Pregnant For The Married Billionaire

Donna's Pov.

The hallway lights cast a sickly yellow glow on the chipped paint of the building. My key fumbled uselessly in the lock, frustration mirroring the tremor in my hands. Finally, the door creaked open, revealing the cramped living room I shared with Lorena.

Empty pizza boxes and crumpled tissues littered the coffee table, remnants of a half-hearted attempt at a pep talk before my audition. Now, the once-cheery decorations only mocked my misery.

Tossing my purse onto the worn-out armchair, I sank onto the worn-out sofa, the familiar scent of stale popcorn doing little to lift my spirits.

Eight months in Los Angeles, tons of auditions for movies and TV series, and zero callbacks,  ‘not even a blink and you will miss it’ cameo. The sting of rejection was a familiar ache, but this time, it felt sharper, more like a shard of glass lodged in my throat. My mom's voice, laced with skepticism the day I left Napa, echoed in my head, "Los Angeles is a graveyard of dreams, Donna." Maybe she was right.

My mother must be gloating ‘I told you so’ if she knew how right she was.

Then there's Charlie, my boyfriend whom I met the first day I arrived here, who hasn't been supportive of my dreams amongst other things. His words replayed in my head: "You're just not good enough, Donna. Give it up. Marry me. We can build a real life here."

Real life. As if my dreams weren't real. Hot tears welled up, blurring the image of the flier on the fridge advertising waitressing jobs. Was this all I was good for? Doubts gnawed at the edges of my confidence, fueled by Charlie's negativity.

Just then, the front door swung open, and Lorena burst in, a wide smile plastered on her face. It faltered the moment she saw me, crumpling into a look of concern.

"Hey, chica, how'd it go?" Her voice held a hopeful lilt, quickly overshadowed by the redness of my puffy eyes.

I forced a wavy smile, the lie dying on my lips before it could take form. "Not good, Lori."

Without a word, Lorena crossed into the room in three long strides, enveloping me in a fierce hug. "Hey, what happened?" she murmured, her voice laced with concern as she pulled back, searching my eyes for clues.

I let out a shaky sigh, the fight with Charlie draining the last of my energy. "We… we argued again," I mumbled, tears welling up in my eyes.

Lorena bristled. "That idiot," she spat, the playful glint in her eyes replaced by a steely glint of anger. "What did he do now?"

I sniffled, tears tracing a path down my cheeks. "He… he wants me to give up. Give up on acting, on my dreams. He wants me to marry him and be a housewife."

"That bastard! Does he not see how much this means to you? All the effort you put into this?" Lorena scoffed, fury simmering in her fiery brown eyes.

I shook my head, a mixture of sadness and defiance flickering bubbling inside me. "He says it's unrealistic, a pipe dream. That Los Angeles is a graveyard for wannabe stars."

Lorena snorted. "Well, Charlie might be a lot of things, but a dream interpreter is not one of them. Listen," she grabbed my hands, her gaze firm and unwavering. "Don't let him dim your light, honey. You're gonna be a star, I can feel it in my bones. And who needs a dream-crushing boyfriend anyway?"

A flicker of a smile played on my lips. Lorena always knew how to lift my spirits.

"So, what do you say we drown our sorrows in margaritas and forget about Charlie?" Lorena suggested, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes.

"Charlie who? Thinking about margaritas just made me forget about that jerk," I said, as a spark of determination replaced the sadness within me.

***

The clinking of glasses and upbeat music filled the air as I and Lorena entered the bar at the Colton Hotel. The polished chrome and sleek design screamed luxury, a stark contrast to the dive bars we usually frequented.

Lorena, decked out in a shimmering emerald dress, practically strutted in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Alright Donna," she declared, "tonight, we're scoring free drinks like A-list celebrities. And also don't forget to keep the dress tags intact, unless you want to pay $500 for that dress."

And score, we did. Dressed in a stylish black dress that accentuated my curves, with my red hair I could easily be mistaken for a younger Jessica Chastain. I couldn't deny the admiring glances and lingering stares our way. A couple of men even approached us, vying for our attention.

I looked over my shoulder, sneaking a gaze around the bar and returned my eyes back to Lorena.

She has a confident smile across her face. Like me, she's examining the bar elegantly.

Her eyes fell on me. I can see that spark, the one she used to cheer me up before arrival. Suddenly, Lorena's gaze softened, her eyes landing on my shoulder. "Woah, what happened there?" She asked, concern etched on her face.

I traced her gaze and my lips formed a line. She was staring at the faint bruise peeking out from my sleeve.

I instinctively pulled my arm back, as a flicker of pain shut through it. "Oh, this? Nothing serious. Just bumped into something, I am clumsy."

Lorena didn't seem convinced, how could she, this was the most obvious lie ever. She grabbed my left arm gently, examining the bruise. Her smile vanished, replaced by a steely glint in her eyes. "That doesn't look like a bump, sweetie. And don't tell me Charlie did this again."

I sighed, the weight of my decision settling in, I pondered telling her the truth, but it came out before I could settle on anything. "No, not again. But yeah, it was him."

"Honey," Lorena said, her voice firm, "you gotta get out of that relationship. When a man puts his hands on you once, there's a good chance he'll do it again. It starts small, a bruise here, a shove there, and before you know it, you're living in fear, isolated from the rest of the world."

I looked down at my drink, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. "I know, Lorena. You're right. I've been ignoring the signs for too long."

"That's my girl!" Lorena exclaimed, throwing her arm around my shoulder. "Tonight's about celebrating your newfound freedom. Eight months in LA, and you've been shackled to that Asshole? Criminal, I tell you!" Her infectious laugh filled the air, it was all I needed to stay firm on my decision to dump Charlie.

The tequila shots buzzed pleasantly in my head, loosening my inhibitions. Leaning closer to Lorena, I asked, "So, how are things with your music producer boyfriend, Leland?"

Lorena sighed, swirling the remnants of her mojito in the glass. "We are not together at the moment. Apparently, producing that song that hit the Spotify top ten has inflated his ego the size of a blimp."

I winced. "But what about your songs? Have you recorded any I can listen to?"

Lorena shrugged a flicker of bitterness in her eyes. "Looking for someone, but the search is dry.” She sighed, lowering her gaze, “I guess that leaves the two of us with unmet ambitions. You know what? Let's ditch the Debbie Downer vibes." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Game time! If you can snag a drink from that sad-looking dude over there," she gestured towards a lone figure at the bar, a mop of blond hair catching the dim light, wearing an expensive-looking black suit "I'll belt out a song for everyone here tonight."

My interest peaked as I raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at my lips. "Challenge accepted! That guy's practically radiating 'buy me a drink' energy."

Louis's Pov.

Leaning back in my father's chair, the worn leather creaked under my weight. Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the high windows.

The view outside was breathtaking, a panoramic vista of the Los Angeles skyline. A day back from Paris, and already I was drowning in paperwork. Stacks of files claiming space on my desk had become my unwelcome companions.

A knock on the door startled me. The person stepped in before I could give a response whether to come in or not. Cletus Vaughan, my father's financial advisor and ever-present shadow, filled the doorway.

Cletus was the one who called me while I was in Paris running the Paris Colton Hotel, that my father had passed and that vultures were circling his empire and I should rush back to Los Angeles to protect it.

His face, a weathered map etched with years of loyalty and silent complicity, held a hint of concern. "Ready for the board meeting tomorrow morning?” Cletus' voice, a low rasp with a hint of Texas twang, echoed in the cavernous room.

I shifted through a pile of contracts, the paper whispering secrets of my father's empire. "Absolutely," I replied, forcing a confident note into my voice. "Once I'm done dissecting these documents.”

Cletus chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "You're over-exerting yourself, young man. Your father, God rest his soul, kept a tight ship. No debts. No loose ends.”

The implications of his words gnawed at me.  My father's ruthlessness, a constant undercurrent during my childhood and the one year I worked with him, as well as the many self-serving decisions he made that have impacted my life negatively, now felt like a suffocating cloak threatening to engulf me.

"This is my process," I countered, my voice firmer than I expected. "I like to be thorough.”

Cletus shrugged, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his eyes. "Of course, of course. Go on then. Your father... my best friend... he was a great man.  A man who did what had to be done. In you, I see a son who will do the same.”

My stomach clenched. A part of me bristled at the thought. My father, a ruthless titan of industry, was not a role model I aspired to. I had a different vision for this company, a vision built on collaboration and transparency.

Cletus patted my shoulder, the gesture feeling more like a weight than a comfort.  "I'll leave you to it then," he said, his voice softening slightly. "Need anything for the meeting, just let me know.” With that, he shuffled out, leaving me alone with my burden.

A shrill ring pierced the silence, the caller ID flashing "Claire" in bold red letters.  A wave of exhaustion washed over me.  The last thing I needed right now was her drama.  Hitting decline, I muttered, "Not today," under my breath. "If she wants to talk, she can find her way back to Los Angeles."

Another ring, this time accompanied by the warm image of Mom's face, broke the silence.  Guilt pricked at my conscience.  Answering the call, I forced a cheerful tone, "Mom, how are you holding up? Have you eaten or slept today?”

Her voice, laced with a tremor I hated to hear, filled the room. "I tried, honey, but it's hard, it's very hard.  Can't stop thinking about your father. It just feels so unfair, Louis. I was supposed to go first, now he is there and I am here all alone."

My heart ached for her, I oftentimes wondered if she knew father's awful ways.  "I know, Mom, but you are not alone," I said softly.  "I promise I'll be home tomorrow afternoon. Please, try to eat and get some rest."

"Alright, dear," she sighed.  "Just… come home soon. I miss you.”

The call ended, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Inhaling a shaky breath, I forced myself to focus on the files in front of me. But my mind kept drifting back to Claire's name on the screen, and my Mother's raw grief.

********

By evening the stack of files on my desk had shrunk to just five files,  something I can breeze through in the morning. A welcome sight as I look forward to tomorrow's board meeting. With a sigh of satisfaction, I decided to call it a night. Sleeping in my executive suite seemed far more appealing than battling the Los Angeles traffic home.

Down in the hotel bar, I settled at a corner table, the clinking of glasses and upbeat music creating a low hum in the background.  My initial plan was to nurse a single drink and unwind, but I found myself barely registering the chatter around me or the friendly banter of the bartender. Work had a way of clinging to you, even in a place meant for relaxation.

I was lost in thought about tomorrow morning's stakeholders meeting, swirling ice in my glass, when a flash of red caught my eyes. I looked up to see a young lady approaching, and the world around me seemed to fade away.

She was a vision in a short-sleeved black dress that clung to her hourglass figure, a daring thigh-high slit teasing a glimpse of toned leg. Her long, fiery red hair cascaded down her back in waves, framing mesmerizing grayish-blue eyes that sparkled with a hint of mischief.

As she drew closer, the details became even more captivating. The delicate curve of her cheekbones, and the soft pink of her full lips added to her irresistible charm. The dim bar lights seemed to highlight her beauty, and she had a smile gracing her lips that was nothing short of infectious.

"Excuse me," her voice was as captivating as her smile, "would you mind if I kept you company?"

"You can keep me company any day, gorgeous," the words slipped out before I could stop myself.  Maybe it was the exhaustion from the day, or maybe it was just the way she looked, but a spark ignited within me.

She took the empty barstool beside me. "My friend over there," she said, gesturing towards a beautiful Latina, "is an amazing singer. She rarely performs live, but she has promised to grace us with a song tonight if I can score a drink or two from a handsome stranger."

“Well then," I said, trying to sound smooth and cool, "consider it done, gorgeous. What's your poison?"

"Margarita, on the rocks," she replied, her smile blooming and keeping me enamored by her. At that point she could demand anything from me and I would willingly give it to her, especially when she says it with her sultry voice and those full cherry lips of hers that I wanted to kiss so badly, like my life depended on it.

What is happening to me? I am a grown man, I have had my fair share of women in the past. Why am I so taken by this gorgeous stranger? I am fucking married for chrissakes.

I ignored this thought and signaled the bartender, and moments later, a perfectly chilled margarita appeared before her. "Cheers," I said, clinking my glass against hers. "To brave damsels and unsuspecting victims."

She chuckled, downing a sip of the refreshing drink. "More like a damsel in distress who needs a good song," she countered, her eyes twinkling.

Her laughter was like music, and for the first time that evening, the weight of the day began to lift. This unexpected encounter, with this beautiful woman, was exactly what I needed to chase away the lingering anxieties of work and my other obligations.