Her Swedish Billionaire’s Baby

Samara smiled, at a loss as to how to proceed. She was still holding the gift out to him.

“I don’t suppose you would like to join me for a cocktail on my yacht this evening then?” he asked with a slight bow in her direction. One of his assistants finally came forward and relieved Samara of the gift.

“A cocktail?” she asked not quite sure what she should say.

“Yes. It starts at 6pm. Formal dress. Shall I have your name added to the guest list?”

Samara nodded vigorously, mouth dry, still quite unable to find words.

“Excellent. My attaché will give you directions,” he said turning away. Samara simply nodded. She’d never been to a cocktail party before and wasn’t quite sure how she should dress or what the protocol was. She suddenly felt a great urgency to get out of the auditorium and find Amy. She would definitely know what to do.

*****

Amy lent her one of her little black dresses. It barely reached mid thigh since Amy was much shorter than Samara but Amy assured her it was perfect for a cocktail. The mini dress was tight on top, tied with a satin sash at the waist and had a princess-like skirt that flared out in a wave-like design. It was an off the shoulder satin dress with a rose design embedded in the material. It brought out the silky smoothness of Samara’s chocolate complexion and emphasized the obscene length of her legs.

Samara was nervous to go out looking like ‘s*x on legs’ – Amy’s words not hers – but her friend assured her that she could pull it off no problem. Samara just gave her a look and teetered off in the six inch silver heels Amy had produced from the back of her closet. Apparently they were meant to be her Christmas gift which Amy had happened to have shopped for five months early. Amy seemed to have a lot of advance gifts that she kept in the ‘back of her closet’ for just the right occasion. It was uncanny.

She made it to the Uber Amy had called without breaking an ankle and sank into the back of the car with relief. She checked her watch as they pulled into the LA traffic. She had an hour to get to the party on time; plenty of time to negotiate the crazy downtown traffic and make it to the pier. She hoped Prof Zhang was going to be at the shindig..or anyone else that she knew.

She couldn’t imagine trying to mingle with Bjorn Fredriksen’s friends all by herself. Ruefully she wished that her invitation had included a plus one. Amy would have been all over that in seconds. These were more her people than Samara’s.

If Samara had spent any time around the rich and famous growing up, it was only long enough for her father to hustle some cash out of them, citing his poor hungry child and how she wanted to be a doctor but they didn’t have enough cash to pay for the lunch program… the poor child was starving. That was usually Samara’s cue to look thin, ashy and half out of her mind with hunger. A poor motherless child with her father just trying his best to bring her up the way his wife would have wanted. It never failed to shake some coins loose from the most tight fisted scrooge.

But now she had to present herself as…herself; and still manage to talk to these people like she knew what she was saying. It made her heart flutter with nerves.

The Uber driver got her there with ten minutes to spare and she walked, slowly, along the wharf until she saw the boat. The Berserker was berthed just a few steps from parking, much to Samara’s relief. Her shoes were really not made for trudging up and down an unsteady surface looking for a boat.

There was a man dressed in uniform standing next to some red carpeted stairs leading up to the boat and Samara slowed as she saw him, digging out her phone to show him her invitation. He studied it and then looked up at her, typing in something on his iPad and waiting for a response. Samara peeked at what he was staring at to see a picture of her face on the screen. The doorman/security looked down at it and then at her before motioning for her to pass. She took the stairs slowly, heart beat rising with nerves and fear. She didn’t know if she could do this.

As soon as she stepped on the boat, sorry yacht, her eyes fell on a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes. She bee-lined her way to him and picked up a glass, draining it in one shot. The champagne left bubbles in her throat but settled her nerves so she took another flute, and drank, only slightly slower. She figured she was five foot eleven. She could totally drink without getting too tipsy. She picked up a third glass and walked away from the waiter, looking around her for the first time. The boat was definitely in a class of luxury she wasn’t used to in her daily life; all soft plush leather seats and elaborate fixtures. The electronics were all high tech, high quality, latest version and Samara hesitated to touch anything or speak to anyone. She drained her latest glass of champagne and looked around for a waiter.

“Ah, there you are,” a deep voice drawled in her ear and she turned to look into Bjorn’s violet eyes. They really were…hypnotizing. “It’s good to see that you made it.”

He was talking to her, she could see that. Her mind was just unable to process.

“Uh…” she said.

Bjorn smiled showing all forty of his white perfect teeth.

“Have you had a bite to eat yet?” he asked guiding her gently to a table and sitting her down. He signaled to someone she couldn’t see and then sat down next to her in the booth, legs crossed in his white suited perfection and arm slung casually along the back of the booth, only slightly touching her bare shoulder. Samara felt like her mind had shut down. Bjorn didn’t seem fazed by her inarticulateness which was a relief for her because she couldn’t seem to snap out of it.

“So…your research project; it is on Nordstorm?” Bjorn asked once a waiter had come and placed several platters of food on the table. There were various types of proteins from chicken to beef to pork as well as corn on the cob, baked potatoes, various sauces, bread buns and salads. Samara didn’t know if she could keep any of it down but she picked at some pieces of pork with her fork and put them on her plate just to be polite. Bjorn didn’t comment, just waited for her to answer his question.

“I’m doing a piece on your father actually; that was my focus. My condolences by the way.”

“Thank you,” Bjorn said with a small smile. “He had asthma. It was well managed. But then…” Bjorn’s violet eyes seemed to turn inward. “Such a stupid thing; he went skiing. It was really cold and he had a fall. It happened so fast…”

Samara was watching him with sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Bjorn shrugged, “That’s life, no?”

“I guess,” Samara said her fingers inching over to cover his hand on the table. He glanced down at their hands but didn’t move his away. They stayed in silence for a while.

“Would you…umm, how about we take this talk somewhere quieter?” he asked.

“Okay,” Samara replied and stood with him as he took her arm and led her down into the bowels of the boat. He led her to a room which was obviously a sleeping quarters. Only, she’d never seen such a luxurious version on a moving vehicle. The room was bathed in soft blue light and the bed was bunker-like in so much as it obviously was attached to the wall. It was a double bed, done up in a beautiful blue and gold duvet that reflected the light. There was a table shaped in the form of an old fashioned trunk, two chairs and a shelf stocked well with alcohol. Bjorn indicated she should sit as he went to the bar.

He placed a golden drink in front of her, glass clinking with ice as he sat down beside her with his own drink.