Billionaire Baby Maker(7)

By: Lia Lee


“I’m not on birth control,” I said, blushing. I didn’t have money for a doctor’s visit or the monthly payments.

“That’s perfect, so we can get to it right away,” Evan said, not even asking why I wasn’t on birth control. He said “get to it” like it was a business transaction.

I guessed it was. A baby for seventy-five million dollars. The sex in between was just an afterthought to him. God. To think that soon, we would be fucking? It was crazy.

I’d dreamed about Evan so many times–sex dreams where he had me in all sorts of positions, taking me repeatedly. I’d fantasized about him again and again–my friend’s hot dad who happened to have one of the best bodies I’d ever seen and eyes that made me feel naked when he looked at me.

“I set up an appointment for you with a gynecologist,” he said.

I swallowed hard. Surely, I could have made an appointment? He hadn’t even asked me.

“I trust her,” he said as if he knew what I was thinking

I nodded. Considering that he was forking out this much money for me to carry his baby, I guessed I could go along.

“The appointment is for three,” he said. Which meant that we would go there straight after lunch.

And we did. We went to the offices of a Dr. Monroe. We sat in the waiting room. Mothers in various stages of pregnancy sat waiting. I looked at their bellies. This was what was waiting for me. They looked at me, glancing at Evan. He was old enough to be my father. He looked so important, though, that no one made a point of saying anything.

“Forbes,” a lady called from the office door, and I stood up.

“I’ll wait here for you,” Evan said.

Thank God. I’d been terrified that he would insist on coming into the consultation with me. That would have been too much for me to handle. I felt like I might not have the liberty to say no to Evan, should he insist on being inappropriate. He was paying, after all, and I needed the money so badly.

“Miss Forbes,” the gynecologist said, smiling at me, and I relaxed right away. She looked to be a few years older than me, and she had a friendly smile. Her light hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. “You’re looking to get pregnant, I hear?”

I nodded. “Surrogate,” I said.

Monroe nodded. “Evan told me. I’m so happy he’s taken this step.”

How much had Evan told her?

“Let’s see what we’re working with, shall we?” she asked.

She did a series of urine and blood tests and asked me questions about my cycles and routines. I felt comfortable discussing them with her. I could see why Evan would trust her, although why he knew such a good gynecologist was anyone’s guess. She couldn’t be old enough to have been Lily’s mother’s doctor.

“All right,” Monroe said when we were done. “The blood test results won’t come back for a few days, but I can tell you what I do know. You should be ovulating about a week from now, so if you’re all set, you can get going as soon as you want to. I think we should arrange for the two of you to come in here together and we can talk about your options – insemination is usually the best way to go and there shouldn’t be any complications. You’re young and healthy.”

I shook my head. “We’re doing it the traditional way.”

Monroe blinked at me. I was sure she was going to say something, but she just nodded and made a note.

“Well, that simplifies things, then.”



I felt self-conscious. Everyone talked about it like it was a business deal. Maybe it was, but this was still my body, and we were talking about having a baby – the traditional way – for crying out loud. But I was doing it for money.

“Thank you, Dr. Monroe,” I said to her when I got up to leave. I wanted to escape. She had been nothing but nice, but I was starting to feel a little invaded. I left the office and walked back to the waiting room. Evan stood up when he saw me.

We walked out of the building together, Evan not saying a word until we were in the car. We’d come here in his car–a black monstrosity that was almost long enough to qualify as a limo.

He respected my privacy a lot more than I’d thought he would.

“How’d it go?” he asked when we were in the car.

I was aware of how close he was sitting, only inches of leather seat open between us. I glanced toward the driver. He was behind a tinted glass screen.

“It went okay,” I said. “She… she said I’m ovulating in a week.”

Evan smiled. “That’s very good,” he said.

I nodded. “She said so, too.”