The Billionaire's Secret

by Lorana Hoopes

  Brent continued his trek, sighing in relief when a white building on the left caught his eye. It was more like a house than a business as only the small sign spelling Norma’s in faded red letters above the door informed him this was the restaurant. Three cars filled spaces around the house. A glance around revealed no gnarled tree so he turned into Norma’s, hoping for better directions.

  The cooler air smacked him as the door opened, sending a shiver racing along his spine. Two red booths and matching tables with red chairs filled most of the real estate in the room, which appeared to have once served as a dining room and living room.

  The appearance outside had been deceptive as the inside was larger than he expected. Four stools, also upholstered in red fabric, sat in front of a large wooden bar. Rows of clear glasses lined several shelves behind the bar, and a drink dispenser that advertised Mr. Pibb and Mellow Yellow took up part of one wall. A cash register, the only newer contraption in the place, sat on the edge of the counter. At the far end of the room, a jukebox belted out an old country tune. Brent felt like he had traveled back in time.

  All eyes in the place turned to him as the floor creaked beneath his feet, announcing his arrival. The room was not crowded. A man sat at the bar and a younger couple filled one booth. His eyes scanned the place, searching for the owner.

  An older woman with short brown hair stepped out of the doorway he assumed led to the kitchen. A white towel was slung over her shoulder, and an apron, stained with many colors, hung on her waist.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, wiping her hands on the apron.

  “Yes ma’am. My car broke down a few miles outside town. I’m hoping you have a phone I can use as I can’t get reception either.” He pasted his best smile across his face—the one that got him any woman he wanted back home.

  “Ain’t got no phone, no use for one. Everyone here knows to come by if they need me.” The woman shook her head once before turning back toward the kitchen.

  “Wait.” He stepped forward, his hand held out to her, though not too high. No sense in broadcasting his sweat stains. “I met Fanny, and she told me to find Norma. She also mentioned maybe Sam’s shop could help get my car fixed.”

  Three pairs of eyes shifted from Brent back to the woman as if watching a slow-motion tennis match on TV.

  A small grin tugged at Norma’s lips as she turned back. “Well, if Fanny sent you, you must be all right. Why don’t you sit, and I’ll get you something to eat?”

  He had eaten in the last town. At a nice restaurant. With servers who wore black pants and white shirts and handed him a proper menu. The single sheet of paper kind attached to a hard background and filled with elegant writing. He doubted Norma’s even had a menu or if it did, it would be one of those laminated atrocities that would make a sticky, suction sound as you pried it open.

  The steak and salad at the restaurant had filled him up, but his stomach rumbled at the idea of food. Perhaps a dessert and a cold drink would hit the spot. Snagging an empty barstool, he collapsed in it and dropped his bag on the floor. “Do you have pie and iced tea, unsweetened?”

  A tittering of laughter circled the room. “Do we have pie?” Norma asked placing her hands on her meaty hips. “Honey, we have apple pie, cherry pie, blueberry pie, pumpkin pie, and mincemeat pie.” She ticked the names off on her fingers. “Norma is known for her pie. Though considering Soda Spurs was founded on an apple orchard, people say my apple pie is the best.”

  “You tell him, Norma,” the man in the far corner shouted, lifting his fork in the air in salute.

  “I’ll have a slice of apple then.” Brent had never liked fruit pies, but there was no way he would pick something else and risk offending the woman.

  She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a large slice of apple pie on a white china plate. Tiny wisps of steam rose from the combination of cold whip cream against the warm crust, and the aroma of apples and cinnamon reached his nose before she even set the plate in front of him. Based on the smell, he feared the taste would be overpowering. A small silver fork appeared next to the plate, and then Norma stepped back, crossed her arms, and waited.

  A furtive glance around revealed everyone in the room watching him. Nothing like tasting something with an audience hanging on your every move. He hoped it either would be fantastic or that he'd be able to maintain a poker face if it didn't, for he believed they would throw him out if he showed any dislike for the pie. It was almost as if a stranger’s acceptance among this group hung on his or her reaction to the pie.

  The fork slid through the dessert, and he raised it to his mouth. As the small portion hit his tongue, a burst of flavors exploded in his mouth. It was the best apple pie he’d ever had, and his eyes widened in surprise. Cheers and clapping ensued as his lips turned up and he nodded before taking another bite. His reaction seemed to have appeased Norma as she then filled a cup with cold iced tea for him. Brent took a few long gulps before placing the cup back down. His throat felt as arid as the Sahara, but the cool liquid did its job.

  “So, Fanny mentioned Sam’s. Is it much farther?” he asked between bites. He would regret finishing this pie the next time he hit the gym, but for now he didn’t care.

  “Nah, it’s jest a little ways up past the gnarled tree,” the man to his right said. His denim overalls stretched across his large frame and a plain white t-shirt with visible sweat stains poked out. Day old stubble covered his face, and his hair was brown but thinning on top.

  “Does it have a street name?”

  “I reckon, but no one round here uses it, so I can’t rightly say I remember what it is.” He picked up a toothpick and chewed on it.

  “Don’t mind Paul here.” Norma shot a look at the stout man. “This is the outskirts of Soda Spurs. The main town has street names. Sam’s is about a block up. If you get to Willow Street, you’ve gone too far.”

  “Thanks.” He downed another gulp of tea and pushed the cleaned plate toward her. “How much do I owe you?”

  Her hand flicked in dismissal. “First one’s on the house. I can’t have you passing out from hunger and dehydration. Marnie and Ernest would have my hide.”

  Another laugh erupted, and Brent forced a smile though he didn’t understand what she meant. However, he knew from experience that small towns held many inside jokes.

  “Well, thank you again.” His legs buckled as he stood and he had to grip the counter to remain standing. They were still a little rubbery from the long walk. The reprieve had been nice. When all the feeling came back into them, he raised his hand in a wave, shouldered his bag again, and headed out the door.

  Scorching heat beat down on him again as he stepped out of the air-conditioned diner, and his shoulder protested the weight of his bag. The reprieve had been nice. He should have asked for a bottle of water, but it had sounded like this Sam’s place wasn’t much farther. Perhaps, he would have water.

  As the gnarled tree came into view, Brent could see why they used it as a marker. It was grey and twisted as if cursed with some ancient magic, and nothing was around it. There was no street sign marker, so if it had a name, it was keeping it secret.

  Down this street were a few houses, painted in tans and beiges. They almost blended into the background. Up ahead, the small converted shop appeared among the neighborhood houses. He couldn’t imagine the shop could hold more than one car at a time, but it probably didn’t need to. He hadn't heard or seen a car driving in this town.

  S A M‘ S was stenciled across the front door. As he pushed open the door, a bell jingled above his head announcing his arrival.

  No one manned the cluttered counter, so he stepped into the large opening that led to the shop to the left. An old green Ford truck filled the space, and at the front of the truck, he spied two denim legs.

  “Hello?” he asked. “I’m looking for Sam.”

  The legs rolled out from under the car until the full person was exposed. His heart stalled in his chest. Sam was not the greasy
male mechanic he expected, but a petite brunette, though she was sporting a grease smear across her cheek. Her dark blue jumpsuit was large and hung on her body, hiding the curves he imagined lay underneath.

  “I’m Sam. What can I do for you?” She wiped her hand on a red towel she pulled from her pocket as she met his gaze. Her blue eyes reminded him of the sky when no clouds filled it.

  “But … you’re a woman.” The shocked words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

  Her eyebrow inched up her forehead as her arms crossed and leaned back. “Yeah, I’m a woman. You got a problem with that?”

  He did, on so many levels. A woman could not possibly fix his Porsche, but he’d already ruffled her feathers. If nothing else, perhaps she would order whatever part he needed, and recommend a real mechanic.

  Brent swallowed his pride and issued a lackluster apology. “No, I’m sorry. It’s … I was expecting a man.” Her sky-blue eyes continued to glare at him, waiting for a better explanation. “My car broke down outside of town, and I was hoping you could fix it or order a part or something.”

  Her gaze traveled the length of his body as if sizing him up. “What kind of car?”

  “Porsche 911.”

  A snort escaped her mouth. “Figures.”

  Irritation flared within him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Figures you would drive such an uppity car. I could tell by the way you’re dressed.”

  He bit his tongue to keep the reply he wanted to spew back at her in check. A few hasty generalizations on her outfit and the fact that she lived in this small town flooded his mind, but he needed her help. With great effort, he swallowed the vinegar and opted to pour out honey instead.

  “You got me. I live in Houston, but I was hoping to get away from the noise and relax. Can you help me?” He flashed his best puppy dog eyes at her, hoping they would work as well on her as they had on other women.

  “Fine. I’ll look at your snobby car. Follow me.”

  With a quick spin, she led the way through a back door where a faded blue Chevy truck waited.

  Continue reading A Brush with a Billionaire….

  A Free Story For You

  Enjoyed this story? Not ready to quit reading yet? If you sign up for my newsletter, you will receive Once Upon a Star, the love story of Blake and Audrey, two of my Star Lake characters, right away as my thank you gift for choosing to hang out with me.

  Once Upon a Star

  A high school crush….

  Blake was a nerd in high school. Never noticed. Looked over. So, it was no wonder that Audrey paid no attention to him, but now that she’s back in town…

  Audrey left Star Lake to pursue acting, but when she ends up pregnant and alone, she finds herself forced to return home.

  Can Blake show Audrey a new side? Will she trust him enough to stay?

  Read on for a taste of Once Upon a Star….

  Once Upon a Star Preview

  Audrey tried to peek around the nurses leaning over the silver table, obscuring the view of the thing she wanted to see most.

  “Are you ready, Mom?” The head nurse, a kind, older woman with just a touch of gray in her dark hair, turned to Audrey, a tiny blue package in her arms.

  Mom. The word had never applied to her, and she wasn’t sure it fit. Was she ready? Probably not. Would she ever be completely ready? Probably not. But that didn’t change reality. She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear and nodded.

  “Here’s your son.” The nurse held the swaddled bundle out to her. Audrey opened her hands, unsure of what the nurse wanted her to do. The nurse’s face softened and her warm brown eyes sparkled. With one hand, she adjusted Audrey’s arms to place the tiny bundle in them. “Hold him like this.” She demonstrated the proper technique. “You always want to support his head.”

  Audrey nodded, trying to keep her arms from shaking. She was afraid to breathe, afraid to move, but mostly afraid she’d drop the infant, so she kept her eyes glued to him. Would he shatter like a piece of glass? The image sent a shiver down her spine. She didn’t want to find out.

  The nurse’s eyes twinkled as she watched Audrey adjust and readjust her holding position. “There is a bassinet here.” She pointed at a clear plastic tub that looked like a large shoe box on top of a wheeled table. It didn’t look comfortable to Audrey, and she wondered how a baby slept in it. “If you want to take him walking, you need to put him in the bassinet, okay?”

  “Do I hold him the rest of the time?” As much as she was enjoying the baby in her arms, what happened when she needed to sleep or use the bathroom?

  The woman chuckled. “You hold him as much as you want and put him down when you need a break. We’ll come in every few hours to check on you, and we’ll show you how to change his diaper and dress him. You’ll be a pro before you know it. Don’t worry.” She patted Audrey’s arm like her grandmother used to when she asked a silly question, and then the nurse walked out of the room, still smiling and shaking her head.

  Audrey’s eyes dropped to the sleeping baby. His shock of dark hair reminded her of his father, the olive-skinned Italian who had charmed her with his fast tongue. She hoped it was the only trait Cayden would get from him. The world didn't need another heartbreaker. “I have no idea what we'll do, Cayden, but we’ll figure something out.”

  Blake turned the glass on the countertop and glanced up at Max who leaned against the back counter, arms folded across his chest as if he were waiting for the answer to a question. The green of his plaid shirt matched the faded ball cap turned backwards on his head. “Sorry, did you say something? I’m distracted; it’s just getting close to Christmas, and I miss Connie.” A vision of the day she left popped into his head.

  Blake opened the door, expecting to see Connie on the other side in her Sunday best. The church service started in half an hour. Though Connie stood there, his smile faded as he took in her jeans and t-shirt. There was no requirement of the patrons to dress up, but Connie always wore a dress or skirt. "What's going on?" Blake asked.

  Connie bit her lip and her eyes fell to the ground. "I wanted to say goodbye."

  "Goodbye?"

  "I can't stay any longer, Blake." Her eyes lifted to meet his, and he saw the shimmer of liquid in them. "I hoped I could make a life here, but I'm a city girl. I miss the lights and night life. I miss the excitement."

  "But, we were discussing marriage last week." Blake struggled to make her words compute in his brain.

  "I know," she nodded, "and that's what got me thinking. The thought of living the rest of my life here is depressing, so though I love you, I have to say goodbye." She leaned in and pecked his cheek before flashing a sad smile and walking back to her car.

  With a heavy heart, Blake watched her drive away before shutting the door and leaning against it. His brain tried to make sense of her departure.

  “I get it,” Max said, leaning forward and dispersing Blake’s memory. “It’s not the same, but you’re welcome to spend Christmas with Layla and me.

  Blake offered a half smile. “I’ll consider it, but it’s your first Christmas together. You’ve been in love with that woman since I’ve known you and I don’t want to be a third wheel. Besides, I'll probably hit the Christmas Eve service at church and spend the day with my mom. She’s been lonely without my father around.”

  Max shrugged and turned back to the kitchen to finish serving the lunch crowd.

  Blake took a bite of his hamburger, but while he knew it was delicious—Max was known for his burgers—it held no taste in his current mood. He fished a few dollars out of his wallet, laid the money on the counter, picked up his coat, and walked out the door.

  The McAllister development where he worked sat a mile up the road, but as he still had fifteen minutes remaining on his lunch break, he decided to walk through downtown. His own house resided on the quiet outskirts of town, so other than hanging out with Max at The Diner, he didn’t spend much time in the downtown area.

&nb
sp; Blake pulled his coat tighter as the winter air bit through the heavy wool. Star Lake generally received one or two good snowfalls every winter, and though Christmas was still a few weeks away, the chill in the air made him believe the first snow was coming.

  He didn’t mind the snow, but he enjoyed it more when he had someone to share the experience with. Curling in front of the fireplace alone held little appeal.

  Audrey shoved the last item in her suitcase and pushed down on the bulging bag as she tugged on the zipper.

  “Where are you going to go?” Desiree asked, leaning against the doorframe.

  Desiree was Audrey’s roommate, and the two were about as different as night and day. Where Audrey was pale and blond, Desiree had darker skin and long dark hair.

  “The only place I can,” Audrey said with a sigh. “Home.”

  The thought held little appeal. Her wealthy parents had given her access to her trust fund at eighteen, and Audrey had opted to move to LA to try her hand at acting. At first, it had been fun. She’d found a few jobs and been in a few commercials, but then the jobs had become fewer and farther between, and after she ended up pregnant, they had dried up completely. Now all the money she had saved was almost gone.

  Desiree’s nose scrunched in disgust. “You'd go back to that tiny town, why?”

  “I haven’t had a job in months Dez, my savings have run out, and I can’t go to work without someone to watch Cayden. If I go home, I can get help from my parents until I get back on my feet.”