by Ivy Jordan
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MR. BILLIONAIRE
By Ivy Jordan
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Ivy Jordan
Chapter One
Stella
My phone directed me toward a set of large black gates. As I reached out the window of my 2012 Kia Forte to push the intercom button, my nerves rattled my securities.
“Good morning. Can I help you?” a male voice echoed through the small speaker near the gate.
“I’m Stella Griffin. I’m here for an interview,” I said, my voice shaking a bit as I spoke.
“Yes. Come on in.”
A buzzer sounded, and suddenly the gates opened in front of me.
The ad for the nanny position was simple, nothing fancy. I’d had no idea it was for such a wealthy family. I pulled my car forward, driving slowly up the smooth blacktop drive. Large trees landscaped the path to the house, and then opened to a beautiful lawn, complete with a tire swing hanging from a lone elm in the middle of the yard.
I parked my car, took a deep breath, and forced myself to get out of the car. I needed this job.
My blue heels clacked against the pavement as I walked toward the steps leading to the heavy wooden front door. My fists clenched, and I worked hard to swallow as my nerves began to increase with every step I took.
The floor flung open before I had a chance to ring the bell, leaving me frozen in my spot on the top step of the entrance. The man, beautiful and refined, stood in the doorway with a warm smile. “You must be Stella,” he said, motioning me inside.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I said warmly, extending my hand to his.
A soft, callous-free hand gripped mine. It was a hand that probably never seen a hard day’s work in its life. “Gavin Bellefonte,” he said strongly, and then released his tight grip from my hand.
I followed him as he turned and walked inside. The home was just as impressive inside as it had been on the outside. Tall ceilings hovered above with crystal chandeliers hanging for a dramatic touch. The floors were made of marble, and with every step, my heels echoed a disturbing noise through the large room.
“Tell me a little about yourself, Stella,” he said, sitting on a white sectional just off the entrance.
“Well, I guess I could start by telling you I’m twenty-six. I have a degree in fine arts, and I paint in my free time,” I rambled.
“An artist?” he asked, his eyebrow raising.
I hated the way people looked at me when they found out I was an artist. It was almost as bad as when they found out I was a nanny. “Yes,” I said softly.
His lips curled into a smile as he crossed his tan, bare legs. My eyes drifted toward his large calves as he sat. “Please, have a seat,” he offered, motioning to the chair across from him.
I was nervous. He was gorgeous. I knew I looked like a rambling idiot. I sat, took a deep breath, and calmed myself down.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
I shook my head and smiled.
My throat tightened as I worked to swallow. “I’ve been a nanny for four years,” I said quickly.
“Great. So, you like kids?” he asked.
“Yes. I love them,” I admitted.
“My daughter is ten. I would expect whomever I hire to sign a contract to stay on until she turns eighteen,” he said with a serious tone.
“Of course,” I agreed.
In the ad I responded to, it did say ‘long-term,’ which wasn’t so unusual. Most parents didn’t want people flying in and out of their children’s lives. They wanted stability. “That wouldn’t interfere with your future plans?” he asked.
“No. As I said, I paint in my free time,” I smiled.
“Why did you leave your last position? Did the child turn eighteen?” he asked curiously.
I felt panic stirring in my blood. I wasn’t sure the truth was the best way to go with Gavin Bellefonte. “No. They were twelve and fourteen,” I said quickly, avoiding the part about why I left.
“And the reason you left?” he inquired.
My heart raced at the thought of telling him the truth. The father, Larry Evans, was a lawyer who worked long hours, and his wife spent most of her time aboard with her fashion company. Living in the house with a lonely, overworked man proved to be a problem when one night he grabbed me from behind. His hands were wild and fast, caressing all the delicate and private parts of my body before I could pull away. I didn’t want to destroy the family, so I quit.
“I felt the arrangement was no longer suitable to my needs,” I said, feeling relief flow over me as I come up with the answer.
Gavin looked at me, eyed me, really. His eyebrow lifted, his lips tightened, and even though I thought he would ask for more detail, he didn’t.
“Is that your CV?” he asked.
I nodded and handed him the paper clenched in my hand. He read through it while I sat there across from him, nervously awaiting the next question.
“You do have good references from the previous family?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes. Of course.”
His eyes rested on my blue high heel, and then slowly slid up my leg, my body, making me squirm in my seat until they finally met mine.
“There is another matter to discuss before I make any decision,” he said softly.
He leaned in toward me as if he was going to let me in on a secret. His dark hair was drizzled with silver flecks, and his bright-blue eyes glistening as the sunlight pushed through the large open window behind me. He was a handsome man. Not just handsome for an older man, but the kind of handsome you see in GQ magazines, or on billboards advertising men’s briefs or body wash. His intense stare made me nervous, and a little uncomfortable.
There was no mention of a Mrs. Bellefonte, which both excited and scared me at the same time.
“Did you notice the part in the ad that mentioned ‘specific stipulations?’” he asked.
I nodded. It was an odd thing to see in the type of ad he placed, but I hadn’t given it much thought. I assumed it was a special diet, or that I needed to be a non-smoker.
“I’m not looking to hire just a nanny,” he said quickly.
My heart raced as he continued to stare into my eyes.
“I would want you to play a part. You’re an artist, so I assume you understand,” he said.
“Play a part?” I asked curiously.
My mind raced with ideas of what that could mean. Did he expect me to clean the house naked, give him bubble baths? Shit, what if there isn’t a kid, and he wants me to be his nanny, changing his pretend diapers and powdering his butt?
“I’m a very busy man, Stella. I don’t have time for dating, but I feel it’s important for my daughter to have a woman around. I also feel it’s extremely important she have some idea of what a healthy relationship looks like,” he said quickly.
I was growing very confused as he spoke.
“I would expect you to play the part of my girlfriend, and of course, a mother-figure to my daughter,” he concluded, and leaned back against the sofa cushion.
I knew my mouth had fallen open, and my eyes had to be filled with confusion and shock. I left one position where the husband was coming on to me, for one that I would…what, sleep with the dad, and pretend we were a couple?
“I’m prepared to offer you one million dollars a year. That is eight million dollars for the completed contract,” he stated professionally.
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. Holy shit!
“A million dollars?” I gasped, surely, my mouth still hanging open.
“There will be certain stipulations, as stated. You cannot date anyone else. You will stay in my house, sleep
in my bed, and attend all public events by my side. I will give you an allowance for clothing for any formal events. You will be given a car, a driver if needed, and even though it will appear to the world, to my daughter, that we are a couple, you will understand that we are not. When the contract is over, I will no longer require your services,” he said sternly.
I calculated the time, realizing I would be thirty-four before I could even look for a real relationship. His eyes burnt through me, creating a heat between my legs that I enjoyed. “So, I would be required to sleep with you?” I asked.
“In my bed, yes. Sex is negotiable. I expect that after you get used to me, it shouldn’t be a problem, and that you, of course, would enjoy it,” he said with a smile.
“But no. I do not plan on forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do, Stella. But you will be required to show affection toward me, both in public, and at home,” he added.
I was dumbfounded, and intrigued.
He reached into a small drawer, pulling out a stapled packed of papers. “This is the contract,” he said, pushing it toward me. “Have your lawyer look it over, and if you decided to take the job, it’s yours. But I will need an answer by the end of the day,” he said quickly.
I nodded, still unable to speak. I shook his hand and let him show me to the door. My heart was racing, my mind reeling. I wasn’t sure what I should do. Should I do it? It was almost too good to be true.
I sat in my small apartment, staring out the window to the streets below. Kids were playing basketball in the courtyard below, the net torn from the hoops, the grass gone, and with the help of the sun’s glistening light, broken glass on the ground sparkled. It was a horrible neighborhood, but it was all I could afford.
My last job, with the Evans family, I had lived with them in their modest townhome. My pay wasn’t much, but enough to buy paint supplies, have a night out occasionally, and make my car payment. I hadn’t saved up much, and I knew after paying for this dump, my bank account was diminishing quickly.
I needed this job. A million dollars a year, eight million dollars in eight years. I sighed, pushing open the first page of the contract.
The lingo was confusing, and the only lawyer I knew was my cousin Tiffany. It was embarrassing to make the call, but I couldn’t afford a lawyer on my own.
“I’ll be over in an hour, after I leave court,” Tiffany said without hesitation.
We’d been best friends growing up, the only young girls in a mostly male family.
I paced the floors, reading, and re-reading the contract while I waited on her to arrive. When I finally heard a knock on the door, I rushed to let her inside.
“What is the urgency?” she asked, concern in her voice.
I pushed the contract toward her, quickly explained my offer, and then watched her as she started to read.
“Are you actually considering this?” she asked.
I nodded. My cheeks burnt red as my embarrassment grew. “If I do, you can’t mention it to anyone. There’s lawyer-client confidentiality, isn’t there?” I said quickly.
She laughed. “Yeah, for clients that pay.”
I pulled a twenty out of my purse and shoved it toward her, “I’ll pay you whatever you want when I get paid, but take this as a deposit. Please. He made it very clear that even my closest friends and family couldn’t know this was an agreement,” I pleaded.
She took the twenty and shoved in her purse. “Okay. You’re seriously going to do this?” she asked.
“Should I?” I asked.
She sat down at my kitchen table, read through the agreement, and then smiled. “It’s a sweet deal. Does he have room for two pretend girlfriends?” she laughed.
“You do realize that you can’t have any romantic life of your own, or you are obligated to return any money you’ve received?” she asked, her tone growing more serious.
I nodded.
“I’ve not exactly been doing great in that department,” I laughed.
She’d listened to me whine about Hans, the Swedish trainer at my gym. He was the closest thing I’d had to a real relationship since college, and he was too self-absorbed to ever settle down.
“Okay. If you’re serious, I’ll represent you,” she said firmly.
I gave her a quick hug as she stood to leave. “I have to get back to the office. Call me with an address and time,” she said.
I hesitated to call Gavin once she left. Was I doing the right thing? A million dollars, eight million dollars.
I made the call, and Gavin was gracious with my acceptance. “We can sign the papers this evening. Is six o’clock okay with you?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ll bring my attorney, if that’s okay,” I replied.
“I wouldn’t expect it any other way,” he said quickly, and then hung up.
Tiffany agreed to pick me up at a coffee shop near Gavin’s home. I drank three cups while waiting on her, and by the time she arrived, I was wired for sound.
“You’re a mess,” she laughed, pushing open her passenger door.
I didn’t speak during the short ride to Gavin’s estate. We both walked inside when he greeted us, and I let Tiffany do most of the talking.
When it was time for me to sign, Gavin smiled, handing me a gold pen. His hand brushed against mine softly as his eyes smiled into mine. “This is just an agreement,” he said clearly.
I nodded, took the pen, and signed the next eight years of my life away to this man.
“You will be moving in tomorrow afternoon. I expect you to arrive by two o’clock, so you can be settled in before Isabella returns home from school,” he said with a smile.
“I’ll be here,” I assured him, and then took the first week’s check written out for nearly twenty-thousand dollars.
Tiffany gushed about how handsome Gavin was as she drove me to my car. “Call me if you need anything,” she said, gripping my hand tightly in hers as I opened the car door.
This was it. I signed.
There wasn’t much to pack in my small apartment. I shoved my picture albums, my important papers, and a few keepsakes in a large duffle, and used my only suitcase to carry all of my clothes. Since college, I’d worked for the Evans family, and I had never been required to dress in anything more formal than yoga pants and a t-shirt. This was going to be a totally different experience.
A black Lincoln pulled up in front of my apartment just before two o’clock. My phone beeped with a message from Gavin’s number, instructing me that the driver would help me load my bags. I’d planned on driving, but remembered Gavin saying I’d be equipped with a car. I guess a woman driving a Kia Forte wasn’t exactly in his league.
It felt surreal as the man wearing a tuxedo shirt and black jacket took my bags. I slid into the backseat, practiced the breathing exercises Hans taught me, and tried not to overthink it. This was a good thing, a great opportunity. I repeated those statements over and over in my head until pulling up in front of Gavin’s house.
“Glad you made it,” Gavin said, quickly ushering me into the house.
Glad I made it? I laughed to myself at the thought. How could I not have made it when he’d sent a driver to collect me?
“Let me show you around,” he said sweetly.
The house was intimidatingly large, and as he showed me room after room, I felt as though I’d need a map to find my way around again.
“Our room is upstairs,” he said, taking the first step up the spiraling staircase.
Our room; it just sounded so strange.
I followed him up the stairs, and down the long, wide hall. He pushed opened the double doors, revealing a large master bedroom, complete with a canopy bed, terrace, and marble bathroom. “This is your closet,” he said, pushing open doors to a room larger than my bedroom at the Evans’.
“I’m sure you’ll have no problem filling it with the allowance you’ll receive,” he laughed.
Tiffany told me my allowance had been stipulated in the contract. I would receive ten th
ousand a month for clothing, incidentals, beauty treatments, and other items related to keeping up the appearance of Gavin Bellefonte’s girlfriend. On top of that amount, any formal event attended would earn an additional ten thousand for formal attire, special preparation, and time spent. I was in awe. This can’t be real. I must’ve fallen and hit my head. I knew I had to be in a coma in some crappy hospital, dreaming up this world.
“We met on my trip to Barcelona six months ago, and we’ve been Skyping ever since. You have family here, but you lived in Barcelona, where you studied your arts. We are in love, and you adore me, so you agreed to move here and stay with me and my daughter,” he said quickly.
It felt as though I was in whirlwind, gathering information too quickly to absorb. I wondered how long it had taken him to come up with that back story. “That’s what you’ll tell everyone,” he said.
I’d never been to Barcelona. What if someone asked me a specific question? Ugh. I was getting in too deep.
“There’s Isabella,” he said, gripping my hand in his.
It was odd, holding his hand as we descended from the staircase and into the large entry.
A beautiful little girl stood in the sitting room. Her hair was blonde, curly, and her eyes bright blue, the only thing that she seemed to inherit from her father. “This is Stella,” Gavin said, pulling me into his side.
His arm slid over me, feeling like a strange weight as the little girl looked up at me and smiled.
“Glad to meet you,” she said.
I knelt down to her level, extended my hand, and let her grip me with her tender fingers for a quick shake. “I’m so glad to meet you, Isabella,” I said.
The driver who’d picked me up earlier nodded and left from the front door. “You’ll pick Isabella up from school starting tomorrow. I believe it is good bonding time for her,” Gavin said , his voice softening as he spoke of his little girl.
The next two hours were spent getting to know Isabella while Gavin worked in his office with the door shut. She was a very interesting girl. She loved to paint, so it excited her that I’d studied in Barcelona. We agreed to go shopping and set up a studio in the large home where we could both paint as we desired.