Billionaire Baby Maker(4)

By: Lia Lee


I’d become aware of her body a long time ago. When she got older and became a woman, my cock perked up and took notice. She was so hot, it was impossible not to. I was sure she would be a damn good fuck, and I’d love to show her what a real man could do to a woman like her.

What were the odds that she was the one to respond to this ad? It said as much about her as it said about me.

God, with genes like hers, breeding seemed like a great idea. But she’d been right to turn down my offer. She was my daughter’s best friend. Something about it felt wrong.

Besides, it would a hell of temptation to have her around me, looking like she did, now. She’d grown into a beautiful woman.

Wrong or not, I still had a dirty mind, and she was all over it now, naked and writhing beneath me. I’d fucked a lot of women, but someone like Scarlett would be a real treat.

I walked back into the hotel to collect my briefcase from the meeting room before I headed to the office. I had so many responses to the ad I had to filter through them again and find time to interview them all. The response had been obscene. Money was a big thing, here but I could spare the expenses. I had invested in a very large portfolio, and I had to meet with my accountant to discuss finances. Real estate investment had gained me my considerable fortune. I’d built myself up from nothing. Recently, I’d bought back the very first property that had gotten me started.

My accountant, Ron, was going through the numbers with me. My life revolved around numbers, an endless amount of them. But I couldn’t concentrate. My mind was on other things, on the meeting with Scarlett and on how I’d explained to her what I wanted. I hadn’t mentioned that the money wasn’t guaranteed, that I would only pay if the surrogate mother bore a son. I guess it didn’t matter, now.

I wanted a son. I wanted someone I could pass this business on to. I wanted a boy I could raise to be a man after my own heart. And I was running out of time. I was forty-nine, and I didn’t want another wife. All I wanted was another child to bring up in this world.

I’d lost my wife Clara when Lily was only three. It had been heartbreaking, but we’d gotten through it. Once upon a time – when Lily was still young – I had considered it. She’d been upset with me, telling me I was ruining what we had, forgetting Clara. I had understood here she’d come from. I’d let her have her way – spoiled her. Maybe that had been wrong. Now, I wanted something again. Not a woman–women were full of shit. A son.

When the meeting was finally over, I walked back to my desk. Serena came in with my afternoon coffee.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You had a call from a Miss Forbes,” she said after I took the coffee from her. “She asked you to call her back at this number.” Serena handed me a note with a phone number on it.

“Thank you,” I said again. “That will be all.”

Serena left the office. She was used to being dismissed. If a woman didn’t know how to make herself scarce when I didn’t need her, there was no space for her in my life. I didn’t do small talk, I didn’t do compassion, and I didn’t do anything other than what I was good at. And I was good at exactly two things: making money and fucking.

I dialed the number on the note and waited.

“Yeah?” Scarlett answered, her voice clear on the other end of the line.

“Scarlett. It’s Evan. You asked me to call.”

She sighed. “Yeah. I was hoping we could try that meeting again, if you haven’t found someone better yet.”

I swallowed. No one would be better or worse. They were all the same for my purposes, a walking uterus, a breeding machine for the heir to my throne. But I wasn’t going to say that out loud.

“I haven’t filled the position yet,” I said.

“Can we meet tonight?” she asked.

I glanced at my watch. “Yeah, I think I can squeeze it in. Meet me at Bar 54 at six.”

“I’ll be there,” she said.

This was going better than I thought it would after our first brief meeting. Maybe Scarlett would be on board after all.

Bar 54 was a rooftop bar, fifty-four stories up, that looked out over Manhattan. It had a classy feel to it with wood-paneled walls, a mirror tiled mosaic ceiling, and a bar that faced the window with wooden stools.

I sat there drinking a glass of Rough Rider Straight Bourbon. It tasted like self-confidence with a hint of Merlot, and it made me feel like I was king of the fucking world.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Scarlett said, coming up next to me and sitting down in the stool next to mine. She had undone her hair, and it hung in thick brown waves over her shoulders. “Thank you for meeting me.”

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