Page 91 of The Billionaire's Baby

"Hey," she protests, "you asked me for my opinion."

"You’re not in favor of my bringing up a child on my own?"

"You’re strong enough to do anything, including having a family by yourself without a man." Isla hesitates, "I guess, me personally, though... I can’t see myself doing it without a partner. Maybe I am old-fashioned that way. I want security, and the man I marry needs to be able to provide that, above everything else."

"And love?" I chew on my lower lip. "What about finding love? Don’t you want that?"

She laughs, "I knew you were a closet romantic."

"I’m not."

"Of course, you are." She snickers. "The tougher career-minded ones are always the ones who fall the hardest."

"Hey," I protest, "I thought you were on my side."

"I am, babe. It’s why I am telling you to follow your heart."

"Like that’s going to help me?" I huff.

"Why don’t you bide your time? Go with the flow, see how things turn out, you’ll know when you’ll know."

"Right." I hang up, then turn toward the door. Guess I’ve put this off long enough. It’s time to go out there and face the sullen beast.

I square my shoulders and head for the door.

33

Arpad

"Would you like something to drink, Sir?"

I glance up from where I’ve been tracking my investments on my phone. We are in the most exclusive boutique in Lille. One that showcases British designers—something unusual when you’re on French soil—and which is why my grandmother loves to come here.

"A hot chocolate, maybe, Sir?" she prompts.

I glare at the saleswoman, "Do I look like the type who drinks hot chocolate?"

"Yes, Sir. I mean, no, Sir." She blinks rapidly. "I mean—"

"Whiskey," I snap, "hold the ice."

"Of course, Sir." She turns and scampers out.

"Still frightening the hired help, I see?" Karina drawls. "Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?"

"You mean like…" I take in her outfit and stare and stare, "like you?"

"Like the dress?" She juts out a hip, then props her hand on it.

"Like it?" I drag my gaze down the modest neckline that hints at cleavage, though I know that the fabric covers the most luscious tits I have ever laid eyes on. The belt that’s cinched in at the waist, except I know that underneath it is the smoothest belly, with the delicate nip of her belly button. The flare of her hips, that no dress in the world can hide. Stocking clad legs, and on her feet, she wears delicate ankle-length boots.

I frown and she straightens. "What’s wrong with it?" She looks down at herself.

"You’re showing too much flesh."

"What?" She gapes. "This is a long-sleeved dress."

"It’s too short."