The Billionaire's Surrogate: A BWWM Pregnancy Love Story Read online

  Max shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one lurking in the doorway.”

  Christine stepped into the room proffering a small square bag. She placed it on the table and unzipped it, unloading a plate piled with greens and covered with transparent foil. She put the plate on his bed table and then extracted another plate arranged with fish fingers and baked potato. Lastly, there was a container of sauce.

  “Looks good,” Max said. “I don’t suppose there’s any wine in there.”

  Christine just glared at him and then extracted a bottle of sparkling water. “That’s all you get,” she said sternly.

  Max pouted like a baby. “Why?” he wailed.

  Christine just ignored him and turned to leave.

  “Hey Chris?” Max said. Christine turned around to glare at him.

  “Thanks for the delivery,” he said.

  Christine said nothing, just resumed her walk out of his room.

  *****

  The examination was not as horrible as Max imagined it would be, but the pain of having his intergluteal cleft penetrated was exacerbated by his mother calling his phone right after. Andrea, his personal assistant, usually fielded all calls from France just in case his mother was using someone else’s phone but she wasn’t here right now and Max had thought it was Martha…or Christine. So he hadn’t glanced at the caller ID before picking up. His mind might have been on the throbbing sensation emanating from his ass and maybe worried about the fact that bleeding was said to be a possible side effect of the procedure.

  “Max mon cher,” his mother’s voice spread like a noxious cloud inside his head.

  “Maman, what can I do for you?” Max replied.

  “Je voulais juste voir comment vous faisiez mon cherie,” Claire Lestrange said. She wasn’t even French; she’d moved to France when she married Oscar Lestrange but she was originally from the Mid West. Max had gone to school in France, he’d spent only holidays in America until he joined Harvard University to pursue law and yet he didn’t keep dropping French words into his conversations like his mother did. He found her to be an extremely pretentious twat. Perhaps because she was little better than white trash before Oscar picked her up at a county fair one day and fancied himself in love with her. The honeymoon had lasted only long enough to produce one child and then Oscar and Claire Lestrange had gone their separate ways. Not too far though…Oscar wouldn’t grant her full custody and Claire was not about to let go of that child support.

  “I am doing well thank you for asking Maman, however I’m very tired and I need my rest so I will talk to you another time,” he said hanging up before she could come up with the real reason for her call which probably involved some sob story about how she needed more money. Now that his father was dead, Max was in charge of his vast fortune in real estate and automotive parts. The latter had began as a passion of Oscar’s and had grown into a multi million dollar enterprise with an exclusive Formula One contract. That was in addition to his own businesses in America that mostly consisted of making deals and getting in on the ground floor of profitable ventures. His investment in the Fast and Furious franchise for example had netted him a pretty penny plus his company provided the parts for all the cars.

  He’d said he was tired just to get rid of his mother but Max found himself drifting off to sleep soon after that phone call. He guessed this…whatever it was…was really taking it out of him.

  *****

  “It might be cancer,” Dr. Benson said looking solemn. “It might be just a severe case of prostatis. We have to be prepared-“

  “Is it going to kill me Carlyle?” Max interrupted.

  Dr. Benson sighed. “No. You’re in excellent health and this type of cancer is curable. But we’re jumping the gun here; the disease is not confirmed. The results of the biopsy are not out.”

  “What does the treatment entail?” Max asked ignoring the disclaimers.

  “It varies from watching the situation to aggressive radiotherapy,” Carlyle said.

  “I vote for the latter,” Max said at once.

  “We have to wait for the results Max,” Carlyle said with a tired sigh.

  “What are the repercussions of treatment. Haven’t I heard something about impotence?”

  Carlyle took a seat and crossed his legs. “Yes, impotence is a possible side effect, as well as sterility. There are also other effects and hence why we need to be sure before we go further,” he said sternly.

  “Hey Carlyle, while we are waiting for results would it be possible for me to go home?” Max asked.

  Dr. Benson thought about it. “I suppose Martha can watch over you just as well if not better than the nurses here. You cannot stay alone, she will have to board with you while you’re invalid,” he said.

  Max rolled his eyes but nodded his acquiescence.

  Chapter 2

  Martha entered Max’s room to bring in his laundry. It was early morning and he was still buried deep in the covers. Martha was relieved to see it. She’d left him pacing in his study when she finally gave up the ghost and retired to bed at 2am. Dr. Benson had said she should monitor him, make sure he got plenty of rest and enough to eat but there was only so much she could do. She could hardly order him to bed even though she was tempted to do just that last night. She knew he was worried about the disease he might have and what it might mean for his life. There was very little she could do about it except be around if he needed her.

  She deposited his laundry in the closet and then returned to the kitchen to put the coffee on. Max still lived in the same apartment he’d acquired when he came to Boston to attend Harvard University. It was located in an old building between Fuller Avenue and Thorndike Street, in a Classical Revival apartment building which had five stories. The entrance is elegantly framed by paired and fluted Corinthian columns. Cast stone covered the walls of the first and second floors while the upper floors were faced with tan brick. Max’s apartment was on the fifth floor and it spanned the entire length of the building so he was able to enjoy both sunlight and sunset through the huge bay windows. The East wing had a breakfast nook situated right next to the windows and that was where Martha set up his breakfast. The intercom went off and Martha hastened to answer before it awakened Max.

  “Yes? Who is it?” she asked a bit curtly.

  “Gra, it's me,” Christine said, her voice sounding tinny and far away through the intercom. Martha pressed the button to let her in to the building and then called downstairs to the concierge to let her come up. She was waiting at the door when the elevator stopped at their floor.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked tensely.

  Christine smiled. “Why do you think anything’s wrong?” she asked walking into the spacious foyer and placing her coat on the priceless seventeenth century table like it was a fifty dollar coat rack. Martha moved to pick up the coat and hang it up in the closet near the door, there for just such a purpose.

  “You don’t just show up at my work unless there’s a problem,” Martha said turning around to face Christine.

  “That’s because you usually come home at night. I haven’t seen you for two days,” Christine said in a tone that could be construed as whining if one were being picky.

  “You’re a big girl Chris, you don’t need to see me everyday,” Martha said with a snort, leading the way to the kitchen.

  “Usually grandmothers say the opposite thing,” Christine replied and then putting on a high whiny soprano she continued. “You never call me; I don’t see you anymore,” she said before returning her voice to the normal tenor that it was. “That’s what you’re supposed to say.”

  “Well I see you a lot more than never; seeing as we live together so that would just be stupid wouldn’t it?” she said opening the kitchen door and strolling toward the coffee pot. She didn’t turn around to see if Christine was following.

  “Christine,” a deep voice called from down the hall.

  Christine turned around to see Max walking toward her in his pajamas and the mo
st comfortable pair of house slippers she’d ever seen. He was looking right at her as he walked and she paused to wait for him.

  “Hello Max, you’re looking better than the last time I saw you,” she said coolly.

  “Huh, so it was you who rang? I thought perhaps Andrea had gotten past the Gestapo at the gate and gained entry,” he glanced at Martha as he said Gestapo.

  “Nope, just lil ol’ me,” Christine said trailing in her grandmother’s wake to the kitchen but not wanting to enter until Max took himself off somewhere else. She did not want to be caught in a three way discussion with her grandma’s boss. That would just be awkward.

  “How kind of you to come see how I’m doing,” Max said.

  Christine raised an eyebrow. “Now why would you think that’s why I came?” she asked.

  Max shrugged. “I don’t know, I just figure that beneath all the veiled hostility is a heart that beats wildly for me,” he grinned as he said it anticipating her ire. She just glared at him though, swirled past him and into the kitchen.

  “Gra your charge has awoken,” she declared knowing that Max had followed behind her.

  “Good morning Max; are you ready for your breakfast?” Martha asked.

  “Only if the pair of you will join me,” Max said quite charmingly.

  Martha was already nodding her agreement so Christine couldn’t exactly tell him where he could put his invitation but only because she was very well bred.

  They sat down to a fruity breakfast; after Max had consumed his customary cup of coffee, Martha handed him a vegetable smoothie to cleanse his palate. He grimaced over it and insisted that if he had to have one then so did Christine.

  “How old are you? Five?” Christine snorted as her grandmother placed another smoothie firmly on her place mat.

  “Isn’t that how old you usually say I am anyway?” Max said with a grin. “Anyway, jokes aside I need to speak with you both and there is no time like the present.”

  Christine opened her mouth to point out that she was not his employee and therefore did not need to hear his directives or whatever but her grandmother narrowed her eyes at her and she shut her mouth.

  “I might have prostate cancer,” Max began and Christine’s urge to be a nuisance instantly faded away. It was just a reflex anyway after all these years.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Her grandmother said nothing.

  “The doctors have advised me on treatment and my prognosis, which is fairly good. However, after treatment, I might end up sterile or impotent…maybe both,” he said looking down at his smoothie.

  “Ouch,” Christine said.

  “Yes, well I don’t tell you this for your sympathy. Martha you know that I want children,” he said. Martha nodded her head.

  “Well that desire hasn’t changed but my ability to have them soon might…” his voice trailed away uncertainly.

  “What do you need from us?” Christine asked briskly.

  “I grew up with the worst mother, both of you know that. I don’t want to subject my child to that. But I also don’t want to condemn them to having no mother at all.”

  “Uh huh?” Christine said brow furrowing in confusion. She could see why Max had wanted to talk this over with Martha, after all, she’d literally been the only mother figure he’d ever known. But why her?

  “I also…well finding the right surrogate in my position is not an easy thing but last night I thought about something which I wanted to run by you,” Max was looking at Christine as he said this and she did not know why.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  “Will you carry my child?” he asked.

  Christine dropped her glass of smoothie…although that might not totally have been by accident.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Hear me out,” Max said hands spread placatingly.

  “I am,” Christine replied calmly.

  Max opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He took a deep breath and started again, “You and Rudy-“

  “Don’t talk about Rudy,” Christine cut in curtly.

  “Okay then, all I meant to say was I know he hurt you badly and you haven’t gotten involved with anyone else since,” he hastened to speak as she opened her mouth to protest. “I’m just saying that you…and I are both damaged goods; we’re both protecting ourselves from hurt and disappointment but we both want to have a family. I know you do because you told me.”

  “What has this got to do with-“ Christine bit out, her face thunderous and glowing with emotion.

  “You could have a child, with me. I’m not asking for happily ever after here. I’m just saying this is one dream we both have that we could fulfill for each other.”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” Christine said, glancing at her oddly quiet grandmother, surprised that she hadn’t jumped in here.

  “No I haven’t. But I will lose my ability to have children pretty soon,” he said.

  “You don’t know that. You’re not even sure it's cancer,” Christine protested.

  “Am I going to wait until they put the results in my hand and tell me we have to go into surgery fast before I do what needs to be done? What if there is no time after they find out what’s wrong? I gotta do this while the getting’s good otherwise I might not have another chance.”

  “But what if it turns out that what you have is perfectly treatable and curable without taking away your ability to have children? What then?”

  “I still want to have kids. I know you’ll make a good mother simply because your grandmother is a great mother. I’d still want it to be you.”

  “But what if I don’t want to be the mother of your children?” Christine asked. There was a lump in her throat that she didn’t know why it was there.

  “Rudy is no longer available Chris,” Max said, a tad cruelly in Christine’s opinion.

  “Don’t call me that,” she said.

  “Will you at least think about it?” he asked.

  Christine sighed and looked at her grandmother, waiting for some clue as to how to proceed. Her grandma looked impassively back, leaving the decision entirely to her.

  “I will try to think about,” she said at last.

  “Thank you Christine,” Max said standing up to leave the table. He bent forward and planted a kiss on her cheek and then went around the table to do the same for her grandma. Christine was royally confused.

  *****

  “So you’re just going to sit there and not say anything?” she asked her grandma when Max’s footsteps had stopped echoing in the hallway. He must have reached his bedroom.

  Martha shrugged, “You know I try not to come between you kids. Your fights are always too brutal for me.”

  “This isn’t a fight and we’re not kids. What Max is suggesting is far from kiddish…even if it is to do with kids. And it's madness. You know this. Why didn’t you speak up? He’d have listened to you,” Christine said chidingly.

  Martha studied her. “If you think that, why didn’t you just say no?” she asked impassively.

  Christine widened her eyes at her, “Are you kidding me? Of course I didn’t say no. He could have cancer!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes. But whether or not that is true, if you think the idea is madness then you should shoot it down. You say you’re not kids, but you still want your gra to tell you what to do…”

  “That is not fair,” Christine frowned at her.

  “You can’t have your cake and eat it Chris; either this is madness in which case you need to shut it down, or else it’s an idea worth considering in which case it's your decision.”

  Christine glared at her. “I really hate that you’re so wise,” she grumbled.

  Martha smiled and stood up to head back to the kitchen. “I’ll pack you a nice lunch. Why don’t you head to the sunroom, it's gorgeous this time of day. Perfect for thinking,” she said.

  Christine made a face at her behind her back but then stood, went to the side board to pour herself some coffee and then he
aded to the sunroom to think.

  *****

  She thought about her relationship with Rudy; they had met on the first day of college at MIT; they were the only two black students in the Electrical Engineering Freshman class and so they naturally gravitated toward each other. The stress of college and their natural competitiveness might have torn them apart instead it made them closer. Unlike Christine’s humble roots however, Rudy came from a well off New York family who, if not outwardly hostile, were still ambivalent about having her in his life. Christine had hoped that once they got to know her…especially after Rudy proposed, that they would soften up.

  It was Max who had dropped the truth bombs on her. He’d told her that they would never accept her, that she would never be good enough for the likes of them, that Rudy would break her heart…she’d hated him for it. And hated him even more when every one of his predictions came true. Rudy left her at the altar for a white woman. He hadn’t so much as tried to fight for her against his family. Christine had wanted to stay and fight but Max had whisked her off to an island on the Caribbean with her grandmother. They kept her there for three weeks, plying her with alcohol and good advice; trying to get her over the bump. All she’d wanted to do was leave, to run to New York and Rudy; to make him see that they were meant to be. But there was no way off the island except Max’s private plane – and that was not available to her until Max said so. She had cried and pleaded and begged but neither Max nor her grandmother listened to her. They just plied her with more drinks and more soothing words while she felt like she might go crazy if she didn’t move.

  Once the turmoil in her head calmed down a little though, she decided that the best strategy to ensure she got off the island was to pretend to be better. She tried to smile; she toasted to her Rudy-free future, she audibly made plans to move on. The more she did these things, the more relaxed Max and her grandmother became. After a week of visibly relaxing she said she should get back. She had her last semester of college to attend and she needed to prepare for that. Rudy would still be in her class; she would have to deal with that and not let it affect her grades. She’d worked too hard to achieve her dreams to let this little snafu trip her up. Martha and Max cheered her on, promised they would do anything they could to make life better. Max even offered to get Rudy expelled…though she was eighty per cent sure that had been a joke.