by Tharp, Emma
Indebted
A Billionaire Second Chance Romance
Emma Tharp
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Emma Tharp
One
Donovan
“Uggghhhhh,” the dude working out on the bench next to me groans like he hasn’t been able to use the bathroom in a month. He throws the dumbbells to the floor after his set loud enough for the entire gym to hear.
Is there anything worse than a steroid-injected, over-tanned meathead who flexes and stares at himself in the mirror at the gym, right beside you?
If there is, I can’t think of what it could be at the moment.
After having a big lunch with my brother today, I needed the gym time. And I like a good workout as much as the next guy, but today, I just want to finish my damn set and get the hell out of here. The problem is that the juicehead next to me is really fucking distracting.
To make matters worse, the dude is listening to heavy metal or something in his earbuds, and he proceeds to wail the tune off-key, and today I forgot my own earbuds at my office.
A gorgeous woman catches the look of disgust on my face as I stare at the guy, and gives me a sunny little smile and a conspiratorial wink. I smile back at her.
She saunters over to me in her red leggings and tight black half-shirt and gets close enough for me to smell her vanilla perfume. "Is that guy distracting you as much as he's distracting me?" She tilts her head back subtly toward the guy who is currently belting out a tune about secrets and lies.
"He is. I wish he'd take a hike."
She rests her hand on her chest and laughs. It's a bit too loud and a touch fake. She's trying too hard to flirt. I've seen it before, but she's cute and has a slamming body. "You know, I was just getting ready to go and grab a smoothie. Want to come?" she asks.
This is why I have a gym membership. Not because I need the facility. My building has a state-of-the-art gym, but I like the option to meet new people. I love women, and what better place to pick one up? And now this woman is picking me up. That’s for sure. Although this evening I did have some work to do and wasn't planning on bringing anyone home, I can be flexible. It's hard to say no when you get propositioned by a beautiful woman. "Sure. Let's get out of here."
I suggest I drive, and from the moment we get in my Land Rover, she can't keep her hands off me. Just as I figured. There’ll be no smoothies. Her fingertips rove up the back of my head and into my hair and her mouth is all over my neck and face on the fifteen-minute trip from the gym to my penthouse.
We don’t do much talking, but her name is Marcy and she's quite good with her tongue. We're lucky we make it back to my place without getting into an accident. Turns out, Marcy is very distracting.
The second I open the door to my penthouse, she is all over me, and before I know it our clothes are off and we’re rolling around in the sheets.
The sex is good. Not great. She's not my usual type. Upon closer inspection, her boobs are too big and she's more muscular than I normally like, but I'm not really complaining.
She is loud and likes to talk during sex. And talk after sex. Definitely not what I was looking for tonight.
* * *
One of the best parts of my job is that I can often work from home. This morning is no exception. I sit in my living room in nothing but a pair of athletic shorts and make some calls.
Damn. It's her voice mail.
"Liza. It's Donovan Monroe. I was looking over your application. This is my number. Give me a call at your earliest convenience."
It's been a long time since I've seen Liza Dooley. I haven't talked to her either. It’s been fifteen years. After graduation we went our separate ways.
In high school, Liza was everything I ever wanted but could never have.
Sure, we were friends. I didn’t want to be her friend. I wanted to be her boyfriend, but why would the gorgeous captain of the cheer squad date a puny, acne-prone poor kid like me?
Unrequited love. That's what we had.
She was so beautiful, with all that blonde hair and a flawless figure. She was a perfect ten and the object of many of my teenage fantasies. But I also loved her personality. She was magnetic. Everyone loved her. And she took a liking to me. Unfortunately, I was in the friend zone. She called me up crying about her dickhead boyfriend who cheated on her, or the football player who was toying with her emotions. I'd listen to her cry; I'd hug her and comfort her in the best way my teenage boy self could. It must've worked, because she kept calling me.
I loved it and hated it in equal measure. Because I wanted to talk to her, because I thought that I could be what she needed, but she never gave me the opportunity. It was hard not to resent her for it.
Now, she needs me.
As the owner of a venture capitalist firm, I bankroll many different projects. Some need smaller amounts of funding; others need millions of dollars. My job description is broad and I don’t usually get involved with this end, preferring mergers and acquisitions, but when I saw her name, I knew I had to be involved, even if Liza’s project is for chump change. I'm intrigued by the possibility of funding her little catering company. After all, she always knew how to throw the best parties in high school; it makes sense that that would be her adult dream.
Unfortunately for her, it looks like her parents didn't instill the best financial education, since her credit score is mediocre at best. She's a risk—that's why she's been turned down by other financial institutions. But for Liza, I think I can push this one through.
I can't wait to see the look on her face when she sees me for the first time. A lot has changed in fifteen years. I've put on thirty pounds of muscle, my skin has cleared up, and I'm successful.
I wonder what she looks like now? It won't be long before I find out. When she calls me back, I'll set up a meeting. How sweet this is going to taste, showing this woman what she passed up all those years ago. It’ll be the perfect revenge.
“Want to go out for breakfast?”
Shit. I forgot my gym hookup from last night is still here. I’ve been so caught up in work and thoughts of Liza. “No. I can’t. I’m working.”
Marcy sashays down the stairs, her eyes scanning my place like she’s seeing it for the first time. It was dark last night when we got here and we didn’t spend any time downstairs. You can almost see the hope and dollar signs in her eyes. My multi-million-dollar penthouse has been professionally decorated—everything is state-of-the-art and top of the line. I get compliments on it all the time. I’m sure it’s not what she thought it’d be when she picked me up at the gym yesterday. “Will you call me?”
“Sure,” I tell her.
Making her way toward the door, she blows me a kiss before she leaves.
Yeah, I’m never calling.
Two
Liza
"Excuse me, miss. I asked for an ice water fifteen minutes ago," a woman with silver hair spits out as I fly by her table.
Coming to an abrupt stop, I back up to stand in front of her. I give her an apologetic smile. "O
n my way to get it now."
I hustle back to the server station where my best friend, Spencer, is pouring two cups of coffee. "What has you so frazzled today, princess?" he asks.
And that is why I love Spencer. He can read my moods without me having to say a word. "I was turned down by yet another bank today." I blink hard, having no time to cry. "What am I going to do?"
Spencer grabs a water glass from the shelf, filling it with ice and then water before handing it to me. "The first thing you are going to do is drop this water off to the elderly woman sitting at table six. She just stopped me and asked for it."
Taking the water from him, I nod. "Thank you. You're the best." I rush back out to her and hand her the water.
With a sour expression on her wrinkled face, she thanks me.
Doing a quick scan of my tables, everyone seems to be okay for the moment. I make my way back to the server station and wait for Spencer to return from dropping off meals.
Spencer comes back, dragging his sleeve across his forehead. "You are going to figure something out. You always do."
I nod just as my buzzer goes off, telling me food is ready for another table. "You're right. I will because I have to get us out of this restaurant." My boss is a huge jerk, but I stay because it’s a high-end establishment with better pay and tips compared to other restaurants.
He puts his hand up to high-five me. "Amen, sister."
"Amen," I say right before I slap his hand and hustle off to the kitchen to pick up my table’s food.
My boss’s face is perpetually in a tight scowl as he rushes around the kitchen like a man ready to commit murder, not get potatoes out of the oven. He’s in a terrible mood, yet again. He stresses out because the restaurant is busy, but he acts like a huge jerk if the place is quiet. There's no winning with him.
After high school, I went away to a private university to please my parents. I was attempting to get my liberal arts degree because I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life. When I moved away from home, I partied more than ever and ended up flunking out. My parents were so angry that they cut me off financially. That's when I started waitressing. I’ve worked in just about every aspect of restaurant business from being a hostess, manager, and even a cook. But with waitressing, I love the quick cash, but there's never enough of it, especially to live in New York City.
I've been trying to save money to go to culinary school, but I realized that starting a catering company first would be my best plan of action. Then, later in life, once my company was up and running, I could attend culinary arts school part-time. But I've been living outside my means for too long. Now no bank wants to risk it and give me the money, even though I’ve worked in all the different positions, giving me a good foundation for a catering business.
It looks like I might be working as a waitress longer than I wanted to so I can build my credit score and save more money for the down payment to start up my business.
Back in the kitchen, my boss, Doug, is adding a potato to a plate. I avoid eye contact because I’d rather not get yelled at for no reason tonight. It’s clear we’re both in sour moods. Loading my tray with plates, I hurry to ensure I get out of the kitchen before Doug has a chance to speak to me.
On the way out of the double doors, another server kicks the opposite door open, and in doing so, the door nicks the edge of my tray, sending one of the plates flying to the floor with a loud clank. On the plate was a thirty-dollar filet mignon.
Shit. My stomach sinks.
“I’m sorry!” the clumsy waitress yells behind her and she runs off toward the salad station.
“Thanks for helping out,” I say under my breath.
“Liza!” Doug yells from the line.
Turning to him, he signals for me to come back in the kitchen. “Bring the steak.”
I swallow hard and go back into the kitchen to set my tray down, then I go pick up the filet. The floors are filthy. We’re going to have to throw the steak away. It’ll come out of my paycheck. Fuck my life.
“Hand me the steak,” Doug says, his tone a low growl.
I give it to him and watch as he takes it, dunks it into the au jus canister a few times, puts it on a new plate, and hands it back to me. “Go serve it.”
Standing in stunned silence, I stare at him. There’s no way he can be serious.
“Go. Now!”
Nodding, I take the plate and set it on my tray and walk out to the dining room. I serve the dinners and when I place the steak in front of the customer, I don’t even want to look at him. His eyes are wide and he cuts right into it and takes a bite. My stomach rolls and I almost gag. “Enjoy your dinners,” I say and take off to the server station.
“Are you okay?” Spencer asks when he sees the look of horror on my face.
“No. I’m not. I hate this place. Doug just made me serve a filet mignon that landed on the floor.”
He cocks his head to the side and rolls his eyes. “That is disgusting. We both need to get out of here. Why don’t you go take a quick bathroom break? You look like you need a minute.”
“You’ll watch my tables for me?”
“I’ve got you. Now scoot.” Spencer gives me a playful pat on the shoulder.
I don’t turn it down. Grabbing my cell from a locker, I make my way to the bathroom. It’ll give me a minute to check my emails. My options are very limited, but I hope one bank will come through for me.
Once inside the stall, I power on my phone and when it comes to life, I have a voice mail from a number I don’t recognize. I play it back.
No way. It’s Donovan Monroe from high school calling about my loan. When I applied at that firm, I didn’t realize he worked there. I haven’t heard his voice since high school. It’s deeper now, and has a rasp. I’d like to call him back now, but I should wait until tomorrow.
My heart rate accelerates and for the first time tonight, a smile spreads across my face. Donovan and I were friends in high school. Maybe he can make this loan happen.
I leave the bathroom with a spring in my step.
Three
Donovan
My heart slams against my rib cage when my secretary buzzes me that Liza is here to see me. It's not because I'm nervous to see her. No, I'm excited. I can barely wait to see the expression on her face when she takes a look at me. She may not even recognize me at all.
When we talked on the phone yesterday to set up the meeting, I loved the desperate sound of her voice. I get to be the hero now.
Ringing my secretary, I tell her to send Liza in.
A few seconds later, my breath catches in my throat. She's as beautiful as ever. Her blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders and her brown eyes have the same sparkle that they always used to, but her features are wary. There's a slight crinkle to the corners of her eyes and a tightness in her neck and shoulders. This can't be easy for her.
Standing, I move toward the door and put my hand out for her to shake.
It's priceless when her eyes widen and peruse my body. My insides heat up. "Wow, Donovan, you look great."
It's difficult, but I keep my eyes locked on hers and refuse to scan her body. "Thank you. So do you. Why don't you have a seat?" I gesture toward the chair across from my desk.
Sitting down, I cross my legs and feign casualness. It would be easier if my heart would stop thudding.
She eases herself into the chair and rubs her palms on her skirt. "Thank you for taking a meeting with me. I was beginning to think I would never get a loan." She lets out a nervous laugh.
"Why don't you tell me a little bit about what you'll be using the money for?” I ask. She's getting the money, but I would like to hear about her ideas. And seeing her unnerved gives me a perverse amount of joy.
The question generates a smile. "Well, it's been my dream for as long as I can remember to start up a catering company. I've been in the restaurant business on and off in different capacities for the last ten years. I'm ready to make my dream a reality."
"I've been a server in several types of restaurants, including Italian, Greek, and French. I've been a hostess, a manager, and even a cook at an Indian restaurant. Each position had its pros and cons, but I'm ready to take all of my knowledge and turn it into a career I can be proud of." She breathes in deeply and bites the corner of her lip. She's always done it. Her tell for when she's nervous.
I nod and crinkle my forehead, acting like I'm giving this a great deal of thought. "You realize your credit score is not ideal."
Fidgeting in her chair, she uncrosses and crosses her legs again. "Right. When I dropped out of college, my parents cut me off. There's quite a learning curve going from living on my parents’ credit cards, to my own." She swallows hard. "I didn't change my lifestyle much until I was in debt over my head. It was a life lesson, but I learned the hard way. I've been working diligently to pay off my debt and save a little. Not the easiest thing to do in New York City."
I tap my fingers on the desk. "That's good." Pushing a manila folder toward her, I give her the loan agreement. "These are the terms. Check it over and sign the areas marked."
She blinks rapidly and covers her mouth with her hand. She’s staring at me as if I just handed her a Nobel Prize. She uncovers her mouth. "Wait. Are you telling me that you're giving me the loan?"
I nod toward the folder sitting in front of her. "Yes. Have a look."
Liza looks down and slowly opens it. Her eyes scan the document, but I'm not sure she's actually reading it. She's in shock. I'm sure at this moment she’s seeing her dreams become reality. And it’s because of me. She takes a pen off my desk and scribbles her signature on the documents.