The Billionaire's Baby Plan / Marrying the Northbridge Nanny: The Billionaire's Baby Plan. Allison Leigh

I wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole.” His eyes narrowed. “I know the numbers, Lisa. More importantly, I know why.”

      He couldn’t possibly know that Derek was the cause. But she knew that before the t‘s were crossed and the i‘s dotted, he’d have a right to know the truth. For now, though, she chose to skirt it. “With such a level of financial commitment, are you expecting to be more hands-on in a functional capacity?”

      He looked darkly amused. “Afraid I’m going to want to set up an office next to yours?” They turned another corner of the maze.

      “Of course not,” she blithely lied. The Armstrongs ran the Armstrong Fertility Institute. If she had anything to say about it, that was the way it would continue. “Naturally, you’ll want some assurance that your investment is protected, so I—”

      “It’ll be protected all right. Just not by my regular presence during your management meetings. I’m not interested in telling you what staff to hire and fire or what sort of patient load every physician should maintain or what research protocols should be followed. The institute already knows all that.”

      Given the grim set of his mouth, she wasn’t certain if there was a compliment in there or not.

      She was leaning toward not.

      “Then what, exactly, do you mean by protection?” The institute had been in successful operation for more than two decades. With the exception of their run of bad press during the past year, the only instance of mismanagement was what they were dealing with now.

      Of course that instance was a freaking whopper.

      “I mean you.”

      She frowned, trying—and failing—to decipher his meaning. “I have no intention of deserting the institute,” she assured him. She’d had plenty of offers in the past few years, offers she’d never taken seriously, because her heart was in Cambridge, firmly entrenched in her family’s calling. “I’ll be there as long as there’s a lightbulb burning.”

      He shrugged. “That’s up to you.”

      Which left her more confused than ever. But a clatter of gravel heralded the giggling trio as the girls ran past them on their way back out of the maze and Lisa waited until they were gone again before speaking. “We’re talking in circles, Rourke.”

      But he didn’t answer immediately.

      Instead, he closed his hand over her elbow and led her around another corner.

      They’d reached the center of the maze where four short benches sat on each side of a square, tiered fountain.

      It was charming and very serene.

      And without the presence of his nieces, very, very private.

      Rourke let go of her elbow and faced her. “I want an heir.”

      She did a credible job of hiding her astonishment. “And you want the institute to assist with that? We specialize in IVF but we also have an excellent history with surrogacy.” Or maybe he had a girlfriend that not even little Tanya knew about.

      For some reason, her mouth tasted a little acid over that thought.

      “I know.”

      Relief coursed through her. At least now she felt as if she understood what he was aiming for. He’d said he wanted an heir. A child. They could help to make that come about. “Confidentiality is sacred at the Armstrong Fertility Institute, Rourke. You don’t have to worry about that. And honestly, my brother Paul might want to brain me for saying this, but you don’t have to agree to invest this heavily just to be assured of that. In comparison, those fees would be—” She broke off, shrugging. Because, truly, those fees would be less than minuscule to a man of his significant wealth. “As for the surrogate, if you have someone in mind, our attorney will walk through the entire process with both of you. And if you don’t have someone in mind, we have—”

      “I do. You.”

      It took her a minute to realize what he’d said.

      She pressed her hand to her chest, a disbelieving laugh on her lips. “You want me to be your surrogate?”

      “No,” he said evenly. “I want you to be my wife.”

      She felt the blood drain out of her head. Disbelief morphed into anger.

      Clearly he wasn’t serious. Nothing since she’d stepped into Fare for that farce of a meeting the day before had been serious.

      Not to him.

      Her hands curled at her sides. “I cannot believe I let myself take this seriously. When, obviously, this is all just a game to you. What is it, Rourke?” She spread her arms. “Do you have some particular ax to grind or are you just bored?”

      He ignored her. “I figure a year, maybe two at the outside. That’s comfortable enough to have a child within that time. After which you can go your way and I’ll go mine. The child, of course, will be with me at least half the time. I’m not ignorant that two parents are better than one. If you choose to exercise that role, of course. If not—” He shrugged. “I’ll be just as happy to have him or her full-time. As you’ve seen for yourself there’s plenty of other family around.”

      She gaped. “You plan to push this theoretical child off on your mother to care for, just so you can have yourself an heir?”

      “Of course not.” He looked impatient. “My mother obviously adores her grandchildren, but I don’t expect her to raise them. My mother lives here, but this is my home.”

      “But you have a penthouse in the city.” The glorious penthouse that Sara Beth had raved over nearly as much as she’d raved over Ted, who’d romantically swept her there while he’d been courting her.

      “And a lakeside loft in Chicago and a cabin in Colorado and a house on an Oregon cliff. All of which are beside the point. In exchange for your…contribution…the institute will receive all the funds it needs to climb back out of its hole and stay there.”

      “How generous.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “If you’re serious—and frankly, I’m having a hard time with swallowing that—what on God’s green earth would lead you to think that I’d be agreeable to this?”

      “You told me yourself you’re dedicated to the institute.”

      “Dedicated, yes. Insane, no.”

      “Then when you get back home, you’d better tell everyone at the institute to polish up their resumes.”

      “I’m sorry to bust your egotistical bubble, Mr. Devlin, but you are not the only player in the investment game. I’ll find new investors. Real ones.” Investors who weren’t out of their minds. “Nobody at the institute is going to have to lose their jobs. Nobody!”

      “If you don’t agree, there’s not an investor in this country—or beyond—who’ll want to touch the Armstrong Fertility Institute when I’m finished.” His voice was low. Flat. “Every-one—and I mean everyone—will know how badly your own brother embezzled from the company. Derek couldn’t even stick to just draining from your operational funds. He had to take from the research grants, too. And he did it for years, right under your noses. You think you weathered tough times when the institute was accused of using unauthorized donor sperm and eggs? When you were accused of inflating the in vitro success ratios? That was a cakewalk. You don’t have only patients to lose. You’ve got the respect of every medical and scientific community to lose. Everything your father ever worked for.” His black gaze didn’t waver. “The institute won’t just disappear quietly into the night like a fine business that has seen a natural end of life. It’ll blow up and the toxic fumes will never fade. Not even your very capable PR fixer, Ramona Tate, will be able to spin you out of this.”

      The chicken salad they’d had for lunch swirled nauseatingly inside her. “How did you know about Derek? From Ted?”