The Billionaire's Hope (A His Submissive Series Novella) Read online

  The Billionaire’s Hope (A His Submissive Series Novella)

  Ava Claire

  Copyright © 2017

  Cover by RBA Designs

  ~

  *Please Note: The Billionaire's Hope is the most recent installment in Leila and Jacob Whitmore's love story. It is suggested you read their story in order:

  1. The His Submissive Series (Venice Nights)

  2. The Billionaire's Wife Series

  3. The Billionaire Dom Diaries Series

  4. The Billionaire and I Series

  5. The Billionaire's Baby Series

  6. The Billionaire's Hope (A His Submissive Series Novella)*

  ~

  E-book License Edition Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to an online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  "I hate you."

  Megan acted wounded, snatching her hand to her chest for an extra sprinkle of drama. She was wrapped in a fuchsia and baby blue workout ensemble. Heck, even her black leggings gleamed. Her bright, color coordinated get up made my Whitmore and Creighton shirt (one of the few t-shirts I could fit my swollen breasts and tummy into) and gray sweatpants look even more pitiful.

  "What did I do now?" she whined, holding out her workout bag with a sneaky smile.

  I took it from her without a word, leaving her to stew for a few more seconds. I couldn’t believe I let her talk me into this. Instead of bingeing on Netflix and finding new combinations of potato chips and peanut butter, I was dragging my behind to a third trimester yoga class at her gym midtown.

  I unsnapped the bag, seeing a hint of my bribe tucked in a green Tupperware container. I popped open the lid and moaned before the smell of the freshly baked cookies even wafted to my nostrils.

  Sugar free, vegan chocolate chip cookies.

  Ain't nothing like the real thing, but I would take what I could get. I was about to embark on a journey to the poshest yoga studio in the city, filled with other expectant moms who probably looked just like Megan. Moms with cute little bumps instead of the small child I seemed to be carrying in my belly.

  I needed something to look forward to. Something besides achy muscles and sweating places a woman wasn’t supposed to sweat. We’d agreed the cookies would be the light at the end of the tunnel, my after workout treat, but I didn't see the harm in a little bite to tide me over.

  I popped the lid as discreetly as I could manage. "Why don't I-"

  "Let me hold the bag so you're not tempted?" Megan finished for me, gently easing the bag out of my hands. I was throwing all kinds of darts at her with my eyes, but she ignored them, dropping her heart shaped glasses back in place. “You look amazing, by the way."

  I stopped trying to pull my shirt down and let it bunch over the curve of my belly, which was inevitable anyway. I glared at her over the rim of my own shades for a good five seconds before I let it go. I’d futilely opted for a pair that took up half my face, ignoring the fact that the paparazzi had turned stalking Jacob Whitmore's pregnant wife into a full time job.

  If one was to make a list of how I looked, 'amazing' would not be on it. ‘Tired’? That fit perfectly. Our life had been delightfully uneventful after the mess with the Eichmanns. Lars and Angelique had both been extradited and were in the process of serving time, a small penance for the things they'd done. Still, I carried permanent bags beneath my eyes. I’d scaled way back at the office, though I carved out time to still take meetings by video conference and worked from home. On the days where I couldn’t manage that, I still felt like molasses was coursing through my veins.

  ‘Dirty’? That would be another good descriptor. I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass of the car window and shuddered. This shirt had become one of my favorites and even though it was washed regularly, it had this grubby sheen that seemed to be intensified by my hair. I'd actually done a full shampoo and condition in the shower earlier but somehow, I still looked like I was coming from the gym instead of heading to the gym. My dark, curly tendrils looked oily and limp and were rebelling against the ponytail holder I tried to tame them with, per usual. Naturally, Megan's French braids were tidy, delicately draped over her shoulders.

  "Thanks," I said begrudgingly, acknowledging the compliment. Appreciating it. Trying to pull myself out of my funk. All things considered, I would never run out of things to be grateful for: a baby that would be making its grand entrance soon, a husband who looked at me like I wasn't the swollen, hot mess I felt like, and a best friend who put up with my crabby moods.

  I changed the subject, wanting her confirmation that she wasn't secretly taking me to a regular class where I'd be surrounded with seasoned, thin yogis. I was a novice on a good day, but it was hard for me to unplug long enough to get in the right frame of mind. And to be honest, the only pretzels I had interest in were the ones I could eat. If people were bending and popping and twisting like body contortionists at a Cirque du Soleil show, I wouldn't last five minutes. "This is a class for pregnant women, right?"

  Megan slipped into the backseat beside me, pulling her door closed with an agitated sigh. "You've asked me that like, five times since I reminded you about class this morning. If you don't wanna go-"

  "It's not that," I lied. I didn't want to go. But I knew being active was a good thing. Just walking up the stairs at home was enough to make me winded so after I got the okay from the doctor to add in some exercise, I texted Megan. I'd been hoping for some low key time on the treadmill, but she had other plans.

  I fiddled with a snag on my sweatpants. “I’m just feeling a little...not amazing."

  My journey to self love had been a bumpy one, starting off with a childhood where I was taunted for being overweight. As an adult, I felt comfortable in my skin despite the fact I was surrounded by beautiful, size 0 to 5 on a regular basis. I knew I was awesome regardless of what the scale said. My curves were mine and they were sexy as hell. Lately though, my insecurities had teeth. I didn't recognize this new body. I'd cruised right past the cute phase of my pregnancy to the ‘big as a house’ phase. I was currently in a place where waddling around was my only option and clothing with spandex was as vital as the water I couldn't stop chugging.

  But it was more than the superficial stuff. Being around other expectant moms put my nerves on edge. They had their baby books memorized, a childhood plan leading all the way up to what Ivy League university their kid would attend one day. I just wanted to meet my baby and do my best, with Jacob's help. But would that be enough?

  "Leila, this yoga class was meant to be fun, not a punishment," Megan said gently, bumping me with her shoulder when I turned my head towards the window. "I'm perfectly content to say the hell with it and go for a walk in the park. Or we can sneak the cookies into the movies and gorge on something action-y-" She paused, her voice darkening. "Actually, no action."

  I reached over and gave her knee a squeeze. She and Cade were taking a
break and while she insisted she was fine and didn't want to talk about it, I knew that underneath her armor, she was hurting. We were both way too skilled at putting aside our pain and carrying on. It worked out because otherwise, I’d have a daily breakdown, unable to carry the weight of everything that could go wrong. But being strong all the time, stapling a brave face on while I was in danger of cracking into a million tiny pieces at any moment, was exhausting.

  From the sigh that Megan let out, she was still in no mood to talk about the weight she carried. “Let’s talk about you. You’ve earned the right to vent, and then some.”

  "Same ole drama," I sighed with a shrug. Megan didn't even know the full extent of what Jacob and I had been through. She thought our biggest problems were Rachel Laraby. I wish that was all we had to worry about. The list of things that kept me up at night besides my husband's crazy ex included my manipulative mother in law, Jacob's brother Cole and his currently-stable-but-always-a-ticking-time-bomb sister, making enemies of the Eichmanns, and my fears that once I couldn't reach down and grip my belly after the baby was born, I'd take my eyes off of him or her for one second and catastrophe would strike. Or, like a slow acting poison, they'd grow up with all the opportunities that came along with being a Whitmore and somehow, it wouldn't be enough. They'd end up hating me, distancing themselves for their own good, like Jacob distanced himself from Alicia. “The sky is falling on a regular basis when you add in a human being that's depending on you,” I confessed.

  Megan gave my supportive squeeze back to me, peering at me over the rim of her shades. Her green eyes held no secrets, which made me feel guilty about the ones I hid. “You're gonna be a great mom, Leila."

  It shouldn't have been enough to calm the storm of nerves that had me shaking on the inside like something held together with duct tape and a prayer, but my heart swelled in my chest and I exhaled.

  “Thanks, Megan.” Before she could brush it off like it wasn't a big deal, I let the emotion ripple over my face. The timing was perfect, because the baby was on the move. Grinning, I reached for her hand as the baby did a little shimmy. "The baby says thank you too."

  "That is the most bizarre and incredible thing!" she squealed, leaning in as another ripple danced through me. She pulled her hand away slowly, gazing at her palm like whatever magic had just occurred would be glittering there.

  She sniffed and flicked away the tear that coursed down her cheek, clearing her throat. I did the same, both of us pretending we weren't wrapped up in the moment. I was gonna be a mom—and she would be the best godmother ever.

  “So, what's the plan?" Megan asked cheerfully. "Yoga or playing hooky?"

  The second was extremely tempting, but I rolled back my shoulders and raised my chin like a woman on a mission, and that mission was slaying pregnant yoga.

  "Let's go to the gym."

  ~

  "Are you breathing, Leila?"

  First, I locked eyes with Megan, trying to remember that she wasn’t the one I was annoyed at. The person I was annoyed at was the instructor. The same woman that called me out, yet again, in front of the whole class.

  I thought I was signing up for some light stretching, guided by a hazy voiced instructor who would gently ease me through the different positions. Instead, I'd been greeted at the door by a woman easily half my size—before pregnancy—with a voice that was better suited for boot camp. The top 40 hits that gyrated from the speakers were a nice touch since the last time I'd attempted yoga, the sound of waterfalls and wind chimes made me giggle like a twelve year old boy who just heard the word 'boobs'.

  That was where the positives ended.

  Music selection.

  I quickly discovered that not only was the instructor bossy, but she was hands on. Instead of saying hello like a normal person, she took both my hands in hers, brought them to my belly, then asked if I was ready to rock my baby's world.

  She was clearly used to students answering her question with vigor and delight. Her face fell to the floor when I gently pulled my belly from her grasp and muttered, “I guess.”

  At that moment, she singled me out as the problem student in the class. I figured if I was already flunking out, there was no reason for me to mind my P’s and Q’s.

  There wasn't a drop of humor in my voice when I inhaled deep and exhaled as loudly as I could manage. “See? Breathing.”

  She shook her head from side to side like a Greek tragedy was unfolding before her very eyes.

  I knew I'd be in for sticking out like a sore thumb, but nothing prepared me for the sea of women modeling pregnancy friendly workout ensembles and hitting every pose effortlessly. I couldn't even blame it on being in my third trimester when I came face to face with a woman who was further along than I was—and she was a neon rainbow yoga queen.

  When I let out a groan instead of a perfect exhale, another classmate had the audacity to crane her head in my direction. She gave me a pinched look, like my energy was cramping her style.

  "Can I help you?" The pop song shifted to a slow jam, so my hiss unintentionally reverberated around the room.

  The woman flipped her blonde ponytail with a huff and turned back to the front. Just in case anyone else wanted to try me, I swept my eyes over the room. I was sweating so much that it was in my eyes. I knew I looked like I'd gotten caught in the rain with no shelter for miles. Everyone else had this gentle misting going on, with modest circles and slashes of sweat glistening on their cotton and Lycra.

  “Leila..." Megan whispered.

  I skipped over my best friend because I knew she was giving me The Look®. The same look she wore in the past when I dated guys I had no business dating. Or when I complained about Jacob being guarded and she reminded me that love wasn't about perfection, or being right, it was about being seen. The plea in her whisper wasn’t lost on me. I knew I was sabotaging pregnant yoga class, but I wasn't ready to face that just yet. Or the disappointment that would be glimmering in her emerald eyes if I was silly enough to look her dead on.

  I settled on looking at the yoga instructor instead. She reminded me of a mom who was at her wits’ end, the threat of turning the car around on the tip of her tongue.

  "Leila, perhaps you and your friend would like to join me in the hall for a moment? I’d like to go over the rules for this club,” she bit off, the smile on her face twitching. More a scowl than a smile.

  "Me?" Megan frowned, adjusting her headband over her strawberry locks. "I'm a member."

  "And per your membership contract, you are responsible for the behavior of your invited guests," the not-so-zen instructor answered crisply.

  I'd been dialing up my indignation just to be contrary before, but she was genuinely annoying me now. “Look, lady-”

  "I've got this, Leila." Megan interrupted, all the sunshine leaving her voice.

  I snapped my mouth shut and stepped to the side. This woman didn't know Megan well enough to know that she didn't respond well to being patronized, and as a teacher who dealt with kids who required a spine of steel, she wasn't gonna shuffle out into the hall, oozing apologies.

  The music was still crooning from the speakers and the other class members moved through the transitions like they'd been doing yoga since they came out of the womb. Or maybe everyone was working double time to pretend that the super pregnant brunette and her fiery redhead friend weren't going toe-to-toe with the snooty instructor.

  Megan planted her feet shoulder width apart, parked both hands on her hips, and glared at her opponent until I saw bonafide beads of sweat exploding at the instructor's temple. Megan’s voice was slightly above the volume of the music, a singer serenading us with tales of lost love, but every word was brutally clear—and she delivered each one with a dose of 'Not today'.

  "I pay your exorbitant membership fee because this gym has my favorite dance and hot yoga classes. I don't mind taking my business elsewhere if having a new student that doesn't respond well to your incessant hovering bothers you." The instructor's c
hin stopped shaking long enough for her to open her mouth to respond, but Megan held up a hand to silence her. "There are eleven other people in here, and only the kiss ass up front is soaking up this experience. Everyone else is a jittery mess because you're too busy barking orders like we signed up for yoga boot camp."

  The yogi in the front didn't acknowledge Megan's dig, but from the rigid set of her shoulders as she drew her arms in a circular motion, clasping her palms together like she was praying for strength, she heard every word.

  "Besides," Megan blazed on, snatching up our mats, her cheeks flushed and angry. "Yoga is not about being perfect. Or sharing every moment with a nosy instructor. You are not the gatekeeper of nirvana!"

  Her last sentence drew a couple of eyes in our direction and I swore I heard the rustling of people trying to stifle their laughs. Their eyes snapped back to the front when the instructor set her onyx colored gaze on them, incinerating them. It was too late for them, but clearly, this wasn't the class for Megan and me.

  I was as quiet as the teacher probably wished I'd been from the start as I followed Megan out of the class and back to the lobby.

  The glacially beautiful receptionist robotically told us to have a great day.

  "It's getting better already," Megan tossed over her shoulder, holding the door for me as we made our escape. We waited until the car pulled away from the curb and the silence was hilariously tense before we burst into laughter.

  I pulled off my shades, wiping my eyes with both hands. "I can't believe you said that. That poor woman is gonna go home and cry herself to sleep."

  "Good!" Megan answered, laughing so hard that she could barely catch her breath. She snatched off her headband and let her flyaway strands spill all over the place. "I swear none of the classes I've ever taken there are like that, or I wouldn't give them a dime of my money."

  I assuaged her guilt, wiping the slate clean. "The point was to get out of the house and get a workout, and both missions were accomplished." I glanced out the window, then rolled it down so fresh air and warmth could flow into the car. Sober us up. "Let's just say I burned 500 calories in eye rolling alone, so thank you."