The Billionaire's Baby Negotiation

He had thought—many times—about farming that part of the business out, but...

You like sparring with her. You like being with her.

It was so raw, so much an apparent weakness now, that it shamed him.

Now he needed to get her to a doctor. What he liked or didn’t like about sparring with her was immaterial.

He carried her limp form up to the edge of the sidewalk, and jerked open the passenger door, sitting her inside and scooting her across the seat. Then he got in beside her. He shut the door behind him, and for the first time, she stirred.

His driver took off, melting into the New York traffic.

“What?”

“Oh,” she said. “I feel sick.”

“If you throw up in my car, there will be a steep cleaning deposit.”

“What about if I throw up in your lap?” she asked.

“I don’t know. No one has ever done it. I would imagine the consequences would be interesting.”

“Oh,” she said. “I feel like I’m going to die.”

And this made his heart twist, because no matter his anger, whenever he saw a bit of vulnerability in Olive it called to the Viking warrior within him, who wanted to shield her from all danger.

Including himself.

“Are you?” he asked.

“Am I what?”

“Going to die.”

“That depends on if you’re going to kill me,” she said.

“I said ruin. Not kill.”

She was half lying in the seat, her hand pressed against her forehead. And suddenly, it was as if she had taken in her surroundings for the first time.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to a doctor, you silly woman. You are clearly unwell.”

“No,” she said, suddenly scrambling into a sitting position. “I don’t need to go to a doctor. Dump me in the gutter with the rest of the traitorous gutter weasels. You want revenge, right? Leave me out in the cold!”

“You collapsed into my arms in your office. I found you on the floor eating a sleeve of crackers. You may be dehydrated. It’s likely that you need an infusion of liquid.”

“I think I fainted because of my shock at seeing you. And your threats. If you take me to a doctor, I might well just have you arrested for assault.”

He lifted one brow. “Will you?”

“A doctor can prove that I was under duress because of you and your words.”

“Somehow, I do not think that the doctor will find that I am the cause of your duress.”

She laughed. And laughed and laughed. And he had no idea why. “That’s just... That’s just a hoot. Really. High art. Great comedy.”

“I do not understand you.”