She's Mine: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Kira Blakely

  I’ve known love and so I’ve lived.

  At that moment, I remember the picture my Mom was clutching when she died – a picture of her and my father, their only picture.

  Right. That was how everything began – her falling in love and marrying the man she loved against her father’s wishes. If he hadn’t died in an accident shortly after my birth, she would have lived with him and been completely happy. It’s tragic that she didn’t get the chance. Even so, it doesn’t change the fact that she fought for love and until the end. She did not regret it.

  She loved until the very end.

  If she was here right now, she’d probably laugh at how we both ended up in the same situation but proudly say that’s proof that I’m her son. Then she’d give me a hug and say, “To hell with your grandfather. You can’t help who you love,” and other things someone told her when she was fighting for love.

  True, she told me to undo what she had done but I doubt she’d approve of that if the cost was love.

  Love is her greatest legacy, after all.

  Love.

  Funny. I’ve been so hesitant to use that word before, thinking I didn’t know it and now, I’m throwing it around.

  Which probably means it’s true.

  I love Abby, and I’m going to fight for her even if it means going against Grandfather. I’m not just going to let him disown me, though. I’m going to talk to him. He probably won’t listen but I still have to try.

  That’s what I promised my mother – that I’d try.

  “I’ll try my best, Mom.”

  I press my fingers to my lips, run them over her name on the tombstone and get up to leave, determination buzzing in my veins.

  I’m not going to undo what my mother did because it wasn’t a mistake. I’m going to do what she didn’t get to do – talk some sense into Grandfather.

  ***

  “No.” Grandfather shakes his head as he sets down his cup of tea on the matching saucer. “Your mother ruined her life. I’m not going to let you make the same mistake.”

  “My mother did not ruin her life,” I tell him, sitting straight in the chair across him. “You did.”

  Grandfather glares. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to, boy.”

  “Oh, I know very well who I’m talking to.” I lean on one arm, tucking my hand under my chin. “I’m talking to a man who loved his daughter very much, who thought the world of her, who wanted to give her the world. He thought she was perfect. He thought she would belong to him forever, and when he found out he was wrong, he threw her away like a doll that was no longer needed.”

  “I did not throw her away.” He leans forward, his eyes growing wide. “She turned her back on me. She chose your American father over me.”

  “She chose her own happiness,” I point out. “Which she only did because you made her choose between her happiness and yours. And you punished her nearly all her life for it.”

  Grandfather leans back in his chair, falling silent.

  “But you know what? She never hated you. Do you know what was her greatest fear as she was dying? Not death. She was prepared for that. Not leaving me. She knew I could make it on my own. She was more afraid of you dying alone and unloved. That’s why she made me promise to try to keep that from happening.”

  “Yet, here you are, practically begging for me to disown you.”

  “I’m not.” I get out of my chair and kneel in front of his. “I don’t want to be disowned. In fact, I want nothing more than for you to look at me as your grandson. But I’m not going to choose that over my happiness, over the woman I love.”

  Grandfather snorts, looking away. “Why do you want that woman so much? Your grandmother said she works for you and that she’s from some country in Asia.”

  “From the Philippines,” I supply, standing up. “And I can’t tell you why I want her. I just do. I just know I want her bad enough to fight for her just like my mother fought for my father.”

  “Why?” He stands up and moves away from him, hands in the air. “Why must you rebel against me like she did? And after all I’ve done for you?”

  “You see, Grandfather. That’s your problem. You tried to give Mom and me everything in hopes that we’d love you back and do everything you wanted. You should have given us everything because you loved us, not because you wanted us to love you. In spite of that, we do care about you. We just don’t want to be your puppets. We’re your family, after all.”

  Grandfather falls silent again, looking out the window with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “I’m not asking you to love me as a grandson. As much as I want it, it’s not mine to ask. If there’s anything I learned, it’s that if you want someone to love you, all you can do is love them first. If they don’t love you back, there’s nothing you can do about it.” I move closer to him. “I’m asking you, though, to try and understand what I’m trying to do here. I’m not doing it to spite you or because I’m ungrateful or because I don’t care about you and your wishes. It has nothing to do with you. I’m doing it because it’s the only way for me to live my life, because I can’t live without her.”

  He still says nothing.

  “Mom said you had a heart once. I believe you still do. You say I’m making the same mistake my mother did. How about you, Grandfather? What will you do? Will you make the same mistake as well?”

  He turns his head, looking at me. For a moment, he just looks at me, his expression vacant. Then he goes to his bed.

  “I’m tired. Leave me alone.”

  Well, at least he’s not telling me that he never wants to see me again. It’s a start.

  “If that is what you want.” I head to the door, stopping just before I open it. “Thank you for listening, Grandfather.”

  He doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t even look in my direction.

  That’s fine. I’ve said all I’ve needed to say to him.

  And now, I have to go to New York to talk to Abby.

  ***

  “Go away, Grant. I don’t want to talk to you,” Abby says through the locked door of her apartment, leaving me standing in the hallway with all the presents I’ve brought for her. “There’s nothing left for us to talk about.”

  I put down the paper bags I’m carrying and move closer to the door. “You know there is.”

  “If it’s about my job, I quit. I’ll find another.”

  “It’s not about your job, Abby, it’s about us.”

  “There is no us. There never was. You tricked me.”

  At that moment, the housewife from the next apartment comes out with her toddler on her hip, frowning at me.

  I give her an apologetic smile, handing her one of the roses I have. She seems to appreciate it, sniffing it as she goes back into the apartment.

  Good. I got rid of her. I don’t want to get anyone else’s attention, though.

  I move my mouth closer to the door. “Could you please at least open the door, Abby, so that we don’t have to shout?”

  There’s no response.

  “Or we could just shout for everyone in the building to hear.”

  She opens the door but just a crack, the bolt still on. She doesn’t show herself, either, and though I try hard to take a peek, I can’t see her.

  “Are you going to talk or not?” Abby asks.

  Well, at least I know she can hear me.

  I lean on the doorframe and take a deep breath. “Abby, I’m sorry. I know what I tried to do. I know what I did. I asked Nathan to let you work for me, having done my research about you and thinking you’d be the best woman to convince Lindsey to change her mind. I seduced you. I tried to make you fall in love with me. But you know what? I fucked up. I fell in love with you, which wasn’t part of the plan, and that’s something I’ve never done before even though I’ve known a lot of women.”

  “Really? Then why do you have files of other women in your inbox?”

  “My grandfather sent those. He wanted me to choose a wife
from them. I told him I wasn’t going to, though. I don’t care if he feels I’m letting him down like he felt my mother let him down. I’m not going to let myself down. Or you.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “Nothing.”

  Abby falls silent.

  “Abby?”

  “You should go.”

  I want to say more. I want to ask her why she can’t understand me. I want to stay here until she forgives me. I want to break down the bolt, barge into her apartment, and hug her so tight the broken pieces of her heart will fall back into place and then I’ll never let her go.

  I don’t though. This is not about what I want. If she wants me to leave and give her some time and space, I’ll do that. I’ll step back for now.

  “Okay. I’ll leave the stuff I’ve brought here – just some flowers, chocolates, some Broadway memorabilia, and some stuff from London.” I put the bouquet I’m holding on the floor. “If you need anything, just call me.”

  She says nothing, closing the door.

  I sigh. Well, I guess this serious conversation ended just like the last one, with neither Abby nor my grandfather saying yes but also not saying no. I just hope they’ll give me a chance, Abby especially.

  Frankly, I’m not sure how I’ll do without her.

  Come on, Abby. Give me just one more chance.

  Chapter 13

  Abby

  So, Grant wants me to give him another chance, does he?

  Sitting on the couch, I look at the pile of presents from Grant in the living room, the pile I’ve just hauled in from the hallway after making sure he’s gone.

  It’s not that I don’t want to see him because I’m mad at him. Yes, I am mad at him, but the main reason why I didn’t open the door and face him was because I was afraid that if I looked into his eyes, I’d forget my anger and throw myself at him.

  It’s not easy resisting the man you love.

  Yes, I love him. I’ve realized that over the past few days. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have hurt as much and I wouldn’t have been so devastated to the point that I couldn’t eat or sleep properly or have the energy to do the things I used to do.

  I’ve probably loved him for some time now. That’s why I can’t forget him no matter how hard I try, why I can’t seem to let go of him.

  But I have to.

  I have to resist him and forget him because I don’t think I can trust him again. He’s already hurt me once. He can very well do it again.

  He said he was sorry.

  Sorry is just a word. It’s easy to say, especially for men who want something.

  He didn’t ask for anything, did he?

  Come to think of it, he didn’t. He didn’t ask me to come back to him. He just apologized and explained. Like before, instead of demanding, he gave of himself.

  I pout, lying on the couch.

  Well, that’s not going to work a second time. I’m not falling for it anymore.

  I fell in love with you.

  I slap my forehead. Now, he’s using the word love. But, no. I’m not going to fall for that, either. He’s using the right words, but they’re just words.

  How will he prove his feelings for you if you don’t give him a chance?

  I sigh. My mother kept giving herself a chance at happiness. She kept giving love a chance. She kept giving men chances. And look what happened. Each man she gave a chance to let her down and left her in the dust.

  Once is enough. I gave Grant a chance, and he wasted it. He broke my trust. He broke my heart. He used me.

  You can’t say he used you if he’s keeping you.

  True. But I just know that I’ll keep on thinking that he just picked me because I was the ideal candidate for fulfilling his plans, that we would never have met if not for his plot. How can something that started in treachery be true? How can it be trusted?

  Then start again. Grant is willing to do that. He even chose you over his grandfather.

  I must say that took me by surprise. And it did make me happy. Still, how can we start over when I don’t know if the doubts will ever end? I was afraid the first time. Now, I’m terrified.

  So, you’ll just let him go even if you love him? Choose to be afraid instead of taking a chance on happiness?

  “Oh, shut up.” I place my hands on my head, which is starting to hurt from thinking too much.

  Actually, my head has been hurting a lot lately. And that’s not all. Yesterday, I felt dizzy while doing the laundry, having to stop for fear of fainting and this morning, I was nauseous, that perfect plate of bacon and eggs making my stomach reel.

  Just the thought of that plate, in fact, starts a revolution in my stomach again. I sit up, one hand rubbing my tummy to calm it down and the other on my neck, as if trying to keep the food from coming out. This time, that doesn’t work, though, and I end up going to the bathroom to throw up.

  Shit.

  When I’m done, I brush my teeth and wash my face then head back to the living room, lying down on the couch again.

  What’s wrong with me? Is it something I ate? Can it be all that airline food? Maybe it’s just jet lag or stress.

  At any rate, I’d like to find out, and there’s only one way to do that.

  I give another sigh, placing my arm over my forehead.

  I guess I’m going to the doctor tomorrow.

  ***

  “Please wait here,” the nurse tells me, gesturing to an empty chair in the waiting room. “Dr. Norwood will be with you shortly.”

  “Thanks.” I sit down, resisting the urge to pace the room after the nurse has left.

  Who’s Dr. Norwood? I’ve never heard of him.

  I was with a Dr. Catherine Martin earlier, who said they were going to run some tests. Did they find something suspicious in my tests? Is that why I’m being referred to another doctor, a specialist maybe?

  Am I going to die?

  “Abigail Gomez?”

  I look up to find myself staring into a pair of deep blue eyes.

  Grant?

  No. It’s not Grant. They may have the same blue eyes but the resemblance stops there. This man has jet black curls, a few of which are dipping down his wide forehead. His nose is more rounded toward the nostrils, his chin squarer, his lips narrower.

  I suppress a frown. Now that I’m boiling with anxiety, I wish he was here.

  “Yes, that’s me,” I say as I stand up, finding my head barely reaching his chin.

  He’s tall. Not only that. He’s got a great physique, his chest and shoulders broad, his pectorals bulging against the fabric of his white dress shirt so much that I fear the buttons will fly off. And, in between the bottom buttons, I catch a peek of a ripped abdomen just before his shirt disappears into the waistband of his jeans that outlines his narrow hips and waist. His arms look like he can easily carry someone or maybe two someones while his legs look fit enough to have a few children on his lap. Or women.

  What is he? An athlete? A triathlete? A double for Superman?

  “I’m Dr. Norwood.” He offers me his hand.

  Doctor?

  Right. He’s got that stethoscope around his neck. How could I have missed that?

  Because you were looking at other more important stuff?

  Oh, hush.

  I shake his hand, finding his firm yet smooth.

  He places his hand back in his pocket. “Shall we?”

  Shall we what?

  He gestures to the hall.

  Right. He’s a specialist, which means we’re headed to his clinic right now. Worse, they probably sent someone good-looking to break the bad news so that I won’t be so upset.

  I take a deep breath. Relax, Abby. You’re going to be fine.

  As he goes into a door, I pause outside, looking at the sign.

  Brett Norwood, Obstetrician-Gynecologist.

  Wait. What? Is there something wrong with my… reproductive organs? Ovarian cancer? Cervical cancer?

  “Please come in,” Dr. Norwood says. “And ta
ke a seat.”

  I obey, closing the door behind me and sitting on one of the chairs in front of his desk, dipping my clasped hands between my knees as I anxiously wait for news.

  “Please tell me what’s wrong,” I plead with him.

  “Oh, nothing’s wrong.” He goes through the papers on his desk. “In fact, everything about your pregnancy seems normal.”

  I blink. “My what?”

  “Miss Gomez, you’re pregnant – a little over five weeks pregnant.”

  What? I’m relieved, of course, that I’m not dying. But pregnant? I never thought I’d have a child, though maybe I should have given it more thought. Now that I think about it, Grant and I didn’t use any contraceptives at all.

  And this is the result when you don’t use contraceptives – pregnancy. That’s why I’ve been dizzy and nauseous and throwing up.

  I clasp my hands over my mouth. “Oh, my God.”

  “Congratulations.” Dr. Norwood stands up to squeeze my shoulder. “I know you’re feeling overwhelmed right now but that’s normal, too. After all, you do suddenly have a person inside you. Microscopic, yes, but still a person, one you helped create.”

  A person inside me? I look at my belly. How can a person possibly fit there?

  “It’s a miracle, really, and it never fails to astound me. That’s why I’m in this profession.”

  I place my hand over my belly. “I don’t believe it. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  He hands me the ultrasound picture and though it’s black and white, I can see the speck inside the hole – a baby inside my tummy.

  I run my fingers over the picture then press it to my heart, a tear streaking down my cheek as the emotions I’ve been trying to hold back – fear, disbelief, excitement, joy – break through.

  “I really am having a baby, aren’t I?”

  Dr. Norwood nods. “Maybe at your next check-up at eight weeks, you can hear the heartbeat.”

  “I’d love that.” I look at the picture again, smiling.