Page 51 of The Billionaire's Paradise

Cal didn’t even glance at me. “Relax. All we’re doing here is giving the green light. This should be the easy part… I think.”

“I just want to make a good impression,” I said.

“You already did,” said a new voice, as the screen flickered to life.

Tessa Burke smiled out at us from the familiar, calm background of her Manhattan office—same abstract flower painting behind her, same immaculate white blazer, same uncanny ability to look like she hadn’t been awake since five a.m. answering emails about ovulation.

“Good morning,” she said. “Or… aloha, I guess.”

“Aloha,” I said, trying not to squeak.

Cal nodded. “Hi, Tessa. Thanks for making time.”

She smiled. “Of course. I’ve been waiting for your call. Based on your message, I assume you’re ready to move forward?”

We nodded in sync, like contestants on a game show about to lock in our final answer.

“Yes,” I said. “We’re ready. We… we met her. And we just… knew.”

“She’s everything,” Cal added. “Warm, intuitive, grounded. And kind. And funny. And smart.”

Tessa’s smile widened. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

“I mean,” I continued. “We know there’s more to it. Contracts, screenings, all the biological stuff. But emotionally? Leilani feels right. She’s the one.”

“Well then,” Tessa said, tapping her iPad. “You’ll be happy to know she feels the same.”

I blinked. “She does?”

“She said yes too,” Tessa confirmed, with a warm, reassuring nod. “She’s already indicated that she’d be honored to move forward. Her words, not mine.”

I stared at the screen.

Cal reached for my hand.

“We have a surrogate,” I whispered, my throat catching.

Tessa gave us a moment. Then said gently, “So. Want to talk about what comes next?”

I straightened, willing myself into functional-human mode. “Yes. Please. Talk us through it.”

“Alright,” she said, sliding gracefully into her field of expertise. “Here’s how it goes from here.”

She ticked the steps off on her fingers, methodical and calm, as the room around us seemed to hold its breath.

“First,” she said. “We begin with the full medical screening for Leilani. She’ll be flown to our partner clinic in Honolulu forbloodwork, ultrasounds, and a full physical exam. We’ll handle the travel logistics—she won’t be out of pocket for anything.”

Cal nodded. “That’s good. We want her cared for, every step.”

“She will be. After screening, assuming everything checks out—and I have no reason to think it won’t—we move on to legal. That means creating the surrogacy agreement.”

“Is that the part with the scary language and the tiny font and the clauses I can’t keep count of?” I asked.

Tessa chuckled. “It’s not that bad. But it’s important. We’ll draft a contract covering everything—medical decisions, communication expectations, delivery location, compensation, contingencies, even what music is played in the delivery room if you want to include that.”

Cal raised an eyebrow. “Do people actually put that in the contract?”

“Some do,” she said. “One couple requested nothing but the Bee Gees. Another insisted on whale sounds. It’s your call.”