She's Mine: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Kira Blakely

  “I promise I’m not messing with you.” I reach for her hand. “And you know what? I promise I’m not going to let anyone else do that, either.”

  I touch her cheek. “You don’t have to hide anymore, Abby.”

  She stops paddling, placing her hand over mine. “Thanks, Grant. You know, I do miss the Philippines sometimes, and I do think you’re right. I should embrace who I am and start holding my head up high.”

  I lift her chin. “That’s my girl.”

  I lean over, kissing her. I stop, though, as I realize the raft is wobbling. I adjust, looking ahead.

  “Here come the rapids,” I warn, quickly reaching for my paddle with both hands.

  “I thought you said there weren’t any.” Abby starts to paddle frantically as well.

  “I said this river is safe enough for beginners. I didn’t say there wouldn’t be any rapids.”

  “Shit. You should have told me earlier.”

  “It’s fine,” I assure her. “You’ll be fine. Trust me. Just row.”

  “You row.”

  I do that, doing my best to steer the raft away from the rocks and down the slopes. After a few minutes, we make it past. I let go of the breath I’m holding, looking at Abby. She’s all wet just like me, but to my surprise, she’s smiling.

  “It wasn’t that bad, was it?” I ask her.

  Abby nods. “Yeah. I can’t say that was relaxing but yeah, it was kind of fun. Like a water ride at an amusement park but more thrilling.”

  I lift my hand to give her a high-five. “Good job.”

  Now that the water is running smoothly again, I continue kissing her, more passionately with the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. I must have been too passionate, though, because I lose my balance and Abby and I both fall out of the raft.

  “Fuck,” I curse, wiping my face then quickly going over to her. “Sorry about that.”

  Abby shakes her head. “It’s okay. We were already wet anyway. And you know what? I kind of miss swimming in the river.”

  “You used to swim in the river?” My eyes grow wide.

  What with all the protests she was making earlier, I wouldn’t have guessed.

  “Yeah. Just a small river, though.” She leans back, immersing her hair in the water as she floats on the surface. “Now, this is relaxing.”

  She closes her eyes, and I smile.

  Seriously, Abby is one heck of a woman.

  “You never fail to surprise me, do you? What else don’t I know about you?”

  ***

  “So, that’s pretty much my life,” Abby says as she places her arms behind her head, her eyes still on the stars that are shining above us.

  For the past hour, as we lay on the ground beneath the night sky, she’s been giving me more details about her childhood and how she grew up, about her mother and the men her mother was with. And I’ve been more than content to listen, fascinated by her tales and changes in expression and glad to know all about her, even the sad things like how her mother was found dead in a motel room with her boyfriend when Abby was seventeen, a tragedy which, according to the police, stemmed from a lover’s quarrel gone from bad to worst.

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” I tell her, reaching for one of her hands.

  She shakes her head. “She had it coming, and I already lost her a long time ago.” She sighs. “My life would make a good tearjerker on Broadway, huh?”

  “I’d watch it,” I tell her. “And at least now, I know why you don’t like men with mustaches.”

  They remind her of her stepfather, who she largely blames for her mother’s downfall.

  She turns her head to look at me. “Your mother didn’t marry again, did she?”

  “No. She loved my father too much.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Not entirely. She loved him so much that after he died, she stopped taking care of herself and standing on her own feet. I think she might have lost her will to live when she lost him.”

  “But she still had you. Didn’t she take care of you?”

  “Not really. It was mostly my grandparents who raised me and the maids who looked after me.”

  “And your grandfather didn’t like you?”

  I shake my head. “I look too much like my father, too American. I guess when he sees me, all he sees is the mistake my mother made, the crime she committed against him.”

  Abby squeezes my hand. “I guess we both had a miserable time growing up, huh?”

  We do seem to have a lot in common.

  “How about now?” she asks. “Does your grandfather like you now?”

  I snort. “Nope. I’m still rebelling against him, after all.”

  She raises an eyebrow in surprise. “You are?”

  “He wanted me to take over his company but I refused. I told him I’d start my own. If not for my mother begging him to give me a chance as she was dying, he wouldn’t be giving me one. He has to see at least fifty million in profits in a year, though.”

  “And if you don’t make that much?”

  “I have to go back to London and do as he wants. Otherwise, he’ll make sure I don’t get a single cent of his fortune.”

  “Wow. Talk about pressure.”

  “Nothing would give him more pleasure than to see me fail.”

  “Well, you won’t.” She lifts her head and holds my hand in both of hers. “You have good ideas, excellent apps in the making.”

  “I have to sell them, though.”

  She leans on her elbow. “You know what? You said something about making a line of apps for women, right?”

  “Yeah. That’s one.”

  “Well, why don’t we have a female celebrity to endorse them or, better yet, have her name on them? Someone famous. That will sell them more quickly, right?”

  “That was precisely what I was thinking.”

  Abby lies back down. “She can’t just be any celebrity, though. She has to be a role model, an inspiration. Now, let’s see. Who’s inspirational and famous?”

  I wait for her answer.

  “Ah. What about Lindsey Holland?”

  I pause. I know we have a lot in common, but we think alike, too? I mean exactly alike?

  “No.”

  “Why not? She’s amazing. Every woman wants to be her.”

  I sit up. “Do you?”

  “I look up to her,” Abby admits. “I’ve read a few of her books, too.”

  I resist the urge to slap myself in the forehead and laugh. Is this some sort of joke? All this time, I’ve been planning on convincing Lindsey to endorse my apps, of using Abby to that end. And now that I’ve started to abandon that plan because of how I feel for Abby, Abby wants to pursue it?

  “Well, why not?” Abby asks.

  “Because she doesn’t want to endorse our apps.”

  “So, you’ve asked her?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Well, I haven’t exactly. I know if I did, she’d turn me down outright, so I’ve sent others to no success.

  “Hmm.” Abby sits up, touching her chin. “So even you have a woman you can’t get to say yes, huh?”

  “You did reject me, you know,” I remind her.

  “Well, I still think she should be the one to endorse those apps. So how about I try convincing her?”

  I give her a look of surprise. “You’ll do that?”

  “Why not? Maybe she’ll listen to me.”

  Well, if Abby was the one who came up with the idea and she wants to do it, I can’t say I don’t want her to.

  “You think you can convince her?” I ask her. “It’s not going to be easy, you know.”

  Abby gives me a confident smile. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

  Chapter 9

  Abby

  “You can do this, Abby,” I tell myself, taking a deep breath as I stand across the road from Lindsey Holland’s house.

  I’ve tried calling her three times, but all I get is her answering machine. I’ve left messages,
of course, saying that I work for Grant Herbert and that I have an interesting proposition for her, but she hasn’t returned any of my calls. I’ve sent her about a dozen emails, too, and even tried to get in touch with her through her social media accounts to no avail. She just won’t answer. That’s why I’m here at her address now in Atlanta. After all, I can’t convince Lindsey if I can’t even talk to her.

  And I promised Grant I would do my best. Not just that. I want to do this for him. I want him to prove that selfish old man he calls his grandfather wrong. I want him to be able to make his own fortune, to succeed on his own terms.

  I want him to be happy.

  To that end, I’ve made up my mind to do everything I can. That doesn’t mean I’m not shivering in my shoes right now, though.

  Crossing the street to the dreamy two-story house with the blue roof and the white windows, it dawns on me that I am meeting Lindsey Holland in the flesh.

  The Lindsey Holland.

  The same Lindsey Holland who has a New York Bestselling book series telling women of all ages how to cope with just about every situation. The same Lindsey Holland who’s been on numerous talk shows speaking out against domestic abuse and shedding light on postpartum depression. The same Lindsey Holland who married a resort tycoon and opened hotels, spas, and recreational facilities designed especially for women.

  The same Lindsey Holland who I looked up to for the past five years.

  I stop in front of the blue front door with the silver knob and the wreath of colorful roses, my heart pounding like crazy.

  What if she won’t talk to me? What if she doesn’t like me? What if she sees through me and is disappointed in me?

  All of a sudden, I feel scared.

  So what? Are you going to run away?

  No. I’m not. I’ve come this far, and I’ve got way too much on the line.

  What was that Lindsey wrote in one of her books? Put one foot in front of the other until your fears are behind you?

  Well, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to conquer my fears and hope for the best.

  Taking another deep breath, I press the doorbell. No answer. I can hear children’s voices, though, so I press again and I’m about to press a third time when I hear footsteps scurrying to the door. When it opens, a woman with salt and pepper curls who looks like she’s in her late fifties stands in the doorway, wearing glasses, a luminous rosary around her neck, a floral apron over a white shirt and loose black pants and a pair of light flip-flops that look just like the ones I used to wear as a child.

  A Filipino maid?

  “I’m so sorry I took so long.” She adjusts her glasses. “I was cooking and taking care of the kids, and you know, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  “It’s no problem at all.” I give her a warm smile. “I’m sorry I rushed you.”

  “Well, what can I help you with?”

  “I’m here to discuss a business proposition with Miss Holland, actually,” I inform her. “I sent her an email to let her know I was dropping by.”

  “Really? She didn’t tell me she was expecting anyone.”

  “I see.” I tuck a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. “Is she home?”

  “Sorry, dear, but you just missed her. Why don’t you call her?”

  “I’ve been doing that, actually, but she hasn’t been answering.”

  “Well, she’s awfully busy.”

  “I understand.” I can feel my heart sinking but I refuse to jump ship just yet. “Would you know what time she’ll be back?”

  “I’m afraid not. It depends on a lot of things.”

  “Oh.”

  I reach inside my purse for my business card so I can hand it over but just then, a child, about four or five, comes to the door, poking her head between the woman and the door frame.

  “Who’s that, Lola?” the child asks.

  Grandmother? Don’t tell me this is Lindsey’s mother. I’ve never read anything about her being from the Philippines. Then again, come to think of it, I’ve never read anything about her mother at all.

  “Oh, just someone looking for your mom,” the woman says, placing a hand on the child’s shoulder.

  “She’s not here,” the girl tells me.

  “So your Lola told me.” I smile at her. “I guess I’m out of luck today.”

  “We really must go back in,” the woman says. “I still have to finish cooking my—”

  “Sinigang,” I finish the sentence for her, having caught a whiff of the tamarind soup base. “It smells good.”

  The woman lifts her glasses as she looks at me in surprise. “You’re a Filipino?”

  I nod, offering her my hand. “I’m Abby Gomez. Nice to meet you.”

  She shakes my hand. “Well, you’re someone I don’t usually see on this doorstep.”

  “Do you speak Filipino?” the girl asks. “Lola taught me a little bit.”

  “Why, of course,” I tell her, kneeling in front of her. “Magandang umaga, munting prinsesa.”

  “Is that good morning?”

  “It sure is. ‘Good morning, little princess.’”

  The girl smiles sheepishly, her body swaying from side to side.

  “You know what? I don’t know what time my daughter is coming back but I’ll be waiting here until she does,” the woman says. “You’re welcome to wait with me if you like, maybe help me out a little bit. I’d appreciate that. Plus, I’d love to have someone to eat the sinigang with. The kids don’t like it, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s too sour,” the girl complains.

  I chuckle. “That’s what makes it good, though.”

  “So?” the woman asks. “Tuloy ka?”

  I stand up, smiling at the sincere invitation, at the warmth in her eyes that reminds me of my grandmother’s.

  Strange. I’ve been running away from my culture this whole time, yet now, it seems like it’s just saved me. For once, it’s done me something good.

  Maybe Grant’s right. Maybe I should stop trying to deny or hide it.

  I take her hand, pressing it to my forehead before giving a nod. “Salamat po.”

  ***

  The hours pass. Soon, the sun begins to set.

  I’ve been waiting long, but I don’t mind at all. Lindsey’s kids, Harper and Mia, are adorable, and her mother, Linda, is very kind. She has a ton of stories, usually about growing up in the Philippines, and it seems like she’s been wanting someone new to tell them to. I listen intently, fascinated, seemingly reliving my own childhood and seeing my own country through her words.

  It’s like coming home.

  Finally, when it’s nearly seven, I hear the garage doors open, and look out the window to see a white car going in. Anxiously, I wait in the living room for Lindsey to come in. I’ve already been waiting almost all day, looking forward to talking to her and yet, when I see her in person, looking stunning in her brown dress and black stilettos, I feel unprepared and surprised.

  She, too, looks surprised to see me, her gaze landing on me when she’s done hugging the kids.

  She also looks confused.

  “Mama, who’s this?” she asks her mother.

  “Oh, this is Abby,” Linda answers, touching my shoulder. “Abby, meet my daughter, Lindsey.”

  “Hello.” I wave shyly.

  She doesn’t answer, still looking confused.

  Linda goes over to her. “Abby’s been a big help. I wouldn’t have managed without her, what with my knees and all. You really should consider hiring a sitter, you know. You can afford one.”

  “We’ve already talked about this, Mama.”

  “Abby kept me company, too. We talked about a lot of things. She’s a Filipino, too.”

  Lindsey looks at me. “Really?”

  I nod. “I was born in the Philippines.”

  “And why are you here?” she asks curiously.

  “I’ve sent you a couple of messages,” I tell her. “I’d like to discuss something with you. A business prop
osition.”

  “Let me guess. You want to make a series of apps for me. Or rather, you want to make me into a series of apps.”

  “Oh, Lindsey, be kind,” Linda admonishes, a finger up in the air. “Abby’s been nothing but nice, and she’s been waiting for you all day. The least you can do is hear everything she’s got to say and think about it.”

  Lindsey sighs. “Fine.”

  “I’ll be going now.” Linda squeezes her daughter’s shoulder. “I need to rest.”

  Lindsey nods, holding her mother’s hand. “Thanks for coming over, Mama.”

  Linda looks at me. “It was nice meeting you, Abby.”

  I shake my head. “The pleasure was all mine. Take care.”

  “Drive safely,” Lindsey bids, watching as her mother goes out the door.

  As soon as Linda has left, Lindsey sits down on an armchair in the living room, taking her shoes off. I remain standing.

  “Sit,” she tells me. “No need to stand on my account. Besides, it seems like you’ve already made yourself at home.”

  I blink. Is this Lindsey Holland? She sounded much nicer on TV.

  “I’m sorry if I stepped over my bounds or caused any inconvenience. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Sorry,” Lindsey cuts me off. “I didn’t mean to snap. I shouldn’t. It’s just been a long day.”

  “I understand,” I tell her, sitting down. “Even the best of us have bad days. If you would rather see me at another day, I’d—”

  “It’s fine.” She waves her hand. “I’m grateful that you kept my mother company and helped her out. She’s not getting any younger.”

  “She was a joy to be around.”

  Lindsey grins. “I bet she told you a lot of stories from the old days.”

  “She did, though something tells me she hasn’t run out of them yet.”

  “Oh, she never will.” Lindsey stands up and heads to the kitchen. “Have you had dinner?”

  “Yes. Your mother fed me.”

  “Of course she did.” Lindsey goes around the kitchen counter. “So, who sent you? Grant?”

  My eyebrows crease. How did she know?

  “Yes, he sent me.”

  She opens the fridge. “I thought he’d given up.”