The Boss (A Billionaire Romance) Read online

  Well, as you asked about my weekend, I'll tell you.

  I went on a date.

  Yes, another one.

  But this was with the same person as the last one, so does that make me less of a slut? Lol.

  Yeah, I know, he was a let down the first time, but I discovered he does wash, isn't rude or patronizing, and he saves lives for a living.

  He saved my life in the fire. Yes! He's a fire fighter--hence his smoky odor on our disastrous first date where I stubbornly refused to listen to his explanation.

  Note to self: Must keep my stubborn side in check.

  For our second date, he showed up clean and well dressed, and we got on so well I'm stunned and, if I'm honest, eager to spend more time with him. It's like I've known him for years; perhaps because he reminds me of you.

  Odd, right?

  I admit—somewhat pink-cheeked—that we even spent the night together and it was . . . sublime. Don't judge! You know how long it's been for me? I await our third date with bated breath.

  Thanks again for all you did for me, post fire. I'm a lucky girl with two heroes in my corner.

  Hope your weekend was as awesome as mine. Do tell!

  Clara.’

  For Clara, the three days following their date dragged with the pressures of work.

  Meetings, emails, and calls all meant she couldn't get away long enough to see Fredrick again, until that night.

  Wednesday lunchtime, Fredrick texted:

  ‘I'm picking you up at eight tonight. No argument. Even CEO's deserve a break every now and then. Let me show you a good time.’

  ‘Oh, if I must. *Snigger. I can hardly wait.’

  Clara replied ignoring the paperwork she had left to do.

  Just this once.

  Bang on time, Fredrick arrived with purple Orchids in one hand, car keys in the other, and a wide welcoming smile on his face, lighting up the doorway.

  "Hello beautiful. You finally got a break, huh? Good for me."

  They kissed briefly and she breathed in his cologne, enjoying the minty fresh taste on his talented tongue, "Just for you."

  She smiled and he held her gaze. Taking the flowers, she thanked him.

  Wow, he's hot.

  We should stay in.

  "These flowers are gorgeous, thanks. Sorry, please come in. I got back half an hour ago so I'm running late."

  "Late?" he said, following her inside. "You know there are few things I loath more than tardiness, Ms James."

  His eyes ate her up and the blood rushed around her body, beneath his stare.

  "Funny." Clara winked. Dressed in a navy blue suit, without a tie, with his hair smoothed back from his face, he looked head to toe edible. She walked to her kitchen and heard him close the door before following her. "It's a busy time of year for me."

  "Oh yeah?"

  She grabbed a vase, ran the faucet to fill it with cold water for the Orchids, and set the vase on the counter to admire. "These are stunning."

  "You're welcome. So, what kept you at work so late? Figured, as your own boss, you would be able to get away?"

  "My life really isn't like that. Plus, it's coming up to a big charity auction, which is a bitch to organize. We've had a load of generous donations lately, but every year we need to show the donors where their money goes. The idea is they keep donating to us, and not some new, more glamorous charity. Plus, we always need a few more new recruits."

  "So, what happens at these auctions?"

  "We auction off services, donated items--all sorts of items. People surprise me with their generosity." Earlier that day, Anon sent her an Andy Warhol piece to auction off, along with various other artifacts and treasures. "Art's a big seller."

  "Art? I'm sure it's you who inspire their generosity."

  "And the cause, of course." Clara said, grabbing her purse from the counter. "People want to help people; it's human nature."

  "You're right." He took her hand in his and beamed, "I didn't mean anything by it. But you are inspirational."

  "Thanks." She poked him in the chest, bashful. "It's just, knowing good people are out there makes living in this world worth the hard times, don't you think?"

  One eyebrow reaching for the stars, he pulled her into his arms, "What kind of hard are we talking about here?"

  She felt his cock against her tummy, "Hey," she said, reaching down to make sure he was still tucked neatly behind fabric. They sniggered together as she stepped back, smoothing down her dress. "You're a little fresh this end of the date."

  "Fresh?" He winked, "Oh, I'll get a lot fresher given the chance. I missed you."

  "You have?" she blushed and kissed his cheek, excited, increasingly enamored with this man. "You big softie, you."

  "Nothing soft about me." He winked, teasingly. "Not when I'm standing this close to you anyhow."

  In fact, there was only one problem with Fredrick.

  No matter how much she tried to ignore it, she couldn't understand how he could afford his lifestyle.

  It just didn’t make sense.

  Posh restaurants in New York don't come cheap, and fire fighters didn't earn enough as far as she could see.

  This could be a problem so she resigned herself to asking him about how he tops up his income at some point during their date.

  Chapter 2

  They arrived at Del Posto on 10th Avenue, and once again, Clara was amazed by his choice of restaurant.

  The place was romantic and busy, and the menu was seriously pricey.

  She peered across the table, searching his bold smile for a sign that this was the right time to ask, "This is a great place, Fredrick. You must allow me to pick up the check this time."

  "No, no," he shook his head, raising his hand. "I'm a little traditional when it comes to this kind of thing. Humor me, let me pay?"

  "It's too expensive in here, have you seen the menu? And you spent a bomb last time we were together."

  "I wouldn't book to eat somewhere without researching how good the food was. Unfortunately, good food comes at a price. You deserve the best, beautiful."

  I also deserve the truth.

  Okay, here goes…

  "Are you sure you can afford it, though? I mean, jeez. You should give lessons on making your fire fighter's paycheck stretch so far."

  "My what?" He appeared baffled, which confused her. "Oh, I get you. Thing is, I inherited some money from my father five years ago. The interest alone helps with luxuries. It's about all he ever gave me."

  "Ah . . . " Inheritance from the capitalist absent father? Didn't hate you so much after all? "Oh, you never said, but of course, why should you? Sorry, non of my business."

  Fredrick shrugged, but never said anything else, and seemed to avoid looking at her directly by grabbing the menu and staring down at it. "What do you fancy? The lobster is excellent."

  "I'm thinking steak." Clara didn't even look at the menu, watching him instead. She should quit prying, but his reaction only doubled her suspicion, "You never said what kind of business robbed you of his attentions. Was it banking, marketing, retail?"

  Fredrick groaned and actually cringed, still staring down at his menu.

  Then he fired his stare toward Clara and inhaled deeply, "Okay Clara. I don't want to lie to you about anything and since you asked me outright, I guess it's time to confess . . . "

  Confess?

  Oh shit.

  "What is it? You're scaring me?"

  And he was.

  Was he about to ruin the wonderful beginnings of something special between them?

  Did she want to know?

  "You . . . won't like the truth, but please try to remember this was my father's choice of business, not mine."

  Clara's fear of knowing failed to silence her curiosity, "Go on."

  "Well," he gulped, taking her hand and wrapping it in his, "my father owned casinos."

  At first, it was as if she didn't understand, like when waking from a dream and only traces of what happened r
emain.

  When the worst possible reality popped into her mind, like a spike in her ribs, she could hardly breathe.

  Fredrick’s face felt familiar… and now she knew why.

  "Please tell me your father isn't Tony Walters."

  "Yes, he was . . . Tony Walters."

  She snatched her hand from his as if the toxicity of his father might somehow pollute her through contact with his son.

  "The same Tony Walters whose businesses crippled my father, his friends, and thousands of other gamblers in the surrounding areas?"

  He didn’t answer.

  “You’re Fredrick Walters? The owner of multiple casinos?”

  He nodded.

  “Fredrick Walters? The boss that causes pain to so many?”

  “Clara…”

  “You are the boss?”

  “Please…”

  “The boss…”

  “Clara, look…”

  “I am having lunch with the boss of the organizations that I hate?”

  Fredrick frowned, his eyes a glare of desperation. "Please, try to appreciate my . . ."

  She couldn't stomach his excuses.

  "Fredrick, you've paid for my food on the earnings of problem gamblers, knowing how abhorrent I would find it? No, I won't listen. You know how important this is to me. Why didn't you tell me sooner? Fuck," she rested her shaky palm on her chest at the wave of nausea. "I feel sick," The sight of the man she had overwhelming feelings for only moments ago now sickened her. "I can't look at you." She stood and grabbed her shawl and purse. "Not now."

  "What?"

  He stood too, holding out his hand to her.

  "No Clara, please don't leave." Everyone stared at the awkward situation unfold. Fredrick lowered his voice, "I'm not my father, Clara."

  She gulped, but choked on the thought of dining out on the debt of gamblers.

  The emotion rushed up from her guts through her throat, spreading a cold sweat over her forehead and down her back.

  "Oh stop, I need to leave. Don't follow me, Fredrick. There's nothing more to say."

  Fredrick stared and held her wrist a second, stopping her from leaving.

  "Please, listen to me this time. I'll come with you, we can talk." She stared at the point of contact, wondering if she would vomit on his expensive suit. He let go of her wrist, opened his wallet and left a pile of cash on the table. "Come Clara, let's get out of here."

  Clara saw the blood of suffering on every bank note and thought she might explode with hurt.

  She marched off, the air now so stifling she could hardly breathe until the fresh air hit her face on the outside.

  She breathed deeply, hand on chest.

  This man had turned her world upside down in no time at all, but this was too big a deal to ignore.

  Even for the possibility of love.

  Fredrick caught up with her, "Clara, oh I'm sorry. You're hurting and you feel deceived. I could never hurt you."

  "And yet, here we are," she croaked with a dry throat, "I'm giving you one minute to speak. This will be the last time I listen to you."

  She couldn't bear his face, so stared down at her feet.

  "Cards on the table?" He tried to hold her hands, but she shoved them in her pockets. "I inherited his casinos, and although I still own them, that's not because--"

  "Stop!"

  She raised her palms up to him.

  He still earns money from addicts, while I’m trying to help them?

  This is impossible.

  No, it's over.

  "On second thoughts, no. I won't listen to anything you have to say. By the way, this is not just me being stubborn this time." Trying to hail a cab, she added, "It's goodbye, for good. Enjoy the good life you live off the backs of other people's suffering if you must, but don't drag me into it."

  A cab pulled up and she climbed into it.

  As it rode off, she didn't look back at Fredrick.

  Instead, she cried all the way home.

  Chapter 3

  Fredrick's pulse boomed in his ears.

  His damned father had caused him nothing but trouble throughout his life and, even in his death, he influenced people's views about him.

  Why can't she give me a break?

  I'm not him.

  Association to his father had always closed doors to decent people, and now he might lose the one woman he had genuine feelings for, through no fault of his own.

  Well, perhaps his stupidity.

  Maybe he shouldn't have told her yet.

  Maybe honesty wasn't always the best policy, or perhaps it was too little too late?

  "No," Fredrick said aloud to the amusement of a few passers-by, before whistling the next cab in line and climbing in, "Follow that cab. Don't lose her."

  His cell buzzed in his breast pocket as soon as he caught up with her.

  It was Clara.

  "Stop following me or I'll call the police. I'm not interested in you or your ill-gotten gains. I thought you were a fire fighter, a decent man. And all the time you were lying to me. Do you know I could lose everything if people found out about us? People don't donate to CEO's of anti-gambling charities when they're sleeping with casino tycoons, funnily enough."

  He knew this, which was why he'd remained anonymous as her largest donor, and why he'd pursued her without admitting that connection.

  "No, I didn't lie. You know I'm a fire fighter, and for the reason I said. Please, let me talk to you face to face."

  "There's nothing to say. I'm warning you Fredrick, turn the cab around before I get home or I will call the police."

  "No," Fredrick protested, "I won't give up that easily."

  He heard her crying and she said, "Can't believe I was falling for you. I must be insane or desperate. Please, if you care for me at all, leave me alone."

  "If you're insane, so am I."

  "There's no place for us, don't you see? We value different things and your association threatens my foundation."

  He heard the pain in her voice and wondered if he was being cruel by pressing her.

  He would hate himself if so.

  "We're not the same . . . at least," she sniffed, "not how I thought we were."

  The shudder of her voice was too much to bear.

  "We're more the same than you can imagine. I only wish you were able to see it."

  Her cab pulled up outside her building and when she disembarked, she rushed to pay the driver and get inside before he could reach her.

  In spite of her warning, Fredrick couldn't help himself and he reached her just as she turned the key.

  She turned and slapped his face, "Get away from me. Go and count your earnings, I imagine they're huge."

  "Stop this, Clara. You're acting like I'm the casino tycoon."

  Her cutting accusations started to irritate him as much as the threat of losing her worried him.

  It wasn't his choice to keep the damned casinos.

  It was in his father's instruction in the will.

  "For the last time, it was my father."

  "Yeah, all you're doing is allowing the engines of commerce to grind on." She opened the door and stepped inside. Over her shoulder she said, "You're not to blame for anything. No, you just like the money, don't you? You're doing no harm. It'd be too hard to let go of all that wealth, just to do the right thing."

  "It's not like that," he placed a foot inside, determined to make his point before she locked him out.

  "You enjoy the money you make at the cost of vulnerable addicts--who am I to say you shouldn't? I imagine your soul is already blackened by greed, just like your father's was."

  Wow, she can be vicious.

  "You can't mean that, Clara?" He was swiftly losing the will to battle with her. "I thought we'd gotten to know each other. Is the man you've been so close to really so evil?"

  "So did I, but yes. I think you must be and that's . . . " Her eyes betrayed her pain, "why I'm furious with myself for getting you so wrong." She tried
to close the door but his foot still blocked the door. "And I'm livid you tricked me into believing you were someone I might . . . " Her lip quivered and her voice cracked, "want to share my life with."

  "Oh, Clara. If you could just let me explain."

  "I hate anyone who makes a living off the back of other people's misery, that includes you." Her body shook, and his stomach fizzed with frustration. "Now get your foot off my property."

  "Think you'll find it's public property."

  She was still staying at the apartment hotel, after all.

  "Whatever. Fuck off."

  It was no use; she wouldn't listen to a word he had to say--again.

  He removed his foot and as she slammed the door in his face he whispered,

  "Goodbye Clara."

  Chapter 4

  When Clara slammed the door in his face, the weight of disappointment, of frustration and anger diffused--the same anger that had held her up over the past hour.

  Without rage to support her, she slumped to the floor like a weeping rag doll.

  Dammit to hell.

  How stupid can one woman be?

  After only a moment of tears, she thought about her friend who set her up in the first place and her anger returned.

  Needing to vent, to give Lisa a piece of her mind, she grabbed her purse, her cell, and called Lisa while chewing the inside of her cheek, waiting for her to pickup.

  The answering message came on but she managed to hold on to the list of curse words queuing up on her tongue, and hung up.

  "Shit, shit, shit!"

  Lisa owned a busy Manhattan restaurant, so she was used to reaching her answering message.

  But this wasn't the time for leaving messages.

  The pain in her chest, her head, meant she needed to blame someone, and Lisa was an easy target.

  Pushing herself up off the floor, she headed for her bathroom, thinking once again that she might be sick.

  Seated heavy on her toilet seat, she tried to breath slowly, deeply, to calm herself down.

  "Okay, everything's going to be okay."

  It isn't okay, it's infuriating, utterly disappointing, and depressing.