Billionaire Daddy - A Standalone Novel (A Single Dad Billionaire Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #6)

by Claire Adams

  BILLIONAIRE DADDY

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams

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  Chapter One

  Maddox

  The weather never changed in Seattle, Washington. It was always cool enough for a jacket, but never too cold that a simple cashmere scarf couldn’t help. I think that’s what I liked about it the most; not having to worry about the weather, what to wear, or if it was going to rain, because it was always raining. The weather was a constant in my life, as was the partying and investments and beautiful women and good champagne. I liked routine, stability, never worrying about money because there was plenty of it and there would always be plenty of it. It might sound simple, but a friend once told me I was like a stubborn oak tree. Rooted in the ground while I helped others flourish off my branches. I didn’t understand it at the time, but it was starting to make sense.

  My house wasn’t the biggest on the street. That title belonged to some multibillionaire yacht club owner who lived across from me. I’d catch him staring out of his window as his newest young fling swayed around him like a minx during breakfast. Our eyes would meet, and he’d nod his head as if it to say, ‘Don’t let this happen to you.’ So, that became my number one rule; never bring one-night stands over to your place.

  But it seemed my next door neighbor and best friend since college, Nick, didn’t take that rule very seriously. I waved at the young brunette rushing out from his front door and into a cab, forcing a pleasant smile on my face as she flipped everyone in the world the finger. Nick leaned against his front porch and shot me an innocent look. His clothes were stained with a fresh coat of paint, signaling a new project.

  “Listen, Maddox, don’t get mad.” He loved making puns out of my name. “I invited her over for bacon and orange juice. How was I supposed to know she wanted a side of monogamy?”

  “Kick her to the curb,” I said. “No one deserves such hell.” He rubbed my shoulder and invited me inside, where the house that I had purchased several years prior was beginning to resemble the inside of a painter’s studio. And it had only been a month since I’d last hired him a cleaning crew.

  “Damn right.” He left me alone in the giant living room covered in splotches of yellow and purple. A few blank canvases hung on the wall, where I supposed he was waiting for the right inspiration to hit him. His latest piece, an intricate rainbow of dark colors blending to form the outline of a woman, sat in the corner of the room in front of a dusty flat screen television. Nick was talented, the best at the university, but as expected, a degree in art wasn’t getting him much work. I once had a maid that told me a tidy house indicated a tidy mind, and looking around, I wondered what she’d say about Nick. His mind was cluttered, indeed, but his creativity is what made him tick. It was his lifeblood, his spark.

  “Thanks for taking the night off,” he said as he hurried down the tall staircase in a new outfit that wasn’t covered in paint. “I don’t remember the last time we went out to the clubs, and spying on your restaurants doesn’t count. Not with your rule against picking up chicks at your place of business.”

  I’d only made that rule to keep him from getting me hit with a harassment suit. Over the years, he’d tried to make his way through the females on my staff. “It wasn’t easy,” I said. “Jackie’s probably banging her head on her desk as we speak, and it’s only lunch time.” My assistant, a dedicated woman who woke me up every two hours through the night wanting to discuss meeting points and numbers, was not happy with me. I agreed to give her the next Monday off, and she reluctantly agreed. We both knew she wasn’t going to take the day off. The woman had trouble taking an hour off, and I imagined her home was as untidy as Nick’s.

  “Well, your new place is opening up soon, right?” he asked as he carelessly trashed his kitchen looking for his sunglasses. I spotted them on the top of the fridge, thick white frames that were painted with splotches of color.

  “On Alaskan Way,” I confirmed. “Just two weeks left, and then my life is going to be nothing but ocean breeze, hot ovens, and pissed off millionaires who asked for their seasoned garlic herb au gratin unseasoned and gluten-free.” I couldn’t wait.

  “Don’t waste those fancy terms on me,” Nick said. “The only thing I understood was garlic and free.” He found his sunglasses and slipped them on, checking the time on his cracked phone.

  “I have to be back in an hour and a half before checking out for the night,” I said, checking my Rolex. “Means your painting class starts in two.”

  “So do we have time for any of the spots on First?” he asked.

  “A Wednesday at lunch time, on the busiest street in the whole city?” I smiled. “Of course we have time; come on. I’m feeling sushi.”

  Nick explained his latest motivation for his painting—seeing a woman naked in the early twilight of morning—as I drove us downtown. I picked our neighborhood, a gated community which was an average of 20 minutes away from my closest restaurant, on purpose. It gave us open air, green land, and had the perfect view of distant mountains, sprawling hills, and cliffs. Nick had been living in an apartment on the very outskirts of downtown, where I had to resort to using taxis, and now passenger pick-ups, to get dropped off and picked up or else risk my car being stolen, or worse, me being mugged. I wasn’t going to let him live in that hellhole for long, for both of our sakes.

  The wait for our favorite sushi restaurant was an hour and a half, but the hostess immediately ignored the current patrons in line and gave us the table closest to the kitchen. Nick hated being forced to watch as the doors swung open and closed and the heat of the marble stoves bathed us in warmth, but I loved it. Famous sushi chefs straight from Japan greeted us and brought over a freshly cut salmon to inspect, and soon our table was covered in nigiri and sashimi and deep fried sushi rolls that Nick devoured himself. A sautéed octopus covered in a generous pool of barbecue sauce with a slight citrus taste finished our lunch, and as the restaurant was beginning to turn people away with wait times of over two hours, Nick and I leaned back and nursed our sake.

  “Jackie still seeing that guy?” Nick asked.

  “If one date a month is considered dating, then yes,” I said. “I offered to be her wingman tonight, but she said they have something special.” I shrugged. “You start questioning stuff like that and all of a sudden you’re the asshole boss.” I’d learned to stay out of her business a long time ago.

  “Too bad.” Nick ordered another sake, claiming inebriation was good for the creative mind. It’s funny, but most things he wanted to do were good for the same reason. I grinned, knowing Nick had had a crush on Jackie for five years, ever since she’d started working for me. “Guess I’ll just have to pick another curly-haired beauty to give me inspiration.” He slurred, his gestures becoming more animated. I placed my cup on the table and gestured for our drinks to be taken away. Our waitress,
a new woman in her early 20s, returned with the check.

  “It’s probably my last chance to bring anyone home, at least for a while.” I slipped a card inside without bothering to glance at the total, something Nick scolded me for often, and left a tip that was more than most people make in a month. “I’m lucky to get out once a month with my business having grown to over 100 restaurants. The next time you see me I’ll be a former ghost of myself.”

  “You could cut back, you know, or maybe hire someone to help you out,” he suggested, and we paused for a moment before laughing. “I know, they’re your children.”

  “Every single one is worth it,” I said, thinking about all of my employees and chefs and the amazing dishes of art that we created. Because while Nick literally dealt in physical and emotional art, my recipes were edible works of art. My chain, All You Can Eat, named after a funny joke my late grandfather always told about coming back until the pans were licked clean, was my blood and sweat. And preparing for another new location opening was the closest thing I’ll have to a new baby. The best part… the restaurant sounded like a diner, and yet it was a four-star restaurant chain, catering to the upper middle class in every major city and most of the smaller ones as well.

  “Make tonight count then,” Nick said as we waited for valet to bring my car. “It’s your last night of freedom.”

  I dropped him off at his house after lunch, where he pointed toward my front porch with a confused look on his face.

  “Were you expecting company?” he asked. He motioned toward the house.

  A woman stood on my porch, her face scrunched in concentration as she glanced between her phone and my front door. Her hair was long and blonde, reaching her lower back and falling like satin, and even from where we waited in the car, I could see that she was beautiful. I had no idea who she was, but my interest was piqued. It wasn’t every day I had a beautiful stranger show up at my doorstep.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” I muttered and nearly pushed Nick out of my car. My driveway circled around a giant fountain, but I didn’t like strangers seeing my personal items, so I used the second driveway, a curling path that went behind my house and into the 10-car garage full of sports and designer cars. I parked, fixed my dark suit, and straightened my watch, then walked around toward the front where the woman continued to knock on my door.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, any sense of humor or inappropriateness in my tone left with Nick. The woman jumped as I hopped up the marble steps leading to my door. Her eyes were stunning, a bright blue that matched the sky on a rare sunny day.

  “Maddox Moore?” she asked with a smile. Oh no, I thought for a moment. She’s here to sell something.

  “Yes?” I offered a sideways smile. “What can I do for you?”

  “Born December 2, 1983?” She looked at her phone. “Owner of the chain restaurant, All You Can Eat, which has over 100 locations across the country?”

  “A hundred and three, to be exact. A hundred and four in two weeks,” I added with as much sarcasm as I could muster. The very top button of her blouse was unbuttoned, and I eyed it as she spewed off more facts about me that she most likely Googled. “If we’re sharing information, why don’t you tell me a little about you?”

  A smile revealed a dimple in her left cheek. It seemed she liked what she heard.

  “I’m Chelsea Gabbard,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, do we know each other somehow?” I would have remembered such a beautiful face. I stepped back as she slipped a hand into her purse and grabbed something. I wasn’t sure what she’d pull out of there, but before I could guess, she paused. Her face scrunched up a moment, before shaking her head and retreating her hand.

  “No. I guess you can say I’m a fan of yours. I want to open my own restaurant one day, too. You’re a bit of an inspiration to me.” She looked at my house. “I would do anything to live like this.” The adoration was tinged with a hint of bitterness that reflected in her tone, but I was intrigued.

  “Well, would you like to come in?” I ignored my first rule, but this woman, despite her attractiveness, just wanted some advice, it seemed. I also had 20 minutes to spare before returning to work.

  “I would love that; thank you.” She straightened her purse strap on her shoulder and followed me. That was my first mistake.

  The front door opened to my family room, where vaulted ceilings end in a glass dome and giant portraits commissioned by Nick hung on the walls. Furniture chosen by a French designer decorated the room, and rich, red and gold carpet finished it. I had two giant televisions on each end, and a saltwater aquarium that ran down the length of the room toward the kitchen. It was one of my favorite things about the place, and the peaceful glow illuminated the entire stretch as the rippling reflections from the water cast across the floor and walls. Chelsea stared at all of it in awe, her jaw dropping as she followed me into the kitchen.

  I slid my gaze across her body from head to toe. “Are you hungry?” I asked. “I could whip up something special for you.”

  She grinned at my innuendo, but after one look at my kitchen, a chef’s dream and nightmare at the same time, it seemed as if she made up her mind.

  “You already have,” she said, and pulled something out of her purse. Pictures. Of a baby. A tiny baby with a bald head and bright blue eyes in one photograph, and it slowly grew until it had a head full of hair in the rest of the pictures.

  Bile hit the back of my throat as I snatched the small stack from her hands. This was a cruel prank indeed. “What the hell is this, some kind of sick joke?” I thumbed through the photos and then pushed them at her. “Get out of my house.” I’d never used force with a woman, but part of me wanted to drag her out kicking and screaming.

  “You don’t remember me? Well, I’m not surprised someone like you would have a shitty memory for such things, I mean, I didn’t think you would, even if you do. But you’re not getting off so easily.” She looked at me as if I were a bug she wanted to squish. “Two years ago you were drunk as shit at Trinities. You met me in the bathroom, said you had plans to open your 100th restaurant; remember?” She practically spat her words, they flew from her mouth so fast.

  I paused, searching my mind for a specific memory. It was two years ago; who the hell would remember small details like that? But the timing made sense. Two years ago, I was planning my 100th restaurant. We had a blowout celebration because of it. It was one of the things on my bucket list and I’d reached it so damn fast it made my head spin. I glanced at the woman. Shit.

  But then again, this wouldn’t be the first time some crazy lady tried scamming me out of money. It happened all too often, unfortunately; hell, I was probably the supposed father of at least 100 kids. I wouldn’t deny I’d spread it around, but I wouldn’t consider myself a careless man, either. It didn’t pay to be reckless. Not with my wealth.

  “I want a paternity test.”

  She belted a laugh like I had all the audacity in the world. “I expected you might, and I have no issue with that.” She seemed so certain, and I wasn’t going to stand around arguing.

  “Then you can leave me the details, and I’ll show you out.” I pushed the photos into her hand, and she stuffed them into her purse as if they weren’t more than used napkins for the waste bin. Then, after telling me what time and place, she left without saying much else.

  I called Nick, needing to tell someone what had happened, if only to assure myself it was real.

  The phone rang three times until he picked it up. His breath was labored, and he admitted running across his house to the phone. I imagined the thing was now covered in paint, as was everything in the artist’s home.

  I took a deep breath and prepared to drop the bomb. “A woman showed up here tonight.”

  He gave a half-hearted cheer. “Good for you, man. I hope you got laid. Was she hot?”

  “It seems I did, maybe. Hell, I hope not.” I raked my fingers through my hair and paced the room.

  “What? Slow
down and explain. You sound a bit shaken, and that’s not like you at all.” The phone went silent as he waited for my response.

  I took a deep breath and let the words spill. “She says she’s the mother of my child.”

  Nervous laughter sounded and was quickly stifled, as if he couldn’t believe it. “I hope you’re getting proof of that before taking her word for it.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ve ordered a test.” The bad thing about ordering that test was it could come back positive, and then there’d be no denying it. There was a certainty about the woman, a desperation that seemed genuine enough to make me nervous.

  Nick let out a long breath through the phone. “Don’t worry, Maddox, you know it’s not yours. She’s some gold digger looking for a quick score and—”

  “I think she’s right. Something in my gut is screaming at me that she is.” The longer I thought about it, the more nervous I became.

  “I’ll come with you for moral support if you want. You know, to make sure you don’t attack anyone like they do on Maury or Springer.” His half-hearted attempt at making me laugh was falling short, but I appreciated it all the same. He was a true friend, and it felt better knowing that I had someone on my side.

  “I’ll do this myself. I’ll let you know what happens,” I said and hung up. I went to the kitchen and poured myself a drink. After throwing it back like a shot, I left the glass and took the entire bottle, sipping it like a wino on payday.

  The rest of the night was spent in a drunken stupor in my kitchen. A baby? It was impossible. My restaurants were my babies.

  I met Chelsea in the early morning two days later in front of a family planning clinic to take the test. I didn’t say more than good morning as she led me inside. I couldn’t help but wonder how familiar she was with the place as she signed us in and took a seat in the dingy lobby. We both stared ahead in silence for the first few minutes until she took a magazine from the table and thumbed through it. I wasn’t sure how she could focus. My mind was racing a mile a minute.