The Billionaire's Unexpected Secret Baby

Lola

“That was pretty song you sang, little songbird.”

I turned around, suppressing a sigh. I’d been touring for the last two months, and despite that, I’d never gotten used to the attention the men paid me after my shows. The man smiled, and my eyes flickered over his face. One of his teeth was missing, replaced by a gold one. His tie was loose at his throat, his skin aged and papery.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling politely. I didn’t want to be rude, but I sure wasn’t in the mood to be bothered. The show had gone great, and I was after nothing more than a quiet drink. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I said.

“Hey,” said the man, and then again, as I stepped away. “Hey,” he repeated, a little more frustrated this time. “Aren’t you gonna let me buy you a little drink,canary?” He laughed at his own joke.

“No thank you,” I said, putting on a smile. That was the way my mom always taught me to be, I guess. Put on a smile, even when the world was handing you nothing but heartache. And heartache was my best friend these days. My college boyfriend, Alan, had given me two options: pursue my professional career as a singer in Indonesia over the Winter, or stay cooped up in our cramped, cold apartment in Brooklyn. I was starting to wonder whether I’d made the right choice as the stranger’s hand brushed over my arm, and I smelled the stink of rum on his breath.

“What’s the matter?” he said. “You think you’re too good for me?”

“Actually,” I said, as politely and sweetly as I could, “I don’t think anything about you, sir. I’m just enjoying a drink before I go back to my hotel. Alone.”

The drunk growled, and then before I knew it, he’d stood up from his stool.

“You think being smart like that is a good idea?” he snapped.

And then, something happened which changed everything.

“Excuse me,” said a rough, dark voice. “The young lady and I were just looking for each other.”

We weren’t. As a matter of fact, I’d never even seen the tall man who’d just stepped between me and the drunk. His shoulders were broad, and his back was wide.

The man with the gold tooth scowled, and turned away.

“Are you all right?” said the stranger, and I looked up at him. He wore a red silk tie, elegantly knotted around his collar, and his stubble was carefully trimmed. His eyes were a piercing blue, and looked out at me from the center of a sharp, angular face with a strong jaw, and prominent cheekbones. The picture of strength, of handsomeness.

“I’m fine,” I said, a little breathless at the sight of his gorgeous face. “Thanks to you,” I added.

The stranger exhaled in relief, and I felt his touching concern for me. But his face grew dark. “What are you still doing here?” he snapped. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

“Well," I said, laughing. "There's no need to be angry about it. Lola Ryder,” I said, extending my hand.

“Alex Lowe,” said the man in return. He gripped my tiny hand in his enormous paw, and I felt an electric thrill run down my arm. “And I know who you are. I came to hear you sing tonight.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Did you enjoy the performance?”

“I did,” said Alex. His voice was dark and deep. “You’re very talented, Miss Ryder. How long have you been singing?”

I was suspicious—I’d just had the attention of one unwanted male admirer, and I wasn’t sure I needed any more. But Alex seemed to be a good man, even if he was a little rude. And I sure liked the look of him. Here’s a fan I want to spend some time with!

“I’ve been singing for a year now,” I said. “But, all my life, I guess.” I’d always wanted to be a musician since I was a little girl.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he said.

“Well, no. I’m from New York,” I said.

“New York?” he said. “Well, that’s interesting. So am I.”

“What do you do there?”

“I run a few bars. Tell me, Lola. What’s a jazz singer from New York doing all the way out here in Bali?”

I smiled, bashfully. “I guess it’s the only gig I could find. I’ve only been singing professionally for a year or so.” I smiled.

But Alex didn’t smile. And I was used to men smiling at me—because they wanted something and thought I could give them what they needed. But I wasn’t used to the cold glare emanating from Alex Lowe’s bright blue eyes.

And I wasn’t used to the fire it was stoking in my heart.

“I see,” he said. “And where are you going now? Unless you’re sticking around for karaoke?”

“No,” I said, grinning. “I’m actually just waiting for the rain to stop, so I can get to my hotel.”

“Well, you’re not waiting here,” growled Alex. “Come on. I’ve got a private room.”

“Excuse me!” I said. “I don’t know who you think you are, buster, but you aren’t ordering me anywhere.”

“Oh,” said Alex. “Fine. I apologize.”

“That’s better.” I laughed. “Now, where’s this private room you were telling me about?”

Alex’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, so you want to come up now?” he said.

“I’m considering it,” I said wryly.

He led me up the stairs, above the bar, to a comfortable lounge with a sliding screen door and a beautiful tapestry hanging on the wall. On the other side was a clock, and below it, a dartboard and a long, full-length mirror glinting in the pale moonlight.

For the rest of the night, we sat together on achaise-lounge while the rain fell and a moon shone among the dark, billowing clouds. And Alex Lowe and I talked.

We sipped our drinks, and I told him my life story. How I’d moved to New York from Wisconsin after college. How I’d sweet-talked my way into a spot atBlue Note—one of Manhattan’s most famous jazz bars, and how I’d ended up alone, with no boyfriend, singing my way across Sumatra, Java, and Bali.

“It’s impressive how dedicated you are to your music,” said Alex. But even as he said this—a wonderful compliment—he still didn’t smile. Was it that I’d upset him, that he was concerned about me? Or was he just like that?

“Thank you,” I replied, beaming. “I guess you can’t succeed at something unless you’re dedicated to it.”

“I agree,” said Alex. “And if your boyfriend can’t see that, well, too bad.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” I corrected him while looking outside.

The rain had stopped. In fact, it had stopped over an hour ago. But we were still talking, and I’d shifted closer to Alex on the chaise-lounge.

His heat, the scent of his cologne was sweet, like the scent of lime trees and sandalwood, and made me drowsy. And I could sense Alex wasn’t immune to me, either.

When I told him I was single, he was shocked.

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“Well, only recently,” I said. “But yeah.”

“Why did you break up with him?”

“He broke up with me, actually. He told me that either I could stay in New York or come here to Bali.”

“What? He gave you a choice between your career and your work? Lola, that’s crazy. You shouldn’t have to put up with that. Someone who holds you back like that is…well, they’re no friend at all.”

I was surprised at how sensitive Alex could be sometimes, but as he said this, his eyes seemed to grow dark. He was thinking about something else. I wanted to cheer up the stone-faced, handsome man in front of me.

“You play?” I said, looking at the dartboard hung up on the wooden wall.

“Sure,” smiled Alex.

He played pretty well, as it turned out. Alex scored a 100 on his first go. But when it was my turn to launch a dart, it merely cluttered to the floor.

“You need to improve your stance,” he said after I’d flunked out a couple of times.