The Billionaire's Price For My Baby

Elaina Carroll gripped the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl, her knuckles turning white as another wave of nausea rolled through her empty stomach. The fluorescent lights of the office restroom hummed overhead, a sound that seemed to drill directly into her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe through her nose, counting the seconds until the spinning sensation in her head slowed down.

One. Two. Three.

It had been six weeks since the charity gala. Six weeks since the champagne that tasted like liquid gold and the mistake that felt like a fever dream.

With trembling fingers, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the white plastic stick she had smuggled in inside her sleeve. She didn't want to look. Looking made it real. But the silence of the stall was suffocating, and the unknown was worse than the truth.

She opened her eyes.

Two pink lines.

They were faint, but they were undeniable. A positive result.

The air left her lungs in a sharp, ragged gasp. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob, but a small, pathetic whimper escaped. Memories of that night flashed behind her eyelids-the heavy scent of pine and expensive scotch, the rough texture of Adrian Conway's tuxedo jacket, the way his eyes had darkened in the dim light of the hotel suite. It wasn't love. It wasn't even romance. It was a collision of alcohol and opportunity, a lapse in judgment from a man who never made mistakes and a woman who was too dazzled to say no.

The restroom door swung open with a heavy thud, followed by the sharp, rhythmic click of high heels on the tiled floor.

Elaina panicked. She shoved the pregnancy test deep into her handbag, burying it under receipts and lip balm. She flushed the toilet, not because she needed to, but to mask the sound of her jagged breathing.

"Elaina? Are you dead in there?"

The voice was sharp, laced with faux concern. Joni Dillon. Of course, it was Joni.

Elaina stood up, smoothing down her skirt with shaking hands. She took a deep breath, composed her face into a mask of neutrality, and unlocked the stall door.

Joni was standing at the sinks, reapplying a shade of lipstick that was too bright for a Tuesday morning. She caught Elaina's reflection in the mirror and smirked.

"You look like hell," Joni said, popping her lips. "Rough night? Or just hungover?"

Elaina moved to the adjacent sink, turning on the tap. The water was freezing, shocking her skin. She splashed it onto her face, desperate to wash away the heat rising in her cheeks.

"Just a stomach bug," Elaina muttered, grabbing a paper towel. "I'm fine."

"Right," Joni drawled, her eyes narrowing as she watched Elaina dry her face. "Well, you better get it together. The Ice King is on a rampage today. He's already fired two interns for breathing too loud."

Elaina didn't respond. She threw the paper towel in