Page 15 of The Billionaire's Paradise

“I know! I know! But you’d be surprised how quickly things can happen. You want a baby, don’t you? Who’s to say they don’t have some spares floating around in one of the rooms out back.”

I was about to tell her—somewhat vehemently—that’s not how surrogacy works, when we heard the door at the entrance bang open again.

“Sorry I’m late!” came an overly excited voice. “Did I miss anything?”

A moment later, Angus darted into the waiting room wearing a hoodie with a rainbow dinosaur on the front. He was holding a helium balloon that read“It’s a Boy! Or a Girl! Or Whatever They Choose to Be!”

“I brought vibes!” he announced triumphantly, holding up the stress ball. “I think I nailed the whole Pride thing.”

Cal stood up. “Angus. What— how— why—”

“Mrs. M texted me. Said it was a family emergency. That a gayby was finally on the way.”

I planted my face in my hands. “Oh my God, can we please not call the baby a gayby? And nothing is on the way yet.” I held up the clipboard again. “Form! Unfinished! Need I say more?”

“Stop stressing,” Mrs. Mulroney said. “I told you, it takes a village.”

“And a balloon,” Angus added. “Does anyone wanna hear what I sound like when I suck on helium?”

“Absolutely not,” Cal and I said at the same time.

Angus shrugged. “Your loss. How else do you think I convinced security I was from Munchkinland and got us backstage atWicked?”

He tied the balloon to the arm of my chair with great ceremony, then sat down and pulled a juice box out of his hoodie pocket like he was prepping for battle. “I’m emotionally ready,” he said, piercing the bendy straw through the little foil circle. “Bring on the baby.”

I turned to Cal, whispering, “If Mr. Banks walks in next, I’m going to fake a seizure.”

Which was, of course, when the door opened again.

“Am I late?” Mr. Banks called out. “Have the waters broken?”

He shuffled into the waiting room in his brown tweed blazer and a pair of plaid pajama pants. His shoes didn’t match. One was a slipper. The other looked expensive and might well have been Cal’s.

“Mr. Banks?” I said, blinking hard. “Why are you here?”

“Angus texted me. He told me there was a medical emergency. Something about a gayby. So I packed a toothbrush and took a cab.”

“Why the toothbrush?” Cal asked.

“In case it’s an overnight.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. “What… what do you think is happening here?”

“I assumed someone was going into labor.” He looked around, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Do we need to boil water? That’s what we always did in the war. Whenever someone was wounded or having a baby or in need of a cup of tea, we always boiled water. Seems to fix everything.”

“Nobody’s boiling water,” I said, my fuse running out fast.

“Oh,” he said, sounding vaguely disappointed. “Then what are we doing here?”

“We’re having a meeting,” I said slowly and clearly. “With a surrogacy case manager. To discuss the possibility of maybe starting the process of potentially—someday—having a baby.”

Mr. Banks considered that. “So, no one’s crowning?”

“Correct.”

He nodded solemnly and reached into his jacket pocket.

“Nevertheless, I brought a compass,” he said, producing an antique-looking brass circle with a cracked glass face. “For the baby. So they’ll always find their way.”