The Billionaire's Unexpected Baby

By CJ Howard

Billionaire media mogul Robert Oswald lived a very nice life. He was young, handsome, rich and had very few responsibilities to take care of.

But everything changed the day he arrived home to find a baby had been abandoned at his house. The result of a one night stand some years previous had now left Robert with no choice but to become a responsible parent over night.

However, Robert knew he could do not do this alone and he would need help So he acquired the services of a beautiful nanny called Jules King.

And it soon became apparent that Jules was the perfect person to take care of the baby and also take care of him too...

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWWM Romance
• Release date: Apr 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533767882

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jules

I don’t believe in alarm clocks. I just don’t like them. When I have to use them, I wake up unpleasant and unhappy. I don’t feel like I want to take over the world or that I can conquer anything – and that’s not how anyone should wake up on a Monday morning.

Last year, I came up with an alarm clock system that was going to be revolutionary. It was a clock that was hooked up to a small, foam rocket and launch pad. When the alarm went off, it shot the rocket off the pad. The alarm would continue to go off until you got up, found the rocket, and put it back on the pad. It was genius – and a bit devilish, I will admit.

My idea hasn’t really taken off yet (hardy, har, har) so until then, I’ve decided to become a nanny. I figured, I’ve always played the designated driver for my friends when we go out drinking and toddlers are pretty much like small, drunk people. They aren’t exactly capable of walking in a straight line. When they eat, they get food all over their faces – and their pants.

They say the most inappropriate things. They’re always falling down. And those grabby hands... I’ve always taken care of my friends when we’ve gone out. They get home safe and I make sure that before I leave them for the night, they don’t choke on their own vomit. I was a shoe-in for any nanny position.

Of course, there are some mothers who are just incredibly picky and want things like a resume or experience. Luckily for me, I actually ended up being really good with kids. They’re hysterical and sometimes all they want is to be told the truth. Up until recently, I just had a string of temporary gigs, but I’ve since landed a couple of steady jobs with the Broomhauser and Stiller family.

I love kids. They’re a riot. However, I didn’t think that Stellen Broomhauser and Michael Stiller could be considered kids. They’re more like small, narcissistic, psychotic men.

Stellen Broomhauser was a little red-headed six year old with an attitude problem. He was an only child with parents who were always away on business. Because of that, they felt as if showering him with material things and buying his love was the only way to raise him.

Michael Stiller was a small boy who got picked on often. He lived all six years of his life in fear of other kids because of his awkward habits. His parents doted on him, but never really taught him what manners were. That’s when I realized that teaching him about those things would fall on me.

I’ve learned over the years that while these people hire me to watch over their children and make sure that they don’t get hurt, a side effect of my intrusion in these kids’ lives is that I can teach them what it takes to be a good person. I can make a difference in people’s lives. These kids will end up ruling the world one day and I can make a positive influence in their young lives. Also, I can teach them how to make macaroni art. That’s pretty important too.

I was lucky enough to have a best friend who worked as the head confectioner and baker at one of the local delicatessens in the area. She owned Miss Muffett’s Croissants and Whey. She always woke up at the crack of dawn to make sure she got her deliveries, so that she could have some fresh baked bread and pastries for her morning crowd. She would text me every morning to make sure I was up and ready to get to my gigs on time.

5:00 AM. Bing. Jules, you see the mistake that you made by making me your wake up alarm is that I am very persistent and I get bored while I’m waiting for my bread to bake.

5:05 AM. Bing. While most people would think that this task is unimportant, I find that it keeps me busy and distracts me from doing absolutely nothing at the moment.

5:07 AM. Bing. I have a purpose. My purpose is to annoy you until you text me a picture of you with a cup of coffee.

I would reply: Press snooze. Reset alarm for 6:00 AM. But she was relentless and that’s why I loved her – Carol, my bestie, who bakes bread... and the most annoying, lovable alarm clock.

Robby

My favorite time of day was 5:00 AM in the city when the streets just start to wake. The sky begins to change shades from the darkest hues of blue to a bright orange mimosa. The paparazzi are still out in force at this time, though, which is why I’ve become familiar with the back alley routes to the studio.

Slipping through the back gate of my mansion, I like to go running in the morning. I usually don a hoodie and head out to the studio before anyone gets there. I weave through the alley ways and parking lots to the gates surrounding the back of the building. I head out at about 4:30 and get to the gate at 5. That’s about the time that the night security guard changes shifts with the morning man.

Ed, the night guard, knows to let me in before he takes off to be with his wife and their newborn baby. Cute kid, that baby; kind of loud, though. It cries a lot and will often smell horrible. Ed tells me that I’m probably not cut out to be a dad. To tell you the truth, if all babies sound and smell like that, I would be perfectly fine if I never reproduced.

Steve, the morning man, would greet me while doing his rounds, but he knows to leave me alone. He didn’t really have much of a personality but that’s all right, to each his own. I know what that’s like, though. Thomas, my butler, was sans-personality as well.

The morning is when I do my best work. I’m a producer at one of the biggest production studios in Hollywood. We have a big lot, big enough to host one of the best sitcoms on cable, The Wild Wives of Winchester.

I’m a more hands-on type of producer. I like to be right in the mix of things. If a show is going to have my name on it, it is going to be the best. I oversee everything from the screenwriting to the budget contracts. It is during these morning hours that I can plan out my day and organize the paperwork for the week. You won’t believe the amount of paperwork I have to deal with every day. It’s no wonder Mother Nature hasn’t put us on some type of hit list.

People normally start to trickle in around 7:00 AM but today was unusually early. Director  Spielman was on set at about 6:00.

Sorry to crash your loner party, he said, poking his head into my office. We’re meeting with some execs at eight and I want to make sure that I’ve got my ducks in a row, you know what I mean?

I nodded my head and placed a chewed-up pen on my desk. I should head home for a bit anyway, I replied. Have my breakfast and shower before the meeting.

The trip home every morning wasn’t as relaxing as the initial run out to the studio. It is harder to duck past people who might recognize me. Producers aren’t usually the stars who get stopped in the streets for autographs. I guess my problem was that I was born with the face of a leading man – or so the papers say. I don’t care for the spotlight much. I just want to crank out good work.

You’re home early this morning, said Maria, my housekeeper. Her Hispanic accent was thick. She was a sweet woman, although sometimes she was a bit too motherly for my liking. Your breakfast is almost ready. I’ll bring it out to you after your shower.

Thanks, I said. Have Thomas bring it out this morning though, would you? I have to talk to him about my schedule this week. Two birds. One stone. You know.

She nodded. Fine, fine. Talk with Thomas, she said in a mocking bitter tone. I know where I’m not wanted.

I chuckled. You know it’s not like that. You’re much better company than that old stick in the mud. I gave her a quick peck on the cheek and jogged up the stairs toward the master bath.

We were getting ready to film the Ep 1, Season 5 of Winchester. The studio was worried the network wouldn’t pick it up this year. That’s what the 8:00 AM meeting was for. It had been weighing on my mind for the past week. I had yet to have a show be spontaneously cancelled on the crew before.

I didn’t want to make this a day of firsts. I stood in the shower and let the water wash all of the negative energy off me. Walking onto the set worried wasn’t going to help the spirits of the crew and they were as much my responsibility as those stupid budgeting contracts. I couldn’t let them down.

As I stepped out of the shower, I caught a glimpse of myself in the foggy bathroom mirror. I wiped a spot clean with my hand so that I could see my image. It was rough. I hadn’t let myself go in a physical sense. I was as fit as I had ever been. The stress was written all over my face, though. I wrapped a towel around my waist and opened the bathroom door, which led to my bedroom. The smell of coffee wafted in and I was instantly brought back to reality.

No wallowing, I said to myself. We’ll get another contract signed today, no problem.

I glanced at the suit jackets spread out on my bedspread. One of them had been set aside with a pair of jeans and a white button down shirt. Maria had been in there while I was in the shower. I couldn’t help but feel the smile crawl across my face.

Thanks, mom, I said to no one. I grabbed the shirt from off the bed.

***

Breakfast was uninteresting. Thomas wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

I’ve got meetings all day today, I told him. My mother’s birthday is this Thursday. I’d like to send her a bouquet of her favorite flowers and a box of sugar free chocolates. Maybe organize a lunch date too. Do you think you can do that for me, Thomas?

Mm, hmm, he said, jotting down some notes.

Seriously. If I have to sit here with you, at least humor me with some conversation, I said, waving my oatmeal spoon at him.

You hired me as a personal assistant, Mr. Oswald. Not as a conversationalist. His voice was somewhat haughty and altogether too cold. He reminded me of a grumpy Bob Hoskins character – with his natural English accent. If you want, I can hire you one as well.

A conversationalist? Can you hire one of those?

I believe their called escorts, he said, not even looking up from his notebook.

No, I’m okay. I don’t think my girlfriend would like that much either, I said. You might be able to use one, though.

Thank you, sir. I’ll be looking forward to my Christmas present this year.

You’re being sarcastic, I said, staring at his bald head.

He looked up at me. Yes, sir. Deadpan.

I’m going to get you a hooker anyway. Get me Heidi Fleiss’ number.

I believe she is in prison, sir. I’ll look up the number to the Federal Correctional Institution, Dublin in California, and get back to you.

That’s all right. Just bring the car around, I interrupted. I finished off my coffee in one big gulp and got up from my seat. I want to be early to that meeting.

***

I hopped in the backseat of the Lexus and pulled out my phone. I had missed four calls already. They were all from Sophia. Sophia Beckman. She was one of the biggest rising stars at the time. After her debut in the movie Runaway Bulls, she was on the tip of everyone’s tongue. She was also my current girlfriend.

Sophia was a sweet girl and a great actress. The papers called her America’s Newest Sweetheart: blonde, athletic but curvy, with a country flair. She was just what Hollywood needed. International stars had been taking over the airwaves lately and her bright, American charm was a wonderful way to bring the viewers’ eyes back home.

She was a bit needy, though. She knew it was a big day for me. I don’t know why she was incessantly calling this morning.

Thomas? I said. Did I miss an anniversary with Sophia or something?

I could see Thomas shake his head from the driver’s seat. No, your one-year anniversary isn’t until next week. I had made reservations for the two of you at Chez Pierre, remember?

Yeah, I said. I placed my phone back into my suit jacket and stared out the window. It was a sunny morning already and people were walking the streets, hurriedly making their way to the office. The studio was just up ahead, right after the overpass and past the picketers.

We have had picketers every day this past week. They were protesting the latest episode of some reality show. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t care much since it didn’t normally involve me – unless they made me late for my meeting this morning. Then it would directly invol—-

The car jerked to the right, almost slamming into an oncoming car. Then it jerked back left and hit the curb. Mr. Oswald! Thomas said, obviously agitated. Are you all right?

Yes, yes. What the hell was that?

Some homeless man jumped out into the middle of the road. He beeped the horn. Ugh. I will take care of this.

And with that, he jumped out of the car and walked out in front. I could see him – ahem – chatting with a disheveled man. He didn’t appear to be asking him if he was okay. Instead, he seemed to be tearing the man a new one. I was about to jump out and pull him aside but I was too busy being astonished at the fact that he could speak in more than two sentences at a time.

That was when I saw her: a bright-eyed African American woman in her mid-twenties, walking out from the shadows. She came from a group of homeless people but she didn’t look homeless herself. She pulled the man up from the ground and tried to calm poor Thomas.

I cracked my window. Thomas! I called. Let’s go. I’ve got a meeting to get to.

He quickly said something snarky (I’m sure, though I couldn’t hear it for sure) and hopped back into the driver’s seat. As we drove away, I watched the woman walk the man back to the underpass. She held a bag full of bread in her hand and offered him a roll.

Are those homeless men always there? I asked. I don’t remember noticing them before.

Jules

I don’t care if my mom packed it for me, Stellen said. I don’t like that kind. I only like the fruit snacks that come in the red boxes.

I rolled my eyes. Monday, Wednesdays and Thursdays were my morning with Stellen. Tuesdays and Fridays, I spent the mornings and afternoons (before and after school) with Michael. It was Monday morning. Stellen was the reason I hated Monday mornings. There are plenty of kids in your school who don’t even get fruit snacks because their parents can’t afford it, I said to him. Show a little gratitude and humility.

What are you talking about? he said, rifling through his lunchbox. He tossed out the fruit snacks and the sandwich. I hate the sandwiches that you make me.

What’s wrong with it? I asked. It’s peanut butter and jelly. You love peanut butter and jelly. It’s even the extra crunchy kind of peanut butter that you like.

You used the wrong bread, he said, sticking out his tongue. He zipped his lunchbox back up and put it in his backpack. Then he slipped his tiny arms through the straps. Are you going to walk me to school, or what?

Or what, I said. You were the one that stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to go through your lunch.

He looked up at me and grinned as he took my hand. I like you, he said. You’re sassy.

I’m not sure about you yet, I replied.

I dropped him off at the front of his school and watched him run through the double doors. When he disappeared into the building, I turned to walk away. It was 8:30 AM and I had the rest of my day to do with as I wished. This was my favorite part about Mondays: heading over to Carol’s bakery. One of the best scents in the world is the smell of fresh baked bread and pastries. Mrs. Muffet’s Croissants and Whey would fill the street with that delicious and decadent scent. I followed my nose all the way to her front doors.

The shop itself was quaint. The striped red and white awning was classic country bakery with a touch of made for TV movie. The sign over the awning was written in Old English font and the large glass window underneath the awning was starting to fog up around the corners because of the baking going on inside. It was starting to get cooler in town now which meant that my karma-boosting extracurricular