Fuck! Why did I wear leggings? When I could’ve hidden everything underneath a skirt.
“It’s just sex, Miss Prince.” Hastings' voice was clinical, detached, like he was reading from a quarterly report. "All we want is a healthy pregnancy. Science can't replicate the hormones a proper knotting provides."
I thought of the turkey baster sitting in my rucksack and felt like an absolute idiot. All those logistics I'd worked out. The timing, the clinical precision of it, and they wanted me the old-fashioned way. Knotted and claimed and probably screaming their names.
Not screaming their names, Presley. Keep it real.
"And if it doesn't work the first time?" I asked, my chin lifting. "I can't exactly control my biology. What if my body doesn't like your... juice? What happens then?"
Fritz's lips twitched, but he stayed quiet.
"Then we keep trying," Hastings said firmly. "You’ll stay here until the next heat. We can discuss heat-enhancer drugs if necessary, though we would prefer the natural route. It's better for the omega's system and for the baby to bond with the alphas."
"Natural," I whispered.
My thighs pressed together involuntarily.
No more slick. No more slick.I begged my body to control itself.
"Let's talk about your compensation." Hastings picked up a tablet from the marble coffee table. "As mentioned, to replace the salary you lost at the café, we will pay youa weekly stipend of five thousand pounds, plus expenses. Such as a clothing allowance."
Expenses.
I choked on my own spit. Clothes as well as twenty thousand pounds a month. I didn't make twenty thousand a year at the café, even with tips and Maeve's "accidental" double-entry of my hours when rent was due.
"You'll really pay me for every week I'm here? Including when I'm not pregnant?" I squeaked.
"Correct," he said, as if he was discussing the price of a loaf of bread. "And also for the postpartum period. For every week you stay after the birth to breastfeed our heir, you will receive a bonus of ten thousand pounds per week. We would prefer a minimum of six weeks for the baby's immune system."
I started totting up the numbers in my head, my eyes glazing over. One month before I was pregnant. Nine months of 'percolating their precious heir'. I was guaranteed ten months at twenty grand per month. Two hundred thousand. Plus sixty thousand for breastfeeding. Two hundred and sixty thousand pounds.
If I stood up, I'd fall over.
I could buy a cottage for that. Not just a down payment—an actual cottage. Yes, it would be small but I’d have a garden and a kitchen that wasn't also my bedroom and a door that locked properly.
"And," Hastings added, "provided the birth is successful and the contract is fulfilled, we will match the total earned amount as a 'thank you' bonus."
Five hundred and twenty thousand pounds.
Half a million pounds. For having a baby. For giving them what they wanted and walking away.
"And in the event of multiples," Etienne added, his voice dropping to a silk-wrapped growl, "the bonus is doubled per child."
Double.
My mind started to race as I wondered if there was a specific way to sit or a certain tea I should drink to make my body produce twins. I'd give them triplets for that kind of money. Hell, I'd be a baby factory for that kind of money. Line them up on the pitch, matching jerseys, and wave goodbye with my platinum credit card.
"One more thing," I said, trying to sound like a savvy businesswoman and not a girl who once cried when she found a fiver in her coat pocket. "I want Maeve to be able to visit me. She needs transport here and back to the caravan at least once a month."
Fritz laughed, a big, boisterous sound that filled the room. "If that makes you happy, Presley. We can agree to that."
"I'll have the contract drawn up tonight," Hastings said, finally meeting my eyes. The gray was darker now, stormier. "You can review it in the morning and make anyamendments."
I nodded, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline of the helicopter ride, the alphas finding me, and leaving Maeve behind, crashed through my system like a wave retreating from shore. My limbs felt heavy, muscles slack with exhaustion. I was also aware I probably smelled of greasy food and sweat.
“Viens," Etienne said softly. He held out his hand. "Let me show you to your room."
10
