The Ruthless Billionaire: A Clean Billionaire Romance (California Elite)

by Evangeline Kelly

  Good. She needed someone like him to look out for her.

  He didn’t know that I’d asked Aria to go on that date.

  Why had I done that again?

  Oh, yeah. I wanted her to be happy. I really did. But the thought of her with some other guy . . . It made me physically ill.

  After spending several weeks in Boston with Eliza Everest, the next woman on my father’s list, I’d come back to L.A. for the weekend to see for myself how Aria fared. My concern for her had practically crippled my efforts these last few weeks. Eliza had seemed interested, but she remained somewhat aloof as if she noticed my half-hearted attempts to spend time with her were forced.

  My father had been strangely distant in all of it. I hadn’t heard from him in two weeks. He’d been angry when he found out I’d failed with Hillary, but he’d seemed almost indifferent the last time I’d spoken with him, maybe even a little weak. I chalked it up to him having a bad day.

  My mind swung to Aria again.

  She was in my thoughts constantly.

  The day I introduced myself to Eliza and asked her to go out to dinner, Aria was there. At least, the image of her was not far from my thoughts. I’d done my best to appear interested in Eliza, to put on a front. But it was as if Aria’s shadow was there as a reminder of how much I missed her.

  She haunted my dreams at night.

  She filled my thoughts when I woke up in the morning.

  No matter how hard I tried to get her out of my head, I couldn’t let her go.

  I slid into the vehicle and cleared my throat, which was incredibly dry at the moment. “We’re going to Manny’s Steakhouse next. It’s in West L.A. somewhere.”

  Sam nodded and pulled up his GPS, searching for the restaurant. Once he found it, he drove away from the curb. “Did you see Aria and her brother?” Sam always stayed out of my business, but it seemed he was too curious to bite his tongue this evening.

  “No. Chase was in the kitchen, and I didn’t want to bother him. Aria is . . .” I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a sigh.

  Sam’s eyes met mine through the rearview mirror. “Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s on a date.”

  He nodded slowly. “And that bothers you?”

  Of course, it bothered me. What kind of question was that? I swallowed. “My feelings aren’t relevant. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

  “All right. Let’s go check on her then.”

  We were both quiet for the rest of the drive, and I was left to dwell on my own thoughts. I would see her this one last time. If she seemed fine, I would let her go for good.

  I had to let her go.

  Because thoughts of her were eating me alive, and if I wanted to survive in this complicated world, I had to move on before I became a madman lost in the recesses of his own mind.

  The weight of what I had to do crushed down on my shoulders, my chest.

  Marry a woman I didn’t love, and, most likely, divorce her later on. For what? So I could continue this lifestyle?

  The one that hadn’t made me happy yet.

  The one that gave me power, but at the end of the day, left me completely alone and empty.

  For the first time, I was starting to wonder if it was worth it.

  “This is it,” Sam said, pulling into the parking lot of a large steakhouse. “Want me to go in with you?”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t plan to speak with her. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  A weighty feeling pushed down on me as I exited the vehicle and walked inside the restaurant. My feet were lead blocks, barely able to carry me to my destination. I told the hostess I was looking for someone, so she left me alone to scan the room.

  My gaze wandered, and it didn’t take long to find her, sitting at a corner table. Her eyes were lit up as she engaged in conversation with a man wearing a black blazer. He looked completely enamored with her. No surprise there. Who wouldn’t be? He was probably a decent guy if she considered him a friend, but he didn’t seem good enough for her.

  But as long as she was happy, I would walk away.

  I watched them, looking for a sign, for anything that would tell me she’d moved on. As much as I wanted to find it so I could be rid of this thing between us, I knew it would break me when I did.

  And there it was. Her smile. She seemed happy. He reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. My eyes honed in on her response. She appeared a little uncomfortable, but she didn’t pull away. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but then she closed them.

  She was giving him a chance. Allowing him to touch her.

  Bile rose in my throat, and I almost turned and hightailed it out of there because I couldn’t stand to watch another second. But at the same time, I couldn’t look away.

  She was doing what I’d asked her to do, but I’d never considered the repercussions. What if I couldn’t get over her? What if she moved on and I never did? What if I was making a huge mistake by walking away—one that would haunt me for the rest of my life?

  The guy pulled his hand away, thank goodness for that. But then she reached forward and covered his hand with her own.

  What??

  Had I completely misread her discomfort before? Of course I had. I’d wanted to see something that wasn’t there.

  My heart skidded to a halt, and it felt like I was slowly dying inside. As if the blood was draining out of me.

  Abruptly, I walked out of the restaurant and headed for the parking lot where Sam waited. I ducked into the car, pain washing over me like a thousand needles pricking my skin. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Sam frowned, looking at me with concern. “Is everything—”

  “Now, Sam.”

  I shut the partition between us and put my head in my hands. Why had I gone inside that restaurant? What was I thinking? Had I lost my mind?

  Yes, that had to be it. I was losing it. That image of her covering his hand with her own would stay with me forever. It made me sick to my stomach. I wanted to throw something, to destroy everything in sight, but I had to contain myself.

  Maybe that image was what I needed in order to move on.

  Sam took me home, and I headed straight for my room. My plan was to go to sleep, so I didn’t have to think about it anymore. Unfortunately, that didn’t work because I tossed and turned in my bed until I grew angry and frustrated with my place in life. I threw my pillow across the room and pounded the wall.

  God, don’t you even care? Why have you done this to me? Why did you make me love someone when it’s impossible to be with her?

  And then it hit me: the words that had so easily rolled off my tongue in that prayer. I was in love with her. I was in love with a woman I could never have. I’d never loved anyone before.

  Not until Aria.

  Even if I defied my father—and I was starting to believe I should—I would never be good enough for her. I’d done too many horrible things in my life, and she was innocent. How could I sully her like that?

  The night air filtering through the window felt oppressive. My insides twisted in agony. It hadn’t been this bad since that day I found out my mother had another family and didn’t want anything to do with me. The memory of standing on the edge of that building turned my stomach to lead.

  I would never do something like that again. No matter how bad it got—I had to push against the inclination to take the easy route.

  My eyes fell on the Bible Sam gave me at the beginning of the trip to Kauai. It sat, unopened on my desk like a forgotten promise. I’d told Sam I would read the book of John, yet, I hadn’t even tried.

  I picked it up and sat back on my bed, leaning against the headboard. Opening the pages, I began to read, continuing until I came to chapter six, verse thirty-five. Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.”

  Jesus had done a miracle by giving bread and fish to a huge cro
wd of people, yet, He now referred to Himself as the bread of life. It struck me as peculiar that He would refer to Himself that way. What did it mean?

  When I came to chapter eight, verse twelve stuck out to me. Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

  There was no doubt in my mind that I was walking in darkness. It wasn’t just sadness that weighed upon me. The many things I’d done—the nasty things I’d said, the dishonest business practices, the manipulations, the bullying, the coldness that had taken over my heart.

  My sin.

  It hurt to look at it. To gaze in the mirror and see the man I’d become.

  If Jesus was light, and I followed Him, would I be rid of that darkness?

  A part of me wanted to put the Bible down and turn on the TV instead. Even as I reached for the remote, my mind said that was for the best because it was hopeless.

  But something else held me back.

  Maybe I should read this, not just because I’d promised Sam, but because I needed these words. I needed something outside of myself to heal the brokenness of my life because I couldn’t do it on my own.

  I’d already tried, and no amount of money or power or influence had gotten me anywhere. When I flipped to chapter ten, verse nine stood out on the page like a beacon. Jesus had just been referring to Himself as a shepherd, and his followers as sheep. He said: “I am the door. If anyone enters by me, he will be saved and will go in and out and find pasture.”

  I was starting to see a pattern. Jesus referred to Himself as the source of life, the light, the door to salvation. If I entered through Him, I would find salvation. When He’d said He was the bread of life, maybe He wasn’t talking about actual food. Putting it into context, perhaps it meant He would satisfy the deepest emotional hunger one felt.

  At no time in my life had I ever considered religion to be of any importance. And yet, Sam’s words echoed in my head. It’s not a religion. It’s a relationship with the Lord. A way of life. Something that takes place in your heart . . . He changes you on the inside.

  I sat up, resting my elbows on my knees, and my hands covered my head. God, if you’re listening, I need your help. Please forgive my sin and change me on the inside. I believe in you, Jesus, and I want a relationship with you. The kind Sam spoke about. Take my life—I give it to you.

  Tears gathered at my eyes, and I continued to pray like that for . . . I didn’t know how long it was, but at some point, I slid under the covers and rested my head on the pillow. A sense of peace I’d never experienced before washed over me, calming my heart and my mind.

  Sleep came easily after that.

  ***

  The next morning when I awoke, the first thing on my mind was the freedom that filled me like an airborne bird, gliding over the ocean with the breeze blowing through its feathers.

  The heaviness I’d felt the day before was gone, replaced by a sweet lightness that lingered over every part of my soul.

  The second thing that came to mind was that I wanted to finish reading John. It was no longer a duty to appease Sam, but a deep hunger I couldn’t explain. I picked up the Bible and scooted back against the headboard of my bed. For the next hour, I continued to read until I finished, and then I started the book of Luke.

  I didn’t know why I chose that book next, it just seemed to call to me, so I listened. All morning I read, skipping breakfast, not bothering to answer my phone or even look at it.

  Something had changed inside of me.

  It was palpable. Real. Even though I didn’t know how to explain it except to say I’d had an encounter with God.

  Which in another time of my life would have seemed ludicrous.

  But now, it was more real than anything else I’d ever experienced.

  I came to Luke, chapter nineteen and read about a rich tax collector named Zacchaeus who had swindled people out of their money. Jesus was passing through, but the crowds were so dense that Zacchaeus had to climb a tree in order to see Him. Jesus addressed him and told him to come down, then offered to stay at his house. Zacchaeus was so excited he told Jesus he would give half of his goods to the poor, and if he defrauded anyone, restore it fourfold.

  My heart skipped a beat. Hadn’t I defrauded others in my business practices? Hadn’t I been dishonest more than a few times?

  The first person who came to mind was Henry Townsend and the meeting we’d had right before I left for Kauai. I had purchased his land with the informal agreement that I’d build an office building that could be used for the community in some way. He’d said his mother had wanted that. I’d brushed over his statement, not too concerned. In reality, my plan had been to rent the spaces to high profile businesses who could afford to pay a hefty sum. Sure, I would have considered non-profits in that equation—only if they could dish out the kind of money I asked for.

  My stomach soured at the memory. The way I’d assured him I’d adhere to his mother’s wishes. How easily the words had flowed off my tongue when I’d told him I was a man of my word, when in reality, I lacked honesty and integrity and compassion.

  Construction had barely begun, but it wasn’t too late to stop it. One of my project managers had been managing that property and the work involved. I picked up my phone and called him. “Hey, what’s the status on the Lakeshore building?”

  He was hesitant before he spoke. “There have been a few delays, but don’t worry, I’m on it.”

  “What kind of delays?” I paced in front of my window, looking out at the vast city of L.A. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Just tell me, how far along are we in construction?”

  He was silent for a moment. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” His voice cracked. “We’ve had some issues with the construction company. They’re behind in other projects and—”

  “Hold off on all plans for now. I want to reassess our business plan for that property.”

  “Oh?” He sounded surprised. “I thought your father was pushing for it to be done as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, but he’s put me in charge, and I want to reevaluate.”

  “Of course, Mr. Armstrong. Let me know when you know more.”

  “I will.” I hung up and set the phone on my bed. My dad wouldn’t be happy, but I had to honor my word to use that property for the community. I didn’t know how yet, but I’d figure it out.

  My phone rang, and I answered right away when I saw it was my sister, Calista. We hadn’t spoken in quite a while. “Calista, what’s up?”

  “Lucas, hey, I’m glad you answered.” Her voice sounded weak, off.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “You’re always so busy.”

  “I know. Sorry I didn’t return your call last week. I’ve been going through something.”

  She was silent. No response.

  “Calista? Are you there? Is everything okay?”

  She sniffed and it sounded like she’d been crying. “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it.” There was a long pause. “He died, Lucas. He’s gone.”

  My heart dropped to my stomach. “Who died?”

  “Dad.” Her breath shuddered. “When he didn’t get up this morning, one of the staff went into his room to check on him.” Her voice broke. “He was in bed, but he was lifeless. It must have happened in his sleep.” She began to cry. “We knew he was declining, but none of us expected it to happen this fast. Hospice services hadn’t even started yet.”

  A sharp pain shot through my gut. I’d known his health wasn’t good, but a part of me thought he’d live on forever. The fact that he was gone . . . I couldn’t fathom it.

  “I’m coming over right now.”

  Chapter 25

  Lucas

  It rarely rained in L.A. during the summer.

  Rarely.

  And that accounted for the many years we’d gone through a drought and had to cut back on wa
ter usage. It also accounted for the lack of greenery at times—California hills were usually dry and brown—but that was typical Southern California for you.

  All that to say, a freak storm moved in just as we laid my father’s body in the ground to rest. It was as if he wanted us to know he was there, keeping an eye out, holding us to the plans he had for each of us.

  Attempting to control even the weather so he could go out with a bang.

  A crack of thunder rolled through the air, and I flinched—the timing was too weird. I knew Dad couldn’t reach through the grave and force me to do anything I didn’t want to do anymore, but still, a heavy weight pushed down on my shoulders because it all seemed surreal.

  And I’d been numb through the service.

  Numb through the outdoor ceremony.

  And now that it was almost over, as rain drifted down over us, soaking those of us who’d been too stubborn to believe we would need an umbrella—which was nearly everyone, by the way—I only felt an immense sadness.

  Sadness that I’d never had a loving relationship with my father.

  Sadness that I’d let him control my behavior all these years.

  I’d made my own choices, but I’d allowed him to influence me when my conscience knew better.

  My heart felt as though it was cracking open—not because I missed him. But because of the deep pain that went along with an abusive relationship that had finally come to a conclusion.

  The physical abuse had ended long ago.

  The verbal abuse had never ended.

  At some point, my father had shown enough respect to allow me a small measure of control over his company, but it had always come with a price. If I didn’t please him, he took out his anger on me.

  Love was never a part of the equation.

  Neither were compassion or affection or a sense of reasonableness.

  I’d lost a great many things in my life.

  But I hadn’t lost a relationship with my father.

  You couldn’t lose something you never had to begin with.

  The thought tore at me like a vulture tearing apart dead flesh, and as I stood there surrounded by so many people, I couldn’t help but feel that I was truly alone in this world. Grief that I didn’t understand flooded through me again and again.