Billionaires and Beach Bums: Two Complete BWWM Romance Novellas

by Mia Caldwell

  “Of course you are.”

  “Nah, I’m not really. I never got into martial arts. But we’ll be fine.” I smile as she laughs. You know how you’ll read that someone has a musical laugh and you’ll think “that’s stupid”? She does, though. Her laugh is like music. To me, anyway. Might sound like a donkey braying to you. Your loss.

  I pay the check–tipping generously, of course–and we go out into the night, Fredo’s pleas that we have dessert following us out the door.

  Away from the coastline, the trade winds aren’t as strong. The air has that soft, tropical humidity. We walk quietly for a while, past the little cinder block and stucco houses, each a different color from the one beside it.

  “This has an appeal, you know?” Kiera says as we pass a pink house with a low orange wall around its little yard. “Just a simple life. Low expenses, a job that you just do for 8 hours or whatever and then leave it behind. Come home to your family, dog, goat or whatever. Party with the neighbors on the weekend. Never worry about the loans or making partner or who will be the next Supreme Court justice nominee.”

  “Do you think you’d really like it?”

  She laughs, “For about a week, yeah. But maybe if it’s all I knew…”

  “That’s the thing, isn’t it? Hard to keep ’em down on the farm, now that they’ve seen Paree.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” she asks.

  “Eh, an old song. From a World War, I think, once they’ve seen Paris, the boys won’t want to stay on the farm. Maybe the people in that house long to see DC.”

  “Yeah, I guess freedom to do both is idea. So how’d you do it, orphan boy?”

  “Right place at the right time, mostly. The thrill-seeker in me was well suited to start-ups, so I worked at a lot of them and got good experience. Then I made an app for skaters to share pictures and videos with each other. It wasn’t going to dethrone any of the giants, but it managed to get a little buzz right at the time Google was buying up anything they might want or that might become a threat. So they offered me 15 million dollars. I, of course, took it. Since then, I’ve had good luck with investments. Being a venture capitalist was almost as exciting as skating and start-ups. That’s when I got introduced to surfing, too. It’s pretty popular with people that seek risk in business.” I paused, hadn’t really made the connection until talking it out here. “So’s heroin, in a slightly different sort. I guess we’re all junkies, seeing that rush. Luckily, mine came from waves and investing instead of shooting up.” I smile at her, “Probably wouldn’t have met you in an opium den.”

  She snorts. “No, not unless I’d found a LivingSocial deal for a two-for-one. And now you just sail around looking for a bitchin’ wave? Why were you here, you said it wasn’t much of a surf spot.”

  “There’s a poker tournament in town. I sometimes like to play–that rush again. I’m not super into it though, so really, it’s odd that I came in for this one.” I take her hand and stop walking. “I’m glad I did.” I don’t say what I really think–that it was some kind of weird fate thing. I was supposed to come here to meet her. I know it would freak her out. And I can see I’ve freaked her a little already.

  She does smile and gives my hand a squeeze, but her eyes dart away when she says, “Me too.”

  We walk on quietly again.

  When we make it back to the jeep, I ask, “So, will you come back to my place? It’s been a good day, I don’t want it to end.”

  “Oh, Tyler,” my heart sinks, I know what’s coming, "I don’t think so. Dinner is still weighing me down, I’ve had too much wine, and I’m still so tired. But really, it was a very good day and I’d like to see you tomorrow. But I need to sleep in my own bed," she grins, “alone tonight.”

  I smile back at her and start the jeep. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, around 10? 11? Want to catch the low tide for practice, right?”

  She laughs and it seems real. “Right. See you at ten.”

  The kiss she gives me before she leaves the jeep seems real, too. Delicious. It’s really hard to let her go. But I get to watch her walk away, which is also nice.

  At the front desk the next morning, I ask them to buzz Kiera’s room.

  “Oh,” the receptionist says with a rueful smile. “Miss Simpson had to check out early. But she left you this.”

  My heart feels cold as I take the envelope from her. My stomach is a knot as I open the note to see her neat handwriting and read:

  I’m sorry to have left without saying goodbye. I’m just no good at them. I found out the Donmesco trial is starting a week earlier than we thought, so I really need to get back and get to work. My boss is going to be a monster as it is. Thanks for a wonderful time. I really had fun. You were the highlight of my vacation.

  Well, crap.

  Kiera

  In case you’re wondering, it is possible to cry for five hours straight.

  It was partly the sleeplessness, partly the fact that my muscles ached like I’d been in a pilates-a-thon, partly guilt at the way I left, but mostly I just felt miserable. I’m sure my seatmate thought I was flying to my own execution. I’d get it together for a bit and then picture Tyler’s big friendly face when he saw my stupid note. Get it together and remember how it felt when he stood behind me on the surfboard, teaching me how to stand. Get it together and remember how he looked in the candlelight of the restaurant, trying to make light of his childhood, trying to make me laugh. Lots of tears.

  I think it’s for the best though. I’d only known him for a day–less! But Tyler made me feel…I don’t know the right word. A couple of years ago, I let Andrea talk me into going skydiving. The feeling when you’re standing in the open door of the plane, knowing that nothing is ever going to be the same, that it might be good and you might die and there’s no way to know until you jump? It’s like that. Breathless. Scared.

  And me? I am not an adrenaline junkie. I like an orderly life. Sure, I usually party pretty hard on the weekends, but even that is on the schedule. I go to the same bar, with the same colleagues. Even when I was hooking up often, I knew ahead of time that I was going to. I’d leave the house with that plan. I’m not good at uncertainty. So when I checked my email on the hotel computer and saw that the trial was starting early…well, it felt like more of a sure thing. Solid.

  I need to focus on my job. I tell myself I’ll try to find Tyler again if I ever break free. I’ll find him and send him the message that I did it, that I won’t die in a soul-crushing hellscape. But right now, the head demon is paying my bills and he needs me to work 18 hour days to prepare for this case.

  We’re representing Donmesco, a huge company that, among other things, makes fertilizer. They have bought the rights to mine a beach and bay in Chile for the phosphorous in the sand. The environmental group Oceanica is suing to stop them from proceeding, claiming that a fragile ecosystem will be utterly destroyed. Our position, mostly, is “so what?” Of course, we’ll have to frame it as “Of course not.” It’s going to be a long and ugly fight. I can’t waste my energy crying about what might have been, with a guy I hardly knew.

  So for the next month, I just throw myself into the case. I’m getting pretty good at ignoring the stuff that turns my stomach, that makes it hard to look in the mirror. I just do the job that’s in front of me and try not to think about the big picture. In addition to preparing for the trial, I agreed to organize the annual Potomac river cruise dinner dance for the Young Lawyers Association. It’s not a lot of work, but given how little spare time the trial prep is leaving me, I really don’t have a lot of time to wonder if Tyler is thinking about me. I can’t dwell on my suspicion that leaving early was a mistake. I don’t have the space in my head for thoughts of “What if he was The One?” Besides, that’s all nonsense, right? Right. No tattoos, no brooding bitterness about his childhood, good sense of humor, self-sufficient. Who wants that?

  It makes for a pretty grueling schedule. I’m just exhausted all the time, but I have to drag m
yself through the day, the research and meetings. Then any time I have left is filled with making sure the band is paid and the menu is right and so on. I’m wiped out. I certainly didn’t keep my vow to go to the gym during lunch. But who does, really?

  The dinner dance comes off without a hitch, though, and everyone is texting me to thank me the morning after. All I can do it type “np” in between bouts of throwing up. I feel awful. On the boat I started feeling a little queasy but I can’t figure out why seasickness would plague me the next day. It was never this bad before. Just thinking of Tyler out on his yacht (I can’t help it! I swear!) sends me back to the bathroom. I don’t think I’ll be taking up the life of a surf bum any time soon.

  I’m digging through the linen closet looking for the Pepto-bismol I know I have in there somewhere when a box of tampons falls on my head. And then, like Isaac Newton under the apple tree, I put two and two together. I haven’t had a period in well over a month. And I’m puking my guts out. And tired all the time. Fuck. Couldn’t be. Right?

  I shove my feet into sneakers and walk down the street to the CVS. The crisp air makes my stomach feel a little better at least. I wander the aisles aimlessly for more time than I have to spare. How do you just buy a pregnancy test? It’s worse than buying condoms, by far. Ironically enough.I pick up a copy of People magazine and a chapstick and set them on the counter with the box. Yep, just need to catch up on my celebrity gossip. Also I have chapped lips and a possible embryo. Probable. Shit.

  Back in my house, I go through the instructions in a daze. But I don’t even have to wait the full four minutes. The test is clear as a bell. I’m knocked up.

  Kiera

  I’m staring at the plastic stick like time is going to change things. But it isn’t. The lines are clear, I’m pregnant.

  I look at the clock and decide I have have the luxury of crying on the bathroom floor for five minutes and no more. I make the most of my time, then I get into the shower. As the warm water runs over me, I try to think. What’s next? How do I fit this into my schedule? During the trial, I might have some evenings free, if it’s going well. If not, I’ll be digging around for more dirt, up all night trying to discredit Oceanica. I need to get to my doctor. She’ll be able to tell me what my time frame is. I need this dealt with so that I can focus on work. I seem to recall that the sooner I get an abortion, the easier it is. I can only be four weeks pregnant, should be a breeze.

  As I get out and towel off, I’m blindsided by a feeling of regret. It just washes over me so completely that I need to sit down. What if I had run away with Tyler? What if I was just waking up in the cabin of the boat, just realizing I hadn’t needed the tampons I’d have surely remembered to pack? I imagined Tyler’s face when I told him, white teeth in a tanned face, crooked smile and sparkling blue eyes. I take an extra five minutes, setting my alarm through the tears that are already welling up again.

  When the bell chimes, I wipe my eyes and get dressed. I have to go more quickly now because of that five minutes, but I should still be fine. How can I have breakfast when I feel this awful? I’m going to need coffee, but the very thought of it makes me think about running back to the bathroom.

  Look pal, I think, I did not invite you here. You need to back off and let me have some coffee. I have work to do.

  I’m talking to him. It. Goddammit. I pick up my phone and call my sister.

  “Kiera! What’s up?”

  “Oh, just preparing for a big trial and realized I hadn’t talked to you in a while. I’m about to get super busy and I’ll forget. So I thought I’d call now.” We often go a couple of weeks without actually talking. We text. We see one another on Facebook. Well, I see her pictures of Omari and she sees my vacation or party pics. It’s just enough that we forget to actually check in as often as we once did.

  “Well, hi! Actually, though, I’m walking to class right now. But we can chat until I get there.” Maya sounds brusque, but she often does. I usually let her call me so I don’t feel like I’m interrupting her. Like I said, she makes me look laid-back and carefree.

  “What class?” I take secret glee in the ridiculous sounding classes she teaches. Little sister power play: tell me something I think is ludicrous so I can laugh behind your back.

  “The Politics of ‘Sixteen and Pregnant’–you know, the MTV show.”

  I stifle my snort, but it does give me a perfect way to sound nonchalant. “What would you have done if you’d had an unplanned pregnancy?” I ask. Little sister ploy: get the info you need without giving unnecessary power to the older sibling. Don’t let her have more reason to think you’re hopeless.

  “I wouldn’t have. And I didn’t. Now, in class we can talk about how the sensationalism is just a way of keeping girls down and punishing their sexuality, but the truth is babies are easily prevented. When Tim and I decided to have Omari, we waited until I was eligible for sabbatical. Then we timed the conception so that I’d get my three months of paid maternity right before summer break with a year sabbatical right afterwards. That gave me eighteen months at home with him before he had to enter daycare. He had his immune system built up by then from breastfeeding, I’d been reading to him every day. It gave him a great jumpstart. And it took planning. Not just gettin’ it on with the hot jock after school. I, at least, knew what I was doing.”

  She was getting up a head of steam. I could practically hear her foaming at the mouth. Damn, girl. “But accidents happen, Maya, even to adults.”

  "They shouldn’t. We know where babies come from now and how to prevent them. People just think they can fuck without consequences! It’s like skiing without a helmet, sure, maybe it’ll be fine, but it can be very bad. Only with babies, it’s not just your life you affect. There’s a little blameless person that gets shafted too. You can’t just leave things to chance!"

  “Wow, so I guess those pro-choice rallies have worn off?” Maya used to march every time more than ten people gathered with signs in DC.

  "Kiera, you know I’m pro choice. But I’m more pro responsibility. Young people need to learn that there isn’t always an easy out. Sometimes you have to face up to what you’ve done. Look, I’m at my building. I’ll call you later."

  Well. So much for a sisterly support chat, right? I’ll text Andrea on the bus. Maybe she won’t lecture me.

  I call my doctor’s office before I leave and they’re able to fit me in tomorrow morning. They open at 7, I have to be in court by 9. It’ll work.

  I can’t get a front-facing seat on the bus, so I stand. I know riding backwards when I feel like this is a recipe for disaster. I loop my arm around the pole and just cut right to the chase. That’s what best friends are for.

  Dre, I think I’m pregnant.

  WHAT?

  Actually, I’m pretty sure I am.

  Oh no. What are you gonna do?

  Dr. appt tomorrow.

  How far are you? Do you know when it happened?

  Yeah. Tyler. So four wks.

  Want me to come to Dr. with you?

  Nah. Just a check-up and to be sure. But I may need you later.

  I can’t type the word. I can’t type “When I get the abortion.”

  You just tell me when and I’ll be there. I’m sorry, Kie. Bad timing.

  I know, right? Fucking trial. Thanks, Dre. ttyl.

  See, Maya? That’s how it’s done. That’s how sisters should act. I’m still mad at her. She couldn’t really know she was actually lecturing me, but it hurt just the same. Made me feel like I was a teenager in trouble. Pregnant.

  Brad is on me as soon as I walk through the courthouse doors.

  “About fucking time, Kiera. You were supposed to be here at nine!”

  “Sorry Brad, the bus got stuck in traffic.” And, for the record, it’s five past nine. Chill out, you psycho.

  “Get a goddamned car, already. Here, take these to 2A. There’s a new witness that wasn’t on the schedule before and I need to go see what we’re in for.” He shoves a file full
of papers into my arms and storms away. Asshole. Wish I could throw up on his Bruno Magli shoes. As if having a car would have helped. Brad has a driver, of course. I’m sure he berates the driver all the way through the horrid downtown traffic. Hey, at least I’m not that guy!

  I sit down in the courtroom with the file and start going through them. My eyes are looking at the pages, but nothing is getting through. I’m going to have to hope that the work I’ve done until now will be enough because my brain has more important things to think about. Well, more important to me.

  Mark, the other junior lawyer on the case, comes in looking wild-eyed. "Brad is batshit today. Holy crap."

  I nod, pretending to read from the file. “Yep.”

  “I think there’s some new witness that is pissing him off. He doesn’t handle curveballs well.”

  Normally, I’m happy to trash Brad with the other juniors. But don’t trust Mark. He idolizes Brad in a seriously unhealthy way. Also, I’m pretty focused on keeping down that half a cup of coffee I had. Trying to handle my own curveball.

  It’s distracting, you know? My mind keeps wandering to that bundle of baby potential inside me. Just a clump of cells now, maybe a vaguely fishy shape. Indistinguishable from a monkey or a dog or a dolphin. But leave it alone and it turns into a person. I could make a person grow inside me! It’s weird. Upsetting. Kind of cool. And really distracting.

  Brad comes thundering in just before the judge. He looks angry, but he usually does unless he’s just won a case. He’s probably in his mid 40s, but his hair is silver. Even someone who likes the stress is going to suffer from it.

  The prosecution gets to present first and Oceanica International has gone for the best they can get. Carole Mercer has a reputation for getting convictions where corporations would usually get off scot free. But of course, Brad Gensler has a reputation for getting those corporations off where they are clearly and demonstrably guilty. So it’s probably going to be a long and contentious trial.

  Throughout the opening statement, I catch words like “criminal” and “disaster” and “not since Deepwater Horizon.” But I’m barely paying attention. I’m not on the jury. And Brad will be more than happy to tell me what to do, so I don’t feel too bad about losing myself in my own thoughts.