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  The Baby Promise

  New Adult Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  Tia Wylder

  Table of Contents

  Free Gift: Playboy’s Virgin

  Personal Note

  The Baby Promise

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Accidental Surprises

  Chapter One: Golden Letters

  Free Gift For You!

  Be A Wyldest Dreamer!

  Copyright 2018 by Tia Wylder– All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Text copyright © Tia Wylder 2018 with US copyright office.

  Published by hotspicyromance.com

  All rights reserved.

  Free Gift: Playboy’s Virgin

  MATTHEW

  When I first lay eyes upon Claire Barkley, I never could have imagined we would become friends. That day I heard her complaining about her bad luck in the bar, I certainly didn’t expect to go out of my way to help her out. Helping women isn’t really the name of my game; more so helping myself to their bodies. However, in spite of my disdain for the fairer sex, there’s something about playing pretend that sets a fire alight inside of me. Love? Nah. But we’ll have fun.

  CLAIRE

  When my mother insisted I bring a date to my sister’s wedding, I thought I was out of luck. However, when a remarkably friendly face offered a bit of assistance, who was I to say no? Especially when the guy offering to help has such a hot bod… I may be a virgin, and this may all be a charade, but I’ll show this playboy that he’s not the only alpha in town. Game on, rich boy.

  This is a Guaranteed Happily Ever After, Standalone Hot & Steamy Romance.

  Get Playboy’s Virgin for FREE! Click Here and Start Reading this stand-alone Erotic Romance Today!

  MORE STEAMY ROMANCE ALSO BY TIA WYLDER:

  Hot Seal Next Door

  Dr. Single Dad’s Fake Marriage

  The Boss & The Intern

  The Billionaire’s Virgin Fiancée

  Two Brothers

  Playboy’s Virgin

  Beautiful Revenge

  One Night In Vegas

  Daddy’s Virgin Nanny

  Accidental Surprises

  Hope

  Fate

  Personal Note

  Hey girls, welcome to my dream world where billionaire bad boys are ready to be claimed by us kitties, cats, cougars, pumas, or maybe even Tigers! My name is Tia Wylder, a plain jane housewife with a loving husband and a four yrs old son. Life is as stable as it can be and what can I ask for more? Well, plenty LOL...

  See, besides being a typical stay home mother, cooking, grocery shopping and even pampering my hubby and son... and occasional girls meet, there isn't much freedom like it used to be. Like when we are on the market *wink* *wink*

  Yes, I have a great husband, but this does not mean I cannot adore men candies on GQ magazines, right? So here I am, sharing my wildest dreams with you.

  Whether you are still looking for a lover or you already have one, don't ever give up dreaming. Share with me on my Facebook fan page or join my reader's club. Let's have fun together, hot boyz here we come >>>

  Again, your support and love means the world to me.

  Connect with me on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/TiaWylder

  Don’t forget to join my reader’s club: Wildest Dreamers at http://subscribetiawylder.hotspicyromance.com/

  My website: http://www.hotspicyromance.com

  I love hearing from my readers. Feel Free to write to me directly at [email protected]

  XOXO

  Tia Wylder

  The Baby Promise

  Honey

  I never imagined that I’d be in this horrible situation.

  I grew up rich – I had the life of a fairy-tale princess.

  But when my father revealed that it had all been a lie – and that he was in debt for nearly seven billion dollars – my world came crashing down around me.

  I knew I had to do something desperate.

  Something drastic.

  I just never expected that I would fall in love.

  Peter

  My father’s never trusted me to take over his company. I’ve been trying to prove myself since I was a kid, but that doesn’t matter.

  He made a deal. I have to be married – and a father – by the age of thirty-five.

  I never thought I’d set out to buy a wife.

  And then I found her.

  Curvy, sexy, brilliantly smart. Oh, and willing to marry me, bear my child, then divorce gracefully…all to the nice little tune of seven billion dollars.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  The Baby Promise

  Chapter 1

  Peter

  “Baby, I’m cold.”

  With a groan, I opened my eyes and looked to my right. My girlfriend, Pamela, was lying in bed, next to me, with an annoyed look on her face.

  “Get a blanket,” I muttered, my voice still thick with sleep.

  “But I’m cold now,” Pamela whined. “You get it for me.”

  I pulled a pillow over my head and closed my eyes, hoping to drown out the obnoxious whine of my socialite girlfriend.

  “Baby,” Pamela whined, making the two-syllable word an easy four syllables. “You’re the man, you’re supposed to help me,” she added, squealing with frustration.

  I sighed. So much for getting more sleep, I thought angrily. She’s such a spoiled brat!

  “Baby,” Pamela repeated. “Hello, Peter, are you there?”

  “Yes,” I hissed through clenched teeth, sitting up and throwing the pillow to the side of the room. “Look, it doesn’t matter – it’s time to get up anyway.”

  Pamela gave me a doe-eyed look, pulling the sheet over her rail-thin frame. For a moment, a faint stirring of tenderness welled up inside of me. Pamela and I had been together for almost five years since the night we’d met at my twenty-eighth birthday party. At first, I’d been smitten with her. She came from one of New York’s most prominent families, she was gorgeous, and she had a giggle that made me think of an Old Hollywood actress.

  But now, five years later, Pamela’s antics were wearing me thin. I’d spent thousands of dollars on practically every cosmetic procedure in the book for her – trimming her nose, shaving her chin, sculpting her already-gorgeous cheekbones even higher. Now
she looked like a pin-up in a girlie magazine. I couldn’t deny that this look was appealing, too, but it had seemed that with every procedure, Pamela became less and less human to me.

  And now I felt like I was sitting in bed with a robot. A gorgeous, blonde robot…but a robot all the same.

  “Peter, get up and turn off the air conditioning,” Pamela whined. She’d pulled my blanket over her naked frame, and she was pouting up at me, biting on her artificially enhanced lower lip.

  I frowned.

  “Peter, god, what is wrong with you this morning,” Pamela grumbled. “Seriously!”

  “Do it yourself,” I said, yawning and rubbing my eyes with both hands. “Pamela, you’re not a child.”

  Pamela stuck her lower lip out even more. “I know,” she said, sniffing as if I’d somehow offended her. “I’m already twenty-seven, which is practically ancient! Did you know I’m the only one of my friends who isn’t engaged?”

  I sighed. “Not this again,” I said, shaking my head. “Pamela, I’ve told you – I’m not ready to make that step.”

  Pamela sighed as if I’d just told her that the world was collapsing.

  “Peter, I want to be your wife,” Pamela said. Her nostrils flared. “I’m ready to settle down, to have your kids!”

  “I don’t think I am,” I said honestly. Crossing the room, I yanked off my silk boxers and tossed them to the floor. Taking a fresh pair from my wardrobe, I pulled them on, followed by a pair of expensive wool trousers and a white button-down shirt.

  The soft footsteps behind me indicated Pamela hadn’t heard a thing.

  “Peter, you don’t even listen to me,” Pamela whined. “What’s the point of even talking to you?”

  I sighed. I was getting so sick of dealing with her shit. Every night was the same thing – we’d meet up once I left the office, go to dinner, maybe get a nightcap on the way home. Pamela would be giggly and sexy and fun, nipping at my ear in the back of the limo on the way to my condo. But every morning, she turned into a whining banshee, obsessed with marriage, unwilling to let me go without a fight.

  “I don’t want to do this right now,” I said, turning to Pamela as I buttoned my shirt to the collar. “I really don’t want to fight this morning.”

  “Well, we don’t have to fight,” Pamela said crossly. She stuck her tongue out at me and whirled around, prancing back to the bed. Her golden curls bounced on her tanned shoulders, and I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at her sculpted and toned ass.

  “Fine,” I said. I crossed the room and took my favorite tie from the nightstand – a tie my father had given me on my twenty-first birthday, from a famous French couturier.

  Pamela sat on the bed and stared, sticking her lower lip out to new heights. As I laced up my leather shoes and tucked my laptop inside my briefcase, she made a variety of annoying noises and whining sounds.

  “Wait,” Pamela said, when I was almost out the door. “You’re just going to leave me?”

  “Well, yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “I have to go to work. I have a meeting with my father.”

  “But Peter,” Pamela said, narrowing her eyes. “We were in the middle of a conversation!”

  “No, we weren’t,” I said. “All I said was that I didn’t want to argue with you. And then you decided to sit there and pout.”

  “Peter!” Pamela stood up and crossed her arms over her chest. “You cannot just leave me like this!”

  I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Pamela, it’s what I do every day,” I said irritably. “I go to work. I come home from work. Then we go to sleep, and guess what? In the morning, I get up and go back to work! That’s what being the son of a corporate executive means!”

  Tears welled up in Pamela’s cornflower blue eyes, and I knew I should feel bad for yelling at her.

  But right now, the only thing I felt was desperation to leave my condo. I stared at Pamela for another few seconds before stomping out of the condo and slamming the door behind me.

  My driver, Renaldo, was waiting for me on the street. He smiled courteously at me before opening the door to the backseat of my limo. I slid inside without making eye contact. As usual, the sight of my limousine attracted a lot of attention. Despite living in one of the toniest areas of Manhattan, there were always gawking tourists and people trying to snap photos. When I was in a better mood, I’d laugh and smile and call out that they were wasting their time and film – after all, I wasn’t a celebrity.

  But on mornings like this one, I just felt irritated.

  Had things always been like this? Somehow, I found that hard to believe. When I’d first met Pamela, I felt like we’d been happy together.

  Then again, five years is a long time to fall out of love with someone.

  The traffic was heavier than usual – by the time I walked into the vaulted glass offices of Spyros Magnate, it was fifteen past nine.

  “Mr. Anastas!” My secretary, Evangeline, chirped loudly. Evangeline, an older woman in her late fifties, had almost been more of a mother figure to me than a secretary. She’d been sitting in front of my office for the entire thirteen-year period in which I’d been working for my father, and I couldn’t count the number of times she’d helped me out of a jam.

  I made a face. “Sorry, Evangeline,” I said. “There was bad traffic.”

  “Mr. Alexander is looking for you,” Evangeline said. She passed me a towering pile of memos. “He called six times in the past five minutes.”

  I groaned. “I am so sorry,” I said. “We had a meeting.”

  Evangeline gave me a sympathetic smile. “Trouble at home again?”

  I sighed. “I don’t really feel like discussing it at the moment.”

  Evangeline nodded. “I have your coffee in your office,” she said. “And don’t forget – there’s a client coming in at three, and I’ve got you scheduled for dinner with Ryan.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Evangeline, I forgot all about the dinner, is it possible to reschedule?”

  Evangeline eyed me suspiciously. “Of course, Mr. Anastas.”

  “You know what, forget it,” I said. “On second thought, don’t call him. I’ll make the dinner.”

  Evangeline nodded. “Very well, sir,” she said. “Now you should really get upstairs!”

  With a deep sigh, I pushed into my office. I’d completely forgotten about meeting Ryan, my best friend, for dinner. As much as I didn’t feel like wining and dining out on the town tonight, I didn’t much feel like going home to see Pamela, either. Ever since Pamela had moved in with me, she’d barely worked. Occasionally, she donated money to charity and held balls, but for the most part, she spent her days sipping rosé and shopping. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d come home to the scent of a fresh, home-cooked meal…or even a positive greeting, other than “did you buy me a ring yet?”

  I was really going to have to do something about this.

  I drank my espresso in one gulp, straightened my tie, then used the private staircase in my office to ascend to the executive level where my father had his own offices. My father, Alexander Anastas, had started Spyros Magnate back in the nineties. He was the son of a Greek shipping magnate, but the oil prices made that career too unfeasible…so he went into consulting instead.

  And one day, I was expected to inherit the whole kit and caboodle.

  When I got upstairs, my father’s door was closed. I sighed before knocking.

  “Come in!” His voice was so loud that the door shook.

  I rolled my eyes and pushed open the door.

  “You’re later, Peter,” my father said.

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “There was traffic.”

  My father narrowed his eyes. Despite being father and son, we barely resembled each other. My father is tall and muscular, with swarthy skin and a mop of black curls. He always had a five o’clock shadow, even immediately after shaving.

  “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

  I sank down in a squashy couch t
o the side of my father’s desk. “I don’t see a reason to,” I said curtly. “You’re my father.”

  My father narrowed his eyes. “I am also your boss,” he said. “You should show respect.”

  “This isn’t the old country, it’s New York City,” I said. “We’re not in Greece anymore.”

  My father sighed heavily. “Peter, this is about your future – and the future of this company.”

  “I know.”