Kidnapping the Billionaire's Baby (A BWWM Romantic Suspense) Read online

  Kidnapping the Billionaire’s Baby

  Mia Caldwell

  Copyright Information

  Kidnapping the Billionaire’s Baby Copyright © 2016 Mia Caldwell

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Information

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  Other Books

  All About Mia

  Chapter One

  AMARA SAT HUNCHED OVER HER desk, staring at her laptop in despair. On the screen, perched atop nearly a dozen formal withdrawals of funding from various grant sponsors, there was an unread message from the largest of them.

  It had already sat unopened for a day. The last few emails had been exceptionally rough, and Amara was certain that opening the final one would be the end of everything.

  She pushed back from her desk and stood, hands rising to slide through her curly, voluminous hair, disheveled from her frustrations. For the last three days, Amara had canceled every class she taught, including a guest-lecture gig at another campus.

  What else was there to do when your life’s work was falling to pieces right in front of you? Withdrawing seemed the only option.

  The sunny scene outside her office window mocked her misery: laughing couples holding hands, people studying together around the fountain, an impromptu touch football game among a number of the new arrivals. Their enthusiasm marked them as freshmen, and she knew they’d be stripped of that perkiness before long by the academic load they’d carry in their second year.

  She easily recalled her time as a student at the university, the sleepless nights poring over texts about not only agriculture, her chosen field, but also economics, ethics, and sociology. All those classes helped cement her future path.

  Amara drew the blinds and began pacing back and forth from bookshelf to bookshelf, half-whispered curses and frets spilling from her lips. The vibrancy of the young, hopeful students outside only further drove home the fact that her life’s work was coming to an end right in front of her … and for the most pedestrian, pointless reason possible.

  An asshole of an ex.

  “One wrong decision is all it took,” she muttered, heaving a sigh of frustration.

  She stopped pacing and stared up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe this. If somebody could come in and wake me up, that’d be great. Any time now. Anyone?”

  She paused for a long moment, indulging in further theatrics to vent her frustrations. “Worst. Nightmare. Ever.”

  It was time. Time to get it over with. Time to open the final email.

  As she turned back to her laptop and leaned over the desk, her phone chimed quietly in her pocket. She pulled out the phone and read the text message from her best friend, Kari Henson.

  Are you in your office?

  I’m coming over.

  Be there in a sec.

  Kari, usually upbeat and vociferous, was uncharacteristically terse in her wording. Amara pocketed the phone.

  Of course it was Kari. Every time Amara was in need, whether she knew it or not, her best friend always tried to parse out and solve her problems for her — not that either of them minded the arrangement.

  Amara was grateful to have the support, and despite Kari being something of a meddler, her intentions were always good. Unfortunately, she was a little late to rush to the rescue this time, and she’d likely kick herself over it for months.

  Amara spoke aloud to no one in particular. “What’s the point of rushing now? It’s done. It’s all done.”

  Her hand hovered over the laptop’s touchpad. She dreaded opening the email from FoodFirst and stalled by reading the subject line. It read much like the others:

  Re: Cassava grant

  She clicked on the line, her eyes instantly scanning the length of the page, trying to take it all in at once.

  Amara practically slumped over in relief. The subject line may have been the same as the others, but the content was most definitely, miraculously different.

  FoodFirst wasn’t withdrawing the grant. They would continue funding her while awaiting the outcome of their independent investigation into the accusations against Amara.

  Unshed tears of gratitude burned her eyes. Her work might yet survive.

  This grant was substantial and gave her hope that she might be able to continue her humanitarian work in Nigeria specifically and sub-Saharan Africa in general. The funding from FoodFirst would allow her to expand into several other countries and work closely with local farmers in rural areas where her assistance was needed the most.

  Amara had been working for years to turn the humble cassava root into a safer, more nutritious staple food. Not a first choice because of its ample shortcomings, cassava was nonetheless cultivated year-round by subsistence farmers as an insurance crop for periods of drought or famine.

  Because of its safety-net role in the all-too-often occurrences of shortage, it was vitally important that the root be made safer and more nutritious. For many people in developing nations, it could mean the difference between life and death.

  Amara closed the laptop with trembling hands. To say it had been a long couple of days was a dramatic understatement. She’d hardly seen anyone and had spent most of her time trying to do damage control with not only her sponsors, but the university.

  She couldn’t face anyone. The outrageous accusation that she’d fabricated the results of her field trial with false data had put her entire professional and humanitarian future at risk, and there seemed to be no stopping the momentum of the train wreck.

  A loud knock sounded at the door, and it was opened almost immediately as Kari strode in with purpose. Her relaxed curls bounced as she made her way to Amara’s desk and let the door swing shut heavily behind her. She held her hands out in a gesture of disbelief.

  “What the hell’s going on?” she asked. “I haven’t heard from you in days, and now I hear Frederik is lying and telling everyone you falsified your results?” Her dark eyes flashed
. “How could he say something like that? More importantly, how could people believe him? I haven’t been this mad in ages.”

  Amara nodded mutely.

  Kari scowled. “I should’ve known something was up with him. I was going to tell you as much when you got together, that his aura was all kinds of malicious looking, but you know that’s one area I try to steer clear of. What could drive a person to do something like that, honestly? What kind of vindictive little —”

  Amara sat up straighter, giving a slight wave of her hand. “Just … sit down. Thanks for coming to check up on me. I was going to call you, but … well … I didn’t because I’ve totally lost it.”

  Kari pulled her paint-stained apron off, folded it with practiced precision, and placed it in her lap as she sat in the plush guest chair across from Amara.

  Being an art teacher was a messy business and Kari’s unique brand of teaching and inspiring art students made her classes an exceedingly popular choice. Her classes were always completely full of ambitious freshmen.

  Kari focused on the kinetic nature of painting, making a performance art out of the act itself. It was fun, frenzied, and undeniably Kari.

  Right now, though, Kari looked more vengeful than fun, and Amara admitted to herself that she appreciated the support. She hadn’t realized how much she needed it right now.

  Kari leaned back, settling her hands over the apron. “I’m all ears.”

  Amara nodded, bracing herself to tell the story. “Frederik and I … you know we broke up a little while back. The whole fiasco in Nigeria was pretty much the end for us. He treated it like a vacation and left me with all the work. I’ve told you that much before.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Kari murmured, looking thoroughly disgusted.

  “It wasn’t the first time he’d let me down or half-ass undermined me,” Amara continued, “but I really thought he was above the kind of thing he’s done now. I gave him co-researcher credit for God’s sake, so you’d think he wouldn’t want to sink something that has his name on it. Besides, he’s got plenty of experience and name recognition in the Ag-Science community, so I figured it would help my credibility. It did, but …”

  Amara paused, slowly shaking her head in regret “… in all the ways I hoped it wouldn’t. I haven’t told you this part. By the time I had my results from the field work, I received a buyout offer from a very popular corporation. I didn’t want to sell out. Their reputation goes against everything I believe in. They make farmers pay them for the benefit of growing ‘their’ crops, use horrible pesticides that harm the environment, all sorts of things. I could never do business with them for those reasons alone. But even if that weren’t the case, I didn’t develop this strain for money, you know?”

  Kari nodded hard. “Of course. You’ve always said as much. I was so proud when you got back and told me how well it went. And, I’ll admit it, I was glad you’d broken up with the overbearing ass. Then everything kinda went quiet, I figured you were just hard at work. I didn’t want to bother you. I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch sooner. Really.”

  Amara consoled her. “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t you, it was me.”

  The absence of her friend certainly hadn’t made the ordeal any easier, but Kari could hardly be blamed for that. Amara hadn’t been ready to share the devastation yet. She’d been hiding out, wallowing in uncertainty and near despair.

  Contributing to their lack of communication was Kari’s recent admission that she feared she’d been intervening in Amara’s affairs too often. Kari rarely held back when offering advice and in pushing Amara to heed it. Amara wasn't sure how she felt about Kari stepping back lately.

  Kari sighed hard, shifting in the chair as she studied Amara. After a long moment of silence and searching, she asked, “That was the reason for the break-up, wasn’t it?”

  Amara was quick to answer. “No. No, I mean, it was the catalyst, but it wasn’t the only reason. Not by far. He was controlling, dismissive, arrogant, insensitive … and to be honest, in retrospect, I’m not entirely sure what I saw in him in the first place. The confidence, maybe.”

  “Damned sure he’s got that spilling over the brim,” Kari said.

  “You know I’m a sucker for older men, too,” Amara said. “Not too much older, but 35, 40, experienced guys who know what they want. I guess I’ll have to re-examine that preference, because Frederik’s been acting like a maligned child.”

  Kari looked like she wanted to say something but kept her lips tightly sealed.

  Amara rushed on. “I broke it off when he tried to pressure me into selling out and splitting the profit with him. He even got Dean Wilson involved, who assured me of all the good things that the university could do with its share of the sale. I refused.”

  The image of an outraged Frederik flickered through her mind. “I guess that pissed Frederik off even more than I thought it had, because now he’s telling everyone lies about what happened during the trials. I’ve got everything properly documented, but no one will look at it. Samples of the product, blood tests from before and after crop adoption, growth-rate comparisons … nothing. I’m completely alone on this, academically speaking.”

  “It makes no sense,” Kari said. “How could Frederik have this much pull?”

  Amara shrugged ruefully. “I thought I had more allies in the department. Apparently I was wrong because they’re backing him up without question. I should’ve paid more attention to the sponsors for his past work. Getting in bed with big time agri-businesses gets you all the grant money you could possibly need, but you have to compromise yourself and your work to further the agenda of a corporation that doesn’t care about you or the people you’re trying to help.”

  “They’re interested in one thing. Profit,” Kari said.

  “Exactly. Just like Frederik. He’s probably been accepting money on the down low for a long time, the slimy bastard. Come to think of it, he’s a perfect fit for that kind of thing, isn’t he? I was so naive. I can’t believe I ever trusted him.”

  “We all make mistakes, and he’s a smooth talker, a charmer when he wants to be.”

  Amara smiled weakly at her friend’s attempt to explain and excuse Amara’s mistakes.

  “I mean, what can we even do?” Kari asked briskly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got no problem just getting some straight-up revenge on his ass. He deserves it. Ready for war, here.” Kari’s wide, rosy lips curled into a vengeful promise.

  Amara nearly smiled at that. Kari was always quick to come to her defense when she needed it most. “Oh, that’d be fun, wouldn’t it? A little creative chemistry with his morning coffee, maybe?”

  Kari’s wide-set, pretty eyes gleamed. “I could have a little ‘accident’ with my buckets of paint the next time I walk past him. I’m clumsy enough as it is. Nobody would fault me for it.”

  Both women paused to consider the image of him covered in the vibrant primary hues Kari favored. Good, but nowhere close to good enough.

  “Ah … no,” Amara said. “I just wish people wouldn’t take him at his word. I’ve lost every single grant except FoodFirst, and they’re on the fence. They said they’ll be carrying out an independent investigation, so I’m sure they’ll come to me for the actual data.”

  “But that would be good, right? Someone who will actually listen to your side of things.”

  “Yes. I know I can prove to them that what I accomplished out there is the real deal. Maybe they can get in touch with some of their partners and get the actual data to —”

  The office phone rang, and Amara snatched it up, a sudden feeling of dread washing over her. It was the dean’s office, his secretary. Damn.

  Amara knew what came next. She was getting fired.

  Chapter Two

  A FEW SMALL, QUIET AFFIRMATIVES made up the entirety of Amara’s side of the short call, and she carefully hung up. Everything had changed to slow motion.

  Her fingers slipped into her hair, palms pressed tight to her forehead. Her voice sou
nded strangely distant. “The dean’s secretary says Dean Wilson wants to see me immediately … no delays. She used those words exactly. No delays.”

  Kari’s eyes went wide as she sat up. “Fu — that is, I mean, do you usually get called in like that?”

  Amara groaned, sitting back heavily in the chair. “Never. This has got to be about the shit Frederik’s been talking.” She quickly sat up ramrod stiff. “He’s going to fire me. I know it.”

  Kari’s mouth opened slightly, clearly meaning to dismiss the notion outright, but nothing came out for a telling moment. Finally, she said, “Maybe he just wants to talk to you. He knows what you do, what you’ve done for this school. Maybe he wants to get the whole thing sorted out real quick, you know?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he wants me to be packed and gone by the end of the day. Damn.” Amara stood up quickly, pacing back and forth in front of the window again. “What am I supposed to do? I have to go, right now. I don’t want to. I really, really don’t want to go.”

  Kari made her way around the desk and wrapped her arms tightly around Amara. “Don’t worry. Whatever happens, you’re gonna be fine. You always are. Even if it’s … the worst … it won’t be your first setback. The best thing you can do is get down there quick, and get it over with. Like ripping off a bandage.”

  Amara gave Kari a half-hearted hug in return before stepping back. “Yeah, I know. Don’t wait around on me. I know you’ve got another class coming up soon. Don’t miss it on my account. No matter what, I’ll catch up with you after, okay?”

  “We’ll grab some drinks downtown or something. Good luck!” Kari managed an earnest, encouraging smile. “See you soon.”

  With a little wave, Kari turned and left the room, rushing to get back to the art building in time for her next class. Amara followed her out the door, but they parted ways immediately, Amara bound for the Dean’s office on the second floor of the administrative building.

  AMARA WALKED WITH HER HEAD low, eyes cast to the ground, heaving a shaky sigh now and then. She couldn’t stop thinking of her great-grandmother and how disappointed she would be.