Billionaire Baby Daddy

ISABELLA

My heart pounds in my chest as I enter Kings Company. I have an interview in twenty minutes, and to say that I’m nervous would be an understatement.

I will my legs to walk toward the receptionist. I expect her to be a cliché type, but instead I find a beautiful lady with minimal makeup and wearing a pantsuit.

She continues typing as I approach. My kind of girl. She looks up when she feels my presence and gives me a practiced smile.

“Umm. Hi, I’m here to interview for the human resources position.” I try smiling at her politely.

Her eyes light up with recognition. “Isabella Styles, isn’t it?” My face must be showing my confusion. “Oh! There are only two of you, and the other one just came in.” Ah, that explains it.

“Thought I was some celebrity or something for a minute.” I laugh at my humor and the lady joins me. I look at her name tag. Emily.

“Well, you’re not,” Emily says matter-of-factly with a trace of humor. I grin at her.

“Hope you get the job, Ms. Styles. I already like you,” she says in a welcoming voice, smiling widely. She’s so happy.

I suddenly remember how the handsome, mysterious man had worn such a happy expression throughout our encounter. I shake my head. Not him again.

“Please, call me Bella.” I smile at her.

“Bella it is. Your interview is on the fifteenth floor. The elevators are right there,” she says, pointing to my left. I thank her and head to the elevators.

Two minutes later I get in; luckily, no one else is inside. Memories of the man from the club invade my mind. Again. I remember his kisses and his touch. How his fingers…

Get a fucking grip, Bella.

I decide to think about the interview as I check myself in the mirror.

My hair is perfect, and my white pencil skirt looks decent enough. I’m wearing a black button-down blouse that I have tucked in, making me look professional.

The elevator dings, indicating that I have reached my destination. I take a deep breath as I wait for the door to open.

When I step out, I see another receptionist who looks like she would rather be somewhere else. She is the total opposite of Emily.

“Hi, I’m here for the inter—” I am rudely cut off by the bimbo, who is dressed like a slut. I never judge but she is just that type that screams it.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go to room 15D,” she says, looking back down at her novel.

A man comes up beside me and calls out to Ashley, which I assume is her since she looks up. Her attitude changes to a flirty one in a second.

See what I mean? She is showing major cleavage, and I know if she shouts her boobs will burst out of her revealing top.

I roll my eyes as I look for room 15D. When I find it, there is an anxious-looking man sitting on one of the chairs in the hallway, tapping his foot anxiously.

I take a seat next to him. “Stop that. Stop tapping your foot.” I snap after a while. It’s so annoying.

Yeah, I am really pissed off with everyone today. I get up and sit in the seat across the hall from him. He smiles at me, but I just acknowledge him with a nod. I don’t feel like being nice right now.

After about ten minutes a lady calls for a Mr. Jackson, and the man inhales deeply before following her into the room. I feel you, Mr. Jackson. He looks so nervous that I almost pity him.

Keyword being almost. I also need the job. I need to move out of my shitty apartment, and I have a college loan and other expenses to pay.

My foster father, who I came to love, is in the hospital. He was recently diagnosed with leukemia. His medical bills have drained out my account, but I don’t mind.

He took care of me with all the love I had never gotten from my shitty parents, and now it’s my turn to take care of him. His wife and daughter died and he decided to adopt me.

I am his daughter’s replacement, but I never cared. He loves me so much because I remind him of her. Mr. Jackson comes out ten minutes later, a neutral expression on his face.

I try to guess the outcome, to no avail. The lady emerges seconds later and approaches me. “Ms. Styles, right?”

I nod my head. “Indeed it is.” I try cooling down the tension with a joking tone, but the woman just gives me a tight-lipped smile.

Uh oh.

“Follow me.”

I get to my feet as quickly as I can and I follow her into an elegant office. She sits down behind the desk. Looks like she is my interviewer, after all.

“Mr. Kings would have been here personally to interview you, but he has been caught up. He’s a busy man, after all.”

I don’t mind. I have heard that Sydney Kings is a scary man who has the world at his feet. A ruthless man who cares about no one.

I’ll make sure not to pass his way if I can help it. I am clever enough to do that.

The interview drags on for about five minutes, and the woman mocks and taunts me. I have impressive grades and I am proud of my achievements, but she is getting on my nerves.

Finally, I snap. “Excuse me, Miss, but I would really appreciate if you would drop your attitude. It is not professional to mock my clothing and my school records.”

I really need this job, but screw it. I rise from my seat aggressively and take my documents. I turn to leave, only to collide with a wall. My documents go flying all over the place.

Great! I fucking needed this right now. Note the sarcasm.

As I bend to pick them up, I notice shiny dress shoes in front of me. They look expensive, and I resist the compulsion to raise my eyes and look up.

I gather everything and stand up to meet mesmerizing gray eyes that hold terrible anger. I remain immobile when I recognize him.

“You’re fired,” he says coldly.

And now I’m confused. I didn’t even finish the interview. No one moves, and the man’s eyes never leave mine. Is he really talking to me?

“Pack your things and get going, Ms. Kendall.” His eyes never leave mine, but I don’t mind. He looks the same, only now instead of happy he looks stressed and emotionless.

His face is still handsome, though I prefer the version of him I met at the club. He looked so carefree that night.

“Sorry, Mr. Kings. There is a mis—”

My eyes widen when I hear his name. “M-Mr. K-Kings? You’re him?” Oh no! I turn around, massaging my temples.

Should I pretend to faint? I won’t be getting the job anyway. Maybe I should just leave. I decide to leave, but he grasps my hand, preventing me from going anywhere. This time I really do faint.

I wake up in a larger, black-and-white themed office. I look around, trying to register what had happened.

“Look who has found the grace to wake up,” Mr. Kings says in a mocking tone, and my forgotten panic rushes back.

“I’m so sorry. I have no idea why I fainted. Must have been because I didn’t eat breakfast or something. I know I wasted your time—I will leave.”

I know I’m a rambling mess, but that’s what I do best. Especially when I’m panicking. Mr. Kings comes to me and gives me a passionate kiss, leaving me breathless.

“Have you been with another man, Isabella?”

I give him a ridiculous look. Who is he to ask me such questions?

“What does my private life have to do with this, Mr. Kings? I only came here for an interview. Not drama or surprises that I didn’t ask for.”

I take my purse and stride out of the office without looking back.

“You’ll be mine, Isabella Styles,” he says it like a promise, which makes my heart pound. But I still run out of there as fast as I can.