My Stepbrother's Secret Baby: A Billionaire Stepbrother Romance

My Stepbrother's Secret Baby: A Billionaire Stepbrother Romance by Addison Albaugh Read Free Book Online

Book: My Stepbrother's Secret Baby: A Billionaire Stepbrother Romance by Addison Albaugh Read Free Book Online
Authors: Addison Albaugh
    “Five,” he said. “We’ll take more then. I’m in meetings all day, but I promise you can have me all to yourself tonight. I’m sure you’ll have questions.”
    He leaned over, and whether or not he meant it or whether or not there were any intentions behind the action, he kissed me.
    I sunk back down into the covers and waited as he showered, dressed to the nines as always, and hurried out the door in a cloud of expensive aftershave and cologne. The moment the ding of his private elevator echoed throughout the apartment signaling that he’d left, I climbed out of bed.
    I showered in his enormous marble tile shower and helped myself to his wide assortment of high-end skin care products. This man had everything. I slipped into one of his t-shirts, which I’d found tucked away, neatly folded in a drawer in his custom closet, and tiptoed out to the kitchen to make some breakfast.
    After a bit, I headed back to my quarters to grab my phone and figure out what to do with myself. I still didn’t know what to make of the situation. All I knew was I was a grown woman and I was standing on the cusp swallowing my pride and becoming one of the youngest millionaires in the country or walking away from it all. Each day that went by with Trenton dangling carrots in front of me made it harder and harder to say no to him.
    Trenton Ellsworth wasn’t a creep. He wasn’t a weirdo. He wasn’t a player or a poser. He was quite simply a man born to privilege who wanted to expand his family in an unconventional manner. When I tried to boil it all down, that’s what I got.
    My phone buzzed on the nightstand of my bed, just where I’d left it the night before. The caller ID said it was my Aunt Clara calling. She was the kind of aunt who always had her nose up everyone’s business and usually only called when something major was going on. That woman loved to gossip.
    “Hello?” I said as I took her call. “Aunt Clara, what’s going on?”
    “It’s your grandmother,” she said with a sigh. “She’s in the hospital. You need to come home.”
    “What?” I asked, feeling my entire world crushing down. My grandmother was my everything, and last I knew she was a picture of good health at sixty-two years old. “Aunt Clara, what happened?!”
    “I found her unresponsive this morning when I stopped by,” she said. “Doctors think she had a stroke.”
    I fell down to my knees as hot tears pooled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks, leaving wet trails in their places. “No. No. No.” It was as if someone had sucker punched me right in the gut.
    “Brenna, sweetie, she’s gonna be alright,” Clara said. “I think. But you need to get down here right away. She’s going to want to see you when she wakes up.”
    I hung up with Clara and began stuffing all of my belongings into my bag. I had to get out of there as fast as possible. I wanted to see my grandmother. Hold her. Tell her everything was going to be okay. She needed me there to talk to the doctors and to understand her medication routine. She couldn’t do it all on her own. I had to get there fast.
    I flew out of the penthouse and down to the street where I hailed the first cab I saw.
    “JFK Airport,” I said to the cabbie as we flew through the streets of Manhattan and suddenly hitting stop and go traffic. “Ugh.”
    “You okay, miss?” the cabbie asked, sensing my frustration.
    “I’m fine,” I replied as I searched for plane tickets on my phone. I was able to find a seat on a plane leaving to Chicago in two hours. It was going to be close, but I was going to take the chance. The next flight out wasn’t until later that night. I didn’t have time to wait.
    I tipped the driver as he dropped me off by the curb and ran inside to the Delta counter. I whipped out my emergency credit card with the thousand-dollar limit and slapped it on the table.
    “I need the ten o’clock

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