My Stepbrother's Secret Baby: A Billionaire Stepbrother Romance Read Free

morning with huge flakes that floated down from the sky. If I’d have been in a better mood I’d have probably enjoyed the beauty of it.
     
    “Can I help you?” I asked a young white man on his cell phone. He stood there, ignoring me and finishing his call before spouting out his order.
     
    “Triple whip, no foam, extra shot, half-skim latte,” he said.
     
    “Next,” I called out when he was finished.
     
    A girl stepped forward with a face caked full of makeup and a bag that cost more than what I made in six months. “I’ll take a small chai. And make sure they don’t water it down. Last time you guys watered it down and it was dis-gusting.”
     
    “Yes, ma’am,” I said, ringing up her order.
     
    How did I get here? How did Little Miss 4.0 Columbia Scholar get here? I hated my job. Correction. I hated my jobs.
     
    The students shuffled through the line, grabbing their coffees and hurrying to class before the sidewalks got too slick. The last customer of the morning rush was a man who appeared much too old to be a student. His thick, dark hair was combed into a side part and his long, wool coat masked the hint of a well-tailored suit beneath it.
     
    “May I help you?” I said as he stepped forward.
     
    The man said nothing as he stood, nearly mesmerized and staring. I looked around, trying to break his gaze but he continued to stare.
     
    “Why, hello,” he said, his lips curling into a half smile. “I had no idea you worked here.”
     
    “Do I know you?” I said, growing worried. He did look vaguely familiar.
     
    “No,” he said. “Not yet.”
     
    I stared into his deep green eyes, racking my brain as to where I’d seen this man before. And then it hit me. The weird guy at the department store. The business card. The internet search. Standing before me was T. R. Ellsworth.
     
    “I’m Trenton,” he said. The man oozed confidence. It seeped from his every pore.
     
    “Okay, Trenton,” I said with a shrug. “Would you like to order something?”
     
    “Black coffee,” he said.
     
    “You came all the way to the Upper West Side to order a black coffee?” I said with a scoff. I was onto him.
     
    “What do you mean ‘all the way’?” he asked.
     
    “You’re obviously not a student here,” I replied.
     
    “How do you know I’m not a professor?” he replied. Point. Counter point.
     
    “I guess I don’t,” I said with a sigh. “Are you? Are you a professor?”
     
    He shook his head.
     
    “That’s what I thought,” I said. “That’ll be four dollars and fifty-three cents.”
     
    He slid a twenty across the counter. “Keep the rest.”
     
    I didn’t know what he was trying to prove, but I thanked him anyway. “It’ll be ready shortly. You can stand over there. They’ll call your name.”
     
    He stood, frozen. Not moving. I’d never prayed for a rush of customers so hard in my life. I wanted a rush, but we were between class periods. It was our dead time and there was no way around that.
     
    “What time are you off today?” he asked.
     
    “Excuse me?”
     
    “What time does your shift end?” he rephrased him question, as if I didn’t hear it the first time.
     
    “That’s none of your business,” I said, holding my head up.
     
    “I’d like to meet with you,” he said, unrelenting. “I can have my driver pick you up when you’re off work. He’ll take you to my office and bring you back to your place when we’re done.”
     
    “Meet about what?” I was almost afraid to ask.
     
    “I can’t say here,” he said, turning his head when his name was called.
     
    “I don’t know what you could possibly want to meet with me about,” I said, biting my lip yet somewhat intrigued.
     
    “I promise it’ll be worth your while,” he said, walking away to grab his coffee. He returned. “So what time should my driver pick you up?”
     
    “Two,” I said, giving in after a long pause. “I’m off at