Secret Babies for the Billionare Boss

PARKER

“About fucking time,” said and opened the front door to Ryan. He stood in my penthouse lobby, dressed for a workout.

His hair was a mess, his eyes a little red and swollen, and he had a day-old stubble on his chin.

“Traffic.” He said and grinned at me.

“I call bullshit,” I said and clapped him on the back, letting him in. “You reek of alcohol.”

He laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m going to pay for it today, so don’t worry. Justice will be served. It’s why I wanted to come here rather than show my face at the gym—if they saw me like this they would crucify me.”

Ryan had his gym. I’d tried out the new gym just down the block from me, and that was how we’d met.

It was almost a decade ago now. After studying to be a personal trainer, Ryan had decided there was no way he would pay another gym to use their floor space.

He and his sister were the same—go-getters. And boy did they go out and bring it.

It was one of the motives I hung out with Ryan. Also to my brothers, I knew few people who had the dance to go out and do their own thing, rather than surrender to the man. And the difference between the Conrad brothers and the Jenkins twins was that we’d accomplished it with a shit-ton of money we’d inherited from my dad. And they’d done it with completely nobody.

I closed the door behind him, and he followed me to the gym.

“Jeez, you still haven't decorated this place? It's been years.” Ryan asked.

I groaned. “Don’t you start?”

“Yeah? Other people say something?”

“Everyone.”

“Generally, when there’s a common consensus, it’s worth noting.”

I shook my head and tried to look at my apartment through a stranger’s eyes. And I guess it could use work.

The walls were all just white, the flooring was still the original oak hardwood, and the few pieces of furniture I had—although expensive—only added up to what I used.

It looked like I’d just moved in, actually, sans the boxes.

But I was at the office more than I was here, and my office looked fucking awesome.

“Your place looks like it was just built, man,” Ryan said. “You can’t even put one picture up? I know you’re a bachelor, but seriously, man.”

I shook my head and glanced around. “It’s not that bad.”

“You’re right. It's Worse.”

I chuckled. “I’m not much of a decorator. And I just moved in.”

“Yeah ... like seven years ago.”

I shrugged. It was true. I’d lived in this apartment for seven years already. And I still hadn’t done a thing to make it home.

I bought it just after a divorce. It had been easier to give Brooke the house we’d lived in when we’d split, and this place had just been constructed. I’d bought it in cash after seeing pictures online and moved in a week later.

I didn’t have a reason I hadn’t decorated yet. I just hadn’t gotten around to it.

That, and I wasn’t sure what I wanted. Brooke had decorated the place we’d lived in before.

“I don’t need all that crap,” I said.

“You need a home, man. This place is just a building.”

I shrugged.

“At least the gym’s nice,” I said when we walked in.

The corner room had windows on both walls so that it overlooked at least half of LA, and I owned all the latest workout equipment that allowed me to train every muscle group without going to an actual gym.

Ryan looked around before he burst out laughing. “It’s nice because most of the wall is a window so you get a view and don’t notice the walls. Seriously, Emily will have a heart attack if she walks in here.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Why don’t you get her to do it?” Ryan asked.

“What?”

“Your place. You can afford a designer, and she’s fucking good at her job.”

I thought about it. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

I’d lived in this box for so many years that I didn’t even notice that it was bland and characterless. But Emily had a great reputation, and maybe, it would be cool if she did something to my apartment to make it more inviting.

Maybe people would stop complaining then.

“Yeah, okay,” I said. “Why not? I’ll give her a call.”

Ryan grinned and nodded before he grimaced.

“Fucking hangover,” he muttered.

“Rough night, huh?” I asked when I lay down on the bench so Ryan could spot me first.

I’d already set up the weights so we could train together.

“You have no idea. Seriously, I’m almost thirty, and I just don’t bounce back the way I used to. I’m going to have to figure out some new home remedies.”

“But drinking is always the plan?” I asked with a chuckle.

“You fucking bet. I have way too much on my plate to slow down on that front.” He was cheerful about his confession.

It was another reason I liked hanging out with Ryan. He had flaws that he was fully aware of, and he still carried on just as he was. I liked that about him.

In my circles, money came with superficiality. The more money you had, the more things were just skin-deep.

Bullshit, if anyone cared to ask me. But no one did.

I hooked the weights from the bar and started lifting, exhaling on the push.

“You drink like a pussy,” I said.

“Fuck you,” Ryan said, laughing. “It’s cheaper if I get drunk so easily.”

I focused and lifted the weights, trying not to burst out laughing and fucking up my workout.

While I trained, Ryan rambled on about his night out with friends. He went to bars all the time, but he didn’t drink as much as he said he did.

He liked being around people. It was why he’d started the gym in the first place. It was a success too. I often went there to train.

I pushed the weights up, and Ryan helped me put the bar on the stand before I ducked out. I grabbed my water bottle, and Ryan took my place, getting on his back to do his reps.

When I put the bottle down, he lifted the weight and started pushing, breathing in and out as he lifted and lowered the bar. He moved slowly, focusing on his muscles, and pulled a face on every push.

“Fuck, training after drinking is a bitch. Emily says I should eat steamed broccoli for breakfast the morning after.”

“Broccoli?” I asked. “What the fuck?”