Page 1 of The Billionaire’s Paradise (My Billionaire #4)

“Push! Push!” I told Mrs. Mulroney as she wriggled uncomfortably on the floor in her rather awkward birthing position. “Push harder!”

“Sweet Jesus in a hen house, Matthew. I’m not a chicken, you know. Although if I push harder, I may well give birth to the eggs I had for breakfast this morning. And let me assure you, by now they’ll be anything but hard-boiled.”

Mrs. Mulroney, Angus, Mr. Banks, and I were on the floor in our living room.

We’d shoved the furniture a few feet to one side and had paired up like couples in a birth education class.

Mrs. Mulroney and Angus were both lying on their backs, knees up, while Mr. Banks and I did our best to support our partners.

“And… breathe,” I said, ignoring Mrs. Mulroney’s stress levels and relaxing my voice as though Buddha himself had touched my soul.

“I’m not meditating, Matthew. I’m having a feckin’ baby!”

“Be brave, Mrs. Mulroney,” Angus said, offering up some heartfelt encouragement from his position on the floor beside Mrs. Mulroney. “Our little rays of sunshine will arrive soon.”

“Oh Angus, God bless your glass-half-full na?vety,” Mrs. Mulroney informed him. “But there ain’t no sun where this little ray is from, you can be sure of that.”

Angus took a breath to reply, but Mr. Banks stopped him with a finger to Angus’s lips. “Shhh, my darling wife. Don’t feed any negative energies. Focus on nothing but the baby. And push gently.”

Angus began to fake push, squeezing the cushion tucked under his shirt.

Mrs. Mulroney gave a fake moan and the Cabbage Patch Kid beneath her blouse began to crown.

Everyone seemed to be taking their roles a little too seriously, so much so that I suddenly reeled at the nightmarish image of Mrs. Mulroney and Angus actually giving birth at that moment.

My thoughts swiftly spiraled and I jumped to my feet.

“Stop! Everyone stop! I think I’m going to have a panic attack! ”

“Again?” Angus said with a roll of his eyes.

“Yes, again !” I snatched the remote from the sofa and switched off the Lamaze instructional video that I’d played so many times I didn’t even need the sound on anymore. “This is too much pressure. What am I getting myself into?”

“Oh Matthew, settle petal,” said Mrs. Mulroney, reaching out to me for a little help to get up off the floor.

She got as far as her knees and had to rest against the coffee table.

“What’s there to panic about? You’re just overthinking things again.

Your big day is still a way off. It’s not like you’re about to become a father tomorrow.

You’re not even pregnant with a baby yet. ”

“Or found yourself a surrogate yet,” added Mr. Banks.

“Or even mentioned your intentions to your husband,” chimed in Angus. “Which would probably be the place to start instead of skipping straight to Lamaze tutorials, don’t you think?”

“Don’t you get it? The Lamaze was supposed to give me the courage to broach the subject with Cal.

” I flopped myself down on the sofa with an anxious sigh.

“But instead, all I’m doing is freaking myself out.

What if he’s not ready for a family? What if he thinks I’ve lost my mind?

What if our life is already perfect and I’ll just mess it all up with a baby?

God, I need Tilly right now. Where’s a voice of reason when you need one? ”

“I told you already,” said Angus. “She’s being interviewed by all the fanciest colleges in the country. She’s got them eating out of her hand. She’s not even eighteen yet and they’re throwing everything at her to try to get her to sign up.”

“I once went to a school where the teacher threw everything at me,” Mr. Banks said, wandering off into the overgrown forest of his mind.

“Textbooks, blackboard dusters, bibles heavier than a brick. By God, I learned how to duck and weave. The place was run by the cruelest nun you’d ever met.

She was so sadistic and spiteful that many believed she was spawned from the fiery depths of hell itself.

When she died there was no trace of her corpse whatsoever, just her nun’s habit in a crumpled pile on the floor, as though Satan himself had come to claim his bride.

Rumor has it he asked for a divorce three weeks later. ”

I gave an exasperated sigh. “Like I said, where’s a voice of reason when you need one? What if Cal thinks I’m crazy for wanting this?”

“Wanting what?” asked Cal from behind me.

My heart plunged as I spun about to see my husband standing in the doorway to the living room, his work tie hanging loose around his neck and his briefcase in hand.

He hadn’t spoken loudly but his presence still startled us.

Mr. Banks stomped his foot and saluted as though standing to attention for a commanding officer, while Mrs. Mulroney and Angus both leapt to their feet.

As they did so, Angus’s cushion fell out from under his T-shirt and Mrs. Mulroney’s Cabbage Patch Kid hit the ground with a squeak.

Cal looked from the doll to me and asked somewhat suspiciously, “What’s going on here?”

“Cal! Hi! What up?” I said awkwardly .

“What up?” Cal asked back. “Are you kidding? Mrs. Mulroney looks like she just gave birth to a Cabbage Patch doll, that’s ‘what up?’”

“Oh, there it is!” Mrs. Mulroney exclaimed, overacting more than a tad.

“I was wondering where little Suzy Shortcake got to. She must have fallen under the sofa. Come on, you wee mischievous imp, time to get you back to the cauliflower patch.” Mrs. Mulroney started cuddling and kissing the doll, trying desperately to convince Cal of her affection for it.

“Oh, give me a break,” Cal sighed dramatically. “Firstly, Suzy Shortcake lives in a cabbage patch, not a cauliflower patch. Secondly, something tells me that doll’s not yours.”

Mrs. Mulroney planted one hand defensively on her hip. “Of course it’s my doll. What makes you think it isn’t?”

“Because you’re holding it upside down. That’s Suzy’s frilly panties you’re kissing. Have you ever even held a doll before?”

Mrs. Mulroney’s shoulders quickly slumped in defeat. “Oh Matthew, I can’t lie to Cal. He’s too handsome.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” I sighed. “The doll’s mine. I picked it up at a charity store downtown.”

“You’re collecting dolls now? Is the writing going that badly?”

“No! It’s not about the writing… or doll collections… or…”

“Or what?”

My whole frame heaved with anxiety. “Cal, there’s something I want to discuss with you.” I glanced at the others and added, “In private.”

“Oh, thank the baby Jesus, it’s our cue to leave,” said Mrs. Mulroney, crossing herself and heading for the door.

“Phew,” said Angus, hot on her heels. “I hate awkward moments.”

“There’s nothing worse than feeling awkward,” added Mr. Banks hurrying after him. “Like getting caught with your pants down at a Sunday bake sale with an egg whisk in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other… but that’s another story entirely. ”

Before anyone could ask any questions—thankfully—the door slammed and they were gone, leaving me alone with my husband.

“Matt? What’s going on? I thought I’d come home to find you ready for dinner. We’re meeting with Hal tonight. We’ve got an early booking at Per Se , remember?”

Hal was an old college friend of Cal’s who’d joined the billionaire boys’ club by riding the talents of smarter men—tech geniuses he’d backed at just the right time, with just the right charm, without doing any of the actual heavy lifting.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry, I forgot. I can be ready in five.”

Quickly, I made a move for the bedroom, hoping I’d dodged our family chat for now.

Of course, I knew it was a conversation we desperately needed to have.

Heck, I’d become so clucky lately I was starting to lose sleep over it.

But I was petrified I’d screw things up.

There was way too much at stake here. I needed my pitch to be perfect before I launched into the baby discussion, and at that moment I felt far from my A game.

But nothing was slipping by Cal that easily.

He caught me by the arm as I tried to escape. “Wait a second, not so fast. You still haven’t told me what’s going on here. What’s the deal with Mrs. Mulroney and Suzy Shortcake and you having what looked suspiciously like a midwife meltdown?”

I swallowed. My brain flipped through possible answers like a game show contestant on a timer.

“Performance art?” I offered.

Cal raised a single eyebrow. The Cal Croft patented You're Full of Shit eyebrow.

I sighed. “Okay fine. It’s… well. It’s about a baby.”

He blinked. “What baby?”

I gulped and my throat clacked. “Um… our baby.”

“We don’t have a baby.”

“I know. That’s kinda the whole point.”

Cal blinked again. “You’re talking about a real baby, right? Not a Cabbage Patch baby. ”

“A real one,” I said, then immediately started babbling.

“But not now—I mean not now now, just at some point. Maybe. Soon-ish. Or not -so -soon. Depending on, you know, your schedule. Our lives. The market. Climate change. I don’t know when people usually have babies.

Probably when they’re emotionally stable.

Which I may never be, so actually I’m not sure why I brought this up—”

Cal crossed the room like he wasn’t just my husband but a seasoned bomb technician, gaze steady and sharp like he was determined to cut the right colored wire.

He cupped my face in both hands, his thumbs brushing lightly beneath my eyes.

I didn’t even realize I’d started to tear up until I felt him stop the waterfall.

“Matt,” he said, calm as ever. “It’s okay.”

I stared up at him, my throat thick. “What’s okay? Me spiraling again? Me catastrophizing because I want something huge and terrifying and irreversible? Me accidentally triggering a domestic scene with a Cabbage Patch delivery?”

He smiled warmly. “Shhh. Calm down. We’ll talk about it.”

My heart gave a sudden lurch. “We will?”