The Undercover Billionaire’s Baby (Billion-Dollar Babies)

1. Sam

CHAPTER 1

SAM

I felt about ten feet tall watching the Sharps leave my office. The deal I’d just made would open the south to us, Elkins Home stores fanning out from Kentucky. It would be a huge market. A total game changer. And with the terms I’d secured, we’d see record profits. The upcoming fiscal year would be our biggest one yet.

I sat, then stood up again, restless. Excited. Today was the day. Couldn’t be any other. I knew it like I’d known when I faced down the Sharps: I had this. The big prize was already mine. It was like Dad always said — It’s all toys, kid. The world’s your toy box. You just need to reach in and pick one to play with.

I’d asked him once, when I was five or six, what if some other kid has the toy I want?

You figure out how to take it. It’s okay if he cries, but make sure he doesn’t squeal. If he goes running to Mommy, it’s game over.

Yeah, my dad was mean. But he was retiring. And today was the day I’d been working for all my life: the day Paul Elkins would finally hand over his empire. The whole toy box, as he might say. All mine, at last. I counted the signs off, why it was today.

One: the Sharps. He must’ve figured we’d close today and timed the handoff to match.

Two: my afternoon was suspiciously clear — no meetings, no golf, no conference calls. The one call I’d had was mysteriously canceled, replaced on my calendar by a meeting with Dad.

Three, and most telling: next week looked light too. Dad had told me last weekend I would be busy. Not to schedule anything important without his say-so. Which meant, what else? Today was the day. He’d deliver the good news, then we’d celebrate. Then next week, I’d be busy settling into his shoes.

I locked the door to my office and went to the closet. I always kept a couple of suits in there in case of emergency, a shelf of fresh shirts. Ties. Socks and boxers. Now, I changed slowly, taking my time. Smoothing my shirt down. Knotting my tie. Shaking my pants out till the crease fell just right. I lint-rolled my jacket, though it was pristine, ran a comb through my hair. Shot my cuffs. Fixed my collar. I tried not to smile at my own reflection, but one broke through anyway, a big, boyish grin.

Today was the day.

I couldn’t wait.

I had big ideas for the Elkins Group. For the type of CEO I’d be. The way I’d do business. With Dad at the helm, I’d been stuck in my lane, mergers and acquisitions. Limited scope. But once I moved up?—

“Mr. Elkins?” My secretary’s voice floated through the intercom.

“Yes, April?”

“Your father’s on his way up.”

I reined in my smile. “Thank you.”

This was it. The board must’ve arrived while I closed the Sharps deal. I wondered how many would be here in person — just the old guard, or the whole crew? Dad was big on the showmanship, so maybe not just them. Maybe he’d call in the whole executive suite. I thought about asking April who all was waiting, but I didn’t want to seem nervous. I wasn’t. I had this.

“Let him know I’m on my way.” I adjusted my tie one more time and drew myself up, and tried not to bounce as I strode from my office. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning, but it wouldn’t do to look like one. To look too excited. I composed my face into a tight, stern mask and squared my shoulders so I looked bigger. Then I marched down the hall and…

Something felt off.

I paused with my hand on the boardroom door, an unpleasant tension tightening my throat. Nothing seemed out of place, the top floor still. Quiet. The drone of the AC. The dry smell of coffee. Nothing unusual, so why the gooseflesh? I listened, heard nothing, and shook my head. This was excitement and nothing more. Excitement bubbling over and turning to nerves. Of course it felt strange, getting everything I wanted. I’d worked for it so long, and now it was here. All I had to do was walk in and take it.

I breathed in through my nose, let it out through my teeth. Slapped on what I hoped was a casual half-smile. I’d act surprised, I decided, but not too surprised. Surprised by the timing, but not by the news. Because this was already mine, just like the Sharps.

Just one more toy.

I flung the door open.

And stood there, smile fading. Where was everyone? Dad was at the window, looking out over Boston, but the table, the board seats… empty. All empty. That was what had struck me, standing outside, the lack of chatter. No laughter. No sound.

I cleared my throat. “Dad.”

He turned around. “Sit down.”

I stared at the table, with its ranks of empty chairs. Where was I supposed to sit, down at the end? Up next to Dad, crammed into one corner? I stayed standing instead, and circled the table.

“What’s going on? I thought?—”

“Sit down,” he said again, and sat down himself, folding into the big seat at the head of the table. I picked a chair a few places down.

“I closed the Sharps deal,” I said, feeling defensive. Hating myself for it, for not standing my ground. I’d earned that seat at the head of the table. Not whatever this was, this weird tête-à-tête.

Dad nodded. “I figured. I saw them leave.”

“The terms they signed off on?—”

He waved me off. “I’ve reviewed the contracts. You did nice work.” He steepled his fingers, as though deep in thought. “You’ve always been good at handling people. And there’s no denying your head for numbers.”

I stiffened where I sat. I could feel the but coming.

“But I’m struggling with the idea of handing the reins to you.”

Heat surged through my body. Red waves of anger, then disappointment. My stomach turned over, and I thought I might puke. If not me, then who? Who worked harder than I did? Who knew the Elkins Group inside and out, every play, every company, every ten-year plan? I’d worked my way up right from the bottom. Seen every department from the inside. Just like Dad wanted. I’d jumped through every hoop.

“I don’t understand,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “What do you need from me that I’m not doing?”

Dad rose again, his leather chair creaking. He went back to the window and looked down at the street. “I started with nothing. Less than nothing. What I started with was a mountain of debt. A business so in the red I could’ve torched it for the insurance and still not come close to breaking even. I took that and built all you see today.”

I pressed my lips together, tired of this story. I’d been hearing it since childhood, how he’d come up from dirt. How he’d gone without food to invest in his business. How he’d lived in a single room above a laundromat, and the steam from the washers rotted his books. He’d been so hungry one time, or so the story went, he’d sat on a park bench watching the ducks, wondering if he could catch one and roast it. In the end, he hadn’t — children were watching. But the whole point was, he’d made his own way.

“I made my own way,” he said, right as I thought it. “Never had any handouts.”

“And that’s why you started me out in the mailroom.”

He sighed. “That’s right. But that’s still my mailroom. You still went home every night to your swanky apartment.”

I snorted. Swanky? Had he even seen it? It hadn’t been one room over a laundromat, but it had hardly been my current penthouse.

“I wanted you to succeed,” he said. “And I gave you every chance money could buy. The best schools. The best college. The best summer jobs. But the point is, I gave you that. You didn’t scrape for it. You’ve never had to deal with when things go bad.”

I bit my tongue hard so I wouldn’t snap back. I’d salvaged how many deals about to go south? Finessed how many holdouts into signing on the dotted line? But I could see from Dad’s stiff back, he’d made up his mind. If I fought him on this, I’d just come off childish. A yammering toddler who couldn’t take no for an answer.

“You raise a good point.” I managed a laugh, a self-deprecating chuckle to show I wasn’t angry. “So, what should we do, then? Wait for a stock crash?”

Dad narrowed his eyes at me, or his reflection did. I’d let a hint of sarcasm color my tone.

“Joking,” I said. “What’s the solution?”

Dad’s scowl smoothed out. “I’m glad you asked. Because that’s why I’ve called you here. I’ve had you clear your schedule so you can… move.”

I gaped at him. “Move? Where am I moving?”

“That’ll be up to you, but I’m setting you a challenge. I need to know you can live in the real world.”

“The real world? What?—”

“I want you to go home tonight and hang up your suit, and walk out of your penthouse with the clothes on your back. Take your toothbrush as well, and two hundred bucks, but other than that, walk out with nothing. I want you to go somewhere nobody knows you and start out from scratch. Build a new life. If you can do that without me to help you, then I’ll know you’re like I was. You’ve got what it takes.”

I coughed, dry-mouthed. I’d left my mouth hanging open. I shut it with a snap — he had to be joking. This was pure foolishness. A gag from a sitcom. Walk out with nothing? Start a new life?

“Who’s going to handle— Who’ll lead my department?”

“Morris will step in for you. He’ll step up anyway. When you come back and claim your CEO spot.”

“So you’re saying, I do this and the top spot is mine.”

“If you succeed at it. And I believe you will. I’ve seen you have mettle, but it’s yet to be tested. Come through your trial by fire, and yes. Yes. You’re in.” He turned back from the window and held out his hand. When I didn’t take it, he frowned, impatient. “What are you waiting for? Don’t you want to move up?”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry from frustration. The real world… What world did he think I lived in? I got up every day like anyone else, ate my breakfast, came in to work. And I worked longer hours than most, fourteen-hour days. I made it home just in time for a workout, and maybe to mess with some carpentry project. Then I’d fall into bed, rinse and repeat. The ‘real world,’ for me, would be a vacation.

“Fine,” I said. “Yeah.” I shook his hand. “How long does my challenge run?”

“Till I see you’re thriving. Or I’ll call it a year from now, if it looks like you’re not.”

It took all I had not to roll my eyes at him. Thriving , what a joke. I’d build up some capital, start a new business. Sell it in six months and fly home first class. Better yet, in a private jet, just to rub his face in it.

“See you soon,” I said. “Have the champagne on ice for me.”

Dad’s lips quirked up, but his eyes stayed hard. I’d never yet seen him proud of me, and I doubted passing this test would change that. Even the wildest success would just be… expected. But that wouldn’t matter, once I had his seat.

I’d never have to worry about what he thought again.