All Chapters of Secret Baby Of the Ruthless Billionaire: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

LISA'S POVIf there's one thing I've learned in seven years of motherhood, it's that you should never - and I mean never - trust my best friend Claire with anything that requires timeliness, subtlety, or a functioning GPS."Lisa, relax," Claire had said that morning, waving a dismissive hand as she sipped her iced coffee. "I'll take Eddie to school. You have a dentist appointment, right? Go. Live your life. I'm practically his godmother."I should've known then.Because when Claire takes Eddie anywhere, it's never just a simple drive. It's an event.I watch them from the porch as Claire buckles Eddie into the back seat of her bright yellow Jeep - a vehicle that's so loud it sounds like it's announcing its arrival two blocks ahead. Eddie's wearing his usual school uniform, his haIr neatly combed (by me, of course) and his little backpack slung over one shoulder like he's auditioning for a Disney Channel series."Okay, munchkin, ready to roll?" Claire calls."I'm not a munchkin!" Eddie

LISA'S POV Nobody tells you about the noises babies make.I mean, sure, they cry. Everyone knows that part. But no one prepares you for the squeaks, grunts, sighs, hiccups, and tiny, suspiciously judgmental snorts that come out of something barely bigger than a loaf of bread.Eddie was currently making a sound somewhere between a wheeze and a grumble, his tiny face scrunched up like an old man displeased with the soup of life."You okay there, champ?" I whispered, peering into the clear hospital bassinet like I was waiting for him to spontaneously start reciting Shakespeare.No response, obviously. Just another tiny grunt and a kick of his swaddled little foot.It was 2:14 a.m. The hospital room was dark, save for the weak glow of a wall light above the monitor, and I was so exhausted I was convinced my eyelashes were staging a revolt.I hadn't slept since... well, I didn't even know what day it was anymore.Somewhere between the fourth contraction and the endless rounds of "just one

Lisa's povThere are two kinds of parents at school art competitions: the laid-back, easygoing types who clap politely no matter what, and the overenthusiastic, hyper-competitive ones who treat it like the freaking Olympics. Guess which category Claire put me in.“Face it, Lisa,” she teased as we approached the Redwood Bay Elementary multipurpose room. “You’re one glue stick away from becoming a pageant mom.”“I am not,” I protested, though my fingers tightened on the poster I’d made for Eddie. Big bubble letters spelling out ‘GO EDDIE!’ in neon green. Subtle? No. But what can I say? I’m proud.Claire shot me a look. “You made a sign.”“It’s supportive.”“You bedazzled it.”“Artistic expression.”She snorted but wisely said nothing else as we stepped inside.The school had transformed its multipurpose room into a makeshift art gallery. Rows of folding tables were crammed with construction paper sculptures, lopsided clay animals, and finger paintings that ranged from adorable to mildly

Lisa's povIf someone had told me years ago that one day I’d be standing on the sidelines of a dusty soccer field at eight a.m. on a Saturday, sipping burnt concession stand coffee and waving pom-poms Claire insisted on bringing, I would’ve laughed in their face.But here we were.Eddie had never shown much interest in sports. Art? Absolutely. Dinosaurs? An obsession. Building elaborate pillow forts that took up the entire living room? A specialty. But soccer? He claimed running was “too much work for my legs, Mom.”So when he came home from school one afternoon, eyes shining and cheeks flushed, declaring, “Coach says everyone has to sign up for a sport this term or we have to clean out the janitor’s closet every day after school,” I understood the sudden enthusiasm.He chose soccer because, according to him, “it has less weird gear than baseball and no swimming involved.”I signed the form, Claire howled with laughter, and we showed up at practice two days later armed with brand-new

Lisa's povIt started, like most of Eddie's best ideas, with a YouTube video.I should've known something was up when he came barreling into the living room, hair sticking up, eyes wild, holding his tablet like it contained the secrets of the universe."Mom!" he gasped, as though he'd just discovered fire. "We have to go camping!"I glanced up from the pile of laundry I was determined to conquer before dinner. "Camping? Where? In the living room?""No," he declared, with the kind of dramatic pause only eight-year-olds and soap opera stars can pull off. "In the backyard."I raised an eyebrow. "Honey, it's Wednesday.""Exactly! Nobody camps on a Wednesday. It's genius. We'll be pioneers. Trailblazers. Rebels of the great outdoors."Claire, sitting on the couch with a bag of popcorn and the confidence of someone without children, smirked. "You should do it, Lis. Live a little."I shot her a glare. "You're not the one who's going to be eaten alive by mosquitoes.""I'll supervise from the