All Chapters of The Billionaire's Accidental Baby: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The word twins fell into the sixty-second floor hallway of a Tribeca penthouse in New York City at 8:22 PM and landed heavier than any Ghana-Must-Go bag that Chioma had ever carried from Flatbush on two buses and an Uber she could not afford, heavier than the marble counters, heavier than the Wolf oven that cost more than Jasmine's entire university education in Lagos, heavier than even the leather folder that said COLE ENTERPRISES - BOARD - CONFIDENTIAL that the older American man with Damian's exact same blue-gray eyes but silver hair was holding like a weapon.Twins.Jasmine's brain, which had been running Holy Ghost emergency mode since morning when Damian found the CVS receipt that said 22 WEEKS, since Genevieve arrived in her white pantsuit, since Dr. Chen arrived with his paternity swab, since Officer Ramos arrived because Genevieve called 911 saying there was a pregnant nanny hostage situation, since Chioma arrived in bonnet and Crocs shouting about Mr. G and three months rent

New York City has two things that will kill you faster than anything else in this city that never sleeps, and those two things are not the subway at midnight or the rent on Nostrand Avenue in Flatbush, they are ambulances and hospitals, because in New York City, you can get stabbed on the A train and survive, but the bill for the ambulance that takes you to Lenox Hill will finish you off completely, and at 8:37 PM on a Wednesday, inside an ambulance that was stuck on the FDR Drive behind a delivery truck that said "Katz's Delicatessen - Send A Salami To Your Boy In The Army" — which in New York City traffic is basically a monument that never moves — Jasmine Alvarez was learning this for the first time while having contractions at twenty-two weeks with twins.The ambulance smelled like antiseptic and old coffee and expensive panic, and it had six people inside it who should never be inside an ambulance together at the same time: Jasmine on the stretcher clutching her bump where left ba

New York City is a city that loves security footage, it has cameras on every corner in Tribeca, on every elevator, on every hotel hallway in Midtown where Sterling Gala happens once a year and rich people drink too much champagne and do things they regret for five months, and at 8:48 PM at Lenox Hill Hospital in a room that said MATERNAL-FETAL MEDICINE - BED 7, where two monitors were beeping — one fast at 148 bpm for left baby who was fighting, one slow at 92 bpm for right baby who was fading — and where a Nigerian girl named Jasmine Alvarez was lying in a hospital gown that was too big, with gel from ultrasound wands all over her bump that finally was not hiding inside a $5 NYU hoodie from Flatbush, and where an American billionaire who had just been fired as CEO by his own father was holding her hand and holding his three-year-old daughter Lila who was holding a squashed blueberry pancake that had survived ambulance and lobby and FDR traffic, Genevieve in her white pantsuit held up

New York City never stops, even at 9:02 PM at Lenox Hill Hospital on Park Avenue where the double doors that said SURGERY IN PROGRESS - DO NOT ENTER had locked with a red light that glowed like a warning that said "Do not come in, do not ask, do not pray too loud, because inside we are trying to save three babies who were made in Room 2412 at the Sterling Gala five months ago by a drunk American billionaire and a Nigerian catering girl who were both pulled into that room by her ex-boyfriend Femi who was paid $2000 by a white pantsuit ex-wife who wanted custody leverage," and outside those doors, the hallway was full of people who should never be in same hallway at same time in New York City, but here they were, because New York City loves to put everyone in same hallway at worst possible moment.Damian Cole was on his knees on Lenox Hill floor, which is a floor that costs more per square foot than most apartments in Flatbush, holding Lila who was three and crying and holding a squashe

New York City has two elevators in every fancy Midtown hotel, there is the guest elevator that is fast and mirrored and smells like expensive perfume and goes whoosh in fifteen seconds so billionaires don't have to wait, and there is the service elevator that is slow and smells like old mop and fried onions and goes creak in sixty seconds so catering staff from Flatbush can carry trays of empty champagne glasses without being seen by billionaires, and at 9:14 PM at Lenox Hill Hospital on Park Avenue where all three — no, four — monitors had flatlined again, not from Ghana-Must-Go bag hitting power strip this time, but from Jasmine Alvarez's blood pressure dropping to 80/40 because Nurse Ade from Flatbush clinic had run in with file that said JASMINE ALVAREZ - FLATBUSH WOMEN'S CLINIC - ULTRASOUND FROM MARCH - 14 WEEKS - FOUR SACS, and Dr. Patel had shouted "We are losing mother! We are losing mother and triplets — quadruplets!" and Damian Cole was on his knees holding Jasmine's hand th