Babies For The Billionaire CEO

1

Melinda

“I just don’t understand why you’re doing this,” my mother said on the phone.

“I told you,” I replied, barely suppressing my sigh as I drove across Providence, Rhode Island. “I need the money.”

“If you need money that badly, you should go back and beg for your old job. They would probably take you back.”

“It’s not that simple, Mom.”

“Why not? Have you even tried?”

I felt a pain in my jaw as I clenched my teeth. My mom didn’t understand the situation. I still barely believed it myself. After nearly a year helping get New England Digital Marketing off the ground, the two founding partners—Robert Ethier and Robert Beschloss, who I referred to as the Bobs—fired me. They did it in spite of me doing the lion’s share of the work while they sat back and had expensive luncheons every day that they expensed.

And they did it one week before my shares in the company vested.

It was my own damn fault for not reading the contract more carefully. I should have hired a lawyer. That was a mistake I would never make again.

“I’m not going back to the Bobs,” I said bitterly. “Even if it was my last option on earth.”

“You can always ask us for money,” Mom insisted. “Your father and I have a nest egg tucked away. We can help.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“It would be better than selling your body…”

“I want to do this, Mom.”

Her voice rose on the line. “You’re basically a prostitute! And what if you want to keep the baby at the end? You don’t know how you’re going to feel, then.”

“Surrogacy is a totally normal process that lots of people go through,” I said calmly. “It’s done. I’ve signed up. I’m actually meeting with a potential couple today. I’m driving there right now.”

“Really? Who are they? Do they work in Boston? I’m always hearing about rich Boston couples coming down and buying up real estate here in town. It figures they would start buying babies next.”

“I’ll tell you about it if it works out,” I promised. “I’ve got to go. I’m almost there.”

“Make sure they’re on the up-and-up!” Mom quickly said. “I don’t want you getting sex-trafficked like that girl on the news. Have you heard about her?”

“Love you too, Mom,” I said, then hung up.

I let out a long exhale. Talking to my mom was always exhausting. But I knew it came from a place of love; she only wanted the best for me. I was lucky to have people who genuinely cared about me.

I used to think that my business partners cared about me, I thought with a grimace. Just goes to show: the only people you can rely on are family.

Despite my protests to my mom, she wasn’t completely wrong. I was still kind of skeptical about doing this. Pregnancy was a big deal, even if it was a pregnancy for another couple. Hell, that made it an even bigger deal. I had to grip the steering wheel tightly to keep my hands from shaking, that’s how nervous I was.

But I had plans, and those plans required cash. Surrogacy paid a lot of money, and I was young and fertile. At least, that’s what my tests showed. Once I had that money in my bank account, I could start my own digital marketing company.

And put those asshole Bobs out of business.

“It’s just a simple surrogacy,” I said out loud. “Women get pregnant all the time. It’s, like, the most common thing a woman can do. Literally billions of women have been pregnant before. If they can do it, so can I.”

I didn’t know much about the couple I was meeting. The offer had come at the last minute, so I had jumped in the car without much thought. All I knew was that they also wanted to use my eggs. That meant more money than if I was the surrogate for another woman’s fertilized egg. And money aside, it meant I would be helping some poor woman who couldn’t conceive on her own. There was a lot of joy in that.

It was the best case scenario. The biggest bang for my buck. But I couldn’t shake this nervousness.

Nervousness is natural, I reminded myself. It means I’m pushing my boundaries, which is always a good thing in life.

I was three miles from the address when I got a phone call. Bob Ethier. The name made me want to throw my phone out the window, but I took three deep breaths and answered it.

“Are you calling to beg me to come back?” I demanded. “Because I’m not helping you figure out anything unless you give me what you owe me.”

Bob snorted on the line. “We are doing quite fine on our own, thank you very much. I’m calling to remind you that you need to come down to the office to pick up your belongings.”

I had been fired over the phone without notice. I hadn’t been in the office since then. “Bob said he would ship everything to my home address.”

“Yes, well, we have not gotten around to that. We have been busy, of course. Your replacement begins tomorrow, so we need you to collect your things. Today.”

I felt my jaw tighten again. “You know what, Bob? I don’t think men get called cunts enough. Because right now, you’re being a real cunt, you know that?”

“Let’s not get emotional—”

“Firing me a week before my company equity vested? Cunty,” I said. “Telling me you’ll ship my belongings home and then changing your mind two weeks later? Cunty, to a lesser degree. But cunty nonetheless.”

“You have until the end of the day,” Bob said curtly, “or we’ll place your box out on the street for someone else to collect.”

“Throwing my stuff on the street? SUPER ULTRA MEGA CUNTY!” I shouted into my phone.

He had already hung up.

By then, I was nearing my destination. I looked around; I was on the south side of Providence, in an industrial park alongside the Providence River. Did I have the right address? It was deserted here.

No, not deserted. There was a black sedan parked in the middle of an empty lot. A man in a suit was standing outside the car with his hands clasped in front of him. I parked a few spaces over, turned off the car, and waited.

I had been told this was an introductory meeting, but I had pictured it at a nice couple’s house. I expected there to be a white picket fence and a Golden Retriever with a chewed up tennis ball in its mouth. This felt more like…

Like a sex trafficking operation, my mother’s voice reiterated in my head.

Next to the black sedan, the suited man raised his hand in greeting.

“I’m too fucking adult to be afraid of this sort of thing,” I said to myself. “Put on your big-girl pants and get out of the car, Melinda.”

I did just that.

“Melinda,” the man said, as if he knew me already. “I’m Andrew, Mr. Benning’s valet.”

He was American, but pronounced valet with a hard T sound, like the word mallet.

“Don’t you mean valet?” I asked, pronouncing it like ballet.

Andrew chuckled. “Uh, no. Our ride is this way.” He gestured toward the river.

Do they live on a houseboat? I wondered. And what the hell is a valet?

I followed Andrew, but there was a tingle of concern at the back of my neck. Like something wasn’t normal about all of this.

He must have sensed my worry, because he smiled and said, “I know this feels unusual, but I can assure you there’s nothing to worry about.”

“That’s what serial killers say before shoving their victims into windowless vans,” I muttered.

Andrew chuckled some more. He seemed like an easy-going guy, and I wanted to like him despite the strange circumstances.

“The surrogacy agency verifies all clients thoroughly,” he explained. “I’m sure they explained this at great length.”

“Maybe you’re not with the agency. Maybe you got my number, pretended to be the agency, and sent me here.”

Andrew stopped and turned to face me directly. The wind off the river blew his wavy chestnut hair across his face. “You signed up with the agency eleven days ago. You’re surrogate number 36423, and Pierce Benning is client number 1442. You’re welcome to call the agency and verify all of this information before we proceed any further.” He held out his phone.