THE BILLIONAIRE’S
BABY PLAN
ALLISON LEIGH
MARRYING THE
NORTHBRIDGE
NANNY
VICTORIA PADE
THE BILLIONAIRE’S
BABY PLAN
ALLISON LEIGH
Dear Reader,
I’ve said more than once how much I enjoy participating in multiauthor continuities. I have the chance to work with—and learn from—authors whose work I admire, and sometimes work again with authors I’ve had such fun with on previous projects. The Baby Chase has been no exception. It has also given me a chance to work again with editor extraordinaire Susan Litman who somehow manages to keep tabs on a mountain of details (a mammoth-size task that would send me around the bend) and does it with such amazing humor and grace.
So welcome, again, to the Armstrong Fertility Institute, where families are made and where the Armstrong family, in particular, learns just how much of a family they really can be.
I hope you enjoy the chase!
Allison Leigh
About the Author
ALLISON LEIGH started early by writing a Halloween play that her grade school class performed. Since then, though her tastes have changed, her love for reading has not. And her writing appetite simply grows more voracious by the day.
She has been a finalist for a RITA® Award and a Holt Medallion. But the true highlight of her day as a writer is when she receives word from a reader that they laughed, cried or lost a night of sleep while reading one of her books.
Born in Southern California, Allison has lived in several different cities in four different states. She has been, at one time or another, a cosmetologist, a computer programmer and a secretary. She has recently begun writing full-time after spending nearly a decade as an administrative assistant for a busy neighborhood church. She currently makes her home in Arizona with her family. She loves to hear from her readers, who can write to her at PO Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, USA.
For my husband.
Prologue
“Good news.” Lisa Armstrong sailed into the living room of her brother Paul’s Beacon Hill town house, waving a newspaper over her head like a flag. “All of that sweet-talking to the features editor I’ve been doing the past few months are finally paying off. The paper’s going to do a twelve-week series on families seeking alternative methods of conceiving, and the Armstrong Fertility Institute is going to be prominently featured.” She felt her brilliant smile wilt a little when she finally focused on her brother’s unsmiling expression. “This is good news,” she reminded him. Her gaze switched to Ramona Tate’s pretty face. “All human interest and all good press for the clinic. Nothing for you to have to spin into something more palatable.”
But Ramona did not look overjoyed, and as the institute’s public-relations magician—not to mention her brother’s fiancée—she ought to have, particularly considering the tap-dancing she’d been having to do for too long now.
Lisa slowly lowered the paper and tossed it onto the coffee table. She’d been a little late to the sudden gathering her brother had called, and his spacious living room suddenly felt as if it was closing in on her.
Thoughts that her brother and Ramona had called the get-together to announce that they’d finally set a date for their wedding fizzled. There wasn’t a speck of joy on the faces of any of the handful of people gathered there.
She looked back at Paul. “What’s happened?”
“Derek has resigned his position as CFO of the institute.” Paul’s voice was even, but oddly flat.
“What? Why?”
“The financial audit that Harvey Nordinger conducted turned up serious discrepancies.”
“Which, as CFO, our silver-tongued brother should be dealing with,” she countered readily. She already knew the audit that Paul had instigated had shown less than satisfactory results.
Paul’s lips twisted. “I told Derek to resign, Lis.”
She felt the air leave her lungs in a whoosh. She sank down onto the arm of the couch, staring. “But he’s part of this family.” And the family was the institute. It had been since their obstetrician father, Gerald, had established it more than two decades earlier, expanding it from its roots as an innovative fertility clinic into one of the world’s premier biotech firms in the areas of infertility and genetic testing.
Paul, the eldest, was chief of staff. Derek, Paul’s twin, served as the CFO and Lisa, the youngest, was the administrator. Only Olivia, their other sibling, remained uninvolved in the day-to-day operations of the clinic.
Paul let out a rough sigh and raked his fingers through his hair. He shared a look with Ramona. “If Derek weren’t family, we’d be prosecuting him.”
Lisa blinked. “Excuse me?”
“He’s been embezzling from the institute. Harvey’s proved it.”
She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Harvey’s wrong. I know you trust him implicitly, Paul, but he’s wrong.” She looked around the room, from face to face. Ted Bonner and Chance Demetrios, the shining duo that Paul had lured away from San Francisco to head up their research operation. Sara Beth, who was not only the institute’s head nurse, but also Lisa’s best friend and Ted’s bride. They all, along with Ramona, were eyeing Lisa with something akin to pity. “He has to be,” she insisted. Derek might be Paul’s twin, but she was the one who felt closest to him.
And everyone there knew it.
Unease was blooming in her throat. Derek had his faults, certainly. But they all did. And most of those faults were centered on their unswerving commitment to the institute. “Derek wouldn’t steal from his own family.”
“I’m sorry, Lisa. He—” Paul broke off, his jaw clenching. Ramona slid her slender hand over his shoulder and his jaw slowly eased. His hand covered Ramona’s. “He admitted it,” he finished gruffly.
His words fell like stones.
Lisa’s throat slowly tightened and her nose started to burn.
She wanted to argue.
To convince him that, somehow, it was a terrible mistake.
But how could she? The truth was written on his face.
He cleared his throat. “The reason why I wanted everyone to meet here, instead of at the institute, is because I want to make certain none of this gets out. Not to any of the staff or the patients, but especially not the media or—”
“Daddy,” she finished, her voice going hoarse. Until his declining health had forced his retirement, the Armstrong Fertility Institute had been Gerald Armstrong’s life. “He can’t find out. It’ll kill him.”
“Which brings us to the next point of all of this.” Lisa didn’t see how it was possible, but Paul looked even grimmer. “Finances. We barely have enough operating capital left to keep our doors open through the quarter. As it is, we’ll have to cut our budgets to the bone. If we lay off—”
“No.” Lisa shoved off the couch like a shot, wrapping her arms around her waist. “The second anyone gets wind of layoffs, the reporters will be back on us like sharks.” She shook her head. “Only this time they’ll have real blood to find. There has to be other ways for us to cut expenses. I don’t know about everyone