Billionaire Accidental Daddy

BILLIONAIRE ACCIDENTAL DADDYAN ENEMIES TO LOVERS FAKE FIANCÉ ROMANCE ROXY REID Copyright © 2023 Roxy Reid All rights reserved. It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. CONTENTS 1. Amelia2. Cole3. Amelia4. Cole5. Cole6. Amelia7. Cole8. Amelia9. Cole10. Amelia11. Cole12. Amelia13. Cole14. Amelia15. Amelia16. Cole17. Amelia18. Amelia19. Cole20. Amelia21. Cole22. Amelia23. Cole24. Amelia25. Cole26. Cole27. AmeliaEpilogueKnocked Up Mistake Sneak Peek 1AMELIA Irun up the dirty steps to get out of the NYC Subway system, cursing the backed-up trains, and tapping frantically on my phone. I can still save the morning, get to work on time, and make a good impression on my new boss if I take a rideshare. I can get to work in ... I hold my breath, watching the app’s loading signal. Ten minutes. That’s when the nearest car can get to me. I blow out a sigh of relief and wrap my puffy coat tighter against the winter cold. I can make that work. In my headphones, Carly Rae Jepsen is breathlessly singing about throwing a wish in the well. I love this song because you can hear the smile in her voice. I take a few more deep breaths and remind myself that this time things are going to work out. For good. I wait for my heartbeat to slow from a sprint to a jog. The truth is, I’d be a knot of anxiety, even without the backed-up trains. I'm a 26-year-old graphic designer, and I have the worst possible luck with jobs. First there was the theater company that went belly up. Then there was the greeting card company that downsized. And, finally, the urban gardening nonprofit which I managed to ruin all by myself. But that was the old me. The me who gave my all to people who couldn’t return the favor. The me who felt every rejection like a freshly broken heart. The new me is tough. The new me has a plan. The new me is going to stand up for myself, and plan ahead, and be a calm professional adult, and ... The nutty, savory smell of baked goods wafts out from the bagel place behind me and my stomach growls. Shit. Breakfast. That’s what I forgot. I’m in one of the fancy parts of Manhattan where the rich people live, so breakfast will cost an arm and a leg, but it doesn’t look too crowded. I bet I can get in and out before my car gets here. I adjust the strap on my one professional purse, which is looking a little worse for wear, and head into the bakery. I step inside and let the warm, golden smell of carbs and coffee wash over me. That’s when someone bashes into me from behind, and I stumble forward like a lurching goat in high heels. “Sorry” I say, on reflex, but then I catch myself. He bumped into me. And now he’s already striding past me, getting my spot in line. I feel the ticking clock in my head. The old me would spend the next five hours starving in my new fancy office building because this asshole stole my breakfast time. Hell, the old me would smile and assure him that it was fine, I should probably eat healthier anyway. But I don’t want to be the person people take for granted anymore. And now seems like as good a time as any to start practicing. Even if he is tall, hot, and wearing an expensive wool coat with the kind of exquisitely designed suit that makes business-wear haters like me reconsider my hatred of suits. “Actually, sir,” I say. “I’m not sorry. You bumped into me.” He ignores me. I tap him on the shoulder. “Sir. You took my spot.” He looks back over his shoulder, grumpy as a bear woken from hibernation. He’s got tousled brown hair, blue eyes, and the kind of tan that implies he didn’t spend his Christmas in snowy New York like the rest of us. He frowns, and now he’s looking less like a generically grumpy bear and more like one resisting the urge to charge. Do bears charge? I remind myself not to go hiking until I’ve looked that up. “I’ll buy your coffee,” he says gruffly, not yielding his place in the line. “Or whatever pumpkin sweetened atrocity women like you drink.” Standing up for myself just got a whole lot easier. “How dare you—” “May I help the next customer?” the barista asks, like he’s trying to move the line along before me and the Suit break into an all-out war. “Yes!” I say, beaming at the barista with the smile that once made a man in midtown walk straight into a trashcan. “Coffee with a cream and a toasted—” But the Suit is talking over me, telling Carlos he’d like his usual, quickly. I check the barista for a name tag, but he’s not wearing one. The Suit’s a regular. And guessing by the way Carlos leaps into action to prep his order, he tips well. Dammit. “Kiera’s usual as well?” the barista asks. I raise my eyebrows, surprised a woman would put up with this man long enough to develop a “usual” at his favorite coffee shop. Then again, the dating field in New York is abysmal, as I know first-hand. Whoever the poor woman is, I can’t judge her too harshly. “No,” the Suit says shortly. “And I’ll cover whatever this one is having.” He gestures vaguely toward me like I’m a bug he doesn’t care enough to swat. “No,” I say, annoyed.