Billionaire Baby Daddy

In recent years, I'd begun to feel as if the close companionship I'd always told myself was an unnecessary burden wasn’t actually so unnecessary. Perhaps being alone, being entirely independent, wasn't such a great thing. Perhaps surrendering myself to another wasn't a weakness. Perhaps, in some ways, it required a strength and a depth of courage I'd never before been able to access.

But, again, I didn't say those things to Lilah—I couldn't, not just yet.

“Do you have any interesting souvenirs from your time there?” she asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I have a few suits of samurai armor and a number of weapons that I keep on display at my place. I've also had a Japanese garden, much like this one, constructed on the grounds near my home. I like to walk there when I can. When I have time, I'm learning to do sand art in the way the old man over there is doing. But, by far, my most prized memento of my time spent with Colonel Tanaka is a sword.”

“A samurai sword?” she asked with a glint of curiosity.

“Indeed. It had been in Colonel Tanaka's family for generations, and had been forged by a blade master 300 years ago, the steel folded and hammered a thousand times. According to Colonel Tanaka, the edge is still as razor sharp as it was three centuries ago. It's a true work of art. He gave it to me as a parting gift.”

“I'd love to see it sometime.”

Her statement took me by surprise. The last thing I was expecting was for her to suggest spending more time with me in any manner. Much less in a setting as private as my home. But I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to spend time with her.

“You should. I have a lot of fascinating pieces and artifacts. I am definitely something of a collector.”

“And I happen to have a great interest in history,” she remarked, but then, all of a sudden, a cold look entered her eyes. It seemed as if she regretted what she had just said for some reason. “Look at the time,” she noted as she pulled out her phone and checked it. “Our extended lunch break is almost up. We'd better be getting back.”

“Yeah,” I said, somewhat wistfully. “I guess we should.”

We walked back to the office in relative silence, but I couldn't stop stealing glances at Lilah.

I also couldn't stop wondering what was going on in that beautiful head of hers.

Chapter Eight

Lilah

“Come on, Lilah, you can do this. You can do this,” I repeated as I paced in front of my desk.

As if Monday mornings weren’t dreaded enough, try adding a presentation to the docket that could make or break your career with a company. I was scheduled to give my presentation on my proposed revamp to the Harry Winston campaign in less than 30 minutes and there was a lot riding on it. With every breath, it felt as if thousands of butterflies were swarming around inside of my stomach. I inhaled deeply and made my way to my private bathroom.

“You’ve got this, Lilah. Your ideas are good and they are going to work, they will—you just have to present them in a way that enables the senior team—and, of course, Asher himself—to see this,” I said to myself as I applied a few final touches to my makeup in the bathroom mirror.

My cellphone alarm sounded, vibrating on my desk, signaling that it was time. I drew in a deep, calming breath, held it in my lungs for a while, and then exhaled slowly.

“You’re ready. You can do this,” I encouraged myself one last time as I stared into the mirror.

I strode out of the bathroom, exuding as much confidence as I could muster. While I may have felt nervous inside, it would not do to show it on the outside.

Calm, collected, confident—this was the image I needed to pull off. I picked up the folders I needed from my desk and headed into the hallway.

I strode into the conference room with a sense of purpose and an invisible strength as I held my head high and kept my posture ramrod straight. I went straight to my spot at the table, arranged my files neatly in front of me, and took a seat while those around the table carried on conversations.

Moments later, Asher entered the room and the buzzing of banter that had been bouncing around the table fell silent. A sudden rush, an undeniable attraction to the sheer power he exuded, washed over me. It wasn't merely his strong physical presence or his rugged, strong-jawed good looks—it was the fact that this man, at the young age of 32, was able to silence a room of men and women who were, in some cases, twice his age, by merely entering the room. There was no resentment or jealousy simmering in that silence; there was only a deep, reverent respect for an immensely intelligent, talented, and driven individual who led from the front of the battle lines. To put it in simple terms: it was hot.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “thank you all for being here. I'm not going to waste any time beating around the bush. We have important matters to attend to. First and foremost among those is the Harry Winston campaign. The newest addition to our team, Ms. Lilah Maxwell, has prepared a presentation on how she believes we can turn this currently unsuccessful campaign around.”

He looked straight at me, “Lilah, are you ready?”

I nodded and stood up. “I am, Mr. Sinclair. Thank you.”

“Excellent. Well, ladies and gents, without further ado, I give the meeting over to Ms. Maxwell.”

There was a polite round of applause as I stepped around to the front of the table at the head of the room.

“Thank you, everyone,” I said. “Before I begin, I'd like to thank Mr. Sinclair for giving me the opportunity to join this prestigious team. I hope that with the ideas contained in this campaign proposal that Mr. Sinclair's decision to appoint me will be validated.”