The Billionaire's Price For My Baby

The apartment smelled of cheap tobacco and impending violence. Elaina waved her hand in front of her face, coughing.

"What are you doing here, Dad?"

Mitch stood up, kicking aside a cardboard box filled with her books. He moved toward her with a swagger that made her skin crawl.

"I saw the news," he said, flicking ash onto her rug. "The loan sharks were banging on my door this morning, showing me a gossip blog on their phones. 'Billionaire marries mystery woman.' I recognized that chin anywhere." He grabbed her left hand, lifting it to inspect the ring. "Real?"

Elaina tried to pull her hand back, but his grip was like a vice. She curled her fingers into a tight fist, trapping the loose diamond against her palm so it wouldn't slip off in the struggle. "Let go, Mitch."

"Don't call me Mitch. I'm your father." He squeezed harder, twisting her wrist. "And fathers deserve a cut of the dowry. I need fifty grand, Elaina. By tonight. Or my knees get broken."

"I don't have money," she cried out, the pain shooting up her arm. "This isn't mine. It's... it's a prop."

"Don't lie to me!" Mitch raised his other hand, forming a fist. "You think you're better than me now? You think you can leave me in the gutter while you sleep on silk sheets?"

Elaina flinched, screwing her eyes shut, waiting for the blow.

It never came.

"I strongly suggest you release Mrs. Conway."

The voice was deep and calm like a subterranean river. Elaina opened her eyes. Stevens was standing in the doorway. He filled the frame, his suit straining against his shoulders.

Mitch looked at Stevens, then at the gun bulge under Stevens' jacket. He dropped Elaina's hand instantly.

"Just a family dispute," Mitch muttered, backing away. "We were just talking."

"I apologize for the delay, Ma'am," Stevens said, his eyes never leaving Mitch. "I saw the forced entry marks on the lock downstairs while securing the perimeter. The movers are waiting in the truck."

"The conversation is over," Stevens said to Mitch. He stepped aside, gesturing for Elaina to leave.

Elaina grabbed her purse and ran out into the hallway. Mitch yelled after her. "You owe me! You hear me? You can't hide in that tower forever!"

In the car, Elaina shook uncontrollably. Stevens handed her a pristine white handkerchief.

"Shall I inform Mr. Conway?" he asked, watching her in the rearview mirror.

"No!" Elaina said, too quickly. "Please. He... he doesn't need to know. It's my mess."

Stevens held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. "As you wish, Ma'am."

The drive to the penthouse took forty minutes. The elevator opened directly into the foyer. It was a glass box in the sky, cold, modern, and utterly lifeless. The floors were marble, the walls were abstract art, and the view was breathtakingly lonely.

Elaina set her small bag down. She felt like an intruder.

Adrian walked out of the study. He had changed out of his suit into casual wear-cashmere sweater, dark jeans. He held a tumbler of amber liquid.

He looked at her, then at her red, swollen wrist. He didn't ask. He just took a sip of his drink.

"Guest room is down the hall to the left," he said, pointing with his glass. "Master bedroom is off-limits."

Elaina nodded, picking up her bag. "Okay."

"And Elaina," he added, stopping her. "Keep your father away from the building. I had security run a check on him. If he shows up here, he gets arrested. I don't do trash."

Elaina froze. He knew. Of course he knew. He probably knew about the gambling, the debts, everything.

"I'll handle him," she said quietly, the shame burning her cheeks again.

"See that you do." He turned his back on her and walked toward the window.

Elaina went into the guest room and locked the door. She slid down to the floor, hugging her knees. She was in a palace, wearing a diamond worth more than her father's life, and she had never felt more alone.