Cold-Hearted: A Billionaire Secret Baby Romance (The Alabaster Club Series Book 2)

by Athena Braveheart

  COLD-HEARTED

  A Billionaire Secret Baby Romance

  Athena Braveheart

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter One

  Trevor Strome gritted his teeth excitedly and placed his foot on the pedal of his vintage muscle car, reveling in the cool breeze that blew across his face. He felt the adrenaline rush through his body as he saw the speedometer needle rapidly move higher and his surroundings become a blur.

  There were those who considered him as someone who lived recklessly and unabashedly because of his amassed wealth, but he didn’t see himself that way. He was proud, yes, for how many men could achieve as much as he had at his age without building a self-esteem that was as huge as a mountain? In his mind, he earned the right to live the way he did and didn’t give a damn about those who condemned him.

  At thirty-one, he was a multi-millionaire and a successful businessman. Suffice to say that his popularity in the business world had skyrocketed when the Nation Exotic Lifestyle magazine had featured him in one of their issues as one of the most ruthless and successful businessmen the current age had seen. The magazine had exaggerated his success a little, but it had put him in the limelight, enough to make a difference. In the subsequent weeks, Trevor had been awestruck to find more magazines and TV shows reaching out to him with endless inquiries about his business, lifestyle, and fortune, which had no root whatsoever in old family wealth.

  He wasn’t worried that many people thought he was a lucky early bird who had somehow made a lot of money by investing in the modern market. Real Estate. Stock Exchange. Medical research. Cryptocurrency. Mutual funds. Advertisement. He had his hands in all the business opportunities he could find until he built a multi-national company that oversaw virtually everything money could buy and sell.

  And this hadn’t come easily. It took hard work and razor-sharp focus for the last ten years to get to where he was; even his most critical haters had to admit that.

  Now, pushing the speed limit down the freeway in his car, he thought about everything he had been through and couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride. Life had changed for him for the better and it was all attributed to his hard labor, no one else’s. And he couldn’t be happier. The roaring sound of the car’s engine did well to heighten his excitement, while the morning breeze was enough to get him in a state of ecstasy.

  He owned his life. He had created a lot from the little he had come from, and he had earned every single penny that he had.

  The phone rang suddenly, jerking him out of his reverie and, still grinning, he connected the phone to the built-in speaker in his car and pressed the green button on its screen.

  “Theresa!” he yelled above the whirl of the breeze, beaming instantly.

  There was a long sigh from the other end before the caller asked, clearly annoyed, “Are you driving at top speed on the freeway again?”

  Trevor rolled his eyes at her, glad that she couldn’t see him. He wondered when she was going to stop worrying about him like she was his mother. Quickly, though, he decided that it probably would never happen.

  “Just enjoying the morning breeze!” he said lightly, keeping the sarcasm out of his voice.

  She so loudly that it was impossible not to hear it through the blaring speakers. “Sounds as if you are trying to get yourself killed,” she said.

  He shook his head and hit the pedal again, driving quickly past a road sign that indicated the next turn he planned to take.

  “If, after the insanely unbelievable orgasm I had yesterday with Lily, I’m still breathing fine, I don’t think a little speed is going to kill me,” he told her, chuckling. “Besides, I have you and the whole trinity thingy around your wrist to keep me safe, don’t I?”

  “The whole trinity thingy is a rosary, Trevor, and no, it isn’t a talisman that protects a sinful man like you,” she argued. He could practically see her rub her temples in irritation, as she tended to do around him. “You should really drive safely and get here in one piece—but as soon as possible.”

  He thought about teasing her again, especially about his date yesterday and her description of him as sinful, but thinking about how quickly her informal tone had become formal, he eased up on the pedal and concentrated on the call.

  “What is it, Theresa?” he asked her.

  She had been his secretary for as long as he could remember. In fact, he could imagine her small frame in her chair inches away from the door to his office already. Though not even fifty, she gave off a prude and motherly persona, and was often a subtle pain in the ass.

  “Those guys are back,” he heard her whisper. “I thought I should let you know before you waste the entire morning driving around in your car and taking your time to get here.”

  He chuckled. Hell, if anyone should know how the car made him feel, it had to be Theresa. She had tried endlessly to convince him to let go of what she referred to as “his addictive old brute.”

  “I just took the last turn before getting to the office,” he assured her. “I’ll be there soon.”

  “Okay,” she whispered into the phone, “hurry, but don’t speed to get here.”

  “I will,” he muttered so she couldn’t hear him and hit the pedal again.

  The call ended then, and quickly he thought about her comment that he could spend the entire morning just sitting in his car and revering it. He did that often, and although no one but Theresa knew, he had built the car from scratch himself. He could still remember his father’s words the first time he had brought up the idea.

  “A vintage muscle car? Now, that would be one hefty bitch to ride.”

  Thomas Strome had worked all his life as a mechanic. It had been through the little that he made from working on various engines and scraps that he had been able to send Trevor to college, where he double majored in business and economics.

  Trevor remembered how he had worshipped Tom as a child. He had helped his father at his little mechanic shop behind their home after school every day, also learning as much as he could about carburetors, wheels, and oil tanks. Eventually, when he was old enough to get his permit, Tom had pushed him into a big truck and drove around the small town with him for weeks until he perfected his driving skills. That was when inspiration hit him: he didn’t just want to drive a car, he wanted to build one—a badass one. And immediately after he had gotten his license, he had turned to his old man and told him about the idea.

  “We could get everything bit by bit, Dad,” he told him excitedly. “We could drive it around town when it’s done, and I could be the one teaching you all about racing down country roads!”

  His father had placed a hand on his shoulder, smiled, and muttered the words about a vintage muscle car being a hefty bitch before saying, “Let’s do it, son.”

  Their little project strengthened their bond even more, and in a few months, they had both worked tirelessly in the s
hop, joining metals and getting the seats and body parts ready. They abandoned it for months sometimes when they didn’t have more funds to continue, but as soon as his old man came by some cash again, they were back at it until, finally, they had to abandon it for good.

  “You’ve got to go to college, Trevor,” Tom had said regretfully. “I know this is your baby, but she’ll get her wheels one day, but not now. You understand that, right?”

  Trevor did understand. He knew college was his father’s top priority for him and they couldn’t keep spending money they didn’t have on the car. That had been one of the reasons he spent all his years in school learning everything he could about becoming a successful businessman. A few years after graduation, he had made his first million and hurried back home, determined to finish the car and get it running.

  And when it ran, when it finally roared to life and left its dusty space in the mechanic shop, his old man beamed proudly. Tom squeezed Trevor’s shoulder, pulled him toward him, and hugged him passionately, a feeling Trevor would never forget. "Son,” his father said as they drove around town with his new car, “I’m so proud of you. You never relented on anything you set out to do since I can remember. Keep it up and you’ll be a winner for life.” A tear dropped down his cheek and he quickly brushed it away, hiding it from Trevor, who kept his eyes on the road, pretending as if he hadn’t noticed it.

  It had been one of the most emotional moments Trevor had spent with Tom, and he remembered every minute of it. He especially was glad that he had those few weeks of completing the car with him because a few weeks later, Thomas Strome had dropped to the floor in his shop and died from a heart attack.

  Driving the car was Trevor’s way to pay homage to his father, the car they spent hours on together. He felt that he owed him that. Trevor wasn’t stupid; he knew that speeding was dangerous, but when the wind whipped through the windows and whistled against his ears, he was able to block everything out and only think of the times he spent in the truck, listening to instructions from his father on how to drive better and fix a busted engine...

  Once again, Trevor jolted from his reverie as he realized that loud beeping sounds echoed around him. It wasn’t his phone this time, though. Glancing at his rearview mirror, he cursed under his breath as he realized that a cop on a motorcycle was trailing after him, forcing him to hit the brakes and tilt the car to the side of the road. A moment later, he heard footsteps on gravel getting louder and the cop leaned down, his eyes flickering to the sleek body of the car.

  “What are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?” he asked, clicking his tongue.

  Trevor heaved a long sigh. He seemed to get that question a lot these days.

  “Hello, Officer,” he said pleasantly, trying to keep a genuine smile plastered on his face. He glanced at the cop’s nametag. Officer Patrick Lowe.

  Officer Lowe was, however, too taken by the appearance of the car to pay him much attention. Trevor subtly rolled his eyes when he finally adjusted his belt and stared intently at him.

  “It’s a bit early to drive above the speed limit, don’t you think, Mr...?”

  “Strome,” Trevor responded, gritting his teeth.

  “Now, Mr. Strome,” Officer Lowe said, stepping away from the door and staring at the rims of the car, “you do know about the speed limit law on the freeway, don’t you?”

  Trevor nodded and stared bleakly at him. The man stepped toward the door again, bent slowly to smile at him, and spoke without blinking.

  “I can either write you a ticket, or you show me the engine,” he said.

  Trevor couldn’t hold back a grin. He raised both hands in mock surrender and nodded in agreement. He slowly stepped out and headed toward the hood of the vehicle. The cop folded his arms eagerly as Trevor pushed the hood up and waved his hands, showing Officer Lowe the spotless metal clippings of the car’s engine.

  “Now, that’s definitely not a sight you see every day.” He whistled.

  “You betcha” Trevor said, winking at him. “Roars all day and pushes the heavy car smoothly without breaking a sweat.”

  “No heat and runs fast?”

  “Is that even a question?” Trevor asked, folding his arms too.

  The cop nodded and smiled, staring briefly at the body of the car again. For a few seconds, he said nothing and did nothing. He just stared as long as he could at the engine and finally heaved a long sigh. “I guess that should do,” he said.

  Trevor dropped the hood back in place, laughing loudly. Officer Lowe shook his head and walked away as Trevor inched into the driver’s seat back.

  “Stick to the speed limit, Mr. Strome,” he said. “You don’t get lucky twice!”

  Trevor nodded and ignited the engine back to life, this time planning to stick to the speed limit. At least, stick to it enough so he could keep out of trouble with any more cops along the road.

  He was already halfway down the last road to his office, but despite how hard he wanted to focus on the men that were waiting for him, his thoughts drifted back to his old man and the last few weeks before his death. It was a painful memory in many ways, but there were other ways it brought a smile to his face.

  Trevor regretfully had been unable to tell Tom—or anyone—about how he had made his millions...about the loan he had risked everything to take in order to make his first investment. The investment, at the time, had been about making critical business plans. He had to make ruthless decisions, and that had eventually given him no choice but to seek a loan from the wrong set of people.

  Stefano, from the Mafia gang, had been the one to make the loan happen. Despite the surplus Trevor had been able to return in the span of six years in the form of cash and favors, he had not been able to rid himself of Stefano’s threats and endless manipulations. He always wanted more. His men showed up out of nowhere, threatening him, seeking as much as they could force him to give.

  It was why Trevor didn’t want people getting too close to him. He had the reputation of a playboy, never with the same girl twice, but that was because he wasn’t ready to be emotionally involved with anyone who could be endangered because of a bad business decision he had made a long time ago. It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

  He was fine alone. He could have as many women as he wanted every night, discard them in the morning, and move on with his reclusive and yet sufficient life.

  However, despite this pleasurable lifestyle he had adopted, he still hated Stefano and his men. They infuriated him every single time they showed up, especially when he thought about some of the trouble they had almost gotten him into. The last time, it had involved a stolen briefcase of cocaine, and how they needed his money to retrieve it.

  Trevor glanced around, feeling his temper rising to its climax. He had been driving absently as his rage against Stefano and his gang built up and had missed the exit he was supposed to take. He found himself cursing under his breath for the second time before picking up his phone and dialing Theresa’s number.

  “You’re already here?” Theresa asked the moment she picked his call.

  “No,” Trevor said, “I, uh, hit some traffic. You’re going to have to entertain our little friends for a few more minutes. Sorry, Theresa, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  There was a short silence, as though Theresa was considering whether to believe him or not.

  “How long?” she asked him, resigned.

  “Thirty minutes?” Trevor guessed, already calculating how long it would take to get to the U-turn that would put him back on the right track.

  Theresa sighed into the phone. “Will do,” she finally whispered. “You had better show up with your usual proud and convincing grin. They’re not looking too happy.”

  There’s that word again, he thought as he ended the call. He had accepted the description a long time ago. He was a proud young man who gave zero fucks about what everyone else thought about him.

  He sped down the road, considering the life he could have had i
f he hadn’t gotten involved with Stefano.

  As quiet as it would have been, it didn’t seem like it would have been an amazing one—one with millions in his bank account.

  Chapter Two

  Jules Harper stared at the sheet of paper in her hands, frozen, trying to wrap her head around it. She was distracted; there was no other explanation to it. And as much as her mind was trying to tell her that she was exhausted too, she stared passionately on, her eyes fixed on the first few sentences that she read before starting all over again.

  Unable to go on with the repetitive reading, she finally leaned back in the chair and let the paper slip from her hands to the table.

  Dammit! she thought to herself in frustration.

  She had been unable to concentrate at work for the past two weeks, and she blamed that on a poor date she had had four weeks ago.

  It was supposed to be a romantic night with a handsome Italian-American, but she quickly realized that was just wishful thinking. Like the other men she had been with before him, nothing about him had fascinated her—absolutely nothing—which showed how dull they all were because she wasn’t hard to please (in her opinion, at least). And, if she had to be completely honest, it was because none of the men was Richard Frigging Morrison. The one she would be meeting today during lunch would be no different than the rest.

  Richard Morrison had been the only boyfriend Jules had ever had. Despite how buried in work she had been since their relationship ended over four years ago, she often thought about his timid smile and the way he insisted that they hold hands whenever they walked to the park together.

  Richard had been quite geeky, but adventurous and goofy. Jules remembered how they had met in college. It was a warm spring afternoon and she had been having lunch on the quad, her eyes glued to the Silhouette novel in her hand.