Read Online Carrying the Billionaire's Baby (Breeding Erotic Romance) by Gwendolyn Bridges - Free Book Online Page A

went dead after
that. I spent the next few hours trying to figure out what it all
meant. An interview to be a surrogate at the swanky headquarters of
one of the country’s largest consulting firms? That didn’t make a
lot of sense. Weren’t these things usually held at people’s houses?
And the top floor — wasn’t that the penthouse?
    It turned out the top
floor was the
penthouse. That’s where I met Ms. Brook along with two dozen other
girls who were apparently also in the running for this surrogate
job. The other girls were similar enough to me — mostly young,
mostly nervous. The majority of them were skinner than me, I guess,
but we were all cut from the same cloth. We all looked nervous in
our ill-fighting professional clothes. I had worn a grey pencil
skirt and a simple white blouse. The other girls were similarly
dressed, some in pantsuits, some in simple dresses.
    Not that what we were
wearing mattered much. Ms. Brook ordered us to remove our clothes
soon after she introduced herself.
    I was surprised when she
entered and began talking to the entire group. I had figured we’d
be interviewed one-by-one, presumably with questions asked by the
family. Was Ms. Brook part of the family that wanted the child? Or
was she some kind of broker or specialist? It was impossible to
tell. And she wasn’t coming forward with any
information.
    “Ladies, this is not your
typical surrogacy. This is a very exclusive and demanding
opportunity. Only the very best of you will be asked to carry this
child.” She was an older woman, in her late fifties, I guessed. She
carried herself with an exact grace, her body tiny and slender in
her perfectly-fitted pantsuit, her auburn hair tied back in a bun
so tight it looked painful. She spoke in a British accent,
enunciating her words as if we’d have trouble understanding her
otherwise.
    The would-be surrogates
and I looked at each other nervously when she ordered us to remove
our clothes. We hadn’t said anything at all to one another when we
sat waiting in the opulence of the Atherstone penthouse. I felt
very small in the cavernous room, standing next to big glass
windows. Looking at Ms. Brook, I felt even smaller.
    When none of us moved, Ms.
Brook repeated her order. “Remove your clothes, ladies. I will not
be asking again.”
    With that, four of the
girls in the room turned to leave, crowding into the elevator and
descending away from the odd scene in the penthouse. That left
twenty of us, standing and staring, gobsmacked, unsure of what to
do next.
    Finally, I decided to be
bold. What did I have to lose? With fifty thousand dollars at
stake, I could stand a little weirdness. And it wasn’t like Ms.
Brook looked like she could really hurt us. Besides, while I’ve
never been particularly proud of my body — too curvy, I’ll admit,
to match the kinds of girls you see in magazines — I had long
resolved to never be ashamed of it.
    So I took the lead,
unbuttoning my blouse with determined fingers, revealing my plain
black bra. Next, I unzipped my skirt and started pulling it down.
As I did, I noticed that the other girls in the room had taken a
cue for me, starting to shed their clothes. One girl with a skinny
build hadn’t even bothered to wear a bra. Her small breasts were
exposed to the room, tiny nipples standing attention in the
air-conditioned air.
    When I stepped out of my
skirt, I realized suddenly that Ms. Brook had approached
me.
    “Good girl,” she said.
“What’s your name?”
    She stood in front of me,
so close I could feel the warmth of her breath on my skin. I wore
only my bra and a mismatched pair of white cotton panties. The
older women stared at me with fierce eyes.
    “Um,” I stammered.
“A-april. April O’Connor. Ma’am.”
    Ms. Brook gave me a
half-smile. “Good, April,” she said. “I appreciate very much your
initiative.”
    She stepped back and
looked around, surveying the women in the room, all of which were
now standing in some variety of