Page 13 of The Don’s Omega

“Right.” There’s a pause. “And why did Ms. Bellamy think you might benefit from speaking with me?”

“Because I’m desperate.” My voice breaks and my face heats, but it’s too late. He’s already heard how hopeless I am. “I’m out of options,” I say softly. “I need a lot of money and I need it fast.”

There’s another brief pause. “How much and how fast?”

“Sixty to eighty thousand dollars. Maybe more. And I… I need it within a month and a half.”

“May I ask what the money is for?” His voice lacks warmth or really even curiosity. There’s something clinical about his tone.

“My brother needs heart surgery. A septal myectomy. He has a condition called HOCM and without the surgery he could die.” I wince. “He will die. There’s no maybe about it.”

Another pause, longer this time. I hear what might be a pen on paper. He’s taking notes.

“Mr. Conti, let me explain what I do, and then you can decide whether you’d like to continue this conversation.”

“Okay.”

“You may not want to continue,” he says. “My services don’t suit everyone.”

“I’m not a criminal,” I say hoarsely. “If it’s something like that, I can’t do it.”

He actually laughs. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

Relief washes through me. “Okay, good.”

“Do you want to hear what I do?”

I grimace. “Yes, please.”

“I facilitate arrangements between people with complementary needs. Most involve alphas who require an heir and omegas who have exhausted their options and are willing to say yes to almost anything. You seem to fall into the latter category, Mr. Conti.”

My eyes widen, and my face heats. I’m glad we’re on the phone, where he can’t see how shocked I am. He’s implying I’m desperate enough to let a strange alpha use me as an incubator.

Aren’t I that desperate?

“To be blunt,” he continues, “the alphas who come to me aren’t looking for love. They want heirs without complications. The omegas I work with need money, protection, or both. I arrange the introduction.”

I let out a shaky breath. It had never occurred to me this was about alphas wanting babies. Honestly, I’d have been less surprised if it had been about organ harvesting.

My head is spinning as I mumble, “I… I see.”

“These are formal, contractual agreements,” he says. “Both parties enter willingly. No one is in any way coerced. The terms are negotiated and legally binding. The omega receives very generous compensation that is agreed upon in advance. The alpha receives an heir or two.”

I don’t say anything for a few seconds. My hand on the steering wheel is shaking slightly. Because of the secretive nature of it all, I knew it was going to be something strange. But I never imagined this exact scenario.

I clear my throat. “So, you’re talking about surrogacy?”

“It’s more involved than simple surrogacy. I’m talking about a contracted partnership. The specifics vary depending on the parties involved. Some arrangements are brief. Others involve a longer commitment. Every contract is different.”

“And the alphas who use your services. Who are they?”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential. But I can tell you they’re all very powerful men. Wealthy men who want children without the complications that come with conventional relationships. Alphas who value discretion and control.”

“That sounds intimidating,” I murmur, pulse racing.

“I understand why it might. My job is to ensure that both parties are protected. No one enters an arrangement through my office without extensive vetting and medical screening. Legal representation is provided for both sides at no cost to the omega. I’ve been doing this for over twenty years. I’m very good at matching alphas with omegas who’ll be compatible.”

I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes. If I had any pride, shouldn’t I have hung up already? Am I actually considering this? Am I seriously thinking of allowing an alpha to breed me in exchange for money? The very idea makes me hyperventilate.