No Ring Required: Millionaire's Calculated Baby Bid

Without answering, she got up from the bed and headed straight for the bathroom. She wasn’t about to turn over and lie there, sheet pulled up to her chin like a naive girl who’d just been taken advantage of. She’d known exactly what she was doing and why, and had admittedly enjoyed herself.

She turned on the shower to drown out any sound of him getting dressed and walking out, then threw back the shower curtain and stared at the water as it dropped like rain onto the virginal white surface of the porcelain tub. She placed one foot over the tub, but quickly stepped back on the mat. Why the hell wasn’t she getting in there, getting clean, getting rid of any sign of him? What kind of woman didn’t want to wash off the scent of a man she had sworn to hate—a man who wanted her only to procure a blue-blooded child? Not any kind of woman she would respect.

Mary let go of the curtain and went to stand in front of the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. With nervous fingers, she ran a hand down her torso, over her belly. Had they made a child tonight? A shiver of excitement went through her, accompanied by an intense feeling of dread. A baby. She sighed. There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to build a family of her own, but not this way.

Feeling ashamed, she looked away. Her priorities were what they had always been, ever since she was a child: to fix the lives of others before her own. And right now having all charges dropped against her father was the most important thing. She wasn’t getting a family out of this deal, she was keeping her father out of prison.

Her hands splayed on her belly once more and she shook her head. Impossible. The whole damn deal. She was a fool for thinking it would work, just as Ethan Curtis was a fool for thinking that if she did get pregnant, the baby would ever be raised by anyone but its mother.

One (#ulink_63506e1d-6d3f-5247-8d10-c47195a7c24d)

Four Weeks Later.

“Whose idea was it to install a kitchen in the office?” Tess York inquired, the words slightly muffled by a massive bite of eggs Benedict.

Olivia Winston flipped a yellow dish towel over her shoulder and walked her petite, though incredibly curvaceous, frame over to the table with the grace of a movie star. “Ah, that would be me.”

“Well, you’re a genius, kid.”

Beneath a rim of shaggy brown bangs, Olivia’s gold eyes sparkled. “This I know.”

Tess laughed at her partner’s mock display of arrogance, her long mass of red curls hopping about her back like marionettes. “All I want to know is where my mimosa is.”

“No drinking before ten o’clock.” Mary Kelley sat across from Tess, her wavy blond hair falling about her face as she absentmindedly drew slash marks through the hollandaise with her fork. “Unless disaster strikes.”

“I’d say a two-week dry spell qualifies,” Tess said slyly, making Olivia laugh.

“It’s August.” Mary looked from one of her partners to the other. “We’re always a little slow at the end of the summer.”

“Slow, sure,” Olivia retorted, holding a piece of perfectly cooked bacon up like a white flag. “But we’re bordering on drought.”

Barring these two weeks in August, No Ring Required was normally buzzing with activity. The premier wife-for-hire company in the Midwest had zero competition and one hell of a brilliant staff. With Mary’s creativity and business sense, Olivia’s culinary skill and Tess’s wise budgeting and decorating style, NRR was a highly successful company. The problem, Mary had to admit, was that all three of them were such intense workaholics who cared nothing for a private life that they had no idea what to do with themselves on their downtime. And each time the end of summer came aknocking, the women panicked in their own ways.

“Well,” Mary continued, putting down her fork and dropping her napkin over an untouched plate of food. “Clearly this is no time to be picky about clients.”

“Yeah, Olivia,” Tess murmured with a grin.

Olivia raised her brows questioningly. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“I think she’s referring to your problem with trust-fund clients,” Mary offered, laughing when Tess cleared her throat loudly.

Olivia scowled, then reached down and grabbed Mary’s plate. “I don’t like them, and nothing’s going to change that. Trust-funders are boorish, brainless, self-obsessed jerks, who think they not only own the world, but everyone else along with it.”

Tess flashed Mary a grin. “Tell us how you really feel.”

“Yes,” Mary agreed. “I’m not entirely clear on your opinion regarding the rich.”

As her partners chuckled, Olivia sighed. “It’s not the rich, it’s—Oh, forget it.” Clearly looking for a way to end the current conversation, Olivia glared at Mary’s untouched plate. “Mary, you’re not on a diet, are you?”

“What?” Mary said, sobering.

Olivia tossed her an assessing glance before she turned and sashayed back to her beloved Viking range. “You know that I feel as though diets are a total affront to all those in the culinary world.”

“I do know that.”

“Besides, there’s not a grapefruit or bowl of cabbage soup in my fridge, I’m afraid.”

As a shot of nerves zipped through her, Mary shook her head. “No diet, Olivia. I guess I’m just not very hungry.”

Tess paused long enough to swallow. “As much as I hate to side with Olivia, that’s been going on for a while now.”

“Yep,” Olivia agreed.

“And, well,” Tess began awkwardly, “we’re here if…well, you know.”

Mary nodded and forced a smile. “I know.”

Among the three of them, talking about business was an easy, playful and spirited adventure, but when the conversation turned to anything emotional or personal, the women of NRR seemed to transform into the Stooges—a bumbling, uneasy mess. From the inception of No Ring Required there had been a sort of unspoken rule between the partners to keep personal matters to themselves. Odd, and perhaps against every female cliché, for three women to abstain from discussion about history and feelings, but there it was.

“So, what’s on the agenda today, ladies?” Tess asked, pushing away from the table and a very clean plate.

“I have a meeting with a potential client,” Mary informed them, her gaze drifting over to the clock on the wall. Okay, five minutes were up. The test was done. The zip of nerves from a moment ago turned into a pulse-pounding elephant-sitting-on-her-chest type of situation.

“Maybe not such a dry spell after all,” Olivia remarked gaily, her good mood returning. “I also have a client coming in at two whose fiancée ditched him a week before the wedding and he wants help with what he referred to as a “screw her” dinner party.”

Tess laughed. “Should be fun.”

Mary hardly heard them as the muscles in her legs tensed painfully, as though she was on the verge of a charley horse. The pregnancy test was hidden behind fifty or so rolls of the insanely soft Charmin Ultra that Olivia insisted on buying. Would there be one line or two? One line or two?

“Big name or big business for you?” Tess asked, staring at Mary expectantly.

“Ah…both actually.”

“Sounds great.” Olivia set her own full plate down beside Tess, then promptly rearranged her silverware, napkin and water glass to their proper places, now ready to partake in her own breakfast.

Her heart slamming against her ribs, Mary stood and grabbed her purse. “I just have to hit the little girl’s room and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Good luck,” Olivia called.

Tess nodded. “Yeah, good luck, kid.”

If they only knew the double meaning in her good wishes, Mary thought, each step toward the bathroom feeling as though she was walking in quicksand. She had no idea what she wanted to see when she tossed aside all that toilet paper and pulled out the test. If it was positive, she’d have to make plans to get away from Minneapolis eventually, away from Ethan—that man would never let her walk away with his child. If it was negative, her father’s life was over. She felt a sickly sour feeling in her stomach. She had lives to protect, and she wasn’t altogether sure how capable she was.

She locked the door behind her, sat on the floor and opened the cabinets under the sink. The mountain of white rolls pushed aside easily as she reached inside and felt for the thin stick. Her pulse pounded in her ears. God, what did she want here?

Her fingers closed around the test and she yanked it back. With one heavy exhale she stared at the results.

It was three twenty-seven and Ethan Curtis was growing more impatient by the second.