More Than a Millionaire / The Untamed Sheikh. Emilie Rose
felt his gaze on her the entire way around her desk as she returned to her seat. Pregnancy had made her breasts larger. She hoped it hadn’t done the same to her behind. Not that she cared what he thought of her butt.
After she sank into her seat he lowered himself into the chair across from her desk. The old-fashioned courtesy surprised her. Fewer and fewer men practiced it these days—especially among the megarich she dealt with through work.
“Congratulations on your pregnancy.”
His words stunned her. She hadn’t told anyone except Beth, Patrick and Lea. The parents-to-be had the right to know, and Lea had caught Nicole heaving a couple of times and guessed. The rest of their friends and family would find out Saturday when Beth and Patrick made the official announcement at the family’s Labor Day picnic. Nicole suspected most people who knew her would be a little freaked out by her decision.
“Thank you. What brings you to Hightower Aviation today?”
“You’re carrying my child.”
His statement knocked her back in her chair. She must have misheard.
“Excuse me?” The words sounded more like a wheeze, but that was because she couldn’t seem to make her lungs work.
“The fertility clinic made a mistake and inseminated you with my sperm instead of your intended donor’s.”
Head reeling, she grasped the edge of her desk. “That’s not possible.”
Her visitor reached into his suit coat, extracted an envelope and extended it toward her. When she didn’t—couldn’t—take it from him he tossed it on her blotter. It slid across the smooth surface and stopped within easy reach. She eyed it like she would a big, hairy, jumping spider.
“The clinic director has written a letter explaining the situation. In summation, my name is Ryan Patrick. Your intended donor’s name is Patrick Ryan. The lot numbers weren’t checked and you were given the wrong sperm because some moron neglected to notice a comma.”
Horror raced through her, making her heart pound and her extremities tingle. “No. You’re wrong.”
He had to be.
“Read it.”
She stared at the envelope. Afraid to open it. Afraid not to. But she couldn’t prove him wrong if she didn’t open the thing. Her hands shook as she reached for it.
The tearing of the seal and the rustle of paper as she unfolded the page sounded unnaturally loud even above the pounding of her pulse in her ears. The letter bore the Lakeview logo at the top and the director’s signature on the bottom. She forced herself to read through the document.
Words jumped out at her. Unfortunate error…Donor mix-up…Apologize profusely… The alarm in her chest and her brain expanded with each line, making it difficult to breathe and think. She read the letter a second time, but the bad news didn’t get any better, and she hadn’t misinterpreted.
Unless this letter was a hideously tasteless joke, she was carrying Ryan Patrick’s baby. Not Patrick Ryan’s, the man she had loved since her junior year of college. The man who’d married her sister.
Please, God, let this be a joke.
“This is not funny.”
Her visitor didn’t crack a smile. “Medical malpractice usually isn’t.”
She had hoped her sister had developed a sudden sick sense of humor. His stoic expression said otherwise. Pressing a hand over her churning stomach, she dropped the page. “There must be some mistake.”
“Yes. Lakeview Fertility Clinic made it. You’re carrying my child as a result.”
“That can’t be right.”
“I wish that were true.”
She stared at the letter while her overloaded mind struggled to process the information and the possible repercussions. For herself. For Beth and Patrick. For the man in front of her. But it was too much to take in.
What now? What if the baby really wasn’t Patrick’s?
She struggled to find her professional demeanor, and the best way to do that was to focus on his problem instead of hers. “I’m sorry. This must be very difficult for you and your wife.”
“There is no wife.”
“Girlfriend, then.”
“No girlfriend, either.”
That confused her completely. “I’m afraid I’m not following.”
“I’ll be a single parent.”
“That’s not unusual for a woman, but isn’t it a little out of the norm for a man? Couldn’t you just get married?”
“I’ve been married, and I don’t ever intend to do so again.”
There had to be a story behind that bitter tone. But she didn’t care to hear it at the moment. She had enough of a mess on her hands. If his story was true. She sincerely hoped he was deranged. A psycho in her office would be much easier to handle than the situation described in the letter. One call to security would fix everything. But this…
He extracted a second envelope and placed it in front of her. “I’m prepared to offer you the same financial and medical support I offered the surrogate I’d hired.”
Taken aback, she blinked. “You hired a surrogate?”
Why would a guy who looked like him need to pay someone to have his baby? Women should be lining up around the block and begging for the privilege.
“A well-qualified, carefully screened surrogate.”
She bristled at his implication that she might be less than qualified to carry his child. For the second time this morning she forced herself to read something she didn’t want to and picked up the contract.
Shocked, she looked up from the document that had her name typed in all the appropriate places. “You want to buy my baby?”
Duh. That’s what surrogacy is, Nicole. But seeing it in black and white rattled her.
“It’s a service contract. You provide a product and a service. I pay you for your time and the use of your body,” he replied as coolly as if they were haggling over the price of an airplane.
A product? Revulsion slammed her chest a split second before an unexpected surge of possessiveness swelled within her. She wrapped her arms around her middle. Until now she’d been ready to hand over her baby to Beth and Patrick. With dignity. Without a fight. But she’d be damned if she’d sell it to this stranger.
“You are out of your mind, Mr. Patrick.”
“It’s my child.”
“It’s mine, too. My egg. My body. My time.”
“My terms are quite generous.”
She tossed the document back at him. He made no effort to catch it. The pages fluttered to the desk. “I don’t care about your terms. Go back to your surrogate.”
“And forget I’ve already fathered one child?”
“Yes. You have no emotional investment here and no financial obligation. You can have another baby much easier than I can. I will carry this child for nine months. Your contribution only took seconds.”
“You’re only eight weeks pregnant. You haven’t had time to bond.”
Her mouth dropped open. She snapped it closed. “Spoken like a man who doesn’t have a clue. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She’d begun bonding from the first moment she’d noticed her taste buds had gone crazy—just days after conception and even before the positive pregnancy test. She remembered