Mister Billions: A Small Town Enemies-to-Lovers Fake Marriage Billionaire Romance

by Miller, Cassie-Ann L.

  "Yes. Margot and I are done," I say plainly. I give my brother a quick run-down of last night's events.

  Jude blows out a sigh of relief. "Well, all I can say is you're lucky you made it out of that relationship with your balls intact because that woman is nuttier than a barrel of pistachios."

  Dropping my head, I massage the bridge of my nose. "Jude, I didn't call you to get into petty gossip.” My temper snaps. "Tell me what's up with Dad. It's eight-thirty and he’s not even at work yet.”

  A subtle note of worry creeps into my brother's voice. “How am I supposed to know, bro? I don’t live in Crescent Harbor, either. Did you call Walker?"

  "No, I didn't call Walker. You know how he is."

  Our oldest brother should have been my first call but I didn't even bother trying. The guy is a damn recluse. I swear—he does more socializing with the sweet pepper seedlings on his farm than he does with actual, y’know, humans. Aside from his best friend, Penny, hardly anyone else can get a word out of him.

  "I’m sure it’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about," Jude says on a nervous chuckle. "Dad’s been running things since Eli got locked up, and he ran things for a shit ton of years before that. I'm sure he's got it under control.” I hear my brother’s trainer yelling at him in the background to get off the phone. "Look—I’m with my team right now. Can I hit you back in—I don’t know—an hour?”

  "Yeah, sure. Call me back." My eyes surf over the empty cubicles again as we disconnect.

  I take a deep breath, blowing it out slowly and forcing myself to relax. Jude may not know a lick about the family business, but he’s probably right. Kingston Realties has been in the family for over four decades. I should have a little faith and trust that my dad has got things covered.

  Besides, I didn’t pull an all-nighter, crossing state lines, to meddle in small town real estate. I came to Crescent Harbor to plot sweet revenge against my treacherous business partner. So I shuffle the stack of documents in front of me and dive in.

  After an eternity and a half, the loud elevator ding pulls me out of my work. I look up just in time to catch my father step into the suite. For a second, I have to stop and backtrack. Just how long has it been since I last saw him? Because he looks like he's aged a decade. His hair is entirely gray, as is the stubble covering his jawline. I can’t remember the last time I saw a version of Dad who wasn’t clean-shaven.

  Dad’s secretary greets him lethargically. I check the time on my watch. It’s almost ten.

  I pull off my glasses and rise to intercept him before he disappears into his corner office. Dad’s footsteps falter and his tired eyes widen in surprise. “Cannon...?”

  “Hey, Dad,” I greet him, patting his back in a manly hug.

  My father pulls back and eyes me. “Your mother didn’t tell me you’d be in town.”

  I flinch at the mention of my overprotective mother. I have enough on my plate without having to consider how stressed she'd be if she found out about Carl and Margot. “She doesn’t know I’m here yet. I was overdue for a surprise visit.”

  Dad expels an unamused puff of air. “You were overdue for any kind of visit, son. When was the last time you came home?”

  I laugh tightly. “I’m here now, Dad. Why does the last time matter?”

  My father shakes his head and turns toward his office. Dad is a family man through and through and by his body language, it's clear that I've disappointed him with my long absences.

  I follow him into his office and drop into a chair opposite his desk. “I have some business to take care of while I’m in town, so I made myself comfortable in the conference room. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Dad’s arm sweeps through the air. “Of course. Help yourself to whatever you need. The internet connection is shit and the printer is a prehistoric piece of junk, but all of our resources are at your disposal, Cannon.”

  There's an invisible weight in the air, making the entire room tense and heavy. I let it consume the office while I observe my father's slack face and sluggish demeanor. I know I’m not making this shit up. Something is wrong.

  I glance out at the empty cubicles again. “Well, business definitely doesn’t seem to be booming around here,” I comment, keeping my tone as light as possible. “Where is everybody?”

  Dad sighs heavily. He looks exhausted, plain and simple. “Well, when the CEO of a company gets hauled off to jail, employees tend to jump ship to save their reputations. I can’t say I blame them.”

  Fucking Eli.

  My brother went to jail a year ago for doing some shady-ass shit. White collar shit. It’s been a real fucking nightmare.

  My father worked hard his whole life. Now, he's in his golden years. He should be sitting on a yacht somewhere with Mom in the middle of the Mediterranean. Not being forced out of partial retirement to take control of the sinking ship that Kingston Realties has apparently become.

  After my father took the company over from my maternal grandfather, he successfully ran the business for years while grooming Eli to one day take over the reins. That way, Dad could eventually slow down. Step back.

  It never occurred to me to step in after Eli went to jail. I assumed that Dad could handle regaining control of the office now that Eli is out of the picture. This was his career for three decades after all. But as I sit here now, looking around the ghost town of an office, It’s clear that shit is definitely not under control.

  Maybe I should step in. Maybe I should find a way to help more. I start developing a plan in my mind. I could hire an outside firm to audit the books—to take inventory of the company's assets and liabilities. I'd probably need more admin staff and a team of realtors to rebuild our acquisitions department. Then, I'd focus on—

  My cell phone rings, pulling me out of my head. It’s Frank again.

  Reality check.

  I don't have the time to get involved in the family business. Not when I have ninety-nine problems of my own.

  I'm rising to my feet before I've even accepted the call. “I’ve got to take this, Dad.” I motion to my phone.

  He nods unconvincingly. When I look into his eyes, I see the face of a drowning man. A man who needs help.

  I turn and walk away.

  I will not get involved I will not get involved I will not get involved.

  The sole reason I'm in town right now is tearing down Carl and Margot. That's what I need to focus on until the mission is complete. Kingston Realties is none of my business. That was Eli and Dad’s deal.

  I answer the phone as I stroll down the carpeted hallway. “Frank, you’d better have good news for me.”

  Without skipping a beat, the lawyer picks up his usual speed-rambling, but my footsteps falter outside my brother’s old office.

  Everything in the room is just as it was before my brother went to jail. Smiling photos of Eli, his wife, and their daughter, Callie, cover every flat surface. Crayon drawings of stick figures are framed on the walls. There's even a child's stuffed animal on the narrow couch across from his desk. Eli truly was obsessed with his little family before epically screwing up his life.

  Maybe for the first time, the loss of my brother hits me like a sucker punch. I pause and brace the doorframe. You really fucked up, Eli.

  But screw these emotions trying to rear their head. I pull the handle and slam the door closed. Out of sight and out of mind is better.

  “Repeat that, Frank. Bad connection,” I lie as I turn my back on my family's drama and head back to my homebase in the conference room.

  5

  Lexi

  The young bride-to-be stands on the platform in the middle of my boutique and eyes her reflection with a skeptical expression. "Do you really think I can get away with a mermaid-style?" She cradles her tiny baby bump as she twirls from side to side in front of the mirror. She lifts her gaze to mine.

  “You look gorgeous, Kayla. Absolutely stunning,” I tell the bride. And it's the truth. My voice goes softer as I speak to her. "B
ut the number one most important thing on your wedding day is that you feel amazing. So, if you don't feel totally confident in that dress, I have a bunch of others I can show you." I roll over a rack of selections I set aside especially for Kayla when she called yesterday to set up her consultation.

  I sweep a flowy hippie-style gown from the rack and hold it in front of me. This dress is cheaper than the mermaid-style and the sale would net me less profit but ultimately, I just want to see my customer happy, in a dress that will make her feel like a bazillion dollars as she walks down the aisle toward the man she loves.

  I still remember the heartbroken woman who traded in this particular dress in exchange for a few twenty dollar bills. I remember handing her tissues across the counter as she explained that her fiancé called off the wedding at the last minute. She was trying to unload the dress quickly in hopes of lessening the pain. She said she hoped her misfortune would transmute into some lucky woman's happily ever after. I truly think Kayla might be that lucky woman.

  A fresh set of tears spring up on the rims of her eyes. "Being pregnant on my wedding day was never part of the plan. It just...happened. And my mom and dad aren’t being all that supportive. So, it means the world to me that you're being so nice, Lexi."

  I feel my own tears tickling my eyes. I know what it’s like to be disappointed by your parents. “Oh hun, I'm just so honored to be helping you make this decision." I give her a tight hug.

  Kayla waddles into the changing room and eventually, she emerges looking like a bohemian dream. She couldn't be more gorgeous and she feels it, too. "How do you feel, hun?" I ask, peering at her over her shoulder in the mirror.

  My customer nods happily, tears in her eyes. She hiccups a response. “Perfect. I-I...I feel absolutely perfect.”

  This is my favorite part of being in the bridal gown business. I love to get involved and make personal recommendations. To play such a big part in such a crucial decision for a future bride makes me feel purposeful.

  I don’t fit the profile. I know that. I don't look like those glossy, sophisticated boutique attendants on Say Yes to the Dress. My clients aren't typical, either. They aren't wealthy socialites with unlimited budgets. They're just regular women, trying to stretch every dollar to make sure their wedding day is special. Being a vital part of this process fills me with joy.

  After a few twirls in front of the mirror, Kayla glides out of the dress. I carefully slip it into a garment bag as she counts out her money and hands me a fistful of cash. The dresses in here are second-hand. Most are seriously marked down. It isn't all that much money. But putting a smile on a bride-to-be's face, taking that worry off of her shoulders before her big day? That's priceless.

  Peering down at the pittance in my cash register makes my stomach curl up with anxiety. I force myself to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. Business may be slow now but spring is right around the corner. The bridal season is about to pick up. Things will get better.

  Finally, I'm walking Kayla to the door with her garment bag draped delicately over her arm. She thanks me with another quick hug. When she leaves, I kick off my shoes in the middle of the boutique. I stroll through the showroom, imagining the place through a stranger’s eyes.

  I won't lie—there's a lot on my to-do list. I want to replace the peeling pale blue floral wallpaper and the hardwood floors need to be buffed and varnished. Still, my heart swells with pride. I love this little boutique.

  To the outside world, the boutique might not seem like much but each and every day, I wake up at the crack of dawn and pour all of my heart and soul into making my shop the best it can be.

  I installed the up-cycled crystal chandelier all by myself. The tufted velvet armchairs, I found on the curb and reupholstered. I hand-painted the gold accents to the crown-molding. Bringing this place to life has been messy and it's been bloody at times and some nights, my friends held me while I cried buckets of tears. But every second of it has been a labor of love. I hold onto the belief that my efforts will pay off. One day.

  Somehow, my mind moves back to the jerk from Jittery Joe's. I usually don't give a porcupine's ass what anyone thinks of me and my business but I find myself wondering how he'd feel about my humble little shop. I can’t brag about billion dollar bank accounts, but I've kept this business afloat through some pretty tough times and I'm proud, dammit.

  I'm a freaking business owner.

  Not bad for a twenty-six-year-old from the wrong side of the tracks. That sort of thing is unheard of where I come from. My blood, sweat and tears put food on the table every single day. That’s more than I can say for the people who raised me.

  I position myself in front of the mirror and grin. "You really did good for yourself, Lexi." I glance down at my blouse and realize that it's been misbuttoned all day. Well shit. "Okay, the packaging still needs a little work but aside from that, I'm doing good for myself."

  What I need is to figure out a way to usher more customers through the door. My marketing budget is virtually non-existent so I need some ideas that will draw buyers to my shop without costing me an arm and a leg. Worrying about that is what keeps me up at night.

  The metal bell above my door dings, announcing another customer. I scramble to slip back into my shoes as I'm re-buttoning my shirt.

  “Just me,” sings a voice I recognize. Iris ducks in through the front door, still decked out in a boxy yellow Merlini's Sandwich Shop T-shirt and unflattering khakis from her day at the sandwich shop. The fact that my petite, curvy friend gets hit on nonstop in that outfit is a testament to how deep her good looks run. Because I could not pull that shit off.

  I meet her halfway and yank her into a hug. "Hey, you!" She whips a small bouquet of flowers from behind her back and thrusts it at my face. "For me?!"

  I love it whenever my friend surprises me with an artful arrangement from her garden. The flowers always make Renewed Gowns come alive.

  Iris shrugs as I take the fiery multi-colored dahlias. “I just wanted to drop in and say thank you for having my back this past weekend. Friday was literally the worst day of my life, and it meant a lot that you were there for me.”

  “I’ve always got your back, girl. Always." I gush at the flowers as I speak. "Gosh, these are beautiful. You really do have a green thumb."

  She peels off her hideous red visor and shakes out her blonde hair. “Gardening is my coping mechanism. I would have probably tracked down my husband and punched that fool in the throat by now if I didn't have an excuse to get my hands covered in dirt." We both laugh. "Anyway, I also want to thank you for, y'know, returning those, y'know...things to the post office the other day.”

  “By things, do you mean those big, hard, girthy, vibrating—”

  “Stop that.” Iris nudges my arm, her face turning beet red. She's such a damn prude.

  Laughing, I flit around my shop, putting the dresses from Kayla's reject pile back on their racks. Iris grabs the broom to help me close up.

  This is our unofficial late afternoon routine. On the days when my friend ends her day down the block at the sandwich shop early, she pops in to say hello. Whenever I close up before she does, I swing by her shop instead. I hope none of that changes now that her dirtbag husband has turned her world upside down.

  “Don’t worry your pretty head about that." I wave her away. "I’m just excited to see you up and out of bed today. You look good.” Her eyes are still puffy, but the redness from all the crying has subsided.

  A hint of a smile lingers on her face. “I don’t feel good.”

  “Trust me. You, Iris Merlini, are going to be fine. More than fine. You are going to find your happily ever after. A kind, gorgeous, romantic Adonis who's going to make Kirk look like the sewage sludge that he is.” The way she looks at me, I know she’s doubtful. But I truly believe that. In the meantime, however... “I know what will make you feel better. Let’s get all dolled up tonight and go clubbing.”

  “Nuh-uh. No way. Isn’t today Tuesday?” I
ris crosses her arms tightly, effectively shutting down the idea.

  "Why not?" I pout.

  "Because today is Tuesday." She whispers the word like it's blasphemous, like she expects a stern-faced nun to burst around a corner and pop her on the wrist with a ruler.

  I flutter my eyeballs up to the chandeliered ceiling. "I'm sure it's Saturday somewhere in the world."

  That gets my friend to chuckle. "Jeez, Lexi. Clubbing isn't always the answer, y'know."

  What can I say? I love to let loose. I spend so much time putting up a front, trying to come across as professional, trying to get taken seriously. It's exhausting. At the end of the day, I just want to party. That ain't a crime!

  "Plus, you might meet a guy and we both know you desperately need a fling." I wink.

  Not surprisingly, my friend disagrees. "A fling is precisely the last thing on my mind right now. I have to figure out how in the world I’m going to afford my house, my shop, my life.”

  I frown as I empty the register and bury the cash at the bottom of my purse. “What do you mean? Isn’t Kirk going to have to pay alimony?”

  “Doubt it,” she mumbles. “Our prenup was tighter than a virgin with a kegel addiction." I snort at the vivid analogy. "I doubt I'm getting a penny out of him. I was already three months behind on my rent before my husband walked out on me, and I expect that things will only get worse now that I've been dumped.”

  I cringe. "Three months?"

  She nods, her forehead pleated with worry. Merlini's is one of the busiest eateries around town in the summer but things slow way down as soon as the out-of-towners go home at the end of the season.

  I pull on my happy-go-lucky grin, wanting to make my friend feel better. “We’ll figure this out," I assure her. "I’m a few weeks behind on my rent, too. Actually, I need to go talk to Mr. Kingston and try to work out a deal with him. You should come with me.”