My Billionaire's Secret Dreams

by Nikki Larson

  “I want to hear all about what you saw,” she said. It was time they got serious and quit flirting. Now was no time to flirt. They had to figure this thing out. It was rather terrifying to have someone prowling around in Jaxton’s back yard. “What do you think that guy was doing there?” She didn’t think Jaxton had any enemies, anyone who would want to harm him. Though just by being a billionaire, he did tend to attract thieves, schemers, and people with less-than-honorable intentions.

  “I didn’t see much,” he told her. “I just sat down to watch the security footage and when I rewound it to the other morning, I saw a man walking around my yard. I don’t know why the alarm didn’t go off. It should have. Even during power outages, the alarm works.”

  “It does?” Sylvia asked. “Does it have a backup battery or something?”

  “Exactly, yes,” Jaxton told her. “So, I guess I need to contact the police….”

  “Probably,” Sylvia said, taking his hand and leading him to the couch so they could relax and talk all this out. “So you have no idea who this guy was?”

  “None,” Jaxton said. “Probably just some robber scoping out the place. It makes me very uneasy, though. I don’t want anything to happen to you. It’s weird he was there while you were over.”

  Sylvia wasn’t liking what he was insinuating. “What, you think I have enemies?” she asked. “People who want to harm me?”

  “Maybe,” he allowed. “Since you are active on FanGram, you can attract a lot of lowlifes.”

  “True,” Sylvia said, twisting her lips. She was just remembering why she called him in the first place. “And now that you mention it, I’ve been getting some really weird messages that I want you to take a look at. If you don’t mind.”

  “Weird messages?” he asked. “Like what?”

  She took out her phone and showed him. “This,” she said.

  Jaxton scrolled through the exchange between Sylvia and somebody with the username Kinkt360. “Already I’m not liking this,” he said, pointing to the name.

  “I know, right?” Sylvia agreed.

  “‘I want to meet with you?’” Jaxton read. “‘When are you available?’ I’m not liking this at all.”

  “Me, neither,” she said, swallowing hard.

  “So just block him,” Jaxton advised.

  “I would, but I wasn’t sure. He said he is co-producer of that reality TV show they want me to be a part of. It sounds kind of exciting, like a good opportunity. It could give me more visibility. It might be worth it. I just don’t know if it’s legitimate.”

  Jaxton was looking at her like she was crazy. “How do you know he’s part of all that? Did he say so?” He searched her face, and she saw fear there in his deep brown eyes. He scrolled up to scan the earliest messages. “It sounds sketchy. I wouldn’t trust it.” Before she could answer, his tone grew firm. “I don’t want you associating with this guy at all, Sylvia. Promise me.”

  She slapped his shoulder and let out a guffaw. “I was just kidding,” she gushed. Best not to let Jaxton know she was even considering looking into that reality show, if there even was one. What was she, crazy? “I’m blocking him right now.” She took the phone out of Jaxton’s hands and promptly blocked the guy’s number. “There, done. He can’t reach me anymore.” She looked at him with soulful eyes. “But I still wish there were some way to do the reality show without exposing myself to creepers….”

  ‘Well, there isn’t,” Jaxton said sternly. “You have to be careful, Sylvia,” he warned her. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Chapter 18

  It was after one a.m. when Jaxton finally fell into a fitful sleep. He’d tossed and turned for half an hour until finally getting semi-comfortable on his stomach, with his arm underneath his pillow.

  He fell asleep thinking of Sylvia, which wasn’t surprising. She was always on his mind now. She was a treasure, a priceless diamond. She was everything he wanted in a woman – sassy though she could be. But that was part of the allure, somehow. He didn’t want someone he couldn’t joke around with, be playful with. He loved all the fun they had together, playful banter included.

  In his dreams, darkness enveloped him. He was running again, running towards something this time, not away. He felt the urgency of the moment, though he did not know what it was for. He was searching, almost frantically, but he had to keep his composure. He needed to be reliable, strong. Efficient. Yes, that was it. He needed to carry out his mission with great care, without delay. He had to be smart about this. Strategic. That much he knew.

  Another image flashed in his mind as he slept. It was a woman, lying on the ground. Her hair was dark – a muddy grayish-brown in the dimness of night, below the streetlights. Her face was unmarred, lovely. Unmistakably, it was Sylvia. Had she been mistreated? Knocked out? Was she okay? There was no telling, because as quickly as that scene had materialized it disappeared….

  And now he was kicking down doors, searching for the offenders – in a dank, dark compound with great steel doors. The doors should not have buckled from the force. But they had. He was Superman; he was irate, full of wrath for some wrongdoing, though he wasn’t sure what, and it was giving him supernatural strength.

  Foreigners were speaking to him, yelling at him in a language he did not understand. They pushed passed him and escaped. A uniformed man paused, looked at Jaxton with an expression of, perhaps, a small dose of fear mixed with pride, and took off. Everything was a blur, and hard to decipher. It was as much a mix of emotions as it was a visual dream. Maybe more so. He felt hurt and anger, he felt desperation and an indescribable depth of loyalty. All he knew was he had to save her. Her – and others, too.

  He woke up then– breathless, bathed in sweat. He threw off the covers and lay there, recovering, panting, and searching his brain for what it all could mean.

  Chapter 19

  Sylvia awoke to an unknown acrid smell. She sat up quickly, throwing off the covers with one hard thrust. Panic rose in her heart as she sat on the edge of her bed, trying to get her bearings. She sniffed deeply, trying to discern. Finally, she was clear-headed enough to stumble out of bed and make her way down the hallway and downstairs to see what was going on. There was a light on, that much she could see, as she made her way down the stairs.

  The kitchen was lit with six overhead lights, though the rest of the house was dark. Fiona was there, fanning the air with her writing notebook.

  “Mom?”

  “Oh, I’m just trying to clear the air,” Fiona said.

  “I see that,” Sylvia replied. “What’s that smell? What happened? Is everything okay? Do you need help?” She was still lethargic, hence her tendency to ask too many questions.

  “Oh, I just burnt the toast, that’s all. I got to writing and I forgot to check it. This darn toaster. Someone set it to high.” She squinted at the dial. “Probably Blaine, huh? Doesn’t he like his toast a little burnt?” Fiona set the notebook down and poured herself some apple juice.

  “Not that burnt,” Sylvia said, peering at the numbers on the toaster, and turning it down to 3. She went to open a window and air out the house. She couldn’t imagine anyone would deliberately set the toaster that high. “Did you have Merry Maids here lately?” she asked. “Maybe they bumped it when they cleaned it?”

  “Hmmm,” Fiona responded. “Well, maybe so. The last time I used the toaster was a long time ago, and they’ve probably been here since. But do you really think they would bump the toaster settings?”

  “Yeah, you’re right, that would be weird,” Sylvia agreed. She couldn’t imagine who would have set the toaster to 7. Whatever. It didn’t matter. “I don’t know, Mom. Next time let me help you.”

  Her mom looked at her with disdain. “Now Sylvia, you know I am perfectly capable of making my own toast. And it’s the middle of the night. If I get hungry in the middle of the night, I don’t expect you to get up and make me toast. I may be an invalid, but I am a capable invalid.” Smirking, she grabbed
the toast with an oven mitt and threw it in the trash, making the trash bag melt in places. “Oh, that wasn’t the smartest, was it?”

  “Are you still on pain meds, Mom?” Sylvia said it as kindly as she could, so as not to offend her mother. “You seem a little loopy.” She placed a comforting hand on her mother’s shoulder, to steady her.

  “Oh, I do, huh?” her mother said good-naturedly. “Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me. When should I stop taking them?”

  Sylvia checked the calendar. “Well, it’s been ten days since your surgery. How are you feeling?” She opened the cabinet and shook the bottle of pain meds, seeing how many were left. “It looks like you have only six pills left.” She looked at her mother questioningly. “I think you’ve been overdoing it.” She really was a terrible daughter for not keeping closer tabs on her mom’s opioid consumption. “Have you been taking them without me?”

  Fiona looked guilty, but shook her head. “Well, maybe a little bit,” she acknowledged. “Maybe a few.”

  “Don’t do that anymore, okay? They’re dangerous.” There was no need to say anymore at the moment. “Here, I’ll make you some toast if you still want some,” Sylvia offered. “Why don’t you sit down on the couch and I’ll get you some. Do you want anything else?”

  “No, no, that’s fine,” her mother said. “Just toast is good. Toast and apple juice to help my digestion. I’ve been so nauseous lately.”

  “No doubt,” Sylvia said as she reset the toaster and slipped the bread into the slots. “Pain pills will do that to you.”

  “But I’ve been hurting,” her mother said apologetically.

  “I’m sure,” Sylvia said. “But let’s try some Advil instead. The doctor said you could take up to 800 milligrams of Advil after the first week and see if that is enough. I think it would do you good to try it.”

  “Okay,” her mother agreed, shrinking back like a scolded child.

  Just then Blaine came in, looking bedraggled. His hair sat in tufts on top of his head and his pajama pants were seam-side out with the tag visible on his backside. Sylvia noticed it when he opened the fridge to get water. “What’s going on?” he said, rubbing a hand over his whiskers.

  “Oh, Mom just burnt the toast,” Sylvia told him, making sure to keep her voice calm and sympathetic. “Did you happen to turn the toaster dial up to 7?”

  “No,” Blaine said, making his way over to squint at the settings. “I like it at 5. No higher. Who the heck would set it at 7?”

  They were probably all making more of this than was necessary. But who could think straight at 4 a.m.? Everything seemed like a catastrophe at that hour. Especially with the smell of burning in their nostrils.

  It was an hour before Sylvia could finish cleaning up the kitchen, say goodnight to her brother and mom, and head back to bed. Once there, she could only toss and turn. Insomnia was becoming a familiar problem lately, with all that had been going on. Her mind had been racing a million miles an hour with plans for her business, along with troubled thoughts about people with malicious intent. It was all too much for her. The only good thing was that she and Jaxton were together now.

  He was more than she could have imagined. What on earth went wrong the first time they tried dating, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was just still reeling from all the trauma from dating Kyle. That relationship had certainly been the kind of nightmare which could dominate all of her thinking if she would let it. But she wouldn’t.

  Aggravated at herself for even letting these troublesome thoughts surface, she rolled out of bed and went into her office. If she could look at the computer screen and plan some fun things for her FanGram account, that would certainly be better than dwelling on the past.

  She quietly shut the door and turned on the overhead light. The computer fired up and the first thing she did was scroll through the FanGram feed for inspiration. Serena Jacobs and Katrina Ralston were there posing on an Australian beach with a glorious sunset in the background. They were facing opposite directions – standing gracefully, each with one outstretched leg and one outstretched arm. It was flawless. And there was Symphonie Simmons, with her leg up on her breakfast bar, stretching over to her side with ballet-worthy arms and a smile as big as Texas. And there was Kylie Westwood, with a new video of her doing modified jumping jacks and weighted knee lifts. Something about seeing all these posts lifted Sylvia’s heart and she began writing down a bunch of ideas for her own future posts.

  1. A handstand pose with lighthearted reasons why it’s good to take a break from work and let the blood run to your head sometimes,

  2. Jaxton lying on his back with Sylvia doing twirling yoga exercises on his feet,

  3. An inspirational words-only post with words like “My soul is lit; my heart’s on fire,” and “She’s at peace with where she’s been and excited about where she is going.” Something like that.

  4. A meal-plan post for the world’s best salads,

  5. An ankle weights workout video with side-lying circles and mountain climbers.

  But now her attention was drawn to that little orange circle which denoted that she had messages. She clicked on the icon and scrolled through what people were saying. Sylvia, add me. Sylvia, follow me. Sylvia, where do you get your inspiration? Sylvia, I’m your biggest fan. She sighed deeply and wished she were as stable and as much of an inspiration as she wanted to be.

  The last message she came to was from Gabriel Flores. It read:

  Don’t forget to respond if you are at all interested in joining our exciting new reality show only for fitness gurus. We are waiting for you!

  Yes, she was ready.

  Hey, I’m interested, she wrote. Give me all the details.

  Chapter 20

  “Hi, this is Jaxton Braun calling. I’d like to report a suspicious stranger,” Jaxton said into his phone.

  “A suspicious stranger?” the woman on the line repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean someone was in my back yard,” he said, with more than an ounce of disgust in his voice. Already he was uncomfortable reporting this vague of an incident. This lady didn’t have to make things worse.

  “Someone was in your back yard,” she repeated. “Are they there now?”

  “No,” Jaxton said. Of course the person was not there now. What a stupid question. “It was a few days ago. Monday. It was… Monday,” he clarified. And today was Wednesday. Yes, he’d waited two days to call. Probably not the best idea.

  “So, on Monday someone was in your back yard,” she reiterated.

  “Yes,” he said with a deep sigh. “Someone was in my back yard while my girlfriend was over. She saw him.”

  “Okay, can you describe the person you saw? What was the person wearing?”

  “Ummm, well, I didn’t exactly see the guy,” Jaxton told her.

  “A guy? So you know he was a male?”

  “No, I don’t actually,” Jaxton admitted.

  “Okay, sir,” the woman said in a steady, detached voice. “Can you describe the person? Any details you can tell me?”

  “Not really,” Jaxton said. “But my girlfriend, she saw him.”

  “Can you put your girlfriend on the line?”

  “Ah, no,” Jaxton told her. “She’s not here right now. But all she saw was a dark figure moving across her line of vision.”

  “Okay, sir,” the lady said, sounding rather irritated. “What is your address?”

  “My address is 31679 Fairlaine Drive, Newport Cove, California, 98957.”

  “Oh,” the woman said.

  It was obvious she was trying not to be impressed that Jaxton lived in the most exclusive neighborhood in all of Orange County.

  She gave a long sigh. “Sir, you do not have a lot of details for us to go on. What would you like us to do? Are you requesting additional surveillance?”

  “Yes,” he said, feeling relieved. “Until I know what is going on, I think I need some police presence or something. You know, it may not have helped that I
witnessed an attempted kidnapping and I held the guy down until the police were able to come apprehend him.” Did he actually say that out loud? He meant to only think it.

  “You helped catch a criminal?” she said, sounding duly impressed.

  “Yeah, well,” Jaxton continued. “It may be that I pi… set somebody off,” he corrected himself. “And now they’re out to get me.” Why couldn’t he just shut up before he sounded like a complete paranoid idiot? “Anyway,” he said. “I’m sure that’s not the case.”

  “I will send an officer out to talk with you,” the woman offered. “Will you be home for the next hour?”

  “Sure,” Jaxton said. “I can do that.” He had hoped to go workout at the gym, but now he’d have to find some way to keep himself occupied until the officer showed up.

  It was fifty-five minutes later that Jaxton heard a knock at the door. He didn’t mean to keep such close tabs on the time, but he was feeling antsy and kept checking his phone. He’d spent those fifty-five minutes working out on the exercise bike and then the treadmill, and using his free weights. He was sufficiently sweaty when he answered the door.

  “Hello, officer,” he said in his deepest, manliest voice.

  “Good morning, I’m Officer Raleigh. Brice Raleigh,” he said, offering Jaxton a firm handshake. “I’ve heard you had a prowler?”

  “Ah, a prowler, yes.” That was the word. “An intruder.”

  “An intruder?” the officer repeated. “Was he in the house?”

  “Ah, no,” Jaxton confirmed. “I didn’t mean to imply he was in the house.”

  “Well, you said intruder,” the officer noted.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t mean that.” Jaxton took a step back and stared at his favorite painting in his front room. “It just felt intrusive, that’s all. To have him in my back yard. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  The officer gave him an impatient look. “Mind if I come inside?” he asked. “Man, this is a nice place you’ve got here.”