The Boss (A Billionaire Romance) Page 5

  Fredrick looked at how close their knees were as she shuffled towards him, "I was three. She left me upstairs sleeping in my bed while she went for her usual evening soak. She fell asleep in the tub. Nothing too wrong with that picture you might think, until you learn she dropped her lit cigarette on the magazine she'd been reading and left on the floor."

  Clara gasped at the horrifying image conjured in her mind, "Terrifying to think you can die from fire while enjoying a snooze in the bath? You'd think you'd be safe in water?"

  "Yeah, I get that. I thought the same once. But most people don't die from the flames. They die from the noxious smoke they inhale. You were close to that yourself. There were lots of perfumes and medicines in her bathroom, like most bathrooms, which didn't help. That's probably what did it."

  "Poor you."

  He shrugged, "Having no mother might have been better than having your mother, by the sounds of her."

  "Maybe." She rested her hand on his. "And your father? Is he still around?"

  "No, he died around five years ago." He seemed upset. "Heart attack." A dark cloud lowered over his face and the shine dulled in his eyes. "As though his gluttony squeezed his organs to death."

  She lowered her gaze, feeling she had intruded upon his grief.

  Fredrick's history matched her own--lonely and tragic, and she wanted to hold him in her arms and squeeze all the hurt right out of him.

  When her gaze met his again, he stroked the hair from her face and smoothed it over her ear, "We can both paint a dark picture of our childhoods. Seems we have a lot in common, Clara."

  "Seems we do."

  Chapter 13

  Fredrick wanted her more than he ever wanted anyone, and her eyes told him how much she wanted the same thing. "Shit helps the roses grow. Isn't that what they say?"

  Clara laughed, "Err, something like that."

  "You certainly bloomed."

  And she had.

  She was the epitome of beauty, inside and out.

  "Be careful," Clara blushed. "That was almost a compliment."

  "No, it was most definitely one. Can you take them?"

  They shared a smile and he wanted to hold her, to take her back to his place and ravish the sadness out of her.

  "I'll try," she bit her lip and peered up at him through thick eyelashes.

  As their date continued, they ate expensive sushi half-heartedly, pushing their fishy bites around their plates more than anything, while their focus remained on one another.

  Fredrick became hyper aware of her every movement: the way her mouth moved and chewed asparagus, and how her lips embraced the glass as she sipped her Sake.

  He had to possess her, but wouldn't she hate him when she learned about his father?

  The billionaire casino owner she petitioned against wouldn't make many good women wet, but her even less.

  What happens when she finds out about how he inherited the casinos she wished would close down already?

  Even if he told her he donated most of the profits to charities, when she discovered he had yet to sell those casinos, her blood would boil.

  What was his father thinking, making him wait ten years till he could sell them?

  Did he enjoy seeing his son suffer, even from the grave?

  Damn him.

  "So," he cleared his throat and tried to change his stream of thought. "You started the anti-gambling foundation in honor of your father. Commendable."

  "Not commendable--sensible. To me, he taught me how fragile we human's are. How manipulated by needs, quite out of our control, we can be. He also showed me the other side of addiction. People focus of the bad side--the lying, the stealing, the selfish choices--but they fail to acknowledge how these people suffer. They don't want to lie to people they love, but they can't always help themselves."

  "You're a forgiving soul, huh? I imagine he let you down every day and yet you are able to see beyond his behavior. Who taught you that skill?"

  Perhaps if I forgave mine, I'd feel less rage when I think of the burden my father saddled me with.

  "Thing is, I can't forgive. You're a stronger person than me, that's for sure."

  "I doubt it. He hurt me, like I said. I mean the lies he told," Clara shook her head, and fake laughed, but he observed the sadness behind her eyes, evoked by his words. He could have kicked himself. "Wow, they were whoppers, but he was sick, not cruel. He hated himself most of the time--who can live like that? Perhaps your father's addiction was money?"

  "I guess you got to love an addict to see things your way, especially as a child. Not sure I'd be able to. Mine wasn't an addict though. He was just a selfish bastard. I can't forgive mine for . . . "

  Stop!

  Fredrick nearly told her; she was so easy to talk to.

  "For what?"

  "For being a lousy, selfish, good for nothing but making money . . . "

  She raised her hand, "Shall we call him a bad father and be done with it?"

  Clara must have seen how upset he was getting.

  Talking about his father always set him off, especially when his connection to him might threaten his relationship with her.

  "An accurate summary."

  She was right, he loathed how little his father gave a shit about his own child.

  Who knows, if he'd been a better Dad, if he'd cared about him at all, Fredrick might judge his father's business dealings more sympathetically.

  "Even if we hate them, seems we love our parents and we want them to love us back. It's human nature, but for some, it's asking way too much."

  "That's so right," she shook her head and frowned at the same time. "My sixteenth birthday party, everyone was there. My school friends, my boyfriend, my mother, and even one of my teachers showed up. We waited for him so long to show up, as he'd promised, for two hours. I refused to cut the cake or light the candles. My boyfriend and I argued over how he wanted to teach him a lesson, so he left. It wasn't until the following day when Dad finally turned up with a homemade card with the wise quote. I never made up with my boyfriend after that. Figured, what's the point?"

  "You still feel that way?"

  "What way?"

  "Like what's the point?"

  Clara shrugged, "Sometimes, if I'm being brutally honest. Um, not the best thing to admit on a first date, ha?"

  "No. But this is our second date,” he smiled. “And I understand. I just hope you'll give us time, that's all. You might even be surprised."

  "I'm here, aren't I?" Clara smirked as she sipped more Sake. "Besides, I try to remind myself it wasn't my father I had the biggest issue with. The casino owners however--they're money grabbing, soulless creatures. I'd like to outlaw all forms of gambling, or at least offer onsite addiction services to add some balance to it all. We should also be able to take at least half of all revenue earned in casinos and other gambling resources, and plough them back into supporting the victims. That would turn a great many people away from opening casinos in the first place, but it would also give underfunded institutions and charities the funds to actually help addicts fight back."

  Her passion was always clear and intoxicating, and he loved how the more passionate she got the more the crease between her eyes deepened.

  "All good ideas. All ideas I would rush to endorse."

  She blushed again, and bit her lips like a bashful schoolgirl, "Why, thank you. Drop your money envelope in my purse before you leave." A soft snort left her mouth and her radiance made him lick his lips.

  "How did you get the foundation started?"

  "Fortunately, my father was heavily insured so when he died, I used most of the pay-out to begin the foundation . . . and well, it grew from there."

  "He paid insurance premiums?"

  "I know. Whenever he won big, he'd pile cash into it. The policy could only be paid out on his death. Crucially, he couldn't get his hands on the money."

  "Good for him. Shows he was always thinking about you, even when he perhaps couldn't put you first."
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  "I thought so too, so thanks for saying so."

  Her face beamed.

  This one last act of her father's was how she could forgive him.

  He understood, now.

  He asked, because not to would seem strange. "What's the name of your foundation?"

  "The Benjamin James Against Gambling Foundation, named after my father, naturally." She tried not to smile. "It's pretty big."

  "Wow."

  Fredrick donated to her charity annually, for years, because he admired how they supported the same people his father, and now he, damaged for profit.

  Call it a guilt cleanser, but the donations went some way to helping him sleep at night, to rebalancing his karma.

  "It's a huge charity, I am impressed."

  "Thanks," Clara grinned and moved higher in her seat. "I'm proud of the reputation it has, of all the charity offers to gambling addicts. Whether I built the charity or not, it's the volunteers who do the hardest work. You know, the hands-on work. They're the one's who turn lives around."

  He remembered how she once wrote about helping someone with such compassion, that he wept.

  "If you say so, but you look like the type to get her hands dirty." Fredrick held her gaze. She held his, and her breath. He wanted to tell her who he was, about his father, but she might never see him again. "Let's be honest here. Without you, the foundation wouldn't even be around for the volunteers or the gamblers. You could have done anything with his money, but you chose to give instead of take. It's incredibly . . . humbling."

  "Me, humbling?" The question mark hung above her head like a huge sign. "When you save lives for a living? When you saved my life?"

  "This isn't a competition, remember?" If she realized his post at the fire station was voluntary, she'd soon take back that statement, and any affection developing for him.

  "Fine. But without donors, my foundation wouldn't be going strong. My financial input only lasted so long. Donors keep us going, not me."

  "Oh yeah?" He couldn't help himself. "So, are there any regular donors or do you need to keep knocking on doors?"

  Clara blushed, "Doors continue to be knocked, believe me, but I'm proud to say there is one regular donor who is incredibly generous." She picked up her phone, checked the screen and set it down on the table. Fredrick guessed she was looking for Anon to get in touch, unconsciously. "In fact, I'm in regular contact with him too but he wishes to remain anonymous – even to me. I mean, who does that, right?"

  "Does what?"

  "Who gives literally millions every year to charity but doesn't want a soul to know about it. Now that's selfless compassion right there, don't you think?"

  Part of him was aroused by her opinion of him, but another part was strangely jealous.

  Would he ever be able to reveal himself to be Anon and soak up the admiration she clearly felt about him?

  "Ah, huh."

  "His donations make such a massive difference to what we can and can't do for the service users. I'm not sure how we would have managed all these years without his generosity. Or her generosity, as Lisa keeps telling me."

  He saw something in her eyes, "You want it to be a he, don't you? Do you secretly wish to meet him, to know the man behind the donations?"

  He heard respect in the way she spoke of him. She might even think about him in bed at night, as he imagined her.

  How long must he keep up this charade?

  If only he could come clean.

  She fiddled with her cell. "As long as the donations continue, who cares about the donor's gender?"

  He had his answer and wanted to divert the conversation away from Anon and back to him.

  Chapter 14

  Once they had filled their stomachs with Sake and sushi, Fredrick sent for the check.

  He tipped the server almost as much as the bill and gave the concierge a firm handshake, "Thank you, we've enjoyed every minute."

  Clara was proud to be with such a gracious man, and nodded at the server as she passed him on the way out of the restaurant.

  When Fredrick glanced down at her, she smiled back and placed her hand in his welcome grip.

  "Thank you. For an excellent date."

  His eyebrows flickered, as though her intimate action surprised him. It was easy being in his company, but also super exciting--a combination she couldn't recall having with anyone else.

  Fredrick turned to her outside the restaurant, his stare intense and passionate as he played with a loose strand of hair about her face. "Thanks for coming tonight."

  "I've had fun. You're easy to talk to. Hope I didn't moan on about things too much?"

  "We both did a little of that. It's called sharing I believe." He winked and she desperately hoped he'd kiss her before shipping her off in a cab. "It's far too early to end our date, though. Don't you think?"

  Clara felt the same and exhaled before the corners of her mouth reached for her ears. "Well, I'm not tired yet, and I'm enjoying myself. So . . ." The last thing she wanted was for the night to end too prematurely again. Not now she'd spent time with him. "What do you have in mind?" she threaded her fingers through his and stood closer, their toes touching.

  He pulled their linked hands up to their chest, as if to show how he appreciated the intimacy or, at the very least, to acknowledge it. "Fancy a little Jazz, Ms. James?"

  "Jazz?" As someone who delegated little time to a social life, she knew of few places to go. But she was thrilled to be able to recommend a Jazz club. "Oh, if you're a Jazz fan, chances are you already heard about the Village Vanguard?"

  He grinned, "You know, not too much."

  She suspected he was saying this for her benefit, being the gent he seemed to be.

  "Is that where you'd like to go?" he asked with raised eyebrows, hailing a cab.

  "Yeah. It's been some time since I went. Just hope we can get in. Did you know, for eight decades the Vanguard has remained relevant by consistently hosting the hippest exponents of the music. The list of performers who played there over the years is an encyclopedia of the top names in jazz."

  "You don't say?" he said, eyes wide, grin in place.

  She wondered if she was telling him details he knew already as he ushered her into the cab and jumped in beside her.

  But she said nothing, enjoying his need to make her think she was more knowledgeable.

  Even though this behavior might be perceived as patronizing by some, Clara saw it as chivalrous, though she felt slightly intoxicated once the cab started moving.

  "You're a big Jazz fan, then?" he asked.

  "Aren't you? Oh, you didn't want to go there for me, did you?"

  "Hey, of course I'm a fan." He offered her such a sinful grin and linked her arm, "Well, if I'm being honest, I just want to dance with you without techno and neon banging and flashing at us."

  "You old romantic, you." Clara snuggled up against him, loving the idea of smooching on a dance floor with a man again. Last time she danced in a man's arms was with her ex at her aunt's wedding, around six years ago. "We'll probably need classic Jazz for a slow dance, so here's hoping they take requests. If it's modern, there's no chance."

  "What's your preference?"

  "Classic. One of my all time faves is 'Feelin' Good' by Nina Simone. You?"

  "Oh, I love that one. Although, wasn't she a little crazy?"

  "Bipolar disorder, they say. So I'm not sure crazy is politically correct."

  "Okay, sick then. Not crazy at all."

  "Better." She smiled. "So, do you have a favorite?"

  "Um, my choice would be Armstrong's 'Wonderful World.'" Fredrick gazed at her lazily, and she breathed in his spice. "Who doesn't love waking up to that reminder?"

  She imagined what a wonderful world it would be to wake up next to him, listening to Armstrong singing in the background, and gave an unconscious squeeze to his arm.

  The cab took them to Seventh Avenue, where they lumbered out of the cab at the Vanguard.

  She remembered how
packed it was the last time she went there. "What if they won't let us in? We haven't booked."

  Fredrick frowned, "Of course they'll let us in."

  Moving straight to the front of the queue, he whispered to the door attendant and offered him a bundle of cash.

  The big guy tipped his hat and waved them through the double doors, loud groans at their backs from annoyed people left to wait in line.

  Clara tried not to enjoy the VIP treatment, but she did.

  Just a little.

  The door attendant clicked his fingers for the hostess to take them to a booth near the stage.

  Once seated, a waiter came over and took their drinks order. Fredrick smiled at her and said, "Haven't been here in years. Great choice, Clara."

  After Clara settled for a few minutes, enjoying the sexy ambience and moody music, something bothered her.

  How does a fire fighter afford all this?

  He must have tipped the door attendant a few hundred dollars outside, and the bill he picked up at Sushi Nakazawa in Greenwich Village was another few hundred dollars.

  Where does he get his cash?

  Not a fire fighter's salary, that's for sure.

  Is he a criminal on the side?

  Shit, he's not a gambler too, is he?

  I can't go through that again.

  Fredrick offered her his hand in a silent request to dance when the singer belted out Nina Simone's version of Just Like a Woman, "Shall we? It isn't quite your first choice, but it's Nina's take on a perfect song."

  "Love this version and this song, so sure," she said, her suspicions over his finances threatening to ruin a heavenly evening.

  But she wouldn't allow it, for once.

  She needed this night and never realized quite how much she'd missed being with a man until now.

  On the dance floor, somehow transported to another time, way before her time, she rested her cheek against his robust chest and moved with him between the other dancers.

  His hands held her hips and his fingers spread out over the top of her bottom.

  The heat beneath his touch and the erotic electricity building under her dress as their bodies moved against each other made her pull him in closer against her.