Once Upon a Billionaire: Blue Collar Billionaires, Book 1

by Jessica Lemmon

  “I don’t want to let him down,” I mutter, noting how weak that sounds.

  “You’re afraid if you upset him he’s going to start drinking or using again, aren’t you?”

  It’s times like these I remember Nate has had experience with substance abusers.

  I hold up my hands in surrender. “Textbook codependent.”

  “No, you’re not there yet.” He reaches for one of my hands and holds it. Just then our margaritas arrive. We place our orders. Quickly, since most of the menu is broken down into numbers. I order the number fourteen and he chooses twenty-eight. We dig in to the basket of chips again.

  “If he had a job, he could find his own place,” I say as I add salt to a chip. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand him living with me. And if she stays too…”

  Ugh. I can’t even think about it. Three adults, one bathroom?

  Horror.

  “He can work for me.” Nate munches another chip.

  “You don’t know what you’re offering. Walt has no work experience. He’s barely sober. I’m not sure he’s reliable.”

  Nate surprises me by laughing. “As his representative, you don’t sound very confident in him.”

  “I’m looking out for you. I don’t want you to regret giving him a chance.”

  “You don’t have to look out for me. First of all, I can look out for myself. Second of all, I was like Walt at one point. Unreliable, and worse, mercurial. I needed somebody to give me a chance. Hell, William gave me plenty of chances. I wasn’t gracious about it. It’s possible this is a nudge from the universe to pay back the kindness shown to me. I’m okay with that.”

  How does he do that? Admit how he’s feeling so casually? I blink at him in wonderment before saying, “I might have to look into going back to therapy.”

  “Stick with me, kid.” He winks. “I’ll teach you everything I know.”

  After dinner we drive back to Grand Marin. I settle into the passenger seat, stuffed on fish tacos and way too many chips. Why can I never turn down the second basket? Out of the blue, Nate makes a suggestion I don’t see coming.

  “Why don’t you go back to your apartment and pack enough clothes for the next few weeks. You can stay with me. Think of it as a trial run for Walt having his own place.”

  He parks next to my car and watches me calmly. There’s no fanfare involved and he just asked me to move in with him. Sort of. Fear ripples along my spine. I’m already shaking my head, self-preservation kicking into gear.

  “You can make this into as big of a deal as you want to,” he tells me. “But you sleep at my house enough to justify you packing a bag. Plus, I want you there. I like you there. It’s not permanent, but it could be. Maybe staying with me would be a good trial run for you too.”

  My heart skips a literal beat and I open my mouth to suck in a breath. Definitely he sort of, kind of asked me to move in with him. Not right away, but later. My head is spinning.

  “Walt needs me at home.”

  “Why?”

  I choke. I don’t know why. I just feel this innate need to protect him.

  “Afraid Dee will rob you?”

  “No.” Not really. My distrust of her is more because she’s an addict and has recently relapsed.

  “Afraid she’ll lead Walt astray?”

  “Yes.”

  He nods. “It’s a possibility. But you can’t wrap him in bubble wrap. He’s an adult and the decisions he makes each and every day impact his sobriety in a negative way or a positive way. You have your own life to think about.”

  “What about you?” I ask a tad defensively. “You have your own life to think about and here you are offering me refuge in your apartment.”

  “Refuge?” He chuckles. “I like having you there. Thought you liked it there too.”

  Rather than admit staying with him officially freaks me out, I hedge. “The commute to work is longer from your house.”

  “That’s true.” He nods, patient now.

  “It’ll add another twenty minutes and I already spend way too much time there.” Yes, this argument is sound.

  “You can say no,” he offers, once again looking out the windshield.

  “It’s not that I want to say no, it’s that I have to drive to my stupid job and sit at my stupid desk and answer to my stupid boss and I’d rather not add insult to injury by tacking on another twenty minutes.” Exasperated, and slightly winded from my mini rant, I take a breath.

  “You could quit the job.”

  “Ha! Sure. I’ll just quit and earn zero dollars. My landlady will love that idea.” I offer a sweet smile I hope is covering for my fraying nerves. I haven’t depended on anyone in years. The idea of leaning on Nate might strip me of my very identity.

  Arguably, that went away with my name change. I was never this jumpy. I never knew my whole life was held together by a single thread. My father.

  “You don’t like your job,” he points out. “Your boss is an asshole.”

  He’s not wrong. I snort and tack on, “Creating spreadsheets and filing forms is as mind-numbing to me as a frontal lobotomy.”

  “So find a new job. One that challenges you.”

  The way he’s looking at me is making me nervous. He points to one of the Grand Marin buildings. “See that corner office with all the windows?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s gorgeous.” The sidewalk is freshly poured and slim-trunked trees stand at even intervals at the corner. Overlooking the street is a second-floor office. Its interior is dimly lit, but I can make out the shape of tall plants by the window and a large desk.

  “I had it furnished by a state-of-the-art designer today. It’s where my property manager will have his or her office when I hire one. I need someone smart, timely. Someone who won’t screw me over.”

  “Walt is smart, but I’m not sure about the other two,” I reply with a laugh. My brother would be a terrible fit for that position.

  “I’m not talking about Walt. I mean you. How would you like to run Grand Marin?”

  “Run it?”

  “In addition to being the contracted builder, my company also oversees the property management. It’s my ass if I don’t put a superstar in that office.”

  “I don’t know anything about managing a property.”

  “I’ll teach you.” He shrugs. As if it’s that easy.

  I look up at the corner office and picture myself in there. In a smart, black suit and heels, chatting on the phone or flipping through reports. Popping down to the sidewalk to buy a foamy cappuccino and then sitting on a park bench in the common area to drink it.

  It’s terrifying.

  I was once in charge of a lot of employees. I had an entire department reporting to me. I instructed men like Nate on a biweekly basis, all of them earning more money than I was. I don’t know if I can trust myself in a high-powered position again, and that’s not the only argument for why it’s a bad idea.

  “What if…something happens?” I ask instead of sharing my worries about bombing spectacularly in a managerial position.

  “Something like what?”

  Like we break up and hate each other. Or worse, we break up and tolerate each other. But that’s presumptuous, isn’t it? He asked me to stay with him for the week because he knows my brother and his girlfriend are annoying me. Maybe he was being nice. And maybe this job offer is a simple solution to his problem and mine.

  A long-dormant part of my soul surges forward at the idea of once again rising to meet new goals. I miss the feeling of purpose I had when I worked for my father’s company. I thought I was fostering a great legacy. Little did I know.

  I send another wary gaze to the Grand Marin office and bite my lip.

  “Life is short, Viv. Don’t waste another minute doing something you don’t want to do.” He thumbs my chin, his eyes broadcasting sincerity. “Those drab walls and worn carpet don’t suit you, anyway. And I won’t micromanage you.
You’d have full autonomy.”

  No, I wouldn’t miss the drab walls, worn carpet, or Daniel. Amber’s nice, but we could have lunch together after I quit CRBI. I imagine telling Daniel I’ll no longer be his lackey, and my chest expands with the fullest breath I’ve taken all day.

  “Just a thought,” Nate says, as if he didn’t radically change my entire life by offering me the key to the prison cell. “Think it over, but I need to find someone soon. It would save me a lot of advertising and headhunting. I’m incredibly picky about who I put in charge.”

  “No pressure,” I joke.

  “None whatsoever.” He leans in and kisses me soundly. “When you come over tonight, bring a bag. You and I can talk about where Walt would fit working for me, and what it would look like if you work at Grand Marin. And then you can stay with me for a week and try it on for size.”

  “Funny, this feels like pressure.”

  His grin isn’t one of denial.

  “Where would Walt work anyway?” I ask, happy to change the subject. “Grand Marin is almost complete. You won’t need more construction guys here.”

  “True. But I have other sites.”

  “Like the one in Chicago.” As much as Walt tends to chap my ass, I’m not ready for him to be far away.

  “And elsewhere. He lived in Atlanta without you. What makes you think he can’t live somewhere else without you?”

  “Maybe I don’t want him to go too far.”

  “Maybe you hovering isn’t good for him.”

  That spikes my blood pressure. “I’m not hovering.”

  “Family is important. I know better than anyone. But you have to let people make their own choices. We can’t watch over them twenty-four/seven. He’s not your responsibility, and I don’t want you hurt if he does backslide.” Nate squeezes my forearm with gentle pressure, comforting me.

  “But I worry.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “He was in a rehabilitation home most of the time he was in Atlanta. That’s a far cry from living on his own,” I continue arguing, hearing how resistant I am. Do I not trust him? Or do I need a project? Would Grand Marin be a better use of my micromanaging skills?

  “You can’t take care of him the rest of your life. You’re going to have to trust him to be on his own at some point.”

  Damn Nate and his valid observations.

  “If I stay with you for the week,” I start, and his smile spreads his mouth in a slow, tantalizing way, “it doesn’t mean I’m not going back to my apartment at all. It’s still my place and if I want to make a big pot of mac and cheese for my guests, I will.” I thrust up my chin in defiance.

  His smile is cocky, but it’s also sweet—his signature.

  He kisses me one more time. “Fair enough.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nate

  By the end of the week, I’m used to the way Vivian returns home from work.

  Through the front door with a greeting to Odessa first, who’s here most nights prepping dinner. Then Viv greets me with a kiss when I come downstairs, usually from the direction of my home office.

  Today I’m in the living room when she comes home, choosing a vinyl record. Nat King Cole, I decide.

  Odessa is busy in the kitchen preparing dinner for this evening. A bigger affair than usual since we’re expecting company.

  At the mouth of the living room, Viv spots me and smiles. “Well, this is a surprise. I thought I knew your patterns.”

  “After a few nights? Doubtful.”

  “Dinner smells good.”

  “As do you.” I place a kiss on her neck and then her mouth. When we part, her eyes flutter closed. “Ready for tonight?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” Her eyes are stunning sienna brown with flecks of gold. I’ve either noticed the more nuanced shade since she’s been living here or the overhead lighting makes them look different. “It was nice of you to invite them.”

  Them is Walt and Dee. I suggested dinner to discuss Walt’s job rather than an in-office interview with HR. Given his past, I thought he’d appreciate not being subjected to the formality.

  Walt was the only one invited, but when he asked about Dee, who did end up staying in Viv’s apartment, by the way, Viv told him to bring her. It doesn’t bother me that Dee is joining us, but it bothers Viv. She confessed last night while we were curled up in bed. Her pressed against my chest, my arm around her shoulders. I’m used to her in bed with me, and I’m devising a plan to keep her there longer than a week.

  “I’m going to change.” She kisses me again and heads upstairs. She looks amazing, but especially in the outfits Brandy selected for her.

  “I’ll join you.” I follow her upstairs and lean against the open double closet doors while she takes off her outfit for the day—a pressed white pair of slacks and a spring-green top. She sweeps aside one hanger then another before holding up a gray dress. When she reaches for a pair of bone-colored high heels, she sends me a derisive look.

  It’s for show.

  I’ve received few complaints since the first night she entered my closet and found a dozen outfits and as many pairs of shoes lining “her” side. But those complaints were followed by sex in this very closet. I’m fairly sure I’m forgiven.

  “Spoiled,” she mumbles as she slips the dress over her head.

  “I hope so.” I zip the back of her dress, kissing a line up her spine as I do.

  “I never wanted it back, you know.” She turns to confront me. Which makes me want her again. I consider unzipping her and kissing a few more places. “This lifestyle,” she specifies. “It’s ridiculous. Who lives like this?”

  “You. Me. About a million other people.” I pull her into the circle of my arms. “Stop worrying how you’ll live without it and enjoy it while it’s here.”

  “That’s not what I’m afraid of.”

  I want to ask what she is afraid of, but that’s a question for tonight when we’re in bed, not twenty minutes before company arrives.

  Downstairs, Odessa removes her apron and hangs it on the inside of the pantry door. The table is set in the dining room, the candles lit, a flower arrangement in the center. “Anything else, Mr. Owen?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She tells us goodbye and exits the house.

  Viv turns toward me. “You’re the only rich guy I know who doesn’t want his chef to serve the meal.”

  “I’m capable of serving myself and a few friends. I just don’t want to cook it.”

  Her smile falls when the doorbell rings. We go to answer it together, a unified front. That’s different, but not uncomfortable. Walt is wearing jeans and a button-down shirt. The creases in the sleeves from where it was folded suggest he bought it recently.

  “I borrowed your dress,” Dee says to Vivian.

  I can tell by Viv’s tight shoulders she didn’t know Dee was borrowing her dress. It’d piss me off if someone rummaged through my closet to borrow my clothes without permission.

  “It’s really pretty.” Dee smooths a hand down the pale blue fabric. The dress is too long on her. She’s a few inches shorter than Viv, and she doesn’t quite fill out the bustline.

  “Yes. It’s one of my favorites,” Viv replies carefully.

  “What can I pour you to drink? I have wine, beer and—” I offer automatically before remembering they’re in recovery. “Shit.”

  “Shit sounds good. I’ll have that,” Walt says with a laugh.

  “I love Pepsi,” Dee says.

  “I have Coke.”

  Her nose wrinkles. “Water is fine.”

  “Still or Perrier?” Vivian offers.

  “Rich people, am I right? Viv, you fit right in.” Dee laughs. Walt and Viv exchange glances. I wonder if Dee knows she’s about to have dinner with the one and only Walter Steele, Junior.

  There’s warm, crusty bread in a basket in the center of the table. I invite Walt and Dee to help themselves while I grab the main course. Vivian of
fers to fetch the drinks, following me into the kitchen.

  “Water for you as well?” She pulls Perrier bottles from the fridge.

  “Bourbon, preferably. But I understand if that’s an issue around Walt.”

  “I have wine in my apartment and it didn’t bother him. But Dee…” Vivian lowers her voice.

  “You sound unsure.”

  “I have to look out for my brother. He hasn’t been great at looking after himself.”

  “We’ll check for missing silverware after they leave.” I kiss her forehead and smile. I don’t miss the eye roll she gives me as I bypass her to serve our guests.

  Vivian

  I don’t mind that Dee borrowed my dress. Okay, I do, but I wish she would have asked. I would have let her borrow it if she’d asked. She didn’t though, just like she didn’t ask if she could move into my apartment with Walt and eat the groceries I paid for, and that’s the problem. She’s as entitled as if she’s an extension of Walt, but she’s not. She’s an interloper.

  “How goes the job search?” Nate asks, his eyes shifting from Walt to Dee. She looks at Walt expectantly.

  “Not great.” Walt tears a piece of bread off and butters it generously. “I used to work in an office and now it’s the last place I want to be.”

  “You did?” Dee asks, which makes me wonder what the hell they talk about all the time.

  “Sort of,” I answer for Walt. He frowns. “He worked for our family’s company part-time.”

  “I’d rather work outside.” My brother gives me the stink-eye.

  “I have an opening at Owen Construction if you’re interested,” Nate says. Walt’s eyes go wide with interest. “It’s a starting position with a decent salary. Travel is required, but the company will reimburse you. You’d be based outside of Chicago.”

  “Back home,” my brother says, and the longing in his voice breaks my heart. I know he misses our old life. Our family. He has better memories of it, probably because that office job he alluded to was really, really part-time. Plus, whenever he returned from a stint in rehab, he was treated like the prodigal son come home.