Secret Billionaire on Her Doorstep

by Michelle Douglas

  ‘Oh, God, you do know.’ Her mother covered her face with her hands.

  Callie bit her lip. ‘Mum, I’m really sorry about what Frances and Richard put you through. I’m outraged on your behalf, but I’m okay.’

  Donna pulled her hands away, her gaze roving over her daughter’s face. ‘You are?’

  ‘I know it’s not a pretty story, but... Hell, there’s a part of me that feels Frances took one for the team. I, for one, am glad Richard wasn’t part of our lives. We dodged a bullet there.’

  Donna’s mouth opened and closed. ‘Then if that’s not the problem,’ she said faintly, ‘what is?’

  Callie folded her arms and glared. ‘Do you think I’m a vengeful bitch?’

  Donna straightened and her eyes flashed. ‘Absolutely not! Who accused you of such a thing?’

  ‘Owen.’

  ‘Owen?’

  ‘Well, he said that revenge is my MO, which comes to the same thing.’

  Donna’s lips twitched. ‘That’s not precisely true, honey.’

  ‘Semantics.’ She waved that away. ‘He claims I only want this TV job to revenge myself on Dominic.’

  She’d told her mum about the job with Mystery Family Trees weeks ago.

  ‘Dominic is a pathetic excuse of a man who should be dipped in hot tar,’ her mother said.

  ‘And that I’m only refusing my inheritance to revenge myself on Frances.’

  ‘You’re refusing it?’

  Donna’s voice had gone faint again and Callie blinked. ‘Of course I am. For the same reasons you are. I don’t want Frances’s blood money—’ She broke off to bite her lip. ‘The thing is, before I found out the full truth—that she stole your boyfriend and cut you off—I... I was starting to like her.’

  She frowned again, remembering every word that Owen had flung at her. ‘Owen said it wasn’t blood money, but a gift of love...’ She tried to push his words away. ‘But he sees Frances through rose-coloured glasses, because when he was a boy Frances helped his mother get out of a domestic violence situation.’

  ‘Frances did what?’

  Callie shrugged. ‘She’s helped all the tenants here—they range from recovering substance abusers and domestic violence survivors to illegal immigrants from war-torn countries.’

  ‘Frances has done all that?’

  ‘The tenants were worried when I first arrived that I might hike up the rents.’ Callie found she could smile again. ‘But they know better now and we’re all friends.’

  ‘Frances left you the apartment block?’

  ‘I know! It’s worth a cool sixteen million dollars. Can you believe that? The price of real estate here is mind-blowing. She left me this building, plus five million dollars she had in a trust for me, and she left everything else to you.’ She clapped her hands over her mouth the moment the words were out. ‘Sorry! That just slipped out. I know you aren’t interested in hearing anything about the inheritance.’

  Donna stared at her. Callie held her breath, hoping she hadn’t upset her.

  ‘Frances helped all of those people?’ she finally said.

  Callie nodded. ‘It appears she changed after discovering Richard’s true colours. For the last twenty years she shut herself up in this apartment and never left it.’

  Donna blinked.

  ‘And she did good deeds. Though she refused to take any credit for it. She sounds prickly and irascible and...’ She trailed off with a shrug.

  Donna’s face became larger as she leaned closer to her computer screen. ‘Callie, tell me everything.’

  So Callie did.

  When she was done, Donna leaned back in her chair and let out a long breath. ‘And all the letters I returned are there? She kept them? And you haven’t opened the ones addressed to you?’

  ‘I figured you’d kept them from me for good reason.’

  ‘I love you, honey, and I want to thank you for your lack of resentment towards me...’

  ‘No resentment—I trust you. And I love you too.’

  ‘But I want you to open one of those letters to me—it doesn’t matter which one—and hold it up to the screen for me to read.’

  Callie did.

  When she was finished, Donna blew her nose, dried her eyes and told Callie to put the letter away. ‘I should’ve forgiven her sooner. I turned her into a monster in my mind and bequeathed that resentment to you.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, I—’

  ‘No, honey, let me finish. Hearing you talk about her reminded me of the things I once loved about her—things I’d forgotten. She paid an awful price for the trust she placed in Richard and I’m sorry for that...sorry for how much he must’ve hurt her. I’m glad she had your Owen and his family to give her some comfort.’

  Callie’s chest cramped. ‘He’s not my Owen. He’s a jerk. Do you know what he said? That he wouldn’t sanction any decisions I made in relation to the inheritance for the next fortnight. Talk about pompous. Not to mention controlling.’

  Donna smiled. ‘Do you think I was controlling for keeping Frances’s letters from you?’

  ‘No! You were trying to protect me.’

  ‘And I suspect that’s what Owen is trying to do as well. He doesn’t want you to make a decision you’ll regret.’

  Her eyes burned and her throat grew too thick for her to speak.

  ‘And after listening to everything you’ve just told me, I think he’s right. I think the inheritance is a gift of love. Honey, read your letters and send me mine. Then think long and hard about what will make you happy before you come to any decision.’

  Callie swallowed. ‘Are you talking about the inheritance, the TV job, or Owen?’

  ‘All of them, darling. I suspect Owen cares about you very deeply. Don’t you? What do your instincts tell you?’

  She wanted to shake off her mother’s words, but she couldn’t. She recalled with startling clarity the expression in Owen’s gaze after they’d made love—the wonder, the awe...and the hope. It was an expression that had only deepened in the days afterwards, even as their connection had deepened. Yes, Owen cared for her. He cared for her as much as she cared about him.

  ‘Send off your job application, because it won’t hurt to apply. You can always withdraw it if you change your mind.’ Her mother hesitated. ‘I suspect getting your own back on Dominic would feel very satisfying for a brief time, but is it worth turning your whole world on its head?’

  The answer came swift and sure and had Callie sagging in her chair. No.

  She was jobless, she had a ridiculously generous inheritance, and she was free to go in any direction she wanted. The only thing she had to decide was which direction to choose.

  She glanced across at the drawer containing Frances’s letters. ‘We’ll talk soon, Mum.’

  * * *

  From his seat on the sofa Owen stared at the wall opposite as the apartment darkened around him, but he couldn’t be bothered to get up and switch on a light. The dark suited his mood.

  He’d made a rookie mistake with Callie. He’d thought that just because he’d conquered the hardness inside him and was ready to embark on a new chapter, it meant Callie was ready to start something new too.

  Because that was what he’d wanted to believe.

  She’d told him it was too soon for her, but he’d refused to listen.

  And then to storm in like some authority figure the day after their fight and tell her he wouldn’t ‘sanction’ any decision she made... What the hell had he been thinking?

  He ran a hand over his face, trying to dislodge the memory from his mind, but it had been burned there. Could he have been more patronising and superior if he’d tried?

  He didn’t blame Callie for not wanting to have anything to do with him. Taking her inheritance and the TV job were her decisions to make. He had no right to try to force his will on
her or to take those decisions out of her hands.

  His chin slumped to his chest. How could he fix this?

  What he wanted to do was race upstairs, prostrate himself at her feet and beg her to forgive him. He wanted to pressure her to choose him. But in his heart of hearts he knew that wouldn’t be fair. She needed the time and space to work out what she wanted from her life without input from any man.

  But the one thing he could do was apologise.

  His head lifted. He could send her flowers, with a card wishing her luck with the job application and apologising for being such a jerk. He’d tell her he understood that whatever she chose to do with her inheritance was her decision and hers alone...that he’d overstepped the mark.

  He swallowed.

  And he’d simply sign it Love Owen, and hope she knew he meant it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  OWEN TOOK A seat in Mr Dunkley’s office and tried to shift the weight that had settled on his shoulders over the last twenty-five days. Twenty-five days since he’d spoken to Callie. Twenty-five days since he’d messed up completely and alienated her forever. Twenty-five days in which his entire world had turned dark and bleak and the sliver of hope that had taken up residence in his heart had died a slow and painful death.

  He wished he’d chosen patience and the long game instead of losing his temper.

  He wished he’d had the chance to tell Callie that he loved her—properly and forever.

  And he wished to hell he could focus on anything other than the remembered shape of Callie’s mouth, the sound of her voice and the fruity scent of her hair.

  ‘Owen?’

  ‘What?’ He crashed back into the moment, registered the lawyer’s wide eyes, and bit back an oath. He had no right to take out his dark mood on the lawyer. ‘I’m sorry. I was miles away. A...uh...work issue,’ he lied, forcing himself to straighten and look interested. ‘What do you want to see me about?’

  He had his suspicions. He suspected Callie had had a valuation of the apartment complex completed and that Mr Dunkley had been ordered to put forward a price to Owen. He’d pay it. Whatever price she wanted, he’d pay it.

  Mr Dunkley glanced at the clock. ‘It’s just that...well—’

  The door burst open. ‘Sorry I’m late!’

  Owen blinked as Callie burst in, wearing her raspberry coat and shaking droplets of water from her hair as she dropped both her coat and scarf onto a spare chair. Everything inside him fired into sudden and furious life.

  She threw herself down into the seat beside him, and the scent of her hair engulfed him.

  ‘What is it with New York and the weather? You can’t call this spring. I swear it feels as if it should be snowing out there.’

  He couldn’t stop himself smiling, even as his heart ached with need and want. ‘You should see what it’s like in the dead of winter.’

  She gave a theatrical shudder, but laughed as she did so.

  His pulse pounded. He stared at her the way a starving man stared at a loaf of bread. He couldn’t help it. In the same way she couldn’t help walking into a room and filling it with warmth and laughter and goodwill.

  He couldn’t get enough of her. And seeing her freed him and oppressed him in equal measure.

  Freed him because to see her was a balm to his soul. Oppressed him because he wanted her. He wanted to hold her, kiss her and tell her he loved her.

  But she wanted none of that.

  She didn’t want him.

  It took all his strength to drag his gaze back to Mr Dunkley.

  The lawyer cleared his throat. ‘Ms Nicholls requested that I set up this meeting to table a proposition—one I have every expectation you’ll endorse, Mr Perry. It’s an enterprise that will amalgamate a variety of initiatives—’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Gerry, could you be more ponderous if you tried?’ Callie broke in, rolling her eyes even though her lips curved upwards.

  Ever since Mrs Dunkley had drunk too freely of the punch at Callie’s party and forced her husband to dance up a storm on the dance floor, Callie and the lawyer had been on first-name terms.

  ‘Callie, this is a business meeting, and as such certain formalities should be observed.’

  ‘Tosh,’ she said cheerfully, turning to Owen. ‘Let me cut to the chase. I—’

  When her eyes finally met his, her words stuttered to a halt. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. ‘Thank you for the flowers and the card. They were lovely.’

  She’d thanked him already, via text message.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  They hadn’t had the desired effect, though. They hadn’t had her rushing to his door and throwing herself in his arms.

  ‘Have you heard back yet?’ he asked. ‘Did they offer you the job?’

  ‘Of course they did. The video you made for me blew them away!’ She shook her head and waved her hands between them, as if trying to clear her head. ‘But that’s all by the by, and it’s not why I asked you to meet with me today.’

  She didn’t want to talk to him about the job because she thought he disapproved. The thought was a knife to his heart. ‘Congratulations, Callie—I mean it. I’m happy for you. You’ve worked really hard and you deserve your success.’

  She stared at him and frowned, as if she could sense the hollowness in his heart.

  He straightened. ‘So what kind of initiative and strategic vision did you want to table today?’

  Her lips twitched and her eyes danced, but she straightened too, folding her hands neatly in her lap. ‘Owen, I’m setting up a foundation. I’m calling it the Frances Foundation—because I like alliteration, don’t you?—and as Frances’s godson, and someone who loved Frances dearly, I thought you might like to be involved and become a trustee.’

  Her words made no sense. A foundation bearing Frances’s name? You only did that to honour someone, and Callie didn’t want to honour Frances. She loathed her.

  He leaned towards her. ‘What about your TV job?’

  Setting up a foundation and running it took a lot of time and...commitment.

  * * *

  Callie couldn’t stop the nerves from fluttering up into her throat, making her heart race and making it increasingly difficult to catch her breath. She’d spent the best part of the last month asking herself all the hard questions—what kind of person did she want to be? What did she want to do with her life? What gave her joy? Where did she want to live?

  And, most importantly of all, who did she want to share that life with?

  She’d discovered the answers to all those questions and she’d found a way forward—one she could be proud of. But it hadn’t happened overnight. It had taken a lot of soul-searching, a lot of honesty, and that had taken time. Too much time? She dragged in a breath. Please, please, please let there still be a chance for them. She couldn’t bear it if she’d lost all hope of winning Owen’s heart.

  ‘I turned down the TV job.’

  He stared at her. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair looked in serious need of a cut. But the swift keenness in his gaze told her she had his full attention.

  ‘You did what?’

  His lips—lean and firm—reminded her of all the ways he’d taken her to heaven, and the memories tugged at places inside her with insistent hunger. It took all her strength to focus on his words and not to reach across and press her lips to his.

  ‘I’ve decided to do something different. Something I think I’ll find more fulfilling. I mean, the TV job would’ve been interesting in the short term.’ She could feel her lips twist. ‘But when I examined my reasons for applying for the job I came to the conclusion that they were less than ideal.’

  He didn’t say anything, so she continued.

  ‘On top of that, there was a lot of travel involved—as I expected there would be—but no time to really explore
the places that I’d be travelling to. So, basically, I’d be living out of a suitcase and...’ She shrugged. ‘That’s not how I want to live my life. The time pressures and turnarounds were going to be tight, and I couldn’t see that there would be much of a chance for me to develop relationships with anyone. And, as my career counsellor pointed out, I’m a relationship-builder, so...’

  She let the words trail off, feeling she might be babbling and getting off course. But the way Owen stared at her, as if he’d hung on her every word, had her heart crashing about in her chest.

  He leaned towards her, bringing those tempting lips even closer. Breathe, she ordered herself. Breathe.

  ‘You’ve been seeing a career counsellor?’

  ‘I had some big decisions to make and I needed all the help I could get. She was great too—really helped me sort out my priorities.’

  He stared at her for a long time and she found herself holding her breath.

  ‘Tell me about the Frances Foundation,’ he said.

  She let the breath out slowly. ‘Well, we know that Frances championed the underdog, and—’

  ‘You don’t loathe Frances any more?’

  ‘No.’

  The light in his eyes deepened. ‘Go on.’

  Her heart raced. ‘With which part?’ She’d tell him whatever he wanted to know in whatever order he wanted to hear it.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Gerry Dunkley get to his feet and leave the room, but she didn’t bother calling him back. Owen didn’t either.

  ‘The Foundation or not loathing Frances any more?’

  ‘Tell me about the Foundation.’

  So she did. She told him how it would be set up to help unemployed youths find jobs or develop the skills they needed to break into the kind of work they hoped to find. She had plans to create industry links for scholarships and internships. With her mother’s blessing, she was going to turn the family estate of Ellerslie into a retreat-cum-training centre.

  ‘Your mother has agreed to this?’

  His incredulity made her smile. ‘Absolutely.’