Page 27 of The Billionaire's Paradise

“I’m just saying,” Cal added. “If I plan a trip to Hawaii to scope things out, you could come and…”

“We couldmeether,” I finished.

Cal looked at me. “Let’s do it.”

Tessa smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. Let me set up the Zoom meeting. So you can speak to her in person, get a feel for each other. Remember, you’re not the only ones looking for the right match. This is a two-way street. Leilani has to bond with the two of you as well. But I must say, I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

And just like that, the world started to bloom again.

CHAPTER 10

I changedmy shirt three times.

First it was the pale pink button-up, because pink is soft and warm and approachable. Then it was the navy polo, because I wanted to look like I had a job. Then it was no shirt at all, because I overheated and panicked and started googling “what do you wear to meet your maybe surrogate via Zoom,” and the internet suggested a cashmere sweater in neutral tones, but I don’t own a cashmere sweater in neutral tones. Or in any tones.

By the time Cal came out of the bedroom, fresh from a shower and looking all polished and shiny, I had settled on a white T-shirt and a blazer with the sleeves rolled up, looking somewhat like a real estate agent who refused to give up his dreams of being an ’80s pop star.

In one hand I was holding a small stack of cue cards, organized by topic:Shared Values,Parenting Philosophy, andWhat We Bring to the Table Emotionally.

Cal raised one eyebrow. “Are we selling a baby or pitching a start-up?”

“It’s called being prepared,” I said, fanning the cards with a flourish. “She seems amazing, and I don’t want to screw this upby being my usual flailing self who says something like, ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ in the first five minutes.”

He stepped closer, eyes softening as he began subtly fussing with my blazer. “Hey. We’re not trying to impress her. We’re trying to connect with her. And can we please roll your sleeves down, you look like Huey Lewis.”

I exhaled as he rolled my sleeves down. “Okay, but if she asks what kind of dads we’ll be, what do I say? I mean, I know the truth—chaotic, affectionate, slightly underqualified—but I don’t want to lead with that.”

Cal laughed gently and pulled me toward the stools by the kitchen counter. “Just be you. Be us. She’ll feel that.”

He sat down and opened his laptop up on the counter. “Also, you might wanna lose the blazer altogether. You’re sweating through it.”

I checked.

I was.

I peeled it off quickly and looked down self-consciously. “Now I feel naked.”

“You’re wearing a T-shirt.”

“A T-shirt that I’ve worn to bed before. I’m practically inviting her into our bedroom… to make a baby!”

“Relax. You look like you,” he said. “And that’s perfect.”

There was a quiet moment. Then he added, a little too casually, “Do I look okay?”

I turned to him. Cal never asked that. Cal never had to. He lived his entire life looking like he belonged in a designer fragrance ad.

But I saw it—the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers tapped a silent rhythm on the trackpad. He was nervous too. Just hiding it better.

“You look great,” I said gently. “Just don’t lead with any Wall Street buzzwords.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he said.

“You were.”

“Yeah.” He smiled sheepishly. “Okay. No Wall Street buzzwords. No budget jokes. No trying to sound like anything but us.”

I took a breath and nodded, trying to believe it. The laptop chimed.