My Unexpected Serenity: California Billionaires Book 1

by Harlow James

  “You deserve better.”

  “Wes, I wasn’t pushing you away. It was surprising, but I didn’t hate it. Believe me, you would have had a knee to your balls if I didn’t want you to do that.”

  He sighs and then strains his neck back, staring up at the sky. When he drops his head back down and finds my eyes again, he slowly closes the distance between us and grips my face gently in his large, encompassing hands.

  “You’re making me act irrationally, Shayla. I’m not that guy. Not anymore, at least …” he trails off, glancing over to the side.

  “What do you mean?”

  Shaking his head, he brushes his thumb across my bottom lip and then gently presses his lips to mine again, the touch such a contrast to the punishing kiss he just gave me moments ago.

  “I had an amazing time with you today.”

  Okay, I guess he’s not going to answer my question. “I’m happy to say I did too.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Okay.”

  With one more press of his lips to mine, he turns and walks away, leaving me frazzled and incredibly turned on—and wondering what the hell just happened.

  Chapter 9

  Wes

  My phone vibrates on my desk and for a second I contemplate not answering it, but then I see who it is and swipe to answer.

  “Chase.”

  “Hey, Wes. How are you?”

  “Hanging in there,” I reply.

  “Talk to me,” he commands, as if he knew I needed to talk to someone at that very moment.

  And normally I would find a stupid reason to call Hayes, or he would somehow telepathically know I needed to process something and his name would start flashing on my screen.

  But this isn’t necessarily the type of conversation Hayes would be serious enough for.

  No this requires another kind of confidant.

  My sponsor.

  “Well, I knew coming back here was going to be painful, but I’m handling it better than I thought. Plus, the project is underway and you can’t beat the weather and town. It’s just been a lot, with all of the memories bombarding me everywhere I go.”

  “Well, that’s to be expected.”

  “But there’s been an unexpected twist thrown in the mix.”

  “Okay… what?”

  “I met someone,” I admit as I spin in my chair so my back is to my office door and my eyes see nothing but the ocean out of in front of me, a vision that once again reminds me of Shayla, more so now that I know how much she loves that body of water.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. And she’s …”

  I hear him chuckle lightly through the phone. “Tell me about her.”

  I spend the next few minutes relaying how we met, how it felt the first time I saw her at the club, how our date two days ago left me feeling—unarmed, exposed, and shocked that I shared as much as I did with her and really wanted to reveal more.

  “So you’re freaking out?” he asks when I’m through.

  “For lack of a better term, yes. I told myself I was better off being alone after the accident. And I came out here with one goal in mind. But now, I feel like my entire world is off balance.”

  “Do you want a drink right now?”

  “I’d be lying if I told you that I didn’t.” Alcohol was what I turned to to avoid feeling anything, especially after my grandfather died and I learned he left the company to me, not my father. Believe me, family dinners became extremely tense after that, particularly because I wanted nothing to do with running a billion dollar company at twenty-five, and he was seething that his own father didn’t grant him that power.

  “You need to go to a meeting.”

  I heave out a sigh and then rest my head on the back of my chair. “I know. But I need a closed meeting. You know privacy is important.”

  “Let me call one of my contacts. I’m sure I can find you one out there. Other than the woman, how’s the project going?”

  I glance down at my watch, taking note of my need to leave the office within the next fifteen minutes. “I’m actually headed down there now. We’re starting demolition this week. I want to make contact with the construction manager and designer so I can double check everything before work gets too far ahead and things can’t be changed.”

  “Well, I believe in you, Wes. I think this is an important step in healing, in forgiving yourself and bringing something positive out of your recovery.”

  “I know.”

  “And you know I’m just a phone call away. Anytime. Day or night.”

  “Thanks, Chase.”

  “Keep me posted on everything. And don’t be afraid of the unexpected. Just remember your steps. Talk to you soon.” He ends the call as I take a deep breath and stand, slipping my hands in my pockets while surveying the ocean in front of me as I remind myself to make a call on the way to the site.

  As I drive through town to the building where the facility will be created, my mind drifts aimlessly back to Shayla for the thousandth time since our date.

  Fuck. I acted so uncharacteristically toward the end, like an animal giving in to instinct, but that’s what she does to me. The first time I saw her had my body and brain stewing up chemical reactions that were all too unfamiliar. And now getting to know her, touch her, taste her—fuck, I want more.

  I felt like such a caveman after I kissed her—but when I shared the story of my grandfather with her, something in me snapped. I have never shared that story with anyone, except for maybe my sister, but that was definitely years ago before everything happened. After I realized what I said, I had to shut my mouth so I wouldn’t tell her my entire life story, bleed out all of the pain and hurt that I’ve caused, make her run for the hills.

  But then when I walked her to her door and she started fucking apologizing like she did something wrong, I snapped. I kissed her with so much intensity that if I weren’t half the gentleman that I am, I would have fucked her right up against her door. And all I want now is more—more of everything that she’ll give me.

  I feel intoxicated by her, and I’ve only had one taste.

  It took me a while to realize I had a problem with alcohol, and one second for that fault to become my demise.

  But within two weeks, I already know I’m on the way to becoming addicted to Shayla Mitchel—and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

  When I pull up to the building, dozens of workers are already knocking down walls and clearing debris from the room. The space is so much more open now and will be perfect for the activities that will take place when it’s finished.

  The construction manager waves me over and I shake his hand. I make sure to ask about the details we had finalized, and it seems as if everything is off to a great start. The designer and I touch base on a few last minute details and then I’m back in the car, headed to my office once more for a few Skype calls with the main office in Santa Monica.

  By the time five o’clock hits, I’m ready to call it a day. I tell Sheryl to leave any unanswered calls and emails for tomorrow and we both lock up and head home for the night.

  Pulling through the wrought iron gates of my grandfather’s estate on the hill brings a sense of nostalgia forward. I remember riding in a town car as a young boy, rolling through this gate with so much excitement to be sent away to spend the summer with his grandfather. Contrary to what my parents may have thought, I counted down to those trips when I got a break from my sister and wearing clothes that I absolutely hated for functions that no child really belonged at.

  Pulling up to this house meant adventures, learning skills that I knew would come in handy as an adult, learning how to be a man beyond the monetary clout that my father seemed so hell-bent on maintaining and almost destroying. My grandfather knew what it meant to come from nothing. He built a business from scratch, remembered a time when he didn’t have anything and struggled to make something of himself. And as he got more successful, he learned to delegate the work to be done so he
could enjoy his life outside of the office more.

  But my father only knew the life he was born into, and I think a tiny part of him regretted that. It was one of the reasons that he spent so much time giving me a childhood that was separate from that life. I think it was his way for making up for his mistakes. At least that’s what I’ve discussed in depth with a therapist and was able to come to the conclusion of.

  “Welcome home, Mr. Morgan,” Grace greets me by opening the door.

  “For the love of God, Grace. Please call me Wes. Since when do you call me Mr. Morgan?”

  “But you have company, sir,” she says and then the piercing eyes of my father glare at me from around the corner and I instantly know why she’s acting like that.

  “Wesley.”

  “Dad? What are you doing here?”

  “What? Is a father not allowed to come visit his son?” He steps toward me with open arms and I hesitantly give him a hug. My father is not one to drop by unannounced without an ulterior motive, so I’m mentally preparing myself for what he’s about to drop.

  “I just wish you would have called ahead so I knew to expect you.” I release myself from his hold and then move around him and make my way further into the house.

  My inherited estate is large and open with floor to ceiling windows on the back wall that overlook the town below and offer a breathtaking view of the ocean. White marble floors and dark wood complete the kitchen to my right and the large living room sits to my left, where I already see a glass of bourbon sitting on the coffee table.

  I didn’t even know there was alcohol in this house.

  “So to what do I owe this surprise visit?” I grab a bottle of water from the fridge as Grace slides in behind me.

  “Dinner will be ready soon, Mr. Morgan,” she says quietly as she passes by and checks something in the oven.

  “Thank you, Grace.” I turn my attention back to my father and wait for his reply.

  “I just wanted to check on you. See how things were going.” His eyes veer around the house as he takes in everything. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been up here. I forgot how small this house is.”

  Irritation runs through me with his statement, but I ignore it. “Same. Being back here is …”

  “You’re not drinking, are you?” he asks as he reaches for his tumbler and sips on the amber liquid.

  “No. But why are you? I know for a fact there was no alcohol in this house.”

  He scoffs. “Relax. I brought my own.”

  “So how long are you planning to stay?” I clench my jaw at the prospect of having to spend more than an hour with my dad at any given time. Our relationship used to be manageable before my grandfather died and I spiraled out of control. But once we had to help clean up the mess that transpired after, it’s as if he likes to hold it over my head and use my debt to him to get something he wants.

  “Oh, I’ll be out of your hair soon. I have to get back to Santa Monica. Your mother has some charity event tomorrow that I have to accompany her to.”

  “Perfect.”

  “I just want to make sure you’re staying out of trouble. Acting appropriately. We don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to why you’re here, Wes.”

  I narrow my eyes at him as I struggle not to crush my water bottle in my hand. “I’m aware, Dad. I’m here to do a job and get a much needed break from everything. It should take four months tops. I should be back by the first of the year.”

  “The company needs its CEO, Wes. You can’t just run away when things get rough.”

  “You think being here is easy? That this is some sort of vacation? Then you’re sadly mistaken. Although you’re no stranger to looking for solitude in unexpected places either.”

  He steps toward me and rests his hands on my shoulders as I fight the urge to swing at him and push his hands off of me. “I know that you tend to run when you don’t want to put in the work.”

  “Because I did that one time and everything fell to shit?”

  “Well, if you’re not careful, you’ll do it again.”

  “Why are you really here?”

  He releases me and then steps back. “The board is talking. They’re wondering if something is going on with the company. If that’s why you left. I just want you to be aware.”

  Yeah, right. You’re probably the one stirring the pot, Dad.

  “Well, thanks for letting me know. But everything is fine. I’ve been in plenty of contact with the people that need to know my business. So you can tell them to stop worrying.”

  He smirks in my direction, drains his glass, and then sets it on the counter. “I’ll relay the message then, but remember not to draw attention to yourself. Take care of yourself, son.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  I watch him walk toward the door and hop in a car I didn’t notice was there earlier when I was lost in my trip down memory lane. As soon as the door closes, Grace comes barreling in the kitchen.

  “What a prick!” she exclaims, flailing her hands in the air and then ushers me out of her way.

  “I was wondering what the hell was wrong with you when I arrived.” I chuckle, grateful that the Grace I know and love is back.

  “Well, you know how that man is. I swear, the only reason I ever put up with him is because he was your grandfather’s son.” She lifts a dish from the oven and then turns it off, removing some foil while inhaling her creation. Damn, that smells good.

  “Believe me. Sometimes I question whether we’re related or not.”

  “You hungry?”

  “Starving. Let me go change and then I’ll be back down.”

  I climb the stairs to the master suite, stripping off my suit and placing it with the dirty clothes so that Grace can get it cleaned for me. Slipping into a pair of black mesh shorts and a plain white t-shirt, I make my way back down just as Grace is setting a plate down in front of my seat.

  “Are you going to join me?” I slide into my chair and take a sip of the water she placed there for me.

  “Yes. Give me one second.” She goes back into the kitchen, cleans up a few stray dishes, and then brings her plate to the spot beside me.

  “This looks delicious, Grace. Thank you.” I take a bite of the chicken and rice combination and moan out loud.

  “This was one of your grandfather’s favorite dishes. I forgot about it until this morning and just felt the need to make it.” She flashes a small smile on her lips before digging in to her own plate.

  Grace worked for my grandfather for over fifteen years before he died, and then she came to work for me. I remember throughout my childhood seeing her at this house when I would come visit. Her relationship with my grandfather was unique for his housekeeper, much like our own. Grace is kind of like a surrogate grandmother to me now more than an employee. My own grandmother died when I was very young and my grandfather never remarried. For the longest time, I wondered if there was anything romantic between her and him, but he assured me they were just close friends, even though she worked for him.

  When I took over the company after getting sober, Grace followed me to Santa Monica. I think a part of her felt responsible for me, to make sure that I made my grandfather proud even though I feel like my mistakes would prevent that from happening after his death. But she was always there, taking care of me in ways I didn’t even know I needed, showing me acceptance for the troubled man I was fighting to leave behind.

  “It’s weird being back here, huh?” It’s the first time either of us have brought him up since we came back a few weeks ago, but after my impromptu visit from my dad, I feel like we’re both uneasy.

  “A little, although coming back here was a lot like coming home.”

  “I agree.”

  “So, how did your date go? I haven’t had a chance to ask you about it.” Grace has Sundays off, so the last time I saw her was Saturday morning before I left.

  “Well, she was a big fan of your cooking.”

  “Obviously.” She wink
s in my direction before taking another bite.

  “But other than that, it was …” How do I describe the date to Grace without making me look like a neanderthal?

  “You like her,” she interrupts my train of thought.

  “I do.”

  “There must be something about her, Wes, if you took the initiative to pursue her. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you with a woman.”

  I let out a heavy sigh and then drop my fork to my plate. “I know. It’s all so …”

  “Terrifying?” she asks on a soft smile.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good. That means you have something to fear.”

  I huff out a laugh. “There’s a lot that I fear, Grace. I’m not sure I need much more.”

  She smacks her lips together and then wipes her mouth with her napkin. “You’re a charming man, Wes, and a handsome one at that. You deserve to be happy. You don’t have to be alone for the rest of your life. I know the first time ended in disaster, but that doesn’t mean it will happen again.”

  I push away from the table, defensiveness building inside of me. “Yes, I do feel the need to be alone, Grace. I hurt people. I don’t deserve to be happy.”

  “Are you going to punish yourself for the rest of your life, Wes? Because you know damn well what your grandfather would say about that.”

  When you make a mistake, there’s only three things you should do about it: admit it, learn from it, and never repeat it..

  Grace says the words out loud as I say them quietly to myself. “You’ve made progress toward righting your wrongs, Wes. You don’t have to suffer forever. It’s okay to want something more.”

  “She’s incredible, Grace.” I turn back to face her and can’t help the turn of my lips as I think about Shayla. “So unexpected. So beautiful. Smart, honest, strong. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Then that’s telling. Go with your gut, Wes. Follow your heart. See where it leads you.”

  I take a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll try.”

  “Good. So when are you gonna see her again?”