Lucky Daddy: A Billionaire Fake Fiancé Romance

by Eva Luxe

  Not a single car.

  What is going on!?

  I do a quick survey of the ground floor of the house, checking the kitchen, the back deck, a game room and a second living room, and after all that I realize the truth: I’m alone.

  I take the stairs back up to the second floor. I know he’s not up here, but part of me isn’t ready to accept it, so I head back to his wing and into the bedroom. And like I thought, no Chris. But his scent is still here. It’s all over the room. It’s all over me, and I can feel myself about to freak out.

  How could he do this to me? Am I really that stupid? Am I just another girl who fell for the sweet talk of a football stud? How many girls has he run that same game on?

  I’m an idiot.

  I turn to go, but that’s when I see it. I stop dead in my tracks.

  There, on the bedside table, is a stack of money. My heart drops into my stomach and all I can do is stand there, frozen like an ice sculpture of a girl who looks like Janelle.

  Finally, when my feet are able to move, I cross the room. It’s a stack of twenties, and it’s bigger than any stack of money I’ve ever seen. In disbelief I pick it up and start counting. My breath catches in my chest when I realize the amount.

  Two thousand dollars.

  Confusion, anger and sadness hit me like three bowling balls to the head and I have to sit down on the bed before my knees give out from under me. The room suddenly feels hot – stifling. Chris’s scent is no longer a welcome guest in my nostrils, but an invading army, looting and pillaging as it sees fit.

  He thinks I’m a whore!

  His words at the diner: “come back to the house and dance for us, and I’ll tip you more tonight than you’ll make in a month.””

  My hands tighten around the stack of money, crumpling it like a stack of dry leaves. I can feel my pulse in my fingers as I squeeze, harder and harder, wishing the bills would turn to dust. I squeeze so hard it hurts, and then, at the top of my lungs, I scream and hurl the money across the room.

  The bills fan out and flutter down around me, landing on the bed, the floor and Chris’s chair and desk. If he thinks I’m going to take his money as payment for last night, he’s sorely mistaken.

  I’m getting out of here. I move for the door before I realize; I don’t have a car. Carla was my ride and there’s no one here.

  Where’s my purse?

  I check the room quickly but I know I must have left it in Carla’s car. This is just going from bad to worse. At least I have my cell phone. I snatch it off the floor and call Carla. It rings and rings and goes to voicemail.

  “Hey, you’ve got Carla! You know what to do!”

  I hang up. If she’s not picking up her phone that means she’s nowhere near her phone, which means leaving a message is completely useless. Either she’s sleeping in with whatever dude she took home, or she’s gone out with him somewhere and is completely ignoring her cell. Either way, I’m not getting ahold of her.

  I debate calling my mom, but she’s been weak lately and needs her rest. I look at the twenty dollar bills scattered around the room and twist my lips. I won’t take his money, but I can at least use it to get a cab.

  I look up the number for a cab and press the number. A man picks up after two rings.

  “Northbend Taxi.”

  “Hi, I’d like a taxi please,” I say.

  “What’s the address?”

  I realize I don’t know the address.

  “Uhm…this is going to sound weird, but I don’t really know?”

  “Well, that’s gonna make things a bit difficult,” the man says with a chuckle. “You downtown? Got any landmarks?”

  “Not downtown,” I say slowly. “But I guess you could say I’m at a landmark.”

  “Lay it on me,” he replies.

  “Do you know Chris Mitchell’s house?”

  The roar of laughter from the other end of the line lets me know that he does.

  “Oh, sure,” he cackles. “We’ve had more than our fair share of business from the Mitchell homestead! The walk of shame is real! Well, I guess I should say, the cab ride of shame!”

  His laughter sends daggers shooting through my skin and my pulse quickens.

  Cab ride of shame!

  I want to hurl my phone across the room and smash it into a million pieces, but that wouldn’t do anything for me or my situation.

  “Would you just send a car!?” I snap.

  “Sure, sure, little lady,” the man snorts. “It’ll be ten minutes.”

  I hang up and slump down on the floor and lean back against the bed. There’s no way I could feel like any more of an idiot than I feel now. It’s just not fair. I didn’t want any of this to happen. It’s not like I was looking for a man!

  Northbend is filled with hopeful football players, jock douchebags and arrogant pricks that think they’re God’s gift to women when really they’re just blowhards that aren’t going to amount of anything and will end up trying to pinch my ass at the diner in a couple of years.

  The only good guy, or at least I thought was a good guy, was my ex, Andy. Andy was different. He was interesting, artistic, thoughtful and could hold a conversation. We went out for all of senior year, and I thought we’d stay together for the long haul.

  But when Andy’s ex-girlfriend, Sasha, who moved to Utah during sophomore year, started texting him, things started to go bad.

  They never really broke up, she just moved away with her family and I guess there were still feelings there, because after just a few weeks of being in contact with her, Andy broke the news to me.

  “It’s not that I don’t love you, Janelle,” he told me. “It’s just that I still have feelings for Sasha. We shared something, you know? And she’s coming back here for school next year and we’re going to try again.”

  His words were like hot barbs through my heart. After graduation he got his own apartment in Greensburg, two towns away, and started seeing Sasha again. I had to block him from all social media because I knew I’d just check in on him constantly and the heartbreak would never end.

  After that I swore off men. I started hanging out with Carla whenever I wasn’t working, taking care of my mom and painting. I’d always liked to paint back in junior high school, but life just got too busy and I gave it up. After Andy I swore I’d focus on myself.

  But then Chris came swooping into my life like something out of a dream. He blasted straight through my defenses and right into my end zone. Seems like he’s more of a running back than a linebacker.

  And now here I am, sitting on his floor, almost in tears, surrounded by an insulting pile of money after being lied to and treated like a whore.

  What was I thinking?

  After what must be ten minutes I hear a honk out front. I grab two twenties off the floor and head for the door, but then I get an idea. Why should Chris get this money back? It’s technically mine now. I can do what I want with it. Quickly, I grab the bills off the floor and fold them into a wad that makes me feel like some kind of gangster.

  I leave Chris’s wing and take the stairs two at a time, yank open the front door and leave it open behind me. The fresh air feels amazing as I step outside. Anything right now is better than being in Chris-fucking-Mitchell’s house!

  I don’t even hesitate, but head straight for the cab, pull open the door and slide in the back seat.

  “Fourteen Garden Lane, please,” I tell the driver.

  It’s less than two miles home, but the drive seems to take forever. My mind just won’t stop whirring. Thoughts of Chris and the diner and the party all spin like a storm I can’t seem to calm. I’m not sure if it’s anger or anxiety, or a combination of both, but it feels like I have a hundred tiny people in my stomach and they’re all playing on trampolines.

  When we finally pull up to my apartment, I’m ready to explode. If only I could stop thinking about Chris and all those things he said to me. They seemed too genuine! But of course it was all lies. I should have listened t
o my inner voice that was telling me “No, Janelle! No!”

  But I didn’t. I fell for that smile, those chiseled abs and those bulging biceps. Just like every other girl. And I guess that’s what really pisses me off: I’m just like every other girl to Chris, and that’s all I’ll ever be.

  “Seventeen eighty-five,” the driver says from the front seat. Without hesitating, I hand him the entire stack of bills and open the door. I should keep it. I know I should. But it makes me feel like a whore, and I don’t want it. I don’t want his money. I don’t want to admit that my life has been changed by him at all. Maybe – just maybe, I can convince myself that none of this ever happened.

  “Keep the change,” I tell him over my shoulder as I walk up the path to my apartment. I can hear him shout something at me from the car, but I’m already unlocking my front door and stepping inside.

  I need to do something to get my mind off of Chris.

  But that’s easier said than done. Sitting on my couch staring out the window isn’t going to help matters. My apartment may not be much, just a living room, a bedroom and a tiny kitchenette, but it’s comfortable. And that’s the problem.

  I just want to stay here and curl up like a ball and sleep for three weeks and wake up with the memory of Chris Mitchell completely gone from my mind. But of course that’s not going to happen. So I need to do something.

  I call Carla again but she’s still not answering. Whatever it is, she’s having a better time than I am.

  Maybe I’ll call my mom. I always feel guilty doing that though. At twenty years old, I ought to be able to handle a guy making me feel like shit without having to call and cry to mom. And how am I going to explain this one anyway?

  “Yeah, hi, mom! Yeah, you know Chris Mitchell? The football player? Well he invited me over to his house to dance with him for money, and I said yes, but when we got there he carried me up to his room and fucked my brains out and I fell in love with him like an idiot and then he bailed on me in the morning and left $2,000 by the bed as some sort of payment. So yeah, I pretty much feel like a whore. Can you make me feel better!?”

  Yeah, that would go well.

  Maybe I can just call her to have a chat anyway. Anything is better than nothing right now. I pick up my phone and just as I do, it vibrates. I check the screen: NORTHBEND HOSPITAL.

  My heart almost stops. I answer immediately.

  “Hello!?”

  “Hi, is this Janelle?” A woman’s voice on the other end of the line.

  “It is.”

  “Hi, Janelle. It’s Jennifer over at Northbend Hospital. I work in the Emergency Room. We have your mom here – she’s okay, she just got a little lightheaded when she was out at the store and one of the cashiers called an ambulance.”

  “Oh, God,” I say, feeling my anxiety rise up again. “You said she’s okay?”

  “She is,” Jennifer reassures me. “We gave her some fluids and a bed. She’s resting now if you’d like to come see her.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be right there.”

  I hang up and take a second to compose myself. Between Chris and my mom it seems like nothing is going right in my life. Where is Carla when I need her?

  I call the cab company, and thankfully, the driver I just left a fortune to, was just a few blocks away. He picks me up and tries giving me the money back – or at least getting an explanation from me, but he can see from my face I’m not in a talking mood.

  The ride to the hospital is too familiar, and my heart is racing the entire time. I know Jennifer said my mom was fine, but I won’t feel okay until I’m sitting beside her holding her hand.

  I pass a slow van and take the sharp right into the long drive toward the hospital. Luckily there’s an open parking slot. I pull in, shut the car off and walk quickly through the sliding doors of the Emergency Room.

  The staff here knows me so it’s no problem when I just walk straight through the door and into the back. It seems to be a slow day today, thankfully. Seeing other sick or wounded people really gets my mom down.

  I find her in the third room on the right.

  “Mom!” I exclaim as I rush over to her side and take her hand. She’s warm and I squeeze it tightly. “How are you? Are you okay? What happened!?”

  “I’m okay, honey,” she says with her usual soothing voice that almost makes me forget that she’s sick. “Just got a little hot and dehydrated I guess.”

  “Dehydrated!? Mom!”

  “I know, I know. You’re always telling me I should drink more and you’re right.”

  I smile-frown at my mom. At forty-four years old she’s still stunning, despite her battle with cancer. Growing up, all the boys at my school were making MILF jokes and thinking they were just so hilarious. I learned to ignore it. I have her nose, wider than it is long, her big brown eyes and her hair – thick and brown and sometimes impossible to manage.

  “How are you?” She asks me. “You look upset. Is everything all right?”

  “I’m just worried about you,” I lie. There’s no way I’m going to bring up Chris and his bullshit while I’m sitting in the hospital. “Did they say when you can get out of here?”

  “Oh, I think they’re working on it now,” mom replies. I can see it in her eyes that she’s not buying my explanation, but she’s not going to push it. “Hopefully soon.”

  It takes about a half an hour for mom to get discharged. We spend the time chitchatting about the usual things: how bad hospital food is, the most interesting patients who have come in, the bad artwork on the walls and how hard it must be to work the night shift here.

  We cab back to her house, which is only a couple of blocks from my apartment. She is doing better now, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying. It’s hard seeing anyone sick, but when it’s your parent, your mother, who you’ve seen suffering for a long time now, it’s worse.

  “You want a drink?” I ask her as she gets settled on the couch.

  “That’d be nice,” she replies. I grab her a mandarin seltzer and some ice and bring it over.

  “Thank you, honey,” she says as she takes the glass and has a sip. “Now tell me. What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I lie. I really don’t want to bother her with my story of Chris. It just doesn’t seem like something you confess to your mom. “Just…boy problems. You know how it goes.”

  “Don’t I ever,” my mom says with a look of commiseration. “But I can see you don’t want to talk about it. So I won’t push it.”

  “It’s just—” I stop myself. I want to vent, but not to her – not now. Where the Hell is Carla when you need her!? “I dunno. I just made the wrong decision. I thought a guy was someone he wasn’t. Stupid mistake.”

  “Well,” my mom says, putting a hand on my thigh. “Don’t worry yourself with it. You’ll be fine. I know it.”

  My mom is right. She’s always right.

  With or without Chris Mitchell – I will be all right.

  So what if he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on? So what if he blew my mind in bed more than I knew was possible, and probably has more moves in him that would blow my mind again? None of that matters if the guy himself is a lying asshole that would probably cheat on me the second I let him call me his girlfriend.

  With or without Chris-fucking-Mitchell, I will be all right.

  Chapter 8

  Janelle

  Two months later…

  “Hey, sweet thang! Why don’t you come over here and show me a little love!?”

  If only I had a dollar for every time I had to deal with one of these loud-mouthed drunks shouting at me. I’d be able to buy my way out of this town, get my mom the best treatment available and have money left over. Maybe I’d buy Chris’s house and just burn it down.

  Two months. It’s been two months and a day hasn’t gone by that Chris hasn’t invaded my mind. There’s nothing worse than not feeling in control of your own thoughts. And whether I like to admit it or not, even when he’s not here, Ch
ris is in control of mine.

  Two months and I haven’t heard a word from him. He doesn’t have my number, of course, and doesn’t know where I live, but he knows where I work. It’s where we met!

  If he cared, which I realize he does not, he could have come in any night and apologized. Apologized for lying to me, for playing with my emotions, for leaving $2,000 by the bed and treating me like a whore. But he hasn’t.

  And not a night of work has gone by when I don’t hear the bell of the door and turn to look, half expecting to see his gorgeous face stepping into the diner, an apology on his lips that he would make me believe.

  “Hey!” The voice roars again from behind me. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some service around here!?”

  “Shut up!” I shout, whirling around and stamping my foot like a little girl. “I will get to you when I get to you!”

  Well, there goes my tip, I think as I shove open the door to the kitchen. It’s a full house tonight and the grill is working overtime. The whole place smells like burgers and bacon and the steam and smoke is so thick I can barely breathe. The only relief is the small fan Jim has wedged into the window and secured with duct tape. I make my way over to it and gulp fresh air as I lean against the wall.

  “You want me to take him?” I hear Carla’s voice from behind me and turn to face her. I must look like absolute shit.

  “When did you get here?” I ask her, fanning myself with one hand.

  “Just now,” she says. “Why is it so fucking hot in here?”

  “Because Doris is too cheap to buy an air conditioner?”

  Carla rolls her eyes in agreement and sets her bag down. She pours herself a glass of water and takes a sip, but I can see in her eyes there’s something she wants to say.

  “What?” I ask her.

  “Well,” she says cautiously. “I’ve got something to tell you, but I don’t want to upset you.”

  “What is it?”

  “If I tell you, you have to promise not to freak out,” she tells me, which just angers me more.