THE BILLIONAIRE'S BABY (A Secret Baby Romance) Read online

  But something else drew me to this young lady. She had a certain depth and intelligence I had recognized right away. I should’ve listened to my instinct that told me not to use the usual, up-front, demeaning flirting. But apparently, the instinct to imitate my dad and stick to my playboy habits won out.

  Last month, I’d finally decided to hire a private investigator to track down important information, such as Lexi’s last name, where she’d gone to college, and what kind of job she was looking for. I had it all on the paper that I carried, along with my latte, from the kitchen out to the ocean-view back porch.

  Her name was Alexandra Montgomery, Lexi for short, and she lived in a poorer area of Santa Monica. She’d earned her degree in creative writing from UC Berkeley three months ago and was currently applying for jobs at production companies. It couldn’t be more perfect.

  I grabbed my phone and called the number for Huntington Productions Human Resources. As the sole owner, I could definitely pull some strings. “Good morning, Judith. I’d like to create a very specific, new position, and I’d like you to offer it to a woman named Alexandra Montgomery—after a legitimate interview, of course.”

  Five minutes later, I hung up and Judith was busy setting everything up. If all went as planned, Lexi Montgomery would have an interview with my company tomorrow that included an offer she wouldn’t be able to refuse. She wouldn’t know I’d be her boss or that I owned the company until after accepting the position. This plan was a bit controlling and devious, but I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the young woman since the moment I laid eyes on her.

  Twenty minutes later, I went out on the beach, which was a short trip down the stairs in front of my mansion. I was due for a jog and a bite to eat after with my younger sister, Adrianna. At twenty-two, she was four years younger than me, spoiled, and sweet. She lived with Mom in her huge house in Pasadena.

  “Hey, Brady.” My sister called out the nickname that only she used for me as she stretched her quads in the sand below my stairs. Adrianna had the same clear blue eyes as me, but her hair was nearly platinum-blonde. Mine was such a dirty blond that you could almost call it brown.

  “Hey yourself.” I hugged her. “You up for five miles today?” Our regular Sunday tradition was to jog and have lunch together, and after that, we’d head over to join our mom for dinner in Pasadena.

  I tried hard to maintain this routine with my two closest family members, making sure we stayed connected. Sometimes, work dinners or celebrity auctions caused me to miss family time, but I put in the effort and the three of us remained close-knit. I stretched for a few minutes, and we began our jog along the shoreline, close enough to the water that the sand was wet and easier to run on.

  “So, you thought any more about my genius movie idea?” she puffed out as we ran side by side.

  I shook my head. “Sorry, Addy, I just don’t think a documentary on the history of fashionable handbags is going to fly. Besides, you know we almost never do documentaries, no matter what the subject.” I glanced at her with a half-smile.

  She’d been pushing this idea for a month as part of an attempt to figure out if she wanted to be a filmmaker. Adrianna was lost as far as her purpose in life. She liked to shop, party, exercise, and hang out with friends, and she had a degree in modern dance from USC, but my sister really had no idea what she wanted to do.

  That was one of the problems with being from such a wealthy family and having everything handed to you. None of us had to work, so we were free to explore the thousands of different interests and career fields as much as we wanted, though this was truer for Adrianna, being a girl and the youngest. My own career path had been mapped out early on—take over as owner of Huntington Productions and make it thrive, as it had for years.

  I felt bad that Adrianna seemed lost and searching for a direction, yet there was no way I’d run her handbag documentary idea by the board. I saw Adrianna pouting from the corner of my eye, but she didn’t say anything more about it. We finished the five miles in decent time and sat down at one of our favorite casual beach grills.

  If I were out with my friends or trying to impress a date, I’d go somewhere fancier and with more prestige. But Addy and I liked to eat at this down-to-earth grill with its low-key atmosphere, and they didn’t care about having two sweaty customers like us sit on their open patio.

  After I ordered a burger and fries and Addy ordered seared fresh tuna and salad, she leveled me with her gaze. “I heard you were chatting up my friend Katrina at the club Saturday.” Her tone was casual, but her eyes narrowed.

  I let out a sigh as my face heated with embarrassment. “Sorry, Addy,” I said with a sheepish expression. “It was just for show in front of Keith and the gang.” Keith was, according to the gossip magazines, my best friend and just as much of a chauvinistic pig as me. He was the hottest young male actor on the scene right now and loved the attention.

  Though I hung out with him and other celebrities in our circle at clubs and parties, he wasn’t my true best friend. We started to hang out when Keith did a movie with Huntington Productions, and our friendship, so to speak, took off from there. He was part of my media image, but I didn’t feel close to him. Keith was the typical hot-shot, good-looking, egotistical movie star. My real best friend was Scott, who did post-production graphic art and design at my company.

  Adrianna lifted an eyebrow at me as she sipped her water. I added in a hushed tone, “It was just some harmless flirting, Addy, I swear. I didn’t sleep with her or anything.”

  My sister disapproved of my playboy tendencies, especially when I directed it at her friends. Adrianna shook her head in dismay. “Brady, seriously? Why do you keep acting like that—like Dad—when I know you’re not really like that underneath? I know you, and you’re nothing like him.”

  At that point, our food arrived and the conversation paused as we dug in, which gave me time to figure out an answer to her question. Why did I keep acting like Dad? She was right—it wasn’t really me, but once I’d started getting heavily involved with Huntington Productions and spent more time around my dad, and then Keith, it became a habit to act like they did. Now, the media and all my celebrity friends had given me the same, hot-shot playboy reputation. It felt easier to go along with it in public, even if I wasn’t really like that in private.

  I swallowed a bite of the big juicy burger and finally responded. “I know. I really should try to be more myself in front of everyone. And you know I actually respect women, especially you and Mom. It’s just hard to change my rep, you know?”

  Adrianna rolled her eyes but offered a half-smile. “I guess. As long as you understand women aren’t really men’s playthings. We’re actual people.” I winced at her words, but she gave me a sympathetic smile and said, “Speaking of playboy behavior, have you heard from Dad lately?”

  I let out a short laugh. “Not since his little postcard from Sao Paulo a month ago. You knew he was traipsing through Brazil now, right?”

  She nodded and her expression hardened. “Yup. Mom and I got a lovely postcard with bikini-clad girls on the front. Charming as always.” Her voice had a bitter edge.

  While I didn’t love Dad’s behavior, I wasn’t as bitterly against it as Adrianna and Mom. I gave Addy a sympathetic smile and decided to change the subject. Maybe if I told her about my real interest in a woman, she’d think better of me, even if Dad was a lost cause.

  “Look, don’t let this leak out, but there’s a young woman I’m interested in, and not just in a playboy kind of way.” I proceeded to tell her about Lexi, telling her the whole story of how we met, how I couldn’t get her off my mind, and about my cunning plan to see her again. If all went according to this plan, I’d see a whole lot more of Lexi in the coming months.

  Lexi

  Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as I crouched low on my board. Ocean water sprayed my face with a refreshing, salty taste. I was in the curl of a nice-sized wave at six-thirty in the morning on Monday, and all my wor
ries and troubles washed away with the water.

  The early golden sunlight glittered off the tunnel of water I rode through, and I felt like I was in an entirely different world—somewhere magical. When I saw the end of the wave curling in on itself in a tumble of foaming white, I turned my board towards the shore so I could ride out the wave as it rolled toward the sand.

  I balanced easily into the shallow edge, hopped off, pulled my board out of the water, and tucked it under an arm. The water was cold, as it was year-round in the Pacific, but I was perfectly comfortable in my black and dark blue wetsuit. I found the cold invigorating.

  At this time of day, there were only a few others out on the Santa Monica beach. A single jogger ran by, and I spotted a few early surfers way down the shoreline to the south. I collapsed, tired but happy, onto the dry sand and laid there for a few moments, a satisfied grin on my face.

  My head always felt clearer, my body refreshed, and my outlook on life positive after surfing; it was the best therapy for me. Surfing and writing were my two main outlets, my way to re-boot and express myself.

  I loved the idea that I could create a whole new world and characters where I was in control of what happened. To have the story come to life on the screen so countless others could share that world would be incredible. That’s why I had to get a job at a production company—any job.

  ***

  “Yeah, Sean, you got it!” I yelled through my cupped hands later that afternoon. My dad sat in his wheelchair next to where I perched on the edge of the soccer field bleachers. His strong cheekbones and gleaming brown eyes gave him an aura of intelligence and authority despite being in a wheelchair.

  His gaze followed Sean’s tall, lithe figure intently as he stopped the ball in front of the opponent’s goal, gaining a clear shot. Sean’s hair was raven-black, like mine, and stood every which way in the ocean breeze. The community soccer field was just a block from the beach.

  Dad clapped several times, but didn’t call out. He tended to be quiet and reserved in general. When he did say something, you could count on the fact that he truly meant what he said. Sean took his shot and the ball soared expertly past the fingertips of the goalie and into the right corner of the net. I stood up, whooping and cheering, while my dad nodded his head approvingly, offering a pleased smile as he clapped.

  At a few minutes until half-time, my brother’s team was in the lead with a score of two to zero. Sean was tall, fast, coordinated, and among the top three players in his summer league. He was hoping for an athletic scholarship so he could go to college without the loans I had to take out. Though I’d earned a partial academic scholarship, Berkeley was expensive, and I’d be paying off loans for a while yet.

  As I sat back down to watch the remaining two minutes of the first half, I noticed a few younger kids, probably around seven, looking at Dad as they whispered. I knew they were young, but I hated when people talked about my dad and his wheelchair. The fact he had to use one didn’t change who he was, not one bit. As always, when I thought about what had happened to my dad since he’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a heaviness formed in my stomach. The disease was degenerative and would attack other parts of his nervous system in the years to come. It had been hard enough losing my mom. Sean and I couldn’t even think about losing our dad as well.

  Dad saw a decent neurologist in the area, but I longed to make enough to send him to the top MS doctors. Maybe they’d have different treatments to try, something that could help prevent further paralysis more than the immune-suppressants he took now.

  I focused my attention back on the game, trying to shrug off the heavy feeling inside me. Everything’s going to be okay, I told myself. All you need to do is land a small job in a production company, then dazzle them with your screenwriting skills, and the big bucks will roll in.

  As if in answer to these thoughts, my phone buzzed with an incoming call. I glanced down and looked apologetically at my dad. “It’s a Hollywood area code. I should take it in case it’s in response to one of my applications.” Dad nodded, and I slipped off behind the bleachers about fifteen feet away to take the call. “Hello, this is Alexandra Montgomery. How can I help you?” I tried to sound as professional as possible.

  A woman’s voice spoke on the other end. “Hello, Ms. Montgomery, this is Judith Levy from the Human Resources department at Huntington Productions.” My pulse leapt. It was hard to keep all the places I’d applied to straight, but I recalled Huntington being a big deal movie production company. I held my breath as Judith continued. “We’d love for you to come in and interview for a personal assistant position. The resume we pulled from the job hunting site looks quite impressive. Can you come in tomorrow at three?”

  My pulse skyrocketed, and I had to cover my mouth to muffle an excited gasp. “Yes, that sounds great,” I said in the calmest voice I could muster. “Three works perfectly. What address should I come to, and who should I ask for?” Since I hadn’t even applied to this position, I had no idea. I was thrilled that they’d liked my resume enough to ask for an interview. This was promising.

  Judith gave me the address, which was in Hollywood, as I expected, and then said, “Just ask for me, since I’ll be conducting your interview personally. The position is to assist someone high-up in our company. I’ll tell you more details tomorrow.” We said our cordial goodbyes and hung up.

  I stared at my phone and let out the squeal of excitement I’d been holding in. While I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high, I had a good feeling about this interview. I’d been politely turned down after an interview time and time again over the course of the summer, but for some reason, I sensed this one would be different.

  ***

  That night, after I congratulated Sean on his goal and told both him and my dad the good news about the interview over dinner, I drove the three blocks from my dad’s duplex to my third-floor apartment. It might seem silly to drive three blocks, but I had a six a.m. cleaning appointment and the job interview in Hollywood after that, so I needed the car for a quick morning departure.

  I sat on the old, two-seater sofa in my studio apartment, which had a kitchenette next to the bathroom, an old-fashioned tube TV, a twin bed in one corner, and a small round table with two chairs for eating. I’d also scored a used dresser from Goodwill last year, which Sean and his friends helped me carry up.

  As I sat with my legs curled under me on the sofa, I held a notebook in my lap, my pen poised above a blank page. I already had several complete scripts for both movies and TV series pilots saved on my laptop, all part of the portfolio I’d created while at Berkeley. But the possibility of getting this personal assistant position at Huntington Productions tomorrow inspired me to start a new screenplay. Another one to slip into the hands of someone high-up at the company. Maybe even into the hands of my potential new boss.

  Braden

  “Braden, sweetie, leave those. I’ll get to the dishes later.” My mom set three dirty plates on the counter next to the kitchen sink where I was rinsing dishes and loading them into her dishwasher.

  I shook my head. “Not a chance. You cooked—it was amazing, by the way—so you shouldn’t have to clean.”

  Adrianna pulled herself up on a kitchen bar stool and placed her half-empty wine glass on the high counter that ran along the top of the sink where I stood and cleaned. She took a long sip of her wine and smiled at me. “Yeah, let him clean up, Mom, while us girls sit and relax. I like that idea.” She grinned at me.

  We’d finished our usual Sunday dinner at Mom’s, which was a good-sized house, but nothing like my mansion in Malibu or my dad’s estate in Beverly Hills. Mom preferred a sizable, less showy home done in the traditional California-Spanish tile roof and stucco walls. The house’s layout was modern, with four bedrooms upstairs and a spacious, open floor plan downstairs. From where I stood at the kitchen sink, I could see over the kitchen bar counter where Adrianna sat and to the dining area just to the right, the living room to the left, and
through the sliding glass doors out to the patio and backyard pool.

  The kitchen itself was a decent size, with an island in the middle and a new gas-burning stove along with a good amount of counter space. One of my favorite things to do to help me relax was cooking. Working with my hands and all the various textures and scents of food helped me unwind.

  My mom had made dinner that particular night, but I’d made dessert—chocolate mousse—from scratch, topped with whipped cream, raspberries, and dark chocolate shavings. Mom finally relented and sat down at a kitchen bar stool next to Adrianna and faced me as she sipped her glass of Merlot.

  “Well, thank you, honey. And next time, it’s your sister’s turn.” She gave Adrianna a jokingly stern look. My sister was always trying to get out of chores, and Mom and I teased her relentlessly about it.

  Adrianna rolled her eyes and changed the subject. “So, Mom, paint anything new lately?”

  Our mom had two active hobbies—painting and gardening. She had an extensive herb garden out back along with several tomato plants and a few orange trees around the yard’s edge. When I cooked meals here, I enjoyed going out back and picking fresh tomatoes or herbs like basil and thyme to use as ingredients. Several palm trees lined the backyard next to exotic bushes and flowers, adding bright fuchsias, vivid oranges, and luminescent whites to the vibrant yard.

  For painting, Mom used water colors, oils, and watercolor pastels to create landscapes and, occasionally, portraits. I loved that she pursued her interests. Since she had no need to work because she was supported by Dad’s wealth, she had the time for these hobbies.

  “I just started on an oil painting of a spectacular view in the San Rafael Hills. I’m going tomorrow morning to work on it if you want to come, Adrianna.” Mom said.