I’ll never be him. I’ve accepted my role, my fate. I’ve spent my life focusing on my organization, both Barone Industries, and the family, the men I support.
There’s no room for a wife or queen on the throne.
“I have an offer that I’d like to make you,” I say and clear my throat.
Olivia’s eyes widen. They’re the brightest blue that I’ve ever seen. Her eyes sparkle from the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It’s sunny outside. Blindingly so today.
“You’re offering me the assistant job?” she asks.
“No,” I say. I keep my voice calm and collected. I don’t want to lead her on in any way. “Have a seat.” I gesture to the chair that she was in earlier for the interview.
I perch myself at the edge of my desk while she sits. This way, I’m close enough if she has another fainting spell that I ensure I’ll catch her.
“Do you faint very often?” I ask.
Her brow furrows. “No, this is the first time that I’ve ever passed out,” Olivia says. “I’m sorry. What does this have to do with the offer that you’re making?”
It’s no wonder she’s confused. I haven’t spelled things out for her. “I am looking to hire a surrogate,” I say.
“Let me guess. You aren’t hiring an assistant?” Olivia asks, disappointment all over her face.
“Not at this time,” I say. I clasp my hands together in front of me. “I am searching for a woman who would be willing to carry my child. Have you had kids before?”
“You’re asking me to be the surrogate?” Olivia coughs, and I reach for the bottle of water from earlier, offering it to her. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little flustered. I didn’t expect that type of offer.”
“I’d be willing to pay the surrogate fifty thousand dollars per month, along with a healthy stipend for maternity clothes and any other necessities. Medical care would be paid and provided for by my physician of choice. I want the best for my child.”
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.
I’ve made her uncomfortable. I should have seen that coming. I’m not an idiot, but asking her was downright stupid.
“Have you had children before?” I ask.
It’s a requirement with the surrogate agency for a woman to have had at least one healthy, full-term pregnancy and delivery.
“Yes, a son,” she whispers. “He’s, uh, with his father.”
I glance at her hand. “You’re divorced?” I don’t see a ring on her finger.
Her eyes tighten, but she doesn’t answer.
It’s unusual for a father to have full custody.
Could she not afford a good lawyer? I want to help her.
Matteo would scream at me to back off and leave well enough alone. But I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that.
“How about I let you think it over,” I say. I retrieve a business card from my wallet and flip it over, scribbling my cell phone number on the back.
I hand her the card, and she exhales a shaky breath.
“Let me know what you decide.”
Wordlessly, she takes the card from me.
I escort her out of my office and to the elevator, ensuring she finds her way downstairs. I press the down button, and she stands there, staring at the card.
The elevator dings, and she steps inside.
“Just think about it.”