ROSES FROM A BILLIONAIRE
A Lone Star Billionaire Romance
Beverly Farr
Copyright 2018 Beverly Farr Giroux
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical without permission in writing from the author.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
PROLOGUE
PHILIP
My father rarely summoned me to the Dallas office, so I knew something was bothering him. We’d seen each other briefly at Vidar’s wedding in July and we were planning to see each other again at Thanksgiving, so I didn’t think he missed me. Something was definitely wrong. Mentally I reviewed the occupancy rates in Europe and construction delays on the Hong Kong location, two of the concerns we’d discussed by email in the past month.
My driver dropped me off at the front door and I walked into the lobby of our headquarters. “Mr. Nilsson,” a person at the front desk acknowledged me, and I nodded and smiled at him. I didn’t come to headquarters often enough to know the names of all the employees, but I made a point of being pleasant.
When I reached my father’s office, I knew the name of his receptionist – Martha. I’d known her for years, ever since I was a kid.
“Martha!” I said cheerfully. “Is my father available?”
“Walk right in,” she said.
She must be getting close to retirement, as some people said my father was getting close to retirement. But that was unlikely. My father would follow in the footsteps of my grandfather and only retire when he was physically or mentally unable to do the job. But unlike my grandfather, my father did not spend every waking moment running Nilsson Worldwide. Instead, he had learned to delegate nearly everything. And much of his responsibilities, he delegated to me.
I walked into his office.
He smiled when he saw me. My father was in his late sixties and had salt and pepper gray hair, but he was still a fit, vibrant man. No doubt this was due to clean living and playing a round of golf nearly every day. He’d probably live to be ninety, and I’d be his age now before I became CEO of Nilsson Worldwide, but that didn’t bother me. In many ways I was de facto CEO already. “Philip. How was your flight?”
Same as nearly every other flight. “Fine. And you?”
“Everything is fine here.”
And yet, I’d been summoned.
He motioned for me to sit down on a comfortable leather chair, so I did. And then I waited.
He sat across from me and steepled his fingers, a stalling tactic. Finally, he said seriously, “Your mother is worried about you. She’s worried about all of you. At Vidar’s wedding, none of you brought dates.”
I laughed and relaxed. “Is that it? Is mom worried that she’ll never have grandkids?”
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “She doesn’t want to see you become a lonely old man.”
“I’m only thirty-one. If she’s concerned, she should talk to Conrad first. He’s thirty-four.”
“At least he’s had a few girlfriends. What was that actress’ name?”
Conrad had so many celebrity girlfriends, I didn’t know which one my father was thinking about. I said defensively, “I’ve had girlfriends.”
“None for the past few years.”
“Two years I was dating Angela.” Technically, it was nearly three years ago when we broke up, but I wasn’t going to tell my father that.
“What happened to her?”
“She said I put work first.”
“And did you?”
“It’s my job. Of course, I put my work first.”
My father said, “I always put your mother first.”
Which was why my parents had stayed together when so many of my father’s contemporaries were on their second or third wives. I said, “And perhaps, one day, if I find a woman that I put first, I’ll marry her.”
He said, “Your mother just wants you to be happy.”
“I’m very happy,” I protested. “Work makes me happy.”
“I know,” he said. “You’re like my father. As long as he had something to do to promote the business, he was happy. Whenever he tried to take a vacation, he was miserable. I remember a cruise we took when I was a teenager. My father couldn’t stand not knowing what was happening at headquarters every minute. At the first port, he abandoned us and flew back to Dallas.”
That sounded like Grandfather Nilsson. I said, “Fortunately, there are smart phones now. No one has to leave the office behind.”
My father said, “But is that healthy?”
I scoffed. “Are you saying I’m not healthy?”
“No, not at all,” he said and waved his hand at me. “I know you work out and eat Paleo or whatever the current trend is. Physically you’re in peak condition.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. I did try to keep in shape, but I wasn’t a fanatic.
“But mentally? Spiritually?”
“What’s this? Do you want to know if I’m going to Sunday School?” My parents had made sure that we all went to church when we were growing up, but other than showing up for the occasional Easter or Christmas service, I hadn’t attended regularly for years. My busy lifestyle made it difficult to commit to one congregation.
“No,” he assured me. “I’m not going to pry. All your mother and I care about is your well-being.”
I nodded. This conversation was becoming repetitive. I said, “Trust me, I’m fine. But what can I do to prove it to you? Find some girl and bring her home to meet Mom?”
“That would be nice,” my father said.
“I’ll put it on my to-do list,” I joked.
“Seriously,” he said. “When is the last time you went on a date?”
“A date-date with dinner and dancing or just hooking up?”
My father shook his head sadly. “See? That’s what’s wrong with the world these days. You’re so determined to define everything. Put everything in little boxes. I don’t even want to know the difference between dating and hooking or whatever you call it. Just tell me this – how long has it been since you spent time with a woman and your heart sped up when you saw her, when your breath caught, and you said to yourself ‘I’m the luckiest guy in the world’ when she smiled?”
I smiled, but to be honest, his question cut me to the core. It had been years since I’d felt that way, if I ever had. I joked, “Does Mom know you’re such a romantic?”<
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He said dryly, “Now and then.”
I said, “All right. You’ve made your point. I’ll stop being a workaholic and pay more attention to the women around me. Maybe even go on a few dates.” Who knows, if necessary, I’d use that dating service in Nilsson Tower – Henderson’s? I made a mental note to bring someone to the family Thanksgiving Dinner. That would make my mom happy and get my Dad off my back.
He said, “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Is that all?” I asked.
“No. I’ve also signed you up for one of our corporate mixers.”
Nilsson Worldwide held monthly mixers, retreat activities thought up by HR, where various corporate officers and employees went through team building exercises and got to know each other better. They were supposed to make Nilsson Worldwide seem more like a happy family than the corporate behemoth it truly was, but I thought the meetings were a waste of time. But if my father wanted me to attend one of the events, I’d do it. I let my breath out slowly. “All right. When and where?”
“Next week. San Antonio.”
“What? I can’t change my schedule that quickly. I have commitments. I’m supposed to be in London next week. And after that, Paris.”
My father said, “Delegate.”
“I can’t.”
My father said, “No one is indispensable. If you got hit by a bus and were in the hospital, someone, somehow, would take care of your to-do list. Perhaps not very well, but eventually everything would get done.”
It was my father’s way of thinking, but not mine. “I have no intention of being hit by a bus. I look both ways when I cross a street.”
He said, “If you can’t fit this mixer into your schedule, perhaps I should lighten your work load.”
“Is that a threat?”
“You’ve been VP in charge of Business Development for six years now. Perhaps it’s time for you to take a vacation. A year off.”
My father smiled, but I knew he was serious. As CEO and the majority stock holder of Nilsson Worldwide, he controlled the board. If he wanted me to step down as Vice President, it would be done.
And there where would I be? Twiddling my thumbs with nothing to do.
“All right,” I said finally. “I’ll go.” But I won’t enjoy it, I thought.
He said, “And I expect a full report when you’re done. I don’t want you to spend your time skulking in a corner, taking care of business on your smart phone.”
Busted. My father knew me too well.
I said, “I just don’t want to play those stupid games where I bungee jump or I’m blindfolded and let myself fall back into a crowd of people to show that I can trust others.”
He said, “I want you to fully participate in all the activities.”
I flinched. “I have to play those stupid games?”
He said, “They’re not all stupid. Some of them can be fun.”
I wondered if it would be better to admit defeat right now and to take that year off. I said, “Have you ever gone to one of these events?”
“I have. I go to one every six months. Earlier this year, your mother and I went to one in Madrid.”
I could see that there was no way to avoid the inevitable. I said, “All right, I’ll go. And I’ll participate fully.”
He nodded. “Good boy.”
He made me feel like I was twelve years old again, and I didn’t like it. “Yes, sir.”
He said, “I’m doing this for your own good.”
That didn’t make me feel any better.
He continued, “You’re wound too tight. You need to stop and smell the roses, as they say. One day you’re going to be CEO of Nilsson Worldwide. Neither of your brothers are interested and Vidar and Selinda have their own obligations, so if we’re going to keep the company in the family, it’s going to be you in charge.”
I nodded. I already knew what he was saying, although he’d never said it quite so clearly before. Out of all of Grandfather Nilsson’s grandchildren, I was the only logical choice to take over the company when my father stepped down.
He added. “I love you and I love this company. I want to do what’s best for both of you.”
He meant well. I let my breath out slowly. I said, “All right. I get the message loud and clear. I will stop and smell the roses.”
He smiled, slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. “Good,” he said cheerfully. “No more lectures. Now, how about a game of golf?”
CHAPTER ONE
WINNIE
I like pretty things. I like wearing nice clothes. I always have. My mom likes to recount the days when I was a toddler and would throw a fit if I couldn’t wear my tulle ballet skirt and a rhinestone tiara. I’ve grown out of the ballerina stage, but when I get dressed in the morning, even when I’m just going to the gym to run, I want to take the extra five minutes to look nice, if I can.
On the day I met Philip Nilsson, Vice President of Nilsson Worldwide, technically my boss’s boss’s boss, I was wearing a new navy suit that nipped in at the waist, a sweet pale pink blouse and reasonable pumps. My shoulder length blonde hair was pulled up into a smooth French twist, secured with a decorative but still discreet metal comb. I was going for a Grace Kelly vibe with subtle make-up rather than a more dramatic Marilyn Monroe look.
After I got dressed, I asked my roommate Gwen how I looked.
Gwen didn’t start work until eleven a.m., so she was still half asleep, wearing a ratty bathrobe and sipping her morning coffee in our tiny kitchen. She squinted at me. “Corporate,” she said.
“Excellent,” I said. “That’s the look I’m going for.”
“Boring,” Gwen added.
Gwen had purple hair and an arm sleeve tattoo, so I took her criticism as a compliment. “Boring is fine,” I said. I gathered up my purse, put on my sunglasses and quickly tied a silk scarf to protect my hair. I smiled at my reflection in a full-length mirror before I stepped outside. “You’ll do,” I told myself.
Getting to work took about forty-five minutes with the San Antonio traffic. I still found it difficult to believe that I now worked in the San Antonio Nilsson Hotel, which I think is one of the nicest hotels in San Antonio. It’s a five-star hotel and looks out onto Travis Park, which is a lovely place to sit and eat my lunch.
I had only just started working for Nilsson Worldwide three weeks before, and I was thrilled to be here. I was the banquet coordinator’s second assistant, which meant that I ran errands, answered the phone if no one else was around, and made sure the banquet set-ups were correct. I also put printed cards with event names in the frames beside each of the entrance doors.
The banquet coordinator was Bernice Meyerson, a tall, well-dressed woman in her fifties with iron gray hair cut in a severe bob. She was supposed to attend a week-long company mixer being held in the hotel, but after attending the first day, she decided that I could go in her place for the rest of the week.
“Is that allowed?” I asked.
“It is if I say it is,” she said and handed me her event name-tag which hung from a lanyard. Inside the plastic envelope that held her name card were tickets for the various meals and events. “Besides, you can take notes and bring back any vital information.”
“Isn’t it supposed to be a networking event?”
Bernice made a face. “I’ve been to these before. They’re a waste of time, and I’d rather waste your time than mine.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said and hung her ID around my neck, making it face the wrong way. I was not going to complain. I’d seen the menus for this event and the food was going to be fantastic. I said, “What should I do if anyone asks me what I’m doing there?”
“Tell them the truth, that you’re standing in for me. Say something came up. Make it sound temporary.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
She smiled. “Who knows, maybe you’ll win a door prize. I’ve heard that last year, they handed out iPhones.”
“Nice.”
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��Have fun,” she said dismissively and looked back at her computer screen. “And I’ll see you on Monday.”
I looked at a printed brochure that listed the Mixer events. I supposed that in a way, I was on a paid vacation – a mini retreat. Fine with me.
That afternoon there was going to be a scavenger hunt. That might be fun, although how they would coordinate it in a hotel, I didn’t know. I didn’t think they’d want us knocking on guests’ doors, asking if they had a stapler or a picture of Elvis we could borrow.
Tuesday’s activities started with a brunch in a large hallway outside one of our medium sized conference rooms. By the time I got there, it was already after nine a.m., and all the miniature quiches were gone, as were the chocolate chip muffins. I took a small cinnamon roll and nibbled on it as I walked into the meeting room, which was filled with a sea of people – mostly wearing suits like myself. I decided to sit near the back.
The opening speaker was humorous. He talked about understanding different personality types and walked us through a PowerPoint presentation. Then a bubbly woman got up and talked about the importance of really seeing each other – walking in another’s shoes so to speak.
I glanced briefly at my pretty navy pumps with their pointed toes and the tiny bows in front. I lifted my feet slightly off the floor and stretched my ankles, rotating them.
My seat neighbour, a middle-aged woman with cluster pearl earrings, saw the direction of my glance and whispered, “Your shoes are so cute.”
“Thanks.”
“I could never wear them. I need room for my toes. Bunions.”
I looked at her sensible boxy black pumps and then back at her face. I whispered, “That’s terrible. My aunt has bunions. Have you tried those little silicon spacers?”
She frowned. “No.”
I quickly looked them up online on my phone and showed her a picture. “They fit between your toes. My aunt says they’ve saved her life.”
The woman was interested. “Do they really work?”
“I think so,” I said and quickly looked up another website. “And if you’re looking for more comfortable shoes that are still cute, check out this manufacturer.”
Roses from a Billionaire: A Clean Billionaire Romance (Lone Star Billionaires, #2) Page 1