She was kissing her boss.
More than that, she was making out like a crazed teenager with the very man judging her professionalism.
Maybe this was a test. It was probably a test. She'd passed weapons proficiency only to fail miserably at self-control. Mila scrambled to salvage the situation, seizing on the first idea she had. What about me going to South America with the team?
Are you kidding me?
She brazened it out, walking her fingertips up his chest. I speak pretty good Spanish.
Troy trapped her hand with his, squeezing it tight. You're telling me that kiss was just about persuasion?
She looked him straight in the eye. Of course it was persuasion.
You're lying.
* * *
The Baby Contract is part of Mills & Boon® Desires No.1 bestselling series Billionaires and Babies: Powerful menwrapped around their babies little fingers.
The Baby Contract
Barbara Dunlop
www.millsandboon.co.uk
BARBARA DUNLOP writes romantic stories while curled up in a log cabin in Canada's far north, where bears outnumber people and it snows six months of the year. Fortunately she has a brawny husband and two teenage children to haul firewood and clear the driveway while she sips cocoa and muses about her upcoming chapters. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website, www.barbaradunlop.com.
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For my daughter
Contents
Cover
Introduction
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Extract
Copyright
One
Troy Keiser halted his razor midstroke, glancing to the phone on the bathroom counter.
Say again? he asked his business partner, Hugh Vegas Fielding, sure he must have misheard.
Your sister, Vegas repeated.
Troy digested the statement, bringing the cell to his ear, avoiding the remnants of his shaving cream. Sandalwood-scented steam hung in the air, blurring the edges of the mirror.
Kassidy is here?
His nineteen-year-old half sister, Kassidy Keiser, lived two hundred miles from DC, in Jersey City. She was a free spirit, a struggling nightclub singer, and it had been more than a year since Troy had seen her.
Shes standing in reception, said Vegas. Seems a little twitchy.
Last time Troy had seen Kassidy in person, he was in Greenwich Village. A security job with the UN had brought him to New York City, and the meeting was purely by chance. Kassidy had been playing at a small club, and the diplomat hed been protecting wanted an after-hours drink.
Now, he glanced at his watch, noting it was seven forty-five and mentally calculating the drive time to his morning meeting at the Bulgarian embassy. He hoped her problem was straightforward. He needed to solve it and get on with his day.
Youd better send her up.
He dried his face, put his razor and shaving cream in the cabinet, rinsed the sink, and pulled a white T-shirt over his freshly washed hair, topping a pair of black cargo pants. Then he went directly to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, downing it to bring his brain cells back to life.
His and Vegass side-by-side apartments took up the top floor of the Pinion Security Company building in northeast DC. The first two floors housed the companys reception and meeting areas. Floors three to seven were offices and electronic equipment storage. The computer control center was highly secured, directly below the apartments. The basement and subbasement were used for parking, target practice and storage for a vault of weapons.
The building was state-of-the-art, built after Troy sold his interest in some innovative security software and Vegas hit it big at a casino on the strip. After that, their company had grown exponentially, and theyd never looked back.
The buzzer sounded, and he crossed the living room, opening the apartment door to find the six-feet-four, barrel-chested Vegas standing behind his sister, Kassidy, who, even in four-inch heels, seemed barely half the mans size. Her blond hair was streaked purple, and she wore three earrings in each ear. A colorful tunic-style top flowed to a ragged hem at midthigh over a pair of skintight black pants.
Hello, Kassidy. Troy kept his voice neutral, waiting to ascertain her mood. He couldnt imagine it was good news that brought her here.
Hi, Troy. She slanted a gaze at Vegas, clearly hinting that he should leave.
Ill be downstairs, said Vegas.
Troy gave his partner a short nod of appreciation.
Is everything okay? he asked as Kassidy breezed her way into the penthouse foyer.
Not exactly, she said, hiking up her oversize shoulder bag. I have a problem. At least I think its a problem. I dont know how big of a problem.
Troy curbed his impatience with her roundabout speaking style. He wanted to tell her to spit it out already. But he knew from experience that rushing her only slowed things down.
You got any coffee? she asked.
I do. He cut through the vaulted-ceilinged living room, heading for the kitchen, assuming shed follow and hoping shed compose her thoughts along the way.
Her heels clicked on the parquet floor. Ive thought about it and talked about it and Im really sorry to bother you with it. But its kind of getting away from me, you know?
No, he didnt know. Does it have a name?
Its not a person.
He tried and failed to keep the exasperation from his voice. Kassidy.
What?
He rounded the island in the center of the expansive kitchen. Youve got to give me something here, maybe a proper noun.
She pursed her lips tight together.
What happened? he asked. What did you do?
I didnt do anything. See, I told my manager this would happen.
You have a manager?
A business manager.
For your singing career?
Yes.
The revelation took Troy by surprise.
Sure, Kassidy was a sweet singer, but she was really small-time. Who would take her on? Why would they take her on? His mind immediately went to the kinds of scams that exploited starry-eyed young women.
Whats the guys name? he asked suspiciously.
Dont be such a chauvinist. Her name is Eileen Renard.
Troy found himself feeling slightly relieved. Statistically speaking, females were less likely than males to exploit vulnerable young women in the entertainment business, turning them into strippers, getting them addicted to drugs.
He gave her face a critical once-over. She looked healthy, if a bit tired. He doubted she was doing any kind of recreational drugs. Thank goodness.
He retrieved a second white stoneware mug from the orderly row on the first shelf of a cupboard. Why did you think you needed a manager?
She approached me, said Kassidy, slipping up onto a maple wood stool at the kitchen island and dropping her bag to the floor with a clunk.
Is she asking for money?
No, shes not asking for money. She likes my singing. She thinks I have potential. Which I do. It was after a show in Miami Beach, and she came backstage. She represents lots of great acts.
What were you doing in Miami Beach? Last Troy had heard Kassidy could barely afford the subway.
I was singing in a club.
How did you get there?
On an airplane, just like everybody else.
Thats a long way from New Jersey.
Im nineteen years old, Troy.
He set a cup of black coffee in front of her. Last time we talked, you didnt have any money.
Things have changed since the last time we talked.
He searched her expression for signs of remorse. He hoped she hadnt done anything questionably moral or legal.
Im doing better, she said.
He waited for her to elaborate, taking a sip of his coffee.
Financially, she said. Good, in fact. Great, really.
You dont need money? Hed assumed money would be at least part of the solution to her current problem.
I dont need money.
That was surprising, but good, though it didnt explain her presence.
Can you tell me the problem? he asked.
Im trying to tell you the problem. But youre giving me the third degree.
Im sorry. He forced himself to stay quiet.
She was silent for so long that he almost asked another question. But he told himself to pretend this was a stakeout. He had infinite patience on a stakeout.
Its a few guys, she said. She reached down for her shoulder bag and dug into it. At least I assume theyre guysfrom what they say, it sounds like theyre guys. She extracted a handful of papers. They call themselves fans, but theyre kind of scary.
Troy reached for the wrinkled email printouts, noting the trace of anxiety that had come into her expression.
What do they say?
While waiting for her answer, he began reading the emails.
They were from six unique email addresses, each with a different nickname and a different writing style. For the most part, they were full of praise, laced with offers of sex and overtones of possessiveness. Nothing was overtly threatening, but any one of them could be the start of something sinister.
Do you recognize any of the addresses? he asked. Do you know any of the nicknames?
She shook her purple hair. If Ive met them, I dont remember. But I meet a lot of people, a lot of people. And hundreds more see me onstage and you know... She gave her slim shoulders a shrug. They read my blog, and they think were friends.
You write a blog?
All singers write blogs.
They shouldnt.
Yeah, well, were not as paranoid as you.
Im not paranoid.
You dont trust people, Troy.
Only because most of them cant be trusted. Im going to hand these over to our threat expert and see if theres anything to worry about. Troy remembered to glance at his watch. If he wasnt done soon, Vegas would have to take the Bulgarian meeting.
He polished off his coffee, hoping Kassidy would do the same.
She didnt.
Its not just the emails, she said.
Oh?
People have started hanging around the stage door after my show, looking for autographs and selfies.
How many people?
Fifty, maybe more.
Fifty people wait around to get your autograph?
You know, your confidence in me is inspiring.
Its not that.
Actually, it was that. He was surprised she had anywhere near that kind of a following.
Things are moving fast, she said. Downloads of my songs, ticket sales, offers for gigs. A guy on a motorcycle followed me back to my hotel in Chicago last week. It was creepy.
Talk about burying the lead. That could be truly dangerous.
Were you alone? Troy asked.
I was with a backup band.
He was relieved to hear it.
I was wondering. You know, thinking. Her blue eyes were big, and her face looked pale and delicate. Do you think I could stay with you? Just for a little while? Its really safe here, and Im having a hard time sleeping in my apartment.
Here? Troys sense of duty went to war with his desire for privacy.
Just for a little while, she repeated, looking hopeful.
Troy desperately wanted to say no. He searched his mind for a way he could do that.
The two of them shared a father, but he had died several years ago. And Kassidys mother was a certified flake. Last Troy heard she was living with some kind of hippie junk sculptor in the mountains of Oregon.
For all intents and purposes, Troy was Kassidys only relative. He was definitely her only stable relative. How could he turn her down?
How long? he asked.
Her face burst into a brilliant smile, and she hopped down from the stool, hurrying around the island. Youre the best.
He wasnt the best. In fact, he hadnt even agreed to let her stay yet.
But she surprised him by wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight. Thank you, big brother.