Billionaire's Baby Contract: Hawthorne Brothers, #1

By Ashlee Price

I shouldn't have read my secretary's diary, In my defense, I didn't know it WAS her diary at first. But it made one thing clear…she wanted a baby, And it just so happens—so did I.

 

The night I gave in, The night I reached out and pulled her to me, It wasn't driven by my plan to ask her for a child, It was two years of pure pent up desire. For two years I'd watched shy, reserved Stella work for me, She's the only woman that I've let in my life, The only woman who isn't afraid to call me on my BS. The only woman I want to be the mother of my child—but she deserves better. I've spent my life taking over my father's company, I'm what some would call—married to my career. But the fact is, I want my own heir to pass my business on to, And she's my perfect opportunity. It's simple: No relationship obligations, No financial obligations, Just a baby. Or so I thought… Hiding my feelings for her and the diary confession I found is more than just a complication, About the time I feel like I've completely shot myself in the foot, I find out, I'm not the only one hiding a secret.

 

***Check Out this Full-Length Baby Contract Story Filled with Intrigue, Flirting and Romance. ***No Cheating. No Cliffhangers. And, of course, Includes An Unabashedly Passionate HEA. ***All Books In This Enticing Series Can Be Read As A Standalone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashlee Price
• Release date: Nov 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223030133

Book preview

Prologue

Ethan

Congratulations, Ethan.

The woman in front of me smiles from ear to ear, her thin, scarlet lips the same shade as the nails pressed against her glass of champagne.

Sabrina Roth. Olympic figure skater turned CEO of a global cosmetics company. Younger sister of the Governor of Connecticut. Divorced.

It's funny. I was told this party was only for family and stockholders, and she isn't either one - at least, not the last time I checked. Yet here she is. Someone sneaked her name onto the guest list, and I know exactly who.

Thank you, I answer politely.

Regardless of whether or not I was expecting to see her, she's a guest of the Hawthornes now. And we always treat our guests well.

She touches my arm. So how does it feel to finally be the man running the show? I bet it must feel good to be free of Daddy's shadow.

If only that were true.

He's still on the board so he'll still have a say in things, I reply as I glance at the man with the salt and pepper hair chatting with a couple near the desserts table. But I do get his office.

Fantastic, Sabrina gushes as she fidgets with the opal pendant resting at the top of her cleavage. I love a man with a huge desk.

Something tells me that's not the only thing she likes huge on her man.

What's it made of? she asks. Glass? Red oak?

Mahogany.

She puts a finger on her chin as her lips form a circle. Ooh, I like it. Hard and made to last.

Okay. No more of this. I've spent two minutes with her and managed not to scoff or sneeze from that perfume she seems to have bathed herself in. That should be polite enough.

I straighten my tie. If you'll excuse me, I have some old buddies I need to talk to.

I start to walk away but she grabs my arm, latching on like a barnacle on a whale.

I'd love to sit down and have a talk with you sometime, too, she tells me with a gleam of mischief in her teal eyes as she presses her breast against my elbow. You know, CEO to CEO. I could even give you some tips. I could get us reservations at this amazing restaurant that serves even better salmon than was in those hors d'oeuvres I had tonight.

Those crostini toasts with turnip cream and fennel foam that were prepared by a Michelin-starred chef?

That was actually tuna, I tell Sabrina as nicely as I can.

Oh. Her grip on my arm loosens.

And as much as I appreciate your offer, I'm afraid I'm going to be very busy from now on, as I'm sure you understand.

She steps back and straightens her shoulders in an effort to regain her dignity. Yes, of course.

I make my way to the bar where my brothers are parked. I grab the martini glass in front of Asher and gulp its contents down, hoping the bitter liquid will wash away the unpleasant taste of my conversation with Sabrina.

It's not enough.

One Scotch, neat, I tell the bartender after setting down the empty glass.

Asher studies it. That bad, huh?

Now I know what a scratching post feels like, I tell him.

Ryker chuckles.

Asher glances over his shoulder. That kitty in silver does look like she's got claws. Think she'd rather rake them down my back?

I roll my eyes at my brother. He's just three years younger than I am, but I swear he sometimes acts like a teenager, especially where the opposite sex is concerned.

Women are like math problems to him. He takes an interest. He enjoys trying to figure them out, find out which formula applies to each one - usually sleeps with them in the process - and then when he has the answer, he sets them aside and moves on. I mean, you solve a math problem once and there's nothing more left to do with it except to leave it and let someone else have a go.

I've tried to set him straight, of course, but Asher's got a mind of his own. Besides, it's not entirely his fault. Women throw themselves at him. My hope is that one day there will be a woman who won't, someone who's complex enough that he won't be able to figure her out easily and will never get tired of trying. Until then?

Behave, I remind him as I take a sip of my Scotch.

Asher grins. Don't worry, big bro. I'm not interested in your hand-me-downs any longer.

I have no idea what he's talking about. I've never handed him any of my stuff except for my Montana Hummingbird guitar, which he begged to have.

But Dad sure is persistent about you settling down, huh? Asher asks.

I frown. I'm not sure persistent quite cuts it. I was actually worried that he would refuse to hand over the company reins to me unless I had a wedding ring on first. I'm glad that wasn't the case. Still, he made it very clear that he wants an heir to Hawthorne Holdings as soon as possible. Hell, he's even shoving women in my face, hoping one of them will impress me enough that I'll marry her and get her pregnant.

Not happening. When I do marry - and frankly I'm not too keen on doing it yet - it will be to a woman of my own choosing. A lot of things in my life were already decided for me when I was born. My hobbies. My schools. My career. Looking back, I'm the one with the hand-me-downs. I'm not going to let someone else pick the mother of my child, even if that child will be the heir to the family company.

And my taste is more particular than Asher's. I don't go for every woman who flutters her eyelashes at me. I'm not too keen on a pretty face, a tiny waist or an impeccable resume, either, though those seem to be Dad's criteria. I just want someone with depth, who can feel things deeply and take things seriously and yet also know how to make me smile. I want someone resilient and independent and yet willing to let her guard down around me. Too much to ask? Maybe. But that doesn't mean I should pick just anyone to be my wife. She should at least be sensible, and preferably smart, strong and caring as well.

That's unfair, Ryker speaks up without taking his eyes off his phone. Parents shouldn't tell their children what to do with their lives. They should just give them the best chance to live their lives.

Words of wisdom from my baby brother. Of course, he's not a baby anymore - he's nearly as tall as I am - but a part of me will always see him as that teeny human in diapers and blue socks that Mom brought home from the hospital when I was six.

Also... He puts his phone away. It's just wrong to marry a woman because you hope she'll give you a child to carry your family name. You're not Henry VIII. Marriage should be about love, or at least mutual respect and trust. And sex should be something you do not just for fleeting pleasure or procreation but because you want to connect more deeply with someone.

Exactly. I couldn't have said it better myself.

Wow. Even Asher looks impressed. Is that why you haven't done it with anyone, little brother?

He picks up his refilled glass and gulps down its contents before I can.

Ryker frowns. Just because I don't sleep with as many women as you do doesn't mean I haven't slept with any at all.

I grin. Nice one, Ryker.

Go ahead, then, Asher replies calmly. You're the VP of Acquisitions now, little brother, so tell me how many women you've... acquired.

Women are human beings with hearts and souls, not puzzles or trophies, Ryker retorts.

That has got to hurt.

Says the guy who's never had one, Asher hits him back.

I don't think that's true, and yet Ryker's forehead furrows. His brown eyes sharpen into stakes.

I know that look. Ryker may have the most patience of us three, but when his fuse burns down he can go nuclear.

Alright, enough. I put down my glass and come between them, placing my hands firmly on their shoulders. You know what else is unfair? The two of you drinking by yourselves and leaving me to entertain the guests and answer questions from the media. This is your party, too, you know. I'm not the only one who got a promotion.

But you're the one who got promoted to the top, Asher points out. Why would they want to talk to the CFO when they can talk to the CEO?

You're the head honcho, Ryker agrees. We're just employees.

I wrap my arms around them. Then as your boss, I order you to leave this bar and -

A tap on my shoulder interrupts my command. I turn my head and see my father standing behind me. What does he want this time?

Yes? I ask him.

There's someone you have to meet.

Here we go again.

And the two of you, he tells Asher and Ryker. Get off your lazy asses and get to work. You have to convince everyone you earned those titles you've just been given.

Asher gives a salute. Yes, sir.

Okay, Dad, Ryker answers as he gets to his feet.

So they'll listen to him but not to me? Guess I know who's still the boss around here.

Dad pats my shoulder. You, come with me.

Like my brothers, who are now off their stools, I obey. I smooth the edges of my woolen jacket as I follow my father across the garden towards the pool. I see a twenty-something brunette standing near the edge, her gaze lost in the water.

She's wearing a long-sleeved pink lace dress with a touch of black around her neck, around her slim waist and at the hem of her skirt, which is just a tad below her knees. White sandals encase her feet, their pointy heels putting her at around 5'5". Shorter than the women I've gone out with, but I don't mind, especially when she turns her head and I find myself staring into stunning amber eyes like orbs of flame. They take me back to summer evenings spent around a campfire and winter midnights when I'd sit on the couch and revel in the comfort of the hearth. Those eyes go with a button nose and full lips coated ruby red. I drop my gaze further, following the strip of black of lace down the middle of her protruding chest. When I lift it up again, she looks away. A blush coats her cheeks as she purses her lips.

I suppress a frown.

Damn it, Ethan. Could you be any more obvious about checking a woman out?

I like what I see, alright, but that doesn't mean I'm going to go down on one knee and propose or take her to my bed. Well, the latter sounds tempting, but I'm not going to do it just because my father is suggesting it. There's no way I'm going to give him that satisfaction.

This is Stella Quinn, Dad introduces. She's worked with some big names in the past. An actor. An author. A governor.

She has impressive credentials. Of course.

She knows four different languages, including sign language, has a black belt in karate, and is really good with computers. Or so I've been told.

Karate? With that petite body and those slender arms and legs? I guess she's tougher than she looks.

It's a brown belt, actually, Stella corrects my father as she tucks a wavy strand of cappuccino brown hair behind her ear, which has a pearl earring hanging from it. I didn't have time to get to black.

That's fine. My father pats her shoulder. I bet you can still kick ass.

She doesn't answer.

Anyway, I hope the two of you get along, Dad goes on. It may be a little rough in the beginning, but I know the two of you will mesh into a great team.

Whoa. This is more than persistent. This is desperate. And disappointing.

Dad?

Just try to be gentle with her, Dad continues without giving me a chance to speak. Give her time to adjust. And you, my dear, find out what Ethan likes, his kinks, his pet peeves. Accommodate his needs as much as you can, anticipate his moods, his moves. Endure when things get uncomfortable.

Dad! I raise my voice.

This is too much. He's treating me like a five-year-old kid. No. Worse, actually. I feel like I'm being pimped out by my own father. It's embarrassing as hell.

But know when to speak up, he goes on, his attention completely on Stella. You can't let him get away with everything. Sometimes, you have to take the driver's seat, too.

Dad, I'm not having sex with her, okay? I blurt out.

Finally, he stops talking. He turns his head to look at me as if I've just said something absurd - and I realize I have, so I quickly look around. Thankfully, no one seems to have been listening in on our conversation.

Stella, obviously, has heard every word. Her cheeks are so red that they're nearly the same shade as her lipstick and she's looking at me with wide eyes. Then her gaze drops to the cement as her fingers fidget with the hems of her sleeves.

Shit. I've humiliated her, haven't I? And hurt her, probably.

I hope not, my father breaks the awkward silence hanging in the air.

I look at him with furrowed eyebrows. What did he just say?

Otherwise, the two of you might not be able to work together, he adds.

Work together? What nonsense is my old man spouting this time?

He squeezes Stella's shoulder. Stella here is going to be your executive assistant. You know, she's going to be managing your schedule, setting up your meetings, screening your calls, preparing your documents, planning your trips, getting your suits dry cleaned, all those things that Roseanne used to do for me.

My eyebrows arch. Why, what happened to Roseanne?

She asked me if she could retire when I stepped down, and I thought it was only right. I was going to suggest it to her, actually. She was my assistant for so many years. Now, Stella will be yours. Sounds good?

I feel like slapping my forehead. Now that everything makes sense, I feel even more embarrassed. Instead, I straighten my shoulders as I turn to Stella with a smile.

Perfect, I tell her. And I hope you'll forgive me for the misunderstanding earlier.

Stella shakes her head. No worries, sir.

I look forward to working with you. I'm sure we can make a great team and learn a lot from each other.

She smiles back. Thank you.

It's a hesitant yet warm smile that brings out more of the golden flecks in her eyes. It lights up her entire face.

Fuck. Now that I know I can't sleep with her, I feel like doing it even more, even if it's just to see how her eyes look when glossed over with lust, just to see what kind of smile she can show me when we're done.

Well, I'll leave her in your hands. My father pats my back before walking away.

I notice Stella's eyes following his back like she's wishing he hadn't left us alone. Again, she fidgets with her sleeve.

Would you like a drink? I ask her.

Maybe a drink will help her loosen up.

No, thank you, Stella answers. I still have work to do after this.

What work? I ask curiously.

Stuff to read. Files to organize. I also have to unpack my stuff. I've just moved in from Seattle.

Really? Well, I think you'll love it here in Chicago.

Stella nods. I do like it already.

What do you love to eat? I ask her.

She touches the nape of her neck. I like Asian food just like you. Thai. Vietnamese.

Good. I'll give you a list of my favorite restaurants.

Um, I actually have it already. Cindy, your old assistant, gave it to me.

Of course she did. I suddenly wonder why Dad didn't just promote Cindy. She must be pissed. Or not. She was always complaining about not having enough time to go out on dates when she thought I wasn't listening. Maybe Mark will give her that.

What did she say about me? I ask Stella.

She shrugs. A lot of things.

None of which she wants to tell me. That's fine.

Any questions?

A dozen, she answers. None that I can think of right now.

I nod. Well, you can ask me anything.

Okay.

But I get the feeling she's not going to. She's more reserved than Cindy, maybe because she's younger. I'm going to take a look at her resume later, but I already have a feeling she's at least seven years younger than I am. Or maybe it's because she's new. Or maybe that's just her personality. She doesn't strike me as someone who likes parties or adventures. Not that those are requirements for an executive assistant.

I'm sure she's very capable. I'm just not sure if she's ready for this job. For that matter, I'm not even sure if I'm ready for my job. I know I'm going to be under a lot of stress, some of which I'll end up taking out on her. If she's scared of me now, she might run away then. If she looks daunted now, she might be overwhelmed then.

Can Stella last? Or is she going to scram the first time things go to hell? Because I'm pretty sure they will.

~

Fuck!

I pack all my frustration into that single obscenity and unleash it as I swipe my arm across my section of the conference table. Sheets of paper go flying across the room. Not content, I bang my fists on the glass. My shoulders heave as I try to catch my breath.

That son of a bitch! Does he think that just because my father is no longer the CEO he can just do as he pleases?

As the door to the room opens, I lift my head. A man, someone from the cleaning staff judging by his gray shirt, peeks in. He sees the mess on the floor and gasps. His jaw is still gaping when his gaze clashes with mine.

What are you looking at? I snap at him.

He scratches the back of his head as he looks away. I'm sorry, sir. I...

Didn't anyone teach you to knock?

Yes, sir. I just - I didn't mean to come in, sir. I was just passing by and I heard a noise so I thought -

Get out!

He scrambles out the door, leaving it open. I sink into my chair and let out a sigh. As my temper simmers away, I can feel exhaustion setting in.

I really should tell Stella to cut down the number of my meetings and appointments. I know I've only just started out as CEO and I have a heap of expectations to live up to, but at this rate I'm going to get burned out before I accomplish anything.

A few seconds later, she enters the room. Her eyes meet mine briefly but she doesn't utter a word. She just kneels on the carpet and starts picking up the sheets of paper.

I watch her, wondering what thoughts are bouncing inside that head of hers. I got a chance to read her file, so I know a bit more about her now. She's ten years younger than I am, she has no siblings, and her first job was at a library. Even so, I still feel like I don't know her.

I tap my fingers on the table. Shouldn't you have left by now?

I had some things I needed to finish, Stella answers without looking up.

Right. She's just as busy as I am, maybe more. These past few days, she always seems to be on the phone or typing away on her laptop, sometimes both at the same time. And yet I've never seen her frantic or frazzled. Her desk is always neat. Every strand of her hair remains in place. Her shoulders are always straight. I've even caught her smiling several times. And here I thought she'd be gone by now, or at least have broken down in tears a few times.

I hate to say it, but she's doing better at her new job than I am at mine.

How do you do it? I ask her. Do so much without complaining?

Complaining isn't going to make things easier, is it? she says. Same as yelling at people who didn't do anything wrong.

She heard that?

He entered the room without knocking. You know that's not allowed.

The red light was off, she points out. That indicates there's no meeting in session. Also, Jim was just concerned. That noise really was loud.

Jim?

Stella looks up. I've memorized the names of most of the employees on this floor. I think it's important to know who you're working with, even those who clean the toilets and empty out the trash.

I can't say I've bothered. In fact, Stella is the only employee on this floor I can name.

I lean forward and rest my arms on the table. You think I'm a horrible boss, don't you?

No, she answers. But I think you're losing sight of what's important. You're the leader of this company now. You're busy trying to earn the praises of a few people who don't care about this company while you should be earning the respect of the people who do care about this company. Your people.

What do you want me to do? Give everyone a raise? A monthly vacation? Go to every floor to greet everyone every morning?

"Just try not to look like you're in a