My Billionaire Protector

by R. R. Banks

  I’m not quite ready to give up the fight just yet, though. My kids need me. They need the programs. They need to have their creativity nurtured and honed. They need it and deserve it.

  “That's why it's important that I stay where I'm at,” I tell her. “It's why it's so important that I keep fighting to preserve what little we have left. My kids need me, and they need these programs. If I abandoned them for a rich, fancy school, I don't know that I could forgive myself.”

  Jade's smile is disappointed. “That's my girl,” she says and sighs. “Always the champion for the less privilege.”

  I shrug. “Somebody has to be a voice for them.”

  “Well, if it ever gets to be too much, or they just decide to wipe out the programs altogether – which is looking like a real possibility – promise me you'll think about Crestwood?” she begs. “I know I can score you an interview, and of course, I'll talk you up big time. I just think it would be so amazing to teach with my bestie a couple of doors down.”

  I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “I will,” I respond. “I promise.”

  “Anyway, let’s move on to a cheerier topic,” Jade says. “How did your date go with – that one guy?”

  “Jeremy,” I quip. “His name is Jeremy.”

  She nods. “Jeremy. He’s the banker guy, right?”

  I laugh. Jade's memory is lacking at times. Either that or, she's hoping all my dates fail because she's been trying to set me up with some guy for months.

  “He actually runs an art gallery.”

  “Oh, right,” she says, a little smile on her face. “Of course. I remember now.”

  “And, for your information, it was ok,” I say. “There wasn’t a lot of chemistry there. He's a nice guy, but I don’t feel that spark between us. Something’s missing.”

  “Oh, that's too bad. I'm sorry that didn't work out,” she chime in, knowing full well she doesn't mean it. “Have I ever told you about Neville?”

  I laugh and shake my head as I take a sip of my drink. And, there it is. The sales pitch. Again.

  “Yes,” I say. “You've told me about him about a thousand times already.”

  “Oh, have I?” she asks, feigning innocence. “I must have totally forgotten.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She gives me a laugh and a wink as I finish my drink and set the glass down on the table in front of me. The waitress comes by and collects our empty glasses and sets down a fresh round without us having to prompt her. We've been coming here long enough that the waitresses all know our routine. It's kind of nice not having to sit and wait to flag somebody down for a fresh drink, truth be told.

  “Come on, Darbs,” she says. “Neville is a great guy. He's handsome, he's successful, has a killer body, and oh yeah, he's filthy rich. He's the whole package. You would totally love him if you met him.”

  “So, why don't you date him?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Believe me, if Aaron would allow it, I totally would,” she says and then puts on a faux-thoughtful look. “Hmm... maybe I should look into starting a harem of my own.”

  “There you go,” I say and raise my glass. “Good idea.”

  My love life has evolved into an absolute dumpster fire. When it comes to love, I pretty much suck at it. I haven't had a serious boyfriend in years, and between then and now, I’ve had a string of – well – nothing. I've had a few dates here and there, but nothing worth writing home about. Truthfully, I haven’t had anything progress past the second date in… I don't even know how long.

  Most of the guys I meet are nice. They're just not for me. They're decent enough. Most of them have been funny, intelligent, and kind. It’s just that they all seem to be lacking something. It's not their fault. I guess I'm just picky. But I know what I want, and I won't settle for less.

  Settling only leads unhappiness and resentment down the line, and if that means that I grow old, collect fifty cats, and sit around knitting while watching Jeopardy, then so be it. I'd rather do that than grow old next to some guy I'll eventually come to resent simply because he doesn't check all the boxes – or rather, the most important boxes – I require in a partner. I would rather be alone, than suffer through a relationship that doesn't make me happy or fulfill me.

  “Seriously, Darbs,” she says. “You're too young and beautiful to be alone.”

  “I refuse to let a man define me, Jade,” I exclaim. “I don't need a man to be happy.”

  “Well, you do need a man to have amazing, earth-shaking, mind-blowing sex. That's kind of required.”

  I laugh and throw a crumpled napkin at her. I enjoy sex, don't get me wrong. I'm just not as obvious about it as Jade. She's a woman who embraced her sexuality early and has never been ashamed of it. I admire that about her.

  Jade is very outspoken about it and gives me more details than I want about her sex life with Aaron. Secretly thought, I'd be lying if I said I didn't envy how happy and satisfied she is – even if only a little bit. But, more than anything, I'm happy that she's found somebody who seems perfect for her.

  I've only had that once in my life and I doubt I'm ever going to have that again. That moment has passed. I have a feeling the best I can hope for is good sex. Although, I doubt I'm ever going to have that kind of toe-curling, world-shattering sex ever again.

  “Come on, Darbs. I've told Neville all about you and he's dying to meet you,” she says. “He says you sound like the perfect woman and can't understand why you're single.”

  I scoff. “I'm hardly perfect.”

  She smirks at me. “You don't gotta tell me, babe.”

  I smile at her, but sigh, and sit back in my seat. Maybe I could just meet him. Once. Maybe, it wouldn't kill me to just go have a drink with the guy. Honestly, I doubt it'll go anywhere after that first date anyway – just because nobody has ever been able to catch and hold my attention like – well – him. He, whose name shall not be spoken.

  But, who knows? Maybe this Neville will surprise me and tick off all those boxes. Stranger things have happened. If nothing else, when the inevitable happens, and I don't feel that spark, at least it'll get Jade off my back about it. At least, I'll be able to say I gave it a shot, and it just didn't work out.

  “I'll think about it,” I concede.

  She squeals with excitement. “Awesome,” she exclaims. “You're going to love him, Darbs. I guarantee it. He's the perfect guy. He really is, and I know he'll be excited –”

  “I said I'd think about it,” I reiterate, smiling at her. “I didn't say yes.”

  “You usually say no, flat out, so I'm taking this as a big step forward in our negotiations.”

  “Oh, my love life is a negotiation for you?”

  “Absolutely,” she beams. “And a tough one at that.”

  “Yeah well, don't start planning the wedding yet.”

  She laughs, and we fall into some easy, normal, no love life-centric conversation for a while. We talk about our lives, and what's going on in them. Thankfully, it gets her off the topic of my love life – or rather, the lack thereof.

  The truth is, it gets lonely sometimes. And having a little companionship would be nice. There are times I long for the whispered conversation, soft kisses, and gentle touches shared between lovers.

  But I made the conscious choice to not have a meaningless string of one-nighters, and the conscious decision to not jump into a relationship just for the sake of being in one. I value myself more than all that.

  “Oh my God,” Jade gasps. “I almost forgot to show you.”

  “Show me what?”

  She digs into her bag and pulls out a folded newspaper. Well, in reality newspaper is probably a generous description for it. I recognize it as one of those trashy tabloids I see in the check-out lines at the market. Jade loves the gossip rags, and though I'll scan the headlines while waiting to be checked out, I honestly couldn't care less about which celebrities are screwing each other – or who they're screwing over. Celebrity gossip isn't my thing. Jade though,
never gets enough of it.

  She unfolds the paper and drops it onto the table in front of me. And when I see the man in the picture on the front cover, it feels like I got punched in the stomach. I suddenly feel lightheaded, like my heart is about to explode in my chest.

  “Do you remember this guy?” she asks.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah,” I say, trying to recover while also trying to hide my discomfort. “I remember him.”

  As if I could forget. Ever. Those blue-gray eyes and those “old Hollywood” good looks haven't faded at all in the ten years that have passed since I last saw Carter Bishop. If anything, he's only gotten more handsome. He looks more like a young Marlon Brando now than he did back then. He's gorgeous.

  I fight back the emotions welling up within me – the most prominent one being anger. A deep, persistent anger. Ten years ago, I gave him my virginity. And I had the sort of mind-blowing, earth-shaking sex Jade talked about. Ten years ago, I'd let myself grow close to Carter. Maybe it was just a stupid crush, or maybe, I didn't really understand love or the complexities of it, but back then, I really did think I was falling for him. It was silly, but I remember entertaining the notion that he was the one. That he was going to be my happily ever after.

  He's the only man I've ever been with who checked off all those boxes of wants and needs in my head. Or, maybe, he was the one who set up that checklist in my head to begin with, and no other man has lived up to the standard. I don't know. All I do know is that at one time, I thought he was the man I would spend the rest of my life with.

  And then he'd ghosted me. Totally, and completely ghosted me.

  I tried calling him. Texting him. I'd gone down into the Kitchen more times than I could count, looking for him. And he'd just – disappeared. There was no trace of him anywhere. I'd asked around, but nobody seemed to know who I was talking about. He was gone, like a puff of smoke on a breeze. It was like he never existed anywhere but in my mind.

  For months after that, I battled depression. I cried myself to sleep more times than I can count. I had a million questions and no way to get the answers I needed.

  I couldn't talk to anybody about it, because if they knew about the two of us, all hell would have broken loose. My aunt and uncle would have clamped down on me harder than they usually did, and I wanted my freedom. I tried to stuff it all down and bury it deep inside of me. I learned to suffer in silence, because I couldn't bear the thought of sharing it. Not even with Jade – mostly because she would have been pissed had she found out.

  Over the last ten years, I've moved forward with my life. I've left those childish notions about me being unworthy or defective in the past. But, seeing his picture on the front page of that tabloid stirs up all kinds of emotions within me once again, and I realize that I only thought I'd left them all in the past.

  Although I've moved forward enough to know that the fault wasn't with me, as I look at his strong jawline and piercing eyes in the photograph, for the first time, I realize with absolute certainly and clarity, that he really is the bar I judge all other men by. I think somewhere in the back of my mind, I've always known it, or at least, have always suspected it. I just haven't allowed myself to fully believe it. But, seeing his face again, I know it's true.

  “I so would have slept with him back then,” she says. “I wanted to.”

  “I remember,” I say.

  “You two were friends, right?” she asks. “You were in the same group home? That's how you knew him, right?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “Did you ever hang out with him or anything?”

  I purposely hadn't told Jade back then that Carter and I had dated. That we'd grown close. And I certainly hadn't shared my feelings about him with her. I knew she was into him – at least for the sex, anyway – and I hadn't wanted to stir up drama between us. So, I just kept it a secret. And when he vanished on me, I put on a happy face and bore that pain alone.

  “No,” I say. “He was kind of an asshole.”

  I look at the picture again and feel a yawning chasm open in my stomach. A familiar pain burns into my heart as I see him at some fundraising gala with a lingerie model-like blonde on his arm. I want to tear my eyes away but can't seem to make myself. Damn him. Damn Carter Bishop.

  “I guess he's some big-time hedge fund manager now,” Jade says, oblivious to my torment and pain. “The article says he's worth billions. He's always making the tabloids for banging this supermodel or that actress. The guy gets around.”

  “Wow,” I say. “I guess I'm not all the surprised though.”

  “Yeah, but I never saw that coming,” she says. “I thought he was just some greasy street punk who would've ended up in prison sooner or later. Never figured him to be some big Wall Street mover and shaker.”

  I knew better than that. I know who Carter truly was, and he wasn't anything like Jade described. There were so many layers to Carter that nobody ever saw. Nobody but me. That street tough image was like his secret identity. An armor he wore to help him survive in Hell's Kitchen.

  I saw behind the facade and saw him for the man he was. The man I fell in love with. The man who'd destroyed me.

  “Anyway, I just thought you'd get a kick out of it since you knew him and all,” she says.

  “Yeah,” I say. “That's really – something.”

  We hang out for another hour or so, talking and laughing about this or that. Honestly, I'm not much paying attention to the conversation. I'm just going through the motions. I can't keep my eyes off his picture and am too caught up in my own head and heart to give her my full attention.

  Eventually, we part ways with kisses on the cheek, and promises to get together again in a few weeks. I go home, my mind and heart filled with a swirl of questions and conflict – and thoughts of Carter Bishop.

  I want to hate him. I want to loath and despise him. It would be so much easier if I could hate the man. But, for some reason, I don't. I never have.

  For the first time in a long time, when I get home and flop into bed, I cry myself to sleep.

  5

  Carter

  “Good morning, my faithful minions!” I call as I step into the offices of Bishop Financial – my office.

  I look around and suppress the look of distaste that wants to cross my face. Someone decorated the office for the fast-approaching holiday season. It's one of the holdovers from my childhood – a bitter loathing of Christmas.

  If I had it my way, I'd shut myself into my house on December first, and remain locked inside until the holiday madness is over – sometime around mid-January.

  My offices look like some drunk, demented Santa Claus came roaring through and vomited up a bunch of holiday cheer. Decorations, tinsel, garland, and a large tree, including some wrapped gifts, litter the area. There is so much damn Christmas spirit floating through here, I might choke on it all.

  Still, the people love it, and so I have to love it – or at least, pretend to, anyway. I clear my throat and clap my hands, gathering all their attention to me.

  “Anyway,” I call out, trying to distract myself and focus on the task at hand. “It's a wonderful day for all of us to make a pile of money, isn't it?

  The office erupts into cheers and applause as I walk the floor. A wide smile stretches across my face as I raise my arms and acknowledge them all. I've got a relatively small but immensely talented crew working for me. Everyone is exceptional at what they do. I appreciate all their efforts and talents, and it's my job, as their boss, to keep them happy and make them feel appreciated. Happy employees make productive employees, after all. And productive employees result in incredible profits.

  At Bishop Financial, we work hard and play hard. I throw some of the best employee parties around. I believe morale is a key ingredient to a successful business, and I do everything I can to keep spirits high.

  “Okay, folks,” I say, waving them over. “Gather 'round.”

  I've been running my hedge fund firm for almost a decade n
ow. And in that time, we've become one of the most successful, top-earning firms around. Partly because I have a tremendous staff of people working for me, and partly due to my own skill.

  I tend to take big risks – and all my clients know this when they walk through the door – but, the payoff is always huge. I've made more multi-millionaires than I can count. I play my hunches and sometimes I'm wrong – and those losses would blow your mind. Nevertheless, I'm right more often than not, which not only keeps my clients happy but makes more money than they could possibly spend in one lifetime.

  In a lot of ways, what I do now is the same as what I did for Pops back in the day. I analyze a mountain of information and base my decisions on how I interpret it. I don't like to play it safe. Never have and never will. It's one of those things that terrifies my clients, but draws them to me at the same time – the promise of a massive payday.

  But, I'm always very careful to outline the potential risks of my approach to the business when they come me. Once I explain everything, I have them sign a waiver to acknowledge they understand and accept any risks and responsibilities before we begin doing business together. I don't want anybody feeling like they've been duped, or taken advantage of in any way, shape, or form.

  With everybody gathered around, I take them all in. I clap my hands and smile.

  “People,” I say. “I want to thank you all for being so diligent and so damn good at what you do. You make my whole life easier and more importantly, you make me look damn good, which I appreciate.”

  They all laugh and applaud.

  “I wanted to be the first to tell you that we cleared twenty-two million,” I say. “Last week.”

  There's a gasp among the crowd and everybody looks around at each other, eyes wide, mouths hanging open in disbelief. I'd projected a decent week, but it had exceeded my wildest ambitions or expectations. As successful as the firm has been, last week was still one for the record books. I'm sure other, bigger firms have bigger weeks on the regular, but I think we're doing damn fine in our own right.