Shopping for a CEO's Baby (Shopping for a Billionaire Series Book 16), стр. 5

“Which means she's going to be twice as sick.”

My grin freezes.

“And the glorious second trimester is going to be a blink for you. Not that nice, three-month stretch of horny preggo wife Declan got to enjoy.”

Are Declan's shoulders shaking with laughter?

A blast of cool air from the main door makes us all turn to see old Jorg walk in. He's the only person in my life other than Amanda who knows I bought the gyms. Even Vince doesn't know, which is about to change when I offer him a huge raise and a director-level role–with plenty of time on the flagship gym's floor–running my new chain.

“Speaking of preggo wives, how's Suzanne?” Declan calls out.

“She's good.” Gerald has a face like a concrete block, with a smushed nose and scars to go along with the look. Head shaved bald, he's intimidating as hell, which is perfect for a bodyguard.

But he’s a study in contrasts: The guy is also a marshmallow on the inside, teaching sculpting to little kids at a local center for the arts, spoiling his wife's dog, Smoochy, and getting ready for his first kid.

Like me.

Except I've got two coming.

“How many weeks now?” I ask.

“Fourteen. You know, I'm amazed,” he says in a weirdly reflective tone. Gerald's not one for offering up opinions, insights, or… ugh.

Feelings.

“At what?” Vince asks.

“Suzanne hasn't had even the slighted whiff of morning sickness. She's gained ten pounds. The doctors just told her to stop running five miles a day, so she's fast-walking seven instead. Her caseload at work is the same.”

“And the sex?” Vince asks, eyes cutting to me.

One offended eyebrow goes up on Gerald's face, making him look like a villainous Mr. Clean. “’Scuse me?”

“We were just talking about pregnancy sex.”

One corner of Gerald's mouth curls up. “Let's just say her caseload has expanded in that area.”

I drop the forties in my hand and grunt at Vince. “Next.”

“Ropes. Use the wall anchor. Then tires,” he orders.

A curt nod is all I have in me. Exhaustion isn't the problem.

Gerald's words are.

No way will I admit this to the guys, but we haven't had sex since morning sickness crept in. Amanda cries–a lot–and apologizes profusely. And she offers other, shall we say... activities as compensation.

But I want her.

All of her.

And I want to give.

Jacking off in the shower (at home, not here, because I'm not depraved) barely takes the edge off.

So if I'm looking at double the morning sickness, double the nausea–double the negatives–in order to have double the children, while the trade-off is worth it, of course, the terms of this deal suck.

They're the only thing that's sucking these days, because unfortunately, my dick isn't orange. Amanda would put it in her mouth more often if it were.

Hmmm. Can you buy dye for that?

“Andrew!” Jorg barks, making me look up sharply, the curve of a rope looping up damn near shearing off my nose. The guy looks like he's ninety, but I now know he's seventy-eight. How do I know?

Contracts.

“What?” I call back to the guy, who seems like he's walking with a lighter step. Is this what the curmudgeon looked like when he was happy?

“How you liking the place?”

Vince goes dead still. Damn it. I told Jorg not to blow the secret.

“Smells like an elephant got drunk and took a piss in here,” I answer as I wipe down a bench.

“Good. Wouldn't want nothin’ to change.” Then he cackles. Vince looks at him, then me, eyes narrowing.

Instead of asking what's up, he says, “Your glutes look like something you find in the broken doll bin at a thrift shop.”

“What's a thrift shop?” I ask, puzzled.

That must have come out a little too loud, because I can feel everyone's eye roll. Why?

Vince points to the mat. “Hundred burpees. Now.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

“Why are you punishing me?”

“One, because I'm your trainer. You pay me to punish you. Two, because you're sheltered.”

“Sheltered? I'm not–”

“If you don't know what the hell a thrift shop is, you're sheltered.”

I look at Dec. “You don't know what one is, do you?”

“Of course I do. Marie and Shannon used to drag me to those places all the time. It's like an antique store for poor people.”

“A junk shop?” Now I get it, turning to Vince for vindication.

“You,” Vince points at Declan, then the mat next to me. “Hundred burpees with him.”

“Why me?”

“You billionaires need to feel more pain. Toughens you up.”

“He's not a billionaire anymore,” I clarify, earning a glare from my big bro.

“Well, boo hoo,” Vince says, the sole of his shoe going flat on my spine the second I drop, reflexes fast enough to move as I stand. “You'll just have to hug your hundreds of millions and listen to the whispers of all those not-quite-billions as they flatter you.”

Dec drops to the mat with me, humoring him. “I don't like your tone,” he says. “It's funny when it's pointed at Andrew, but not me.”

“Are those tears I see? You can wipe them up with hundred-dollar bills. I'm sure Ben Franklin can feel your pain.”

Dec opens his mouth to argue. I elbow him.

“Shut up. The more you argue, the more he'll make us suffer.”

“Since when did that bother me? Have you met our father?”

Seventeen minutes and half an ACL tear later, I finish.

Before Declan, for the record.

This place is too stripped down for a water cooler. I press my thumb against the ancient water fountain faucet and aim my bottle. The slow gurgle of water arcing in makes me long for touchless water bottle refill machines.

Definitely installing some of those in here soon.

“Hey. You bought the gyms?” Vince says to me in a raw voice, astonishment evident in his tone.

“Shhh. Yes. I was going to tell you, but–”

“Hey, man, you don't owe me an explanation.”

“I know I don't owe you one. I want to give you one.”

“You're moving on. Found a different program. It's cool.”

His words don't make sense to me.

“What are you talking about?”

Cold eyes meet mine. “Jorg told me. I'm sure you're moving on the gentrification