The Irish Prince (The Billionaire Dynasties)(2)

By: Virginia Nelson


Wait.

No.

It can’t…

She looked again at the girl and saw an uncanny resemblance.

Holy…

Now Chelsea knew why Margo Welles would want to see Aiden. She sucked in a lungful of air as shock ripped through her. It took her a second, but she found her voice and was proud it didn’t waver. “Lucy, cancel Mr. Kelley’s appointments for the rest of the morning and work to reschedule them as soon as possible.”



Aiden

Aiden Kelley had almost become used to fighting a sense of boredom and tedium. He used to have to fight tooth and nail to get what he wanted—born a second-generation Irish kid in the Bronx to a dishwasher and a window washer, there wasn’t a lot handed to him on any kind of platter, not to mention silver. But he’d joined the Air Force to get out before coming home and enrolling in business college. He never got around to finishing college. Instead, he’d gotten a job as a sales assistant at Marcy’s and used the skills he learned in the military and college to become the best at what he did.

But inventing things? That was an act he felt passionate about. He’d invented a kilt with cargo pockets and shown it to his boss, who’d nixed the idea, calling it unlikely to sell. Motivation wasn’t ever one of Aiden’s problems, so he simply quit his job and used some money he’d put back as well as a loan from his dad to start his own small business. He sold his kilts to small shops around New York until he landed his first big contract with Marcy’s direct competitor.

Basically, he knew how to go from nothing to hit it big, and he’d managed to keep his company going for years now with no problems. Which, ironically, turned out to be the problem. He was bored silly. Nothing was really at risk any more.

Until Margo showed up claiming that Waverley was his daughter and she wanted money. Not a lot of money—which shocked Aiden more than the claim of a child, really. Just enough to ensure they could continue to live comfortably. The modeling jobs were spaced out, dwindling as Margo aged, because being a model had an expiration date. She wanted security for Waverley’s future until she figured out her next steps in life, which wasn’t even a bad thing…

It was fair, if the child was his. More than fair, really.

He’d come into the office today, begging the universe to send him a challenge. Something new for him to master. How was he supposed to know it would come in the form of the little girl sitting in his executive assistant’s office?

And now that he’d spent a couple of uncomfortable hours in his office, sitting across from Margo, the rush paternity test his wealth had purchased offered all of the proof they needed.

“So Waverley is my daughter,” he said.

Margo crossed her arms. “Yeah. And now that you believe me, I need you to give me what I asked for.”

Definitely not boring, which should’ve been a nice change of pace. Instead, she’d flipped him on his ass with her claim. Margo was one of a string of models and actresses in his past, and she’d not stuck out as something that would change his life. As the mother of his child, she should’ve been exceptionally memorable.

But she wasn’t. If he remembered right, they’d hooked up hot and heavy for a short period of time and then ended on reasonably good terms. She’d called him a control freak; he’d shrugged, since the novelty of the chase had worn off the relationship anyway. He hadn’t thought about her again in the ten years since their parting.

He was thinking about her now. What would’ve driven her to raise their child alone? What really sent her to his door at this point? How awful of a person was he that he’d had a daughter out there, growing up without a dad all these years, and didn’t know it?

He wasn’t sure what he’d seen in her, so many years ago. Most of her movements and mannerisms were so practiced as to seem false. Unlike his assistant, who would lose horribly if she’d taken up gambling rather than business. Chelsea had no ability to filter her expressions, so even when she said the thing she thought he wanted to hear, he could easily read her open face and recognize the truth.

He liked that about Chelsea, actually. Preferred it to model perfection. Margo sat across from him without invitation, which was good as he still hadn’t figured out what to say to her.

“You came here asking for money,” he said. “You’ll excuse me if I want to also discuss the implications of finding out I have a daughter.”

“I agreed to the paternity test. The number I gave you was more than fair, so I hope that we can conclude our business rather quickly, Aiden.” No tells gave away what Margo was feeling, only that she was cool, calm, and collected.