20. Sabrina
20
Sabrina
O kay, this is surprising. If not downright weird.
Leo Maxwell, the man whose default setting seems to be ‘brooding billionaire recovering from near-death experience,’ is currently holding my daughter. Our daughter.
And he looks… focused. Intent. Happy, even.
His brow is furrowed, yes, but it seems more like concentration than anything else as he follows my gentle instructions on how to properly support Mia’s head. His large hands, the ones I vaguely remember mapping my body with bruising intensity that night in Vegas ( nope, file that away, deep deep away ), are surprisingly gentle as he cradles her small form against the soft shirt covering his chest.
Mia, for her part, seems utterly unfazed by being held by the human equivalent of a volatile stock option. She’s settled against him, occasionally making soft cooing sounds, her tiny fist still loosely curled around his index finger. Her green eyes blink slowly up at his own. She seems… content. Which is frankly ba ffling. Usually, strangers get the squinty-eyed suspicion routine.
I’m standing a few feet away, arms crossed, trying to project an aura of casual supervision while my insides twist like a pretzel. My carefully constructed walls, the ones built brick by painful brick after my father skipped town, the ones designed to keep precisely this kind of man at a safe distance… they’re feeling decidedly shaky right now. Seeing him like this, stripped of the power suit and the boardroom bluster, awkwardly navigating the basics of holding an infant… it’s disorienting. He looks almost… human. Vulnerable, even.
Don’t be an idiot, Sabrina.
This is an act. Or maybe just the novelty effect. He’s a billionaire; he’s probably used to acquiring new… assets. Maybe Mia is just the latest, most unexpected addition to his portfolio. A biological one. The vulnerability is probably just lingering weakness from the crash, nothing more.
Still. He’s holding her. And he hasn’t spontaneously combusted or tried to hand her back like she’s radioactive waste.
Small victories, I guess?
My phone buzzes in my pocket, startling me. I nearly jump out of my skin.
I fumble for it, pulling it out. The caller ID flashes.
Mom.
Oh, holy hell. Not now. Please, not now. My heart sinks. Can I ignore it? Pretend I didn’t feel the vibration?
Nope.
Ignoring my mother, especially when she’s likely calling for her scheduled Mia check-in and will immediately know something is off if I don’t answer, is not an option.
I shoot Leo an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I should take this. It’s my mother.”
The one who thinks Mia’s father is raising kangaroos Down Under.
This could get awkward fast.
He nods, his attention still mostly focused on the tiny human in his arms. “Go ahead.”
I step away, turning towards the massive windows overlooking Central Park, trying to create a semblance of privacy. As if privacy exists when you’re in a billionaire’s penthouse with his previously unknown daughter cradled in his arms. I could walk into the kitchen or something and shut the door, but not only would that be rude, I kind of feel like... I want him to overhear. I want to be truthful about what’s going on in my life.
Enough with the secrets.
I take a deep breath and answer. “Hey, Mom. Perfect timing, Mia just woke up from her nap.”
“Oh, good! How’s my little grand-peanut doing?” Diane’s voice comes through, warm with grandmotherly affection, but I can detect the usual undercurrent of worry she carries about me doing this alone. “And how are you , honey? You sounded a bit… stressed when we talked earlier this week.”
Stressed? Yeah, finding out your billionaire baby daddy is your new client tends to do that.
“Oh, you know. Just busy, Mom. Juggling work and Mia. The usual.” I try to keep it light.
“Are you at the apartment?” she asks. “You sound… different. Is everything okay?”
Different how? Like I’m standing in a multi-million dollar penthouse belonging to the man whose existence I lied about?
“Everything’s completely fine, Mom. I’m actually… out right now. At a client’s place for a follow-up meeting.”
A technically true, strategically vague statement. PR 101.
“A client’s place? On a Friday afternoon? With Mia?” Suspicion instantly sharpens her tone. She hates when my work bleeds into weekends or requires bringing Mia along. “Sabrina, is this that new difficult client you mentioned? The one needing the reputation repair? Are you sure that’s appropriate? Bringing the baby… you couldn’t find a sitter?”
“Mom, it’s fine. He’s… accommodating.” Understatement. “And it was unavoidable today. The sitter was busy.”
God she’s going to see right through the lie, I know she is.
And here I was just thinking, enough with the secrets.
There’s a pause. Then, her voice takes on that cautious, probing tone I know means she senses something isn’t adding up. “Sabrina… this client… it wouldn’t happen to be… him , would it? The father? Did he come back from Australia?”
My breath catches. My gaze flicks involuntarily back towards Leo. He’s looking down at Mia, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips as she makes another gurgling sound. He looks utterly engrossed.
How do I answer this?
The Australian lie feels suddenly thin as Saran wrap.
Leo finally glances up, catching my eye, his expression questioning.
Shit. What do I say? Maintain the lie? Confess?
PR crisis level: DEFCON 1 .
Leo raises an eyebrow slightly, tilting his head towards the phone.
“It’s your mother?” he murmurs, his voice low.
My cheeks flaming, I hit mute on the phone. This is mortifying.
“Yes,” I say frantically. “She thinks you’re... I told her you... I told her the father moved to Australia. She’s asking if you’re back.”
His expression doesn’t change much, but something flickers in those green eyes. Understanding? Calculation?
He shrugs. “Tell her the truth.” His voice is quiet but firm.
I stare at him.
Tell her?
Just like that?
After months of maintaining the fiction? After letting her believe...?
“But... the lie? Australia? And I thought... PR...”
“She’s your mother, Sabrina,” Leo repeats, his gaze steady now, holding mine. He adjusts Mia slightly in his arms. “She deserves the truth. You can tell her everything. You should. ”
Enough with the secrets.
My brain stalls. He… trusts me to tell my mother? He trusts my mother with this information? The man whose partner wanted me to sign an NDA?
It’s… unexpectedly decent, and throws my carefully constructed image of him as the ruthless, untrustworthy playboy completely out the window.
Maybe meeting and holding Mia is… changing him already?
Don’t be ridiculous, Sabrina. It’s been ten minutes.
Still. He trusts me . Which leaves the other question: can I trust my mother ? Diane Taylor, pillar of her community, queen of quiet judgment? The woman whose disappointment in me still feels like a physical blow?
Telling her the father isn’t some anonymous Aussie but Leo Maxwell, billionaire adrenaline junkie… she’ll see him as everything she warned me against, everything my father was, only with nine more zeros in his bank account. She’ll panic. She’ll interfere. She’ll… disapprove even more intensely, if that’s possible.
“Sabrina? Are you there? What’s going on?” My mother’s voice crackles with impatience from the phone.
I take a deep breath. Okay. Leo trusts me. He’s right, she deserves the truth, however messy. And if I can’t trust my own mother, who the hell can I trust? Maybe telling her, bringing it out into the open, is the only way to start dealing with this avalanche properly. Rip off the Band-Aid. Control the narrative by owning it, warts and all.
I press the unmute button.
“I’m here, Mom,” I say, my voice steadier now, if not resigned. “I’m... with him. I’m with Mia’s father.”
There’s silence on the other end. A heavy, loaded silence that stretches for an eternity.
Then, her voice, barely a whisper, laced with disbelief and dawning horror. “With… him ? Sabrina, who is he?”
I close my eyes briefly. Here goes nothing. “It’s Leo Maxwell.”
There’s silence on the line again. I can hear soft typing. Of course, she has her laptop open. Mom was always a big fan of the desktop version of Facebook.
And Google.
The sharp intake of breath on the other end is audible even from here. “Leo Maxwell? It says he’s some kind of playboy Venture Capitalist? That Leo Maxwell? And...” Another audible gasp. “He almost died BASE jumping in France? Sabrina, no! Oh, honey, no! This is exactly what I was afraid of! A man like that! Reckless, unstable… he’ll disappear! Just like…”
“Mom,” I interrupt firmly, cutting off the inevitable comparison. “It’s complicated. I only just told him he was the father a few days ago.”
“A few days ago? And complicated? The worst decision of your life is complicated? ” Her voice climbs, a mixture of horror and ‘I told you so.’ “Sabrina, what were you thinking? This is a disaster! A man with that much money and power… he could take her away from you with the snap of his fingers!”
“He’s not going to take her away from me,” I say, glancing at Leo who is now openly watching me, though his expression is unreadable. “We’re… figuring things out.”
Liar. We haven’t figured out anything except mutual distrust and potential legal action.
“Figuring things out?” she repeats skeptically. “Does he even want this baby? Does he even want you ?”
“Mom, please,” I plead, exhaustion washing over me. “Can we not do this right now? It’s… overwhelming.”
“Overwhelming doesn’t begin to cover it, Sabrina!” she retorts. “This is your life! Mia’s life! You need to be careful! Men like him… they don’t change! Don’t let him charm you, don’t let him buy you off…”
Okay, enough. My own protective instincts flare, not just for Mia, but surprisingly, maybe a little for Leo too? He’s sitting right here, holding our daughter, looking vulnerable, and my mother is painting him as the devil incarnate based on headlines and her own painful past.
It’s not entirely fair.
Even if it’s mostly true.
God, this is confusing.
“Mom, he deserves a chance to know his daughter,” I say, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. “And Mia deserves to know her father as well, eventually. Hiding it… maybe it wasn’t the right call. But we need to figure out how to navigate this.”
“Navigate? Honey, this isn’t a business negotiation! This is your heart, your child’s future!” She sighs wearily. “All right. All right. Does he… does he seem serious? About being involved?”
I look at Leo again. He’s watching me intently, still holding Mia close. There’s a strange mix of determination and uncertainty in his eyes.
“I… I think so,” I say honestly. “He seems… willing to try.”
“Willing to try isn’t enough,” she warns. “Actions, Sabrina. Watch his actions.”
“I will. And Mom? Please. Don’t tell anyone about this yet. Not Aunt Carol, nobody. Please promise me. It’s... it’s still incredibly new, incredibly complicated. We need time to figure things out privately.”
The plea feels desperate and necessary. The thought of my entire extended family knowing, gossiping, judging... it’s too much right now. Not to mention the implications for Leo should this get out. I’m his PR manager, after all. Temporarily, anyway.
There’s a pause. I can almost hear the internal debate raging. Finally, she sighs. “All right, Sabrina. I won’t say anything. For now. But this...” Her voice trails off, leaving the unspoken ‘is a terrible idea’ hanging in the air. Instead, she adds: “Okay. But Sabrina… I want to talk to him directly.”
My stomach plummets. “What? Now?”
“Yes.”
“Mom, no. That’s not a good idea.”
“I need to,” she insists, her voice gaining that stubborn edge I know all too well. “I need to hear it from him. I need to know what his intentions are towards my granddaughter. Put him on the phone, Sabrina.”
“Mom…”
“ Now , Sabrina.” It’s not a request.
I look helplessly at Leo. I mute the line, and say, “She wants to talk to you.”
He raises an eyebrow, then gives a curt nod, his expression hardening slightly.
Preparing for battle perhaps?
Oh god. This is going to be a train wreck.
With a deep breath, feeling like I’m about to referee a cage match between my fiercely protective, wounded mother and the emotionally complicated billionaire father of my child, I unmute the phone and tap the speakerphone icon.
“Okay, Mom. You’re on speaker. Leo’s right here.”
The silence crackles for a second. Then Diane’s voice fills the opulent living room.
“Mr. Maxwell,” Diane begins, her tone glacial enough to freeze the expensive coffee sitting untouched on Leo’s side table. “This is Diane Taylor, Sabrina’s mother. And Mia’s grandmother .” The emphasis on the last word is deliberate, possessive. A verbal line drawn in the sand.
Leo shifts Mia slightly in his arms, his gaze fixed on my phone. His expression is carefully neutral, the billionaire businessman mask sliding back into place.
“Ms. Taylor,” he replies smoothly. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, under the circumstances.”
“There’s very little pleasure involved, Mr. Maxwell,” Diane retorts sharply. “Let’s cut the bullshit.” I always cringe when my mom swears. I don’t know why. It just feels so... unmotherly. “My daughter tells me you only just found out about Mia. Is that correct?”
“That is correct,” Leo confirms.
“And your reaction, I understand, was less than ideal.”
Oh god, Mom, please don’t.
“My reaction,” Leo says, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice, “was one of shock and, frankly, anger at having been deliberately kept in the dark about my own child for almost two years. I believe that’s understandable.”
“What’s understandable, Mr. Maxwell,” Diane shoots back, “is Sabrina’s fear. Her reluctance. I know your type.” Ouch. “I’ve lived through the aftermath of a man like you... charming, successful, exciting, and ultimately, devastatingly unreliable. Men who make promises they don’t keep. Men who disappear when things get tough, leaving broken hearts and lives behind them. My daughter deserved better than repeating my mistakes. And my granddaughter,” her voice trembles slightly now, raw emotion breaking through the anger, “deserves better than a father who might decide she’s an inconvenience to his jet-setting lifestyle or his dangerous hobbies.”
I wince, closing my eyes. This is exactly what I was worried about. My mother, projecting her own pain onto Leo.
It’s not fair.
But is she entirely wrong?
She’s only echoing my own misgivings. Maybe Leo needs to hear this again. I already told him as much on that first day, when he asked why I kept the baby from him. Now it’s my mother’s turn to hammer the message home. Maybe if he hears it enough times, it’ll stick.
Don’t break our hearts.
Leo is silent for a long moment. I watch his jaw work, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly on Mia, who thankfully remains asleep, oblivious to the intergenerational trauma playing out around her.
When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, but laced with something that sounds remarkably like… pain?
“Ms. Taylor,” he says slowly. “You don’t know me. You know what you’ve read, what your own experiences taught you. And I won’t stand here and pretend my reputation doesn’t precede me. I won’t pretend I haven’t made... choices... that might seem reckless from the outside.” He looks down at Mia, his expression softening for a fraction of a second. “But finding out about Mia... changes the landscape. Drastically. Whatever assumptions you’re making based on my past, or your own...” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “They may not apply anymore. I haven’t had a chance to prove anything yet. Sabrina didn’t give me that chance. Until now.”
“And why should she have given you anything?” Diane demands. “Based on what? Your public persona? Your track record? The fact you almost killed yourself jumping off a mountain? What possible evidence did she have that you would be anything other than a liability, a source of potential heartbreak for her and for Mia?”
“Mom,” I finally intervene, unable to stay silent any longer. This is turning into an interrogation. “That’s not fair. You don’t know...”
What? What doesn’t she know? That he might actually be different? That holding Mia has changed him?
It could all be temporary. Or an act. Who knows? It’s too soon.
Holding a baby just once doesn’t change a man.
Does it?
“You don’t know the whole situation,” I finish.
Lame.
But it’s all I’ve got.
“I know enough, Sabrina,” my mother insists, her voice softening slightly. “I know I raised you to be strong, independent, to not rely on men who will inevitably let you down. And now you’re tangled up with one who will do exactly that. Forgive me if I’m concerned.” She clears her throat. “So, Mr. Maxwell. Let me ask you directly. What are your intentions? Is this a fleeting curiosity? A sense of obligation? Or are you actually prepared to step up, consistently and reliably, for the long term? Because Mia isn’t an investment you can sell when it underperforms . She’s a lifelong commitment.”
It’s the million-dollar question. The one I’ve been terrified to even articulate myself.
What are his intentions?
Leo looks down at Mia again, his thumb gently stroking her tiny hand still wrapped around his finger.
“Ms. Taylor,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Honestly? I don’t have all the answers right now. Finding out I have an eleven-month-old daughter a few days ago... it’s world changing. My intentions are... to figure it out. To get to know her.” He meets my gaze across the room, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. “My intentions are to be present. Consistently. Reliably.” He looks back towards the phone. “I understand your skepticism. I know I have a lot to prove. To you. To Sabrina.” He pauses, then adds, his voice barely above a whisper, “But mostly, to Mia. And to myself.”
The raw honesty in his voice throws me completely off balance. It’s not the slick deflection or angry denial I expected.
It’s... real.
My mother is silent for a long moment on the other end. I can picture her, brow furrowed, processing this unexpected response. Weighing the sincerity. Looking for the catch.
“All right, Mr. Maxwell,” she says finally, her tone still wary, but maybe a fraction less hostile. “Talk is cheap. As I told Sabrina earlier, we’ll be watching your actions. And Sabrina, call me tonight. After your… meeting is finished.”
“I will, Mom,” I promise, relieved that the immediate confrontation seems to be over. “Love you.”
“Love you too, honey. Be careful.” The line clicks dead.
The silence that descends is awkward.
Leo carefully shifts Mia in his arms, his gaze distant again. I walk over and sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. Refereeing that conversation felt like running a marathon uphill in heels.
“Well,” I say finally, trying for a lightness I don’t feel. “Welcome to the family?”
Leo looks over at me, a wry, almost pained smile touching his lips for the first time. “Yeah, definitely feeling the love.” He looks down at Mia, who stirs slightly, making a soft smacking sound in her sleep.
He meticulously sits down beside me, wincing as he does so. Without a cane, his movements are awkward and obviously painful, but he’s very careful not to wake or otherwise disturb Mia in his arms.
We sit there in silence, the tension slowly easing, replaced by a shared, awkward uncertainty.
He just met my mother via speakerphone and we all survived.
Maybe this is the starting point.
Not common ground, not yet.
But maybe… a shared space of uncertainty?
It’s not much. But after the chaos of the last few days, it feels like a goddamn miracle.