making sure I’m healthy and that my baby is healthy is my only concern right now."

Megan was suddenly very interested in her soggy apple pie. My mother was very interested in glaring at me, like she saw something clearly and it had nothing to do with the sunlight streaming through the blinds. The beams were duking it out with the AC and combined with the annoyance I was getting from my mother in spades, it was suddenly
really
hot in here.

I stared right back, looking into the face that shared so many similarities with my own. We had the same big, brown eyes, the same deceivingly innocent heart shaped mouth—and the same stubbornness that rippled through her tight jaw.

"I'm just trying to help-"

"I know, Mom," I cut in gently, but I may as well have yelled it. She was in full on guilt trip mode.

"The past few hours have been a roller coaster for me too." She crossed her arms defensively. "I get a call in the middle of the night and it's Jacob, telling me you're in the hospital. And I know if he's calling, it's gotta be serious. I find out that you're stable and I'm going to be a grandmother and because I'm excited about that, and am trying to be helpful-" She put her cup down with a snap and pushed away her uneaten croissant. "Clearly, I'm doing more harm than good, so I'm going to call your father."

"Mrs. Montgomery," Megan began, trying to diffuse the situation. "I think we're all a little on edge from lack of sleep and worrying..." She left it open ended, glancing over at me like I'd pick up where she left off and convince my mother to stay. She didn't know my mother as well as I did. I knew that she needed to stomp off and be mad, call Dad and tell him I was being unappreciative, and then come back in an hour or two in a better, more placid mood.

So I said nothing, slurping my soup in silence. I didn't say a word until my mother looped her purse over her shoulder and headed to the lobby in a huff.

"She'll be fine," I muttered, stabbing at my soup. I brought my eyes up to meet Megan's concerned gaze.

“I think the soup is officially dead," Megan winced.

I made sure, poking it a few more times before I dropped the spoon and massaged my temple. "I know I’m probably overreacting."

"Probably?" Megan wasn't cutting me any slack at all.

I glared at her, but I couldn't hold it. I knew her heart was in the right place. My mother's too. Finally still, with some idea of what came next, I had time for my head to catch up and it was already prepared to remind me of all the ways I could screw this up. "What if I'm not a good mother? What if I'm overbearing and crazy? What if something terrible happens?" Tears stormed to my eyes. "I haven't even met this baby, but I couldn't bear it if it felt a single iota of pain. And what if I do pick some awful name that ruins my child's life?"

Megan gripped both my hands, her eyes swimming. "The fact that you're even asking those kinds of questions is proof that you're going to be just fine, Leila. You're going to love the hell out of that baby, and it's going to be damn lucky to have you." She grinned. "Even if you do name it something awful."

I snatched my hands away with a laugh, hurling my napkin at her. When she dodged out of the way, my heart leapt in my chest. I saw Jacob in the window, headed toward the cafeteria. Good, I'd been meaning to get him to eat something, even if it was barely edible. My smile faltered when I realized he wasn't booking it so he could get a bowl of the broccoli and cheese soup. He swept right past the entrance.

"Hold on a sec," I told Megan. With my IV cart I wasn't too terribly mobile, but worry put some extra pep in my step. I heard the commotion in the hall before I'd shuffled out to find out what was going on.

I saw the camera first.

A paparazzo.

Then I saw Jacob, holding said paparazzo by his collar.

"Jacob!" I called out, getting a burst of adrenaline, of
something
. It carried me to where the two of them were having some not so nice words.

"You think I don't know what you're doing?" Jacob snarled.

The man was easily half Jacob's size and the camera he was holding onto for dear life was half of his. "I'm here visiting my grandmother! Is that a crime?!"

If my husband wasn’t about to further assault the guy, then that would have been funny. Where were his flowers? His visitor's badge? And he had to have been at least 60. If his grandmother was still alive, she must have discovered the fountain of youth.

"Jacob!" I repeated, louder this time. My voice rose over the clamor of actual visitors and patients. Some of which were recording the tense exchange. So we not only had witnesses, but video proof that would probably be popping onto social media within the hour.

Jacob's eyes shot to his right, meeting mine before he dropped the cameraman immediately.

"Leila! What are you doing?"

"Are you serious?" I said incredulously. "I was eating lunch-" I stopped myself, remembering we had an audience. "Not here."

I took his hand with my free one and we headed back towards the cafeteria. The paparazzi was yelling about how he was going to press charges and it wasn't until we were in the cafeteria that Jacob's tight grip slackened. Megan was at the table, but she jerked to her feet and gave me a little wave before she dashed out of the room to give us privacy. It was a nice gesture, but unnecessary since I didn't have it in me to go back to our table anyway. I didn't have much of an appetite.

I turned to my husband, not even having the words. He looked like he had it together. He'd washed his face and his hair was a little sleeker. His shirt was still wrinkled, but he somehow pulled it off. His eyes told a different story. The blue was like a live wire, a ticking time bomb that was about to go boom.

"I went to the bathroom to get cleaned up and I saw that little-” He clenched his teeth. "He was headed towards your room. How did he even know you were here? How did he know where your room was, period?"

I swallowed my desire to ask two unhelpful questions. The first was why he was asking questions he already knew the answer to. A nurse, a tech, a patient, heck, maybe even the guy who worked at the gym had called a tipline. The tabloids paid very good money for leads on juicy celebrity stories. The second question was why would he add fuel to a raging inferno? Rachel was painting him as unstable and violent. The last thing we needed was pictures of him grabbing photogs. But I saw him coming down, every breath bringing the gravity of the situation home.

"Everything just-" he let out a heavy sigh. "I don’t want to talk about what happened. I can’t talk about it right now.”

I took the hand that he was about to use to chop through his hair and put it on my belly. I knew it was too soon to feel anything but that wasn't the point. I needed him to understand that what we were building was so much more than any of this.

"Me, you, and this baby—we're what matters." I smiled up at him, his eyes on my stomach, his fingers stroking it like he was looking into our babies eyes and saying I love you. "We can't let anyone or anything make us forget that.” The air was so tense that I had to say something ridiculous to alleviate it. “And if we do happen to forget it, we have permission to remind each other. Gently, or with a slap upside the head," I joked. "Agreed?"

He looked up at me and I knew that this subject was far from closed. There was a dash of anger, like he was fighting the urge to go back in the hall and finish what he started. He drew a shaky breath and managed to be sweet
and
not reassure me that he wasn’t going to go after the paparazzo again. “I love you, Leila.”

S
o...we really weren't going to talk about what happened at the hospital.

I'm not sure who was more relieved about my hospital discharge, me, or the charge nurse. Jacob was annoyed by her no frills attitude, but I thought it was refreshing. She didn't watch
PR,
and could care less that we were the Whitmores.

"There's hundreds of other patients at this hospital. They're important too, even if they aren't on TV. And you're affecting their safety and quality of care because my nurses are trying to get your autograph and I've got men with cameras invading this place like it's World War Three."

I'd gladly signed the paperwork as she told us the grand total of unauthorized people she had to call security on: 5. One tried the same spiel as the first guy that Jacob caught, claiming that he was visiting a sick relative. The second tried to slip a nurse a twenty. The third wrangled a pair of scrubs and got as far as the elevator. The fourth tried to use the service elevator, pushing a cleaning cart with his camera hiding beneath the mop. The fifth was straight up with it, striding into the lobby with a $100 bill and a smile, trying to charm and buy his way to a picture that would have been worth ten times that.

Armed with medicine to help regulate my blood sugar level and an order to take it easy, Jacob and I snuck out the back and into a non descript Town Car while my mother did what she does best: smiled for the cameras out front. At least this time, she was  grinning and telling the lies that we told her to tell. Our story was that I fell at the gym, so they were just making sure I was okay. Turns out the lie just reinforced that we were hiding something. The original headlines, emblazoned with a camera pic that someone snapped when Jacob attacked the photog first read, 'Billionaire Loses It'. The most recent ones asked, 'What are They Hiding?'