Start Again Series: A Billionaire Romance Box Set

by J. Saman

  She went on to explain that even though Cinderella was strong in that she maintained her optimism despite her grim situation, and had an admirable work ethic, I would not be as lucky as she was to find a prince like Charming. My mother enforced the notion that the only person out there who was going to save me, was myself. That learning how to take care of yourself and not relying on others was probably the most important thing a woman could do for herself.

  I was only six at the time, but I took her words to heart.

  My mother met my father when she was eighteen. My father was staying with his cousin or some shit like that and they hit it off. They dated for all of a month before my father went off to basic training. When he came back after basic training for a brief stint before being shipped off to who the hell knows where, he got the surprise of a lifetime.

  A pregnant girlfriend.

  They got married on the fly and my father left five days later.

  Seven months and some change later, baby Claire was born. My father didn’t come home when I was born, and didn’t actually end up meeting me until I was fifteen months.

  My father wasn’t around much while I was growing up.

  He stayed with the army and climbed the ranks quickly while traveling around the world. By the time my mother gave me that riveting and encouraging Prince Charming speech, my father was a Colonel.

  That said, my mother managed to finish college and go on to get her master’s and Ph.D. in engineering. Coming from a wealthy family has its advantages, so she never had to worry about working to support us while she was in school. About three years after that, when the fact that she was the only woman in a room full of men pissed her off enough, she went back to school and got yet another degree in women’s studies. By that point, she had long since divorced my father, and the two of them continue to live very happily apart.

  So, in retrospect, I get her point of view.

  She found herself married to a man she hardly knew at the tender age of eighteen and pregnant with his baby. A baby she didn’t want. When he’d come home on leave, they were like strangers. I can honestly say I don’t remember my parents ever embracing, or even spending too much time in the same room together.

  They never particularly liked each other, though I think it was different early on. They were forced companions, as all the romance, sex appeal, and adventure were sucked out of the relationship before it had the chance to begin.

  This fun-filled moment of introspection leads me back to my present situation—having a casual dinner at a safe, chain restaurant, with a man I met two nights ago at a bar. He’s cute, which is why I agreed to this date, but now that I’m talking to him without the benefit of copious amounts of alcohol, I’m rethinking this decision.

  For starters, he’s rude. He’s been talking incessantly since we got here, making disparaging comments about the people he works with, as well as physically criticizing everyone in the restaurant. Especially our poor waitress, who is on the curvier side of life.

  “So, I said, that’s just ridiculous,” Bland Bryant says as I slurp down cocktail number two. “There is no way I can train someone that obese. I mean, I’m an amazing personal trainer and all, but I’m not a magician. Am I right?”

  What a jerk.

  “Sure.” I nod, signaling the waitress with my finger before pointing at my glass, indicating that I need another mojito. I took an Uber here, so I’m all set.

  “How’s your food?” he asks, a hopeful smile illuminating his dark brown eyes.

  He really is adorable.

  It’s a shame he has a pint-sized brain and a personality that is too annoying to overlook. Even for one night. I can just picture him talking endlessly about himself during sex, in between moments when he checks up on my orgasm progress, while pointing out any cellulite I might have.

  “Great.” I finished my burger and fries about twenty minutes ago. “Yours?” I ask for lack of something better.

  “Oh,” he says, looking down at his untouched dinner salad—yes, I said dinner salad—with a sheepish grin. “I guess I’ve been so busy talking that I haven’t gotten to it. But honestly, I don’t know how you can eat a burger and fries like that. I mean, you’ve got a great body now, but if you continue eating like that, your ass will get fat, and not in a hot Jennifer Lopez way.”

  Wow, I really don’t know what to say that. And frankly, he’s not worth the effort of a fight.

  The waitress arrives with my drink, and I take a nice long pull. For a chain restaurant, they make a decent mojito. Not quite Cello’s caliber, but pretty good. Cello’s makes the absolute best cocktails in all of Seattle. It’s also the gay bar where I picked up my straight friend, Ivy. Damn, I miss that bitch. She moved to Boston for her pediatric emergency medicine fellowship almost a year ago.

  Fucking Luke. Why did he have to mess that one up?

  Maybe I’ll go visit her.

  “Did you hear me, Claire?”

  Oh shit. Was he talking again? Of course, he was.

  “No, sorry.” His eyes narrow, and I’m struck with a twinge of guilt. But honestly, this guy hasn’t shut up about himself, nor has he asked me one single question about myself other than if I’m enjoying the food. And then he made that comment about my ass getting fat.

  “I guess I do have a tendency to talk a lot, but it’s only when I’m nervous.”

  Okay, that’s sort of sweet. Not sweet enough to get him laid, mind you. More sweet like those pictures of kittens sleeping on big dogs that you see on the internet.

  “It’s fine. You’re fine. But unfortunately, I need to wrap this up. I have an early meeting in the morning.” Yes, I just busted out the universal excuse for getting out of screwing someone. And I think tomorrow is Saturday, but who’s keeping track?

  “Oh.” He looks crestfallen, but really, he shouldn’t be. I’m doing him a favor by blowing him off now. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  “Sorry there, tiger.”

  “But you’re really pretty, and I was hoping we could go back to my place.”

  “You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?” I grin, taking my napkin off my lap and dropping it onto my plate. “But I’m tired and would like to go home. Alone,” I add, “now.”

  He just stares at me. Jesus, why do men always require such handholding?

  “Really? But I thought this was going well. I figured if I took you to dinner, you’d come home with me.”

  Wow. I must be wearing a t-shirt that says I’m easy. I really should check that before I go out on dates. “Sorry. No can do.” Literally, I smile to myself.

  “Well,” he scoffs. “I’d ask you if you want dessert or anything else, but after your heavy dinner, I can’t imagine you could eat anything else fattening.” Asshole.

  “Then I guess you should get the check?” I shrug with a placating smile.

  “Oh. Of course.”

  And now it’s just awkward, but considering I don’t ever plan on seeing him again, I won’t mourn this moment too heavily.

  Bryant, or is it Brian? Shit, I don’t remember. Whatever, that guy I had dinner with says goodbye by giving me a hug and trying to grab my ass. This is why I usually meet these assholes out in public. As I take the long elevator up to my apartment, I dial Ivy.

  “You done shagging that bloke already?” she answers with her subtle Australian accent.

  “So lame,” I say, sagging against the wall of the elevator. “Seriously, why do men feel the need to regale us with their lives? Like I give a shit.”

  Ivy laughs into the phone, and in the background, I can hear the telltale sounds of the hospital buzzing around her. “Because men are halfwits,” she pauses, her voice beyond bitter.

  She’s thinking about Luke now, and I feel a bit bad about that. Luke and Ivy had a one-nighter about a decade ago, but Luke’s hacking bullshit got in the way. They reunited at Kate and Ryan’s engagement party last year, thanks to me, and fell unfortunately in love.

  Then the dipshit broke her
heart.

  Like I said before . . . men.

  “They are that, Ivy Pivy. That’s why I’ve been trying to do a better job of vetting them before my panties hit the floor. I miss the hell out of you, though. When do you come back home?”

  She sighs, the sounds of machines buzzing and beeping fill my ears. “In two months, but if you tell that arsehole anything, I will disown you as my friend, and that includes withholding love from Sophia.” Sophia is her sister, and I freaking adore her sister.

  Threat received, Ivy, threat received.

  “I would never do anything of the sort. Luke can suck a dick for all I care.”

  Ivy snorts in a rather unladylike manner to my rather unladylike statement. “You’re crude, but I adore you for that. I’ve gotta jet, luv. Sick kids are calling my name. Cheers, mate.” She hangs up the phone before I can even respond.

  I step off the elevator onto the fourteenth floor and walk down the long hallway that leads to my apartment. Unlocking the door, I flip on the lights, toss my keys onto the table by the door haphazardly and once everything is locked back up, I plop my ass onto the couch. It’s Friday night and there is not a whole lot on regular television, so I decide it’s time to hit up my DVR and see where I’m at with my shows.

  I’ve been trying to get through Game of Thrones, but I’m like two seasons behind everyone else, and frankly, I’m just not feeling TV at the moment.

  Flipping it back off, I’m bathed in a familiar and comforting silence. And that makes me smile as I lie back into the soft plush of my purple velvet couch, stretching my arms above my head. This apartment has been mine since I moved out here two months before Ryan finally made the move.

  That’s what? Two and a half years now? Something like that.

  It was an easy choice. Ryan said he wanted to get the hell out of Philly, Luke was in Seattle, so it all fit for him. Ryan—and pretty much Luke, too—own and run an information security company. They were hackers in college, adversaries who competed in hacking rings at rival schools. But Luke got caught infiltrating a bank’s firewall, and though Ryan was already in, the feds never caught him. Ryan ended up paying for Luke’s legal fees, and then the two started working together after that.

  Flash forward years later, and they’re inseparable.

  Ryan decided he wanted to move out west and I had just graduated from UPenn, so Seattle felt like a good move for a lot of reasons. With the crazy amount of money that Ryan pays me to be his assistant and fill in with a few other positions in the company, I was able to get this dope-ass place with a killer view.

  No roommate required.

  Which really is sort of perfect for me. I hide in plain sight most of the time, but in the small confines of an apartment, there really is no way to preserve your secrets from another human. Not that most people could tolerate living with me anyhow. I play music at all hours of the day and night. I like to go out, and occasionally bring someone home with me. I’m an insatiable neat freak and a slight germophobe.

  I’m definitely an acquired taste for most. I don’t get personal. At least not about myself. And I sure as shit don’t allow some preconceived social mores dictate how I behave or dress.

  But every now and then, I wish things were simpler for me. That my life and choices weren’t dictated to me in such uncertain terms.

  The emotional price of that certainty, however, is just too high to pay right now.

  That said, I’m sort of longing to call Kyle right now. I probably would if it weren’t so late. It’s a recurring theme lately. One that has only been growing stronger each month. He’s somehow become the best part of my day, and though our friendship is based entirely through a phone, I wouldn’t trade him. How weird is that?

  Ivy and Kate like to tease me that he and I have a mini relationship going on, but we don’t. I don’t do that sort of thing now. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. Before I burned it. Things like that just aren’t an option for me anymore.

  Sex with no commitment is all I can afford. Which is probably why I don’t last with anyone longer than a few times. Sex is a primal, animalistic act. Something our bodies require, and mine is certainly no exception. If you’re capable of disconnecting intimacy from sex, then you’re golden. I’m just not one of those people.

  At least not for very long.

  Which is why I have to be unapologetic in my endeavors. I don’t search for meaning behind every sexual act. I know the meaning all too well. Maybe that makes me a bitch, but it is what it is.

  And as a result, the world sees exactly what I want them to.

  Even if it is a lie to a certain extent. Even if I’m not truly that person. Well, maybe not entirely. Part of me enjoys playing the role of the bad girl. Of being the object of desire. I like the way men look at me. I like the way they come after me. And I really like the way I am able to lose myself in them.

  That’s probably the best part of all.

  I use them. They use me. Both parties are happy and free to go about our lives. And even though on occasion, I miss the idea of someone knowing me, of someone wanting to know me, I know better.

  The only women I really hang out with are the likes of Kate and Ivy, even if Ivy is across the country. Oh, and my bandmate Maren. Those chicks may be all straight-laced and relationship-minded, but they’re the least judgmental people I know, which makes them awesome in my book.

  Speaking of the devil, Kate is blowing up my phone.

  I reach over, balancing my weight on the end of the couch to grab my phone before returning to my supine position, stretched out like a cat. “What’s up, my lady love?”

  “You done with your date?”

  She sounds like she swallowed a frog. This can’t be good. “Yeah. What’s going on, Katie Duck?”

  “I had my ten-week OB appointment this morning.” The way she says that gets my attention, and I immediately bolt upright. “I had a touch of spotting this morning. We got to listen to the heartbeat. And then they did an ultrasound to confirm.”

  “Okay,” I draw out the word, scrunching my eyebrows because I feel like I’m missing something here. Those sentences don’t really fit together.

  “I need you to come over,” she says with an edge of panic to her tone. “I’m freaking the fuck out, and Ryan is no help, Claire. He’s just walking around the living room with a goddamn smile on his face.”

  “Kate, hold up,” I interrupt. “I’m so confused. Is the baby okay? Why do you need me to come over, and why is Ryan smiling about you spotting?”

  Kate sighs into the phone like explaining this may just push her over the edge. “He’s smiling because we heard two separate heartbeats, and then they confirmed it with ultrasound. He’s smiling because we’re having twins, Claire. You get that? Twins. As in two babies at the same time. I need you to come over so you can have a glass of wine, since I can’t, and allow me to bitch about how I’m freaking about this. And I need someone to listen to me who won’t judge me because I’m freaking out.”

  I can’t help the laugh that sputters from my lips. “On my way, Mrs. Duck. Open me a bottle of pinot and I’ll be happy to listen.”

  “You’re awesome. See your punk ass in fifteen.”

  She hangs up, and I stand up with a smile on my face. Twins. Damn, that’s crazy. Good, but crazy. No wonder she’s freaking out.

  Time to go swoop in and save the day superhero style.

  4

  Claire

  * * *

  “Papa Bear,” I say to Ryan as he opens the door for me. And sure enough, he’s beaming the smile of a man whose wife is pregnant with two of his babies at the same time.

  “Can you freaking believe it?” he asks, pulling me in for a hug that is so un-Ryan-like I’m a bit unnerved by the gesture. “Twins, Claire. I’m having twins.”

  “Dude, pull back. You’re squeezing the life force from my body.”

  He releases me with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I just didn’t see this coming. I know Katie needs
to adjust to it, but I can’t stop smiling, and I think it’s starting to piss her off.”

  I laugh, because I can totally see that. “She’ll be fine.” I pat his large arm. “It’s a lot for her body to take on, and the extra hormones will not do that girl any favors.”

  He nods, getting where I’m going with this. Kate and Ryan have been married almost a year now and they’re as happy as any couple I’ve ever seen. But Kate’s other family lingers in the back of her mind. The family she lost in a tragic car accident several years back. So, even though I know she’s ecstatic about having twins, she’s also feeling guilty and conflicted.

  “Thanks for coming.” His tone turns genuine. I hate it when he does that. I don’t handle emotions all that well, if I’m being honest. Especially from Ryan. He may be one of my closest friends, but he’s also my boss.

  “It’s cool. Where’s my chica?”

  I toss Ryan my coat and head into his house. I picked this house out for him before he moved out here, so by extension, it feels a little like mine too.

  “Kitchen,” he calls behind me as if I needed an actual answer to my rhetorical question. “She’s been staring at the bottle of wine like she wants to pick it up and smash it. I think she could use a glass.”

  I laugh, shaking my head as I leave Ryan to his own devices and enter the large kitchen at the back of the house. Sure enough, Kate is, in fact, staring daggers into that wine bottle.

  “Don’t break it until you pour me a glass.”

  Kate looks up at the sound of my voice, and I get a small-half smile from her, but that’s it.

  This is hitting her hard.

  “It’s twins, Claire. And I’m so goddamn happy about it,” she says as tears begin to pour from her blue eyes in a steady stream.

  Her long platinum-blonde hair is hanging off her shoulder in a messy braid. I mosey up to her, leaning against the marble island, forgoing the stool. This feels like the sort of situation that requires standing.