The Billionaire's Baby Negotiation

She moved her foot to a rocky outcropping, and slipped. She clung tightly to the ground, the frozen dirt biting into her fingertips.

No. She would be fine. She wasn’t going to give in. She wasn’t going to turn back. She was just going to go step by step down the mountain. Because it was the only way down.

Just step by step. And she would make it.

She had to.

For herself. For the baby.

She would.

He woke up when he heard a noise.

He got up, and dressed—he always slept naked—and went outside. He didn’t see anything. And then he went to Olive’s room, and found her bed abandoned.

Her phone was gone.

Of course. Whatever she was doing...

She was not trustworthy. Not on the level that he would’ve liked her to be.

But what did she think she was playing at? If she went out there in the dead of night she was going to die.

And the baby...

He growled, throwing on his winter clothes and grabbing a stack of blankets.

He saw that the tram was still in place, and judging by the way the snow was situated on it, it had not moved. But of course, there would be no way she could operate it.

Had the little idiot actually gone down the mountain on her own?

He growled in a fury, and began to go after her.

She could only be a few minutes ahead.

He tried to find her through the thick sleet, but didn’t see her.

He hiked down in a straight line, making it halfway down the mountain without ever seeing her once. And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had not gone that far ahead. She had to be lost. She was zigzagging, or she had taken a wrong turn.

Perhaps she was parallel to him.

But he could not imagine that she had made as much progress down the mountain as he had. It was familiar to him, and he knew where he was going. She did not.

He turned and started to go back up the mountain, keeping his eyes to the left and right. And after a fashion, he simply began to call for her. “Olive,” he said. “Olive.”

And then he saw her. With three inches of snow built up on her coat, crouched down against the side of the mountain. Her eyes were closed, her body limp.

“No,” he said, his voice rough. He went to her quickly, shaking her. Her head lolled back and forth, and her eyes opened, dazed.

“You little idiot,” he said.

“You’re not the pilot.”

“Fool,” he said.

And he began to beat a path as quickly as possible to the hot springs. It was shielded from the wind and snow, and it was much closer than the house. He needed to warm her up, and he needed to do it quickly.

When they arrived at the edge of the hot springs he set her down in the snow, and stripped himself naked with ruthless efficiency, then he picked her up, and did the same to her, carrying her into the steaming pale blue liquid. She didn’t rouse when the hot water touched her skin. Her lips were tinged blue, and he cursed. He can only hope that hypothermia had not set in in truth, or she would be in much bigger trouble than a hot springs would be able to solve.