More Than a Millionaire / The Untamed Sheikh. Emilie Rose
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“I’m sorry. I’m not going to believe your story without proof.”
“You have it.” He indicated the letter by dipping his chin.
“This is not enough.” She’d go through the clinic’s records personally, if need be. And if that didn’t work…there was always DNA testing. How soon could that be done? And was it safe for the baby? She jotted down the questions to ask her doctor.
Her visitor’s jawline hardened. “You’re only twenty-eight. You have time to have other children.”
Unlikely, since her heart was already taken. “You’re not exactly ancient.”
“I’m thirty-five.”
“Women have a shorter window of opportunity for reproducing than men. You can keep fathering children for another fifty years.”
His lips thinned in irritation. “I want a child now, and I’m not walking away and leaving the door open for you to sue me for child support.”
The jerk’s personality did not improve with exposure. Usually she could find something to like about even the most difficult person. Not so here. Other than his physical packaging which was prime.
She took a deep breath and reminded herself that any problem could be solved with patience, politeness and perseverance. Her three P’s never let her down.
“I would never do that, Mr. Patrick. I don’t want or expect anything from you.”
His eyebrows lowered. “You expect me to take the word of a stranger?”
She was too busy reeling over the possibility that she might be carrying a stranger’s baby to care what he thought.
“I’m not interested in your money, and I’m willing to have my attorney draft a document stating that fact and relieving you of all responsibility.”
“That would be useless. You’d have eighteen years to change your mind.”
She wanted to smack him. “Mr. Patrick, I couldn’t give you this child even if I wanted to—which I don’t.”
She pressed her fingertips to her stomach and gathered the words that had become her mantra since she’d committed to this plan. “This baby is not mine. I’m carrying it for my sister and brother-in-law.”
Who might not want the baby if it wasn’t Patrick’s.
Oh my God.
Panic tightened her chest. A cold sweat seeped through her pores. What was she going to do? She certainly wasn’t handing her baby to this knuckle-dragging Neanderthal who acted as if giving up her child would be as easy as giving a panhandler the change from her pocket.
“You’re acting as a surrogate for someone else?”
His clipped words interrupted her chaotic thoughts. “Yes. Patrick Ryan is my brother-in-law.”
“How much is he paying you?”
Appalled, she reared back. “Nothing. This is a gift.”
“I’m offering a hundred thousand, plus expenses. You’re going to give up the kid. Why not to me? You can have his kid next year.”
His cavalier attitude winded her. “I’m not a broodmare.”
She’d geared herself up to do this once. She didn’t think she could handle giving a baby away a second time.
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
“No, thank you. I gave my word.” For once she wanted to come through for Beth instead of having Beth make all the sacrifices for her. She owed her sister a huge debt.
And she wanted to give Patrick something Beth couldn’t.
Not nice, Nicole.
“Tell her you changed your mind. If the egg is yours, then the child is in no way hers or her husband’s.”
She flinched and wished he’d quit reminding her of that.
Adrenaline surged through her veins. If the baby wasn’t Patrick’s then it was hers.
Hers and the Neanderthal’s.
“I signed a contract,” she said more to herself than to him. So where did that leave her? Was the contract even valid if the baby wasn’t Patrick’s?
“Contracts can be broken.”
She needed to talk to her lawyer before tackling the legalities. “You don’t understand. I will be this child’s aunt. I’ll see it almost every day. I’ll get to watch him or her grow up and be a part of its life. I’ll still be family.”
She hated the anxiety sharpening her voice. The idea had sounded so much better before her pregnancy had been confirmed. “Go back to your surrogate.”
“You’re carrying my firstborn and firstborn Patricks have taken over the family firm for three generations.”
“What if my child doesn’t want to be an architect?”
One dark eyebrow hiked. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“Because I don’t have an artistic bone in my body and he or she might take after me.”
“Or he might take after me and be damned good at it. Don’t turn this into a legal battle, Ms. Hightower.”
His threat was clear. The muscles of her spine went rigid and her heart thumped even harder. Her arms tightened protectively around her middle. They’d done that a lot since he’d walked in. “This is my baby.”
“Is it, if you’ve already signed away your rights? As the child’s biological father I probably have more rights to it than you do.”
Fear slithered down her spine. She was very afraid that what he said might be true, but she wasn’t giving up without a fight. She glared at him, silently telling him to bring it on. The stiffening of his features told her he’d received her message loud and clear. He stood and towered over her.
She rose to meet him at his level, but still had to tilt her head back. How tall was he, anyway? Well over six feet.
“This discussion is over, Mr. Patrick, until I talk to my attorney.”
“Do that. Mine will be calling you. But be warned, Ms. Hightower, I always get what I want, and I will be a father to my child. Make it easy on yourself, accept that and don’t prolong this.”
He turned on his heel, flung open her door and stalked out of her office, sucking all the oxygen with him as he went.
Sapped of strength, but conversely filled with an energizing surplus of adrenaline, Nicole sank into her chair. She had to do something to stop him. Because if Ryan Patrick had his way she would be giving up far more than the right to mother her baby. She might never see her child again. And that was not going to happen.
Chapter Two
Apparently it didn’t matter which side of the desk Nicole sat on. Today was her day to receive bad news.
She stared in dismay at the woman in front of her. “You’re saying he’s correct. Ryan Patrick has more right to my baby than I do?”
While her attorney’s smile and brown eyes were sympathetic, they didn’t offer much encouragement. “I’m sorry, Nicole. The clinic confirmed his story. There was a mix-up. Biologically, this is his child unless DNA testing proves otherwise.”
“But my doctor said I couldn’t do prenatal DNA testing without significant risk to the baby. So that’s out of the question.” Nicole had called her in a panic the minute Ryan Patrick left her office. “I don’t think I can stand seven more months of uncertainty.”
“I understand. And it really isn’t necessary