A Baby For Her Billionaire BFF (Billion-Dollar Babies #8)
1. Oliver
CHAPTER 1
OLIVER
T he familiar murmurs of the library wrap around me, and I take a sip of coffee. Everything is right in the world. Perfect, really.
I sink deeper into the old leather chair, enjoying the comfort of the campus library with its beamed ceilings and hardwood floors. It’s my sanctuary, the place where I can truly be myself. And the best part is that I’m here with my best friend.
I glance at Nora, her brow furrowed in concentration as she flips through a textbook thicker than my ambition — which is saying something. My laptop keys clack rhythmically under my fingers as I transfer our research into coherent paragraphs.
“Okay,” Nora says, breaking the silence and sweeping her long, dark blond hair over her shoulder. “If we integrate this study with our thesis, it’ll strengthen our argument on the socioeconomic impacts.” Her voice is confident yet easy — like she’s discussing the weather rather than complex theories.
“Good idea,” I respond, tearing my gaze away from her face and looking back to the screen. “I’ll add that in.”
This back-and-forth has become our routine for the past few years, a harmonious blend of her sharp insights and my relentless typing. It’s almost like a dance, albeit one that’s oddly academic and entirely platonic — at least on her part.
I’ve often wondered what it would be like to break the rhythm, to ask her out instead of asking for her notes. But then I remember the person I was before college — scraping by, wearing thrift-store clothes that were always two sizes too big so that I could grow into them — and I shudder. That Oliver had dreams but no means to achieve them. Now, with scholarships and grants propelling me forward, I can’t afford distractions. Not even if the distraction has a smile that could outshine the morning sun.
“Oliver, you’re spacing out. You okay?” Nora’s concerned gaze meets mine, and I snap back to reality.
“Uh, yeah, totally. Just thinking about how close graduation is,” I say, offering her a half-hearted grin.
“Tell me about it. A month and we’re out in the real world, huh? Goodbye college.” She closes her book with a soft thud. “Scary and exciting all at once.”
“More exciting than scary,” I counter, trying to sound confident. “I mean, we’ve been working towards this moment since day one. We’re ready for it.”
“Speak for yourself,” she teases, nudging my arm with her elbow. “I’m ready for a snack.”
“Only after we finish this section,” I bargain, feeling a warmth spread through me from her touch — a warmth that I quickly try to ignore.
“Deal,” she agrees, flashing a grin that reminds me why these late-night study sessions are the highlight of my otherwise solitary social life.
“All right, let’s power through. Then frozen yogurt on me?” I suggest, the words escaping me before I can stop them.
“Only if we can go to that place on Franklin. The new one never has hot fudge.”
“Of course.” I nod, already looking forward to the simple pleasure of sharing something so mundane with someone who feels anything but.
I shuffle through the stack of research papers, aligning them into a neat pile before handing half over to Nora. Our fingers brush in the exchange, and for a moment, everything else fades into the background — the hum of whispered conversations, the rustle of pages turning, even the faint scent of old books that usually comforts me. My pulse kicks up a notch, betraying my calm exterior with its sudden sprint.
“Sorry,” I mumble, though I’m not sure what exactly I’m apologizing for — the inadvertent touch or the jolt of electricity that seems to linger on my fingertips.
“No problem,” she replies, oblivious to the internal chaos she’s sparked. Her attention is already back on the project, her brow furrowed in concentration as her bright green eyes skim the top sheet from the pile.
I force myself to focus, too, but it’s like trying to read through a fog. The words blur and swim on the page, and all I can think about is the softness of her skin against mine — a fleeting connection that I crave more of, yet also dread for fear of revealing too much.
“Did you get a chance to go over the data I emailed you yesterday?” Nora breaks the silence, unaware she’s just thrown me a lifeline back to reality.
“Yeah, I did,” I say. “The correlation between socioeconomic status and access to higher education is stronger than we thought.” I dive into the academic jargon, allowing it to fill the space between us, creating a safe barrier where my unspoken feelings can’t cross.
“Exactly. It’s disheartening, isn’t it? How some things never change.” She shakes her head, disappointment clouding her eyes — eyes that I’ve lost myself in more times than I care to admit.
“It is,” I agree, my words tinged with a bitterness that comes from knowing that struggle all too well. I’ve fought tooth and nail to escape the cycle of poverty that defined my childhood, and the thought of others still trapped within it stirs something deep and restless within me.
Before either of us can dwell on the topic further, Ben, a classmate known more for his social calendar than his study habits, saunters up to our table with a grin that spells trouble.
“Ollie, Nora! I’m surprised you two aren’t dead from drowning in books.” He claps a hand on my shoulder, and I resist the urge to shrug it off. “There’s a party tonight at Delta Sigma. You should come — take a break, live a little.”
I open my mouth, ready to decline. A party is the last thing on my long list of priorities. But then I catch a glimmer of interest in Nora’s eyes, a spark that tells me she might be considering it.
“Sounds fun,” she says, surprising me. “We’ll… think about it. Right, Oliver?”
“Right,” I echo, the word feeling foreign on my tongue.
Think about it? There’s nothing to think about. Parties mean crowds, noise, and small talk — all things I avoid like a poorly designed experiment.
Ben gives us a thumbs-up before wandering off in search of his next recruits, leaving me to wonder how a simple invitation could suddenly make me feel like I’m standing at the edge of a precipice, peering into the unknown.
I shuffle the papers in front of me, wishing I had even more work to keep us busy. “I don’t know, Nora,” I murmur.
The memory of crowded rooms and spilled drinks from freshman-year parties makes me grimace. Every time I tried going to one of those, I felt like a fish out of water.
“Come on.” She leans back in her chair, giving me that look — the one that’s part challenge, part plea. Her eyes, bright with the promise of something beyond these library walls, are hard to resist. “We’ve been at this for hours. My brain feels like it’s turned to mush.”
“Mine too,” I admit, but the pile of books seems to whisper my name, urging me to stay grounded in their familiar embrace.
“Besides,” she continues, fingers drumming on the table with an infectious rhythm, “we’re graduating soon. How many more chances will we get to be irresponsible before real life kicks in?”
The word “irresponsible” usually sends shivers down my spine, echoes of a childhood spent pinching pennies and making every moment count. But there’s sincerity in Nora’s voice, and I can’t ignore the fact that she’s right. Our days of carefree youth are numbered, dwindling faster than the sand in an hourglass.
“Okay, okay,” I concede, pushing away visions of my meticulously planned future. I can afford a little bit of fun for one night. “One party won’t derail us, I suppose.”
“Exactly!” She beams, the victory clear in her smile. She begins to pack up her things, her movements brisk and efficient. “It’ll be fun, you’ll see. You might even enjoy yourself if you stop thinking about grad school applications for five minutes.”
“Harsh, but fair.” I chuckle, the sound alien to my own ears — light, unburdened.
“Promise me something?” I say, slowing my steps so we’re walking side by side.
“Anything,” she replies, her gaze meeting mine.
“Let’s stick together tonight, okay? If it gets to be too much?—”
“Deal,” she interrupts, understanding without needing the words. “We’re in this together, remember?”
“Right,” I agree, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the warm spring. Together, just like all those late-night frozen yogurt runs and shared study sessions.
As we step through the library doors, leaving behind my natural habitat, I can’t help but feel a twinge of excitement. Maybe letting loose isn’t such a bad idea after all.
Especially if it’s with Nora by my side.