Billionaire’s Missing Baby Page 3

  She was going to make this house a home if it killed her.

  ***

  The night after the water explosion, Theresa found herself thinking about Sarah and her three Canadian babies, and the money that could apparently be found in surrogacy. She had always sworn she would never be able to give up her own child, but the more the thought about it, the more she realized that giving a child to a couple who couldn’t have one was actually a very noble deed. She might not be able to afford a child of her own to raise and nurture, but what must it feel like, having the finances to raise a child but being unable to have one of their own? Wouldn’t it be good to bring a child into the world for a family like that?

  Wanting to know more about her options, she looked in the company directory the following day and got the number to Sarah’s cell phone. It took her a week to finally give the woman a call.

  “Oh, I think providing children for my couple has been the most rewarding experience ever,” Sarah gushed happily. “You have to understand, they were so tired of going it through life alone. The three children I birthed for them are happy and thriving, and we’re on such good terms that I can come to see them whenever I like. I try not to do it too often, of course, since I’m sure they want to be on their own.”

  “Can I ask you something more personal, though?” Theresa asked softly, feeling a blush come up into her cheeks. “Um… how did you get impregnated, exactly?”

  “Oh, that,” Sarah chuckled. “Well, first they gathered the father’s sperm and weeded out all the imperfections, then they harvested a couple of my eggs and grew a few embryos. When they had a viable baby, they implanted it into my uterus, and voila. I had a baby.”

  “And it always works the first time?”

  “Not always,” Sarah explained. “But if it doesn’t take, they just try again. It took three times for this little guy, but I’m happy to say that I’m now officially pregnant again. They decided to try for a boy this time, so it’s gonna be rough, but I’m ready for it.”

  “Well, that’s great,” Theresa replied uncomfortably. “What’s it like, being pregnant?”

  “It’s not all sunshine and roses, of course,” Sarah answered. “I’ve found it’s harder to carry boys. But every pregnancy is different, too. I try to focus a lot more on the end result. I mean, my own children don’t treat these pregnancies as if they are about to get a new sibling, but they know that because of them that they’ll be getting a brand new pair of shoes.”

  “That’s sad,” Theresa exclaimed.

  “It’s part of the reality, sweetheart,” Sarah told her. “You’re going to have to give the baby up, after all. No sense getting too attached.”

  “What do other people think about it, though?” Theresa asked. “Don’t they question why? Don’t some of them denigrate you for selling your kids like that?”

  “There’s always some people who don’t understand,” Sarah told her dismissively. “But I don’t worry about them. I’m doing what’s right for me. And my babies have all gone to a really great family. I have no complaints. So, listen, if you want to learn more about this process, I can give you the number of the surrogate agency. I’m sure they could answer all of your questions a lot better than me.”

  “Alright, I think I’d like that,” Theresa agreed. “Just… don’t tell anybody about this, okay? I’m not sure what my decision is going to be.”

  ***

  James had the sample he needed, now the next step was finding a woman willing to impregnate herself with it. Melanie, the woman who had agreed to help him get the sperm during off hours for a hefty fee, was very forthcoming about how he could do that, too.

  “It’s easy enough, really,” she explained. “You go to a surrogacy facility and order up the perfect little mommy for your upcoming breed. Whatever it is you’re looking for, I’ll bet you could find it there. Of course, I wouldn’t go telling them the sample isn’t your own.”

  “No, of course not,” he conceded with a wry smile. “I’ll need to come up with the perfect story if I hope to pull off something like this.”

  “Why are you trying to make a kid for your brother, anyway?” Melanie wanted to know. “Wouldn’t that just mean he had an heir to that fortune you’re after?”

  “Not precisely,” James smirked. “You see, if I select the right candidate for this job, my father will give everything to me. Then it won’t matter whether Adam’s got a little half-breed or not.”

  “And then you’re going to need a kid, too,” she reminded him with a lascivious grin.

  “Yes, that’s very true,” he conceded as he looked the woman over appreciatively. He may not have any intention of whelping any children with her, but this bitch didn’t know that… and he always did enjoy getting off after coming up with a really good scheme. “Maybe you and I should practice now, so I’ll be ready for the real thing.”

  Her eyes flashed hungrily.

  James was quick to catch her and kiss her as she fell willingly into his arms. It should be a pleasant enough way to pass the evening.

  ***

  In the end, Theresa decided the money was just too much to pass up despite her misgivings. She signed on the dotted line, and waited on the registry until she received a call. Though she didn’t meet the would-be parents in person, she really liked the profile.

  They were a biracial couple, specifically looking for a biracial child. They had no gender preference, according to the agency. It was too expensive for those treatments, and not important, but the mother had strange reservations about the prospect of getting to know her baby’s biological mother, so she and the father agreed it would be best that the two of them didn’t meet until closer to the time of birth.

  She tried not to imagine what the baby would look like since she’d seen the tall, blond, handsome father personally. It felt weird to be carrying the baby of the handsome stranger, but the downpayment Jim Connors had set directly into her hands had convinced her to overlook that.

  The process to get her pregnant being what it was, she already knew that baby would be a girl. She tried not to be elated at the result.

  Chapter Five

  Adam had never met a ten-year-old intent on destroying himself, but Aaron Mosley might just be that kid. He was bleeding. Again. It was his own fault, again.

  He’d told the kid many times not to antagonize Robbie, but now he was about to go home with a potentially broken nose and definitely his third pair of busted glasses that year. The boy’s mother would understandably be worried, he’d probably have to hear her complaining about how he wasn’t properly supervising the kids, and Aaron likely wouldn’t be back next week. That would be the absolute worst thing that could happen to either of them. Adam could get fired and have to go crawling back to his father to explain he was in between jobs.

  Adam could hear the old man right now, hemming and hawing about how maybe he should stop playing around with his little projects and start thinking about finding a real career. However, the results for Aaron might be far worse.

  “My mom will kill me!” Aaron moaned, looking at his ruined glasses. Adam pressed a washcloth to the little boy’s face and signaled to Melissa, the college student who was his assistant coach this year, to continue drilling the other kids.

  “You and me both, buddy,” he replied, and clucked his tongue in sympathy. “But I did tell you not to provoke him.”

  “School guidance counselor says guys like that are looking for friends. I was just trying to be funny.”

  “School guidance counselors talk a lot of you-know-what,” Adam winked. It always made the kids laugh when he almost-swore at them. “And there wasn’t anything funny about that impression you were doing, either.”

  Those reality specials you saw on television didn't always tell the whole story. Some kids were just assholes no matter how hard you tried with them, and the smart, funny kids who were well-liked often had more problems at home than the school bullies did.

  Just like Aaron. He
made everyone in class laugh, and he was the kind of too-sharp, too-smart kid that teachers were warned to keep an eye out for. That kind of kid might as well just paint a ‘kick me’ sign right on his forehead and buy himself a helmet.

  After working in the school system for a few years, and because of his upbringing as a privileged kid, Adam had learned a few things about human nature. He could see that Robbie Newsome, an overweight kid who spoke slowly and deliberately, and whose teachers all agreed that the kid had never read a book in his life, wasn't a bully for reasons that a school guidance counselor might spew off. He wasn't lonely, and he wasn't looking for friends. He was just plain mean.

  Only a few months ago Adam had walked into the gym’s locker room to see varying degrees of bruising on the kid’s skinny frame. Just because Adam’s father—a cold and autocratic sort of man who’d left the raising of his sons to a series of nannies—hadn’t hit them, that didn’t mean Adam didn’t know the signs. Confronting Aaron had clammed the kid up tight, which was telling enough. Under ordinary circumstances, he never shut up, so it was clear that he’d hit the nail on the head.

  Adam decided on a different approach. He got Aaron involved in the basketball team a week later. Aaron never really opened up about whatever was going on at home, but Adam felt some comfort in giving the kid a place to go three nights a week. He felt like Aaron’s mother probably agreed, though she was a nervous woman who fretted about the cost of the uniform and the price of replacing Aaron’s glasses. Which unfortunately had, from the look of it, just been shattered for a third time.

  Since Aaron's mom always insisted they couldn't afford the after school program, this would likely be the final nail in the coffin. Aaron would have to leave the program and it would be harder for Adam to keep an eye on him.

  Thinking quickly, he slung an arm around Aaron’s scrawny shoulder as he signaled to Melissa to continue practice without them.

  “Where we goin’, Coach?”

  “We’re gonna see if we can’t undo some of this damage.”

  Aaron stopped walking and looked up at him oddly. He had the same smirk on his face that made guys like Robbie punch him in the first place. “Don’t know if you’re aware of this, Coach, but the nurses’ station is inside the building.” He pointed down the hallway. “Thataway.”

  Adam rolled his eyes. “Maybe, but if we head down to that free clinic two blocks over, we might be able to get you a decent pair of glasses.”

  “You mean because they help poor people,” Aaron commented, raising his eyebrows as he followed Adam outside and up to his car.

  Adam flushed as embarrassment coursed through him. He clamped one had on the back of his neck and used his other to open the passenger door. Hell, he had enough money in his bank account to buy Aaron some replacement glasses and six additional pairs to back them up, but the school board didn’t take kindly to such altruism.

  Almost as if he’d read his mind, Aaron casually spoke up as he scrambled inside. “Too bad the school board won’t let you get me a pair, Coach. E’rybody knows you got the money.”

  “What? No I don’t,” Adam floundered, making Aaron grin.

  “Yeah, right. I mean, there’s this car, for one thing,” he said, tapping the gleaming wood tone of the dash.

  “What’s wrong with my car?” Adam asked defensively. He’d chosen his car because it was sensible, unflashy, and wouldn’t make him stick out like a sore thumb.

  “Come on, Coach,” he grinned. “Nobody drives anything this ugly unless they a rich guy in a bad neighborhood.”

  Adam retaliated by ruffling the boy's hair before he started the engine.

  “Plus, you sit like—” he made his back ramrod straight. “And talk like—” his voice took on an overly-affected cartoon quality, vaguely British and probably ripped from the latest Bond movie. “—how do you do, good sir?”

  “Okay, I don’t sound like that,” Aaron replied, bursting into gales of laughter. “Wipe your face, kid.”

  Aaron took the wet towel obediently and was still scrubbing his face with it as Adam parked the car. The two of them walked into the clinic together. The place was packed full of kids, worried parents, and hungover college students. One guy was twitching so hard he had to be on something. Adam felt overcome with the urge to cover both Aaron’s eyes, but instead he walked him carefully up to the reception desk.

  The receptionist was a pretty Indian woman who smiled apologetically, a phone already poised at her ear. She gestured that they should sit as she placated whoever was on the other end.

  Adam spun around to follow the instruction and nearly tripped over Aaron, who stood beaming up at a young black woman in a nurse's uniform.

  “Did you have an accident?” she asked, pointing at his nose.

  “Nah. I got hurt playing basketball.”

  She winked at him.

  Adam smirked, watching Aaron posturing for the nurse. Trying not to appear obvious as he looked her over, he took in her coffee and cream complexion and tiny, tight braids that she had pulled back the keep out of her face. Her eyes were wide and dark, and her smile was warm, even in such a chaotic place.

  Sure, she was pretty. He squeezed Aaron’s shoulder.

  “He got hurt showing off.”

  Aaron made a face, gesturing to the crack in his glasses.

  “Ah, so punched in the face by another player, not by the ball.” She smiled, looking at Adam as she spoke. “Only this kid looks pretty well doctored up already, if you ask me. Is there anything we can help with at all?”

  “Well, I was wonderin’… uh, I mean… glasses are kind of expensive. I was wonderin’ if you knew of a place where he could get help obtaining another pair,” Adam stammered, trying not to speak so properly while picturing Aaron sitting ramrod straight in his car as he mocked his voice.

  “Do you know his prescription?” she asked him.

  “I’m, uh… I’m just the coach at the middle school,” Adam supplied. “I didn’t want him to get into trouble with his mother again.”

  The woman turned her warm smile on him and he felt his face heat self-consciously. “Well then, you can have his mother pop by here between two and five,” she instructed. “Once a month there’s an eyeglass clinic. She can put him on the register. But for now, little man, you need to stop picking fights.”

  “You should see the other guy,” he assured her with a cheeky grin. She looked up at Adam shaking his head and laughed.

  “Theresa!” someone called, and the pretty nurse turned her head. “Room 217.”

  “Nice meeting you boys. Duty calls,” she said with a shake of her head before dashing off, clipboard in hand. Adam caught himself watching her go, only shaking himself out of his reverie when Aaron let out a low whistle.

  “Don’t think I didn’t see you making stupid eyes, Coach.”

  “Excuse me? Stupid what?” Adam asked as they waved to the overworked receptionist on their way out.

  “Come on, do you have no game?”

  “What do you know about game?” Adam grumbled.

  “I know when somebody ain't got none. Looking all like, ‘uh—I—I’m just the c-c-coach,” Aaron teased.

  Adam ruffled the boy’s hair in response. “You know what? Next time I see you bleeding at my practice, I’m just leaving you there.”

  He aimed a fake punch at the kid and Aaron laughed, ducking out of the way. The California sun was a welcome distraction for both of them.

  Chapter Six

  Chaos seemed to follow Adam everywhere he went that day. Aaron's mother hadn’t taken the news of another pair of broken glasses well, and didn't seem to appreciate him taking the initiative to help, either.

  She stood before him in the gym the following afternoon, preventing him from leaving for the day until she had spoken her mind.

  “You just don't get it, do you? I don’t need you to be costing me this kind of money,” she snapped at her son, who flinched away from the harsh words.

  “And you
,” she rounded on Adam. He was taller by half a head, and her voice trembled slightly as she looked at him and placed her hands on her hips, but Tanya Mosley held her ground. “You need to be looking after these kids better. Think I want my kid coming here to get beat on?”

  Her chin jutted out, daring him to comment, to tell her 'why not? he’s getting hit at home,' or something along those lines. Adam just squared his jaw.

  “Tanya, I’m sorry, we’re trying to teach the kids—”

  “What’s that?” she cut him off. “Which kids they can beat on, is that it?”

  “Ma, Coach is cool. C’mon,” Aaron chimed in, tugging on his mother’s arm.

  She shook him off and glared at Adam.

  A loud chirping noise interrupted, and Adam groaned loudly, picking up the phone. It was James. Oh, hell.

  “I’m sorry, I have to go,” Adam sighed. “Family emergency.”

  At least it was honest, he thought, even though he felt a bit guilty for slinking away. Anything involving James was always a family emergency.

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” she huffed, but Adam waved her off and walked out of the room.

  “I’m almost happy to hear from you,” Adam told James breathlessly.

  “Oh, that won’t last.” His brother sounded strained. Adam gripped the phone tightly. “What did you do this time?”

  His mind flashed back five years in a couple of seconds; the Vegas strippers, the boardroom meeting that was right after some bachelor party in the Florida Keys, that memorable incident in the Alps. The press scandal that had almost single-handedly ruined their father’s company and gotten James the kind of notoriety usually reserved for Prince Harry, which everyone in the family simply referred to as 'The Incident,' capital letters and all.

  On the other end of the line, James scoffed. “Oh, you know, I was here while my father was having another seizure and you were playing nanny to a bunch of snot-nose kids just so you can feel good about your next European vacation.”

  Adam swallowed his anger at James’ self-righteousness—and any guilt he felt at his accurate call—and worked instead on quelling the fear in his own blood at the idea of his father having another seizure. They had been warned, as the cancer continued to migrate, that the seizures and mini-strokes would become more common, but the reality of it hadn't had time to sink in yet.