Of all the dirty, rotten things! Even as I make my way back upstairs to my apartment, I can’t get over this all-encompassing anger. I can’t believe I fell for that bastard billionaire’s trap! I can’t believe I even entertained the idea of forgiving him.

It’s clear that he cares nothing about me, that he only wants me for my body. He doesn’t even want me to satisfy his sexual desires—he essentially wants to use me as a damn vessel! What he’s suggesting is outright sick, and, saying that…not all that different from any other surrogate situation.

While I can acknowledge his reasoning for wanting a surrogate mother, I simply can’t begin to fathom why he would choose me. In spite of his assertion that he likes my eyes, it’s not as if I’m some fashion model. He could probably pay off a famous actress if he wanted—seems he’d get his money’s worth much easier in that case.

Granted, I don’t even know why it matters if his child is attractive. Why else would he choose me based on my eyes, though? I can’t think of any reason he would choose me.

Panic grips me as I consider that perhaps it’s a farce, that maybe he’s hoping he’ll be able to screw around with me and then…then, I’d die in childbirth! Smacking my fist into my open palm, I lurch towards my computer and bring up a search engine.

I search all sorts of phrases that would make anyone else think I’m a serial killer, along the lines of ‘intentional death at childbirth’. None of the searches return anything particularly helpful, and I sag in my chair as the adrenaline begins to fade.

Okay, so maybe the murder idea was a bit of a stretch. It would make more sense that he was being upfront with me. Maybe he just likes my eyes, not to mention my vivacious personality and profoundly witty mind. It would make sense—if he were trying to gain an heir to his empire—for that child to be career-driven and nothing short of brilliant. While Dillon had his share of smarts, most of his riches came from dumb luck. Without his parents…

Wait.

Had the story about his parents been part of luring me in? It seems like a strange story to make up, and altogether unnecessary considering his end goal. Why would he open up to me about something so personal? He claimed to not want baggage, yet he seems to be trying to draw me deeper into his snare.

How I became caught in his web to begin with is a mystery to me. It isn’t as if I have some fixation on rich boys—all the guys I’ve dated in the past were just broke college students. Granted, my last serious relationship was years ago.

Why am I even overthinking this? I made it plainly obvious that I want no part of his little body renting notion, or covert murder scheme, or…sincere request. I grit my teeth, bringing my search engine back up. It provides me with a few suggestions based on what I’ve previously searched for, and I feel utterly ridiculous faced with my strange theories.

Resting my fingers on the keyboard for a moment, I consider how to phrase my question.

“What is the typical pay for a surrogate mother,” I muse aloud, typing the text in before I can talk myself out of it.

I press the enter key, and what seems an endless amount of results is returned. I click the first link, muttering under my breath. It seems the average is a little over forty thousand dollars, which is a little surprising considering the offer I’ve received. I guess Dillon thinks he will have any pick of women for a cool million, or maybe thinks that I’d be unable to turn him down.

It’s not as if I’d ever consider being a surrogate mother. Especially not for Dillon Bradshaw. I can’t even begin to fathom bringing a child into this world, a child that I would never get to know or grow close to. A child that would never know its mother. A child who…would have an absolutely doting father who could provide them with the world. A child who would be given an empire, and the life of luxury as well as the love of a parent.

Unbidden, an image of what our child might look like springs to my mind. My heart aches at the thought.

Glancing towards my phone, I tell myself that I’m not going to call Dillon. Under no circumstances am I going to call him and let him plead his case. Even if he would arguably be the best father for a child, and he has every right to want an heir of his own blood. The million-dollar paycheck is on the back of my mind.

It’s not as if I’ll sell my body for even a million bucks. The thought of bringing happiness to not one life, but two, while receiving a heaping chunk of cash isn’t…that appealing. It’s not appealing at all! I’m not considering it! Except…I very much am, now that I think about it.

Grabbing my cellphone, I make quick work of calling Dillon’s number, which I should have deleted weeks ago. The line rings for a moment, and I’m sure he won’t pick up. At least I tried. Nothing more I can do if he won’t even answer my calls—

“Hello? Charlotte?” he answers, sounding out of breath.

My mind wanders to what might have him so breathless, but I quickly dispel those thoughts.

“Hi, Dillon,” I manage weakly, curling a lock of hair around my finger.

For a time that seems to stretch on forever, we’re both silent. He clears his throat, clearly waiting for me to speak.

“So, a million dollars?” I inquire softly.

He is quiet for a moment longer, though it sounds as if his breath catches.

“You’re actually considering it?” he asks, and I find myself growing flustered at the situation.

Even he is surprised that I called him back; if that’s not indicative of this being a bad idea, I don’t know what is.

“Oh, Charlotte, thank you. Yes, yes. Not to pressure you, but all the terms I outlined at the park are still, uh…on the table,” he says nervously.

I find my palms growing rather uncomfortably sweaty, my phone nearly slipping out of my hand.

“I still can’t understand why you would choose me,” I breathe, and he chuckles softly in response.

“You’ve already proven yourself a bad liar. It’s not like you would sign the deal and then…ditch me, you know? I feel like I can trust you, in spite of all we’ve been through. Maybe even because of it—I don’t know…” he trails off, and I find myself laughing softly as well.

“You’re right, there. Listen, I’m not giving you a definite answer. I’m telling you that I’ll think about it. If you happen to find someone else—” I begin, only to be cut short.

“There’s no one else,” he interrupts, with a surprising amount of passion in his voice.

I feel myself blushing, though I can’t exactly explain why. This whole weird situation has me feeling all sorts of fuzzy and unclear.

“All right. Get some sleep, Dillon. I’ll let you know when I make a decision,” I murmur with a tenderness that shocks even me.

He breathes a sigh, and it feels like there’s more he wants to say. However, he seems to decide against it.

“Good night, Charlotte. Thank you,” he says with obvious sincerity.

Quickly, I swipe my phone to end the call, tossing my it on my desk and walking towards my bed. My thoughts remain with the man I’ve been speaking to, and I find myself gripped by a sudden and intrusive thought about…potential conception.

Unwelcome yet pleasantly warm tingles shoot through my body at the thought of sharing a bed with the man. I quickly banish the thought. It’s not as if we’re going to be in a relationship, even if I agree to his terms; he’s made that much very clear. I don’t know why I feel vaguely disappointed at that thought, but if I’m a million dollars richer, everything will fall into place.

Deciding to take a quick shower before bed, I skirt around my bed and towards the adjoined bathroom. I want to visit Dillon at his office early tomorrow, and if I shower now, I can sleep in a bit. The water in this apartment complex takes an agonizingly long time to get hot, but I suppose it’s worth the wait.

As I strip and step beneath the warm stream of water, I debate spending a few quiet moments alone with the shower head. But as my hand begins to creep south, I find that I can’t stop thinking about Dillon. As a matter of fact, my thoughts of him only grow more intense. I grit my teeth against the sensation of warmth between my thighs as I quickly wash my hair and rinse off.

I don’t bother to get dressed before slipping between my sheets. I’ll regret going to sleep with damp hair in the morning, but for the time being, I couldn’t care less. I force my eyes closed, trying to banish thoughts of the gorgeous billionaire from my mind. This is just a potential professional venture.

It won’t do to entertain these complicated…feelings, considering the nature of our relationship. Granted, our relationship seems to be permanently stamped as ‘complicated’.

As I drift off, my final thought is of what it might be like to fall asleep in Dillon’s arms.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, everything seems a bit less disastrous than it did the night before, and I’m able to approach the situation with a more objective point of view. While my feelings for Dillon are anything but straightforward, I know I need to keep things as uncomplicated as humanly possible.

I tell myself this as I get dressed, though there’s nothing awfully complicated about a pretty green sundress that brings out the shade of my eyes just so. I apply the slightest bit of makeup, certainly nothing extravagant or unusual. The up-do I choose for my hair is just a bit of an experiment, just for fun. I’ve been meaning to try it, after all. I look nice, but in a simple sort of way. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

The trip to the office seems to drag on, but I think that’s due in part to the anticipation racing through my veins. I ride the elevator to the top floor, approaching Dillon’s secretary and debating how to breach the subject.

“I need to speak with Dillon,” I hedge.

She glances up from her laptop, her eyes shining with delight upon seeing me.

“Oh, darling, he’s going to love you,” she gushes, gesturing for me to take a seat. I try to obscure the blush on my cheeks, but with my hair styled up, it’s not as easy as usual. “He’s in a meeting, but I can fetch him,” she announces, slipping away before I can protest.

I’m shocked to see him nearly barreling down the hallway just a few moments later. Coming to an abrupt stop in front of me, he considers me with bright and hopeful eyes. I take him by the elbow, jerking my head in the direction of his office. He nods excitedly, leading me to the door.

“Don’t let anyone disturb us, Tiffany,” he orders.

She salutes, offering me a sly smile. I want to sputter that it’s nothing like what she’s thinking, but I can’t exactly blame her for her assumption.

Stepping into Dillon’s office behind him, he turns to face me with wide and excited eyes.

“Have you made your decision?” he asks, not beating around the bush.

I smile coyly, turning on my heel and tapping my finger on my chin.

“I have,” I reply, pausing for dramatic effect.

His eyes are fixed upon my own, and a now-familiar thrill shoots through me.

“Well?” he asks, nearly shaking with anticipation.

“I’ll do it. I’ll have your child.”

* * *