Romance: In Love With A Billionaire

by McAdams, Amy

  Romance: In Love with a Billionaire

  Amy McAdams

  Romance: In Love with a Billionaire

  Amy McAdams

  Copyright © 2015

  Published by Run Free Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Also By Amy McAdams:

  One Fine Holiday

  Returning Home

  Romance: In Love with a Billionaire

  Amy McAdams

  Chapter One

  From a young age, I had always loved designing things.

  It felt like part of my DNA.

  And from dollhouses and treehouses, I moved on to architecture at college. I loved it. I loved the fact that I could design a building that would stand for decades to come and people would live, work and play in my design.

  My master’s degree in management plus my bachelor’s degree in architecture gave me a head start when I searched for a job out of college. I succeeded with my first attempt, when I tried to get hired at a large and prestigious construction company.

  I like to believe that my abilities, not my sex appeal, landed me the job.

  But the recruitment manager’s curious eyes scanned my body for the entire interview instead of paying attention to what I was saying. I almost considered not taking the job when it was offered to me because I didn’t feel that I won the position based on my skills.

  I’m more proud with my intelligence than with my looks.

  But I took the job and I worked hard as a junior. Within a few short years, I was designing my own award-winning projects. After years of working ninety hours weeks, the boss rewarded my hard work and assigned me as project manager for a new stadium the municipality is building for our local soccer team. I was thrilled to get such a responsibility, because I finally got the chance to prove myself on a large-scale project.

  But as well as my work life was going – my personal life was falling apart. A couple of weeks ago my boyfriend, Mark, broke up with me.

  He didn’t agree with the fact I was making more money than he did.

  Who knows what mommy issues that boy must have had. I should be the one bitching because he had a crappy job at a factory and barely made ends meet.

  One day when I came home, the storm began.

  He was sitting there on the couch, drinking beer, and from the looks of it that wasn’t his first can.

  “Babe, the situation can’t go on like this. I just can’t see any end in sight,” he said to me.

  I couldn’t understand what his problem was.

  This issue seemed to come out of the blue because we hadn’t had arguments on money before—I was earning enough for us to live a comfortable life.

  “What happened, Mark? What situation? I’m too tired for any argument, please. I busted my ass at work today,” I said, trying to calm him down.

  But he was determined on making a fuss.

  Who knows how long he’d been keeping those thoughts inside of him?

  Who knows how much resentment he had been building up?

  “Can’t you see you’re making tens of thousands of dollars per year while I can barely scratch the surface? It can’t go on like this…” he argued.

  “Have you lost your damn mind? What is up with you this evening? Have you had too much to drink and now you want to bully someone?”

  “Aha! You see? You’re already acting bossy with me. Do you think I don’t know it’s all about the money? I know what you’re thinking, but you’re too afraid to say anything. At least not yet…” he said, pointing his finger at me.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? Have I ever said anything about your money? Don’t you think I knew from the beginning you weren’t earning much? If I was to chase you for your money, you should know that you wouldn’t even be on my radar. So please calm down and let me have some rest,” I tried to calm him down.

  “You see, soon enough you’ll start complaining I don’t make as much money as you, because you women are the same: you want a man who will provide for you. This game will not last long, and in a month or year, what?”

  “So you want me to take a factory job just to make you happy? Well, pal, it’s not going happen. I’m sorry for you, but no man is going to dictate my life. I am a intelligent woman and I have the right to earn money.”

  I left for another room but I could still hear him mumbling about the fight.

  “I’ll leave you, and then we’ll see how tough you are.”

  Hearing those words, I just couldn’t help it.

  My ego came out from the darkness of my mind where I tried to hide it, and my mouth exploded.

  “Is that right? Well, go you go off then, you can leave right now. Take your scumbag clothes and leave.”

  I took the closest bag I could find and started randomly packing in his clothes from the drawers.

  “You’re not thinking straight,” he said laughing.

  But this was it—I was done.

  “Really? I’m glad you came out with it. I really think we’re better off separated than together, so take your things and leave. Let me live my life the way I want and let me make as much money as I want!”

  “But wait—”

  “No buts! Take your things and leave right now. I don’t care where you go, just get out of my house!”

  “Look…”

  “Nope. We’re done. Out!”

  I pointed my finger to the door.

  When I think about it, I was probably looking for this moment. I wanted it to end a long time ago, and this was my opportunity. We weren’t good together and I wouldn’t even entertain the thought of getting married.

  When we first met, he seemed motivated, energetic and lively.

  In reality, he was a drunken slob.

  After he packed his clothes, I pushed him off the front door, and then a strange silence fell on the whole house…a silence I haven’t enjoyed in a long time.

  I can’t say I regret breaking up with him, because this event helped me realize I had started walking down a wrong path and made too many compromises just for the sake of a love that wasn’t even there.

  So for the next weeks of my life, I was up in the air.

  I had no idea how the days passed because I kept my mind busy thinking of the things that happened to me…being happy for my freedom but sad for the time lost with Mark, a man who could not appreciate me for what I was and only saw the money I made.

  And he saw it as an obstacle.

  At work, my boss was busting my ass round the clock.

  As if the things happening to me weren’t enough already, he kept pushing me to my limits.

  Clara here, Clara there.

  After finishing work on Friday night around nine, my only thought was about going home to relax. I had offers of parties and dinners to attend but none of that interested me. I didn’t want to socialize, or even talk to anyone.

  All I wanted to do was collapse on the floor of my apartment.

  Now was time for rest!

  But I barely got through the door when my phone started ringing.

  My first thought was that it was Mark and he was feeling lonely on the Friday night. He’d better not be trying his lame excuses just to get back in my pants.

  That wasn’t going to work.

  Not in a million years!

  Fortunately, it was my mother.

  “Hi, Mom. How have you been?” I asked her politely because
we hadn’t talked in a long time, and I felt embarrassed about not finding the time to call my own mother.

  “Hello, dear, I’m fine. But how is my lovely girl doing? I haven’t heard from you in ages. Are you all right?” she asked with a mild, caring voice.

  “Yes, Mom, I’m fine. Sorry for not calling that often; I’ve been busy with work and other things. I can barely keep my head above water. Is everything okay back home?”

  “Of course, dear, everything’s just perfect. And I know you’re terribly busy so I won’t hold you too long…” she said.

  I could feel her smiling through the phone.

  “C’mon, Mom, you know you can talk as much as you want to. Sorry I got caught up with things, but now we can talk the whole night if you want.”

  “No, dear, we don’t have to because you’re coming back home for dinner this weekend, and we can talk the whole night face to face. You know phone calls are not my thing; I want to see the person I’m talking to.”

  “This weekend, Mom? Like tomorrow?”

  “Yes, dear, tomorrow evening. You arranged it weeks ago, remember? I’m prepare your favorite dish.”

  Damn.

  I’d been so busy, I ‘d forgotten.

  Mom had called and told me she had important news to share with me.

  And Mom only shares important news in person.

  But I wasn’t available for a weeks. In reality, I don’t even feel available now.

  All I want to do is lie on the couch and read romantic novels for the whole weekend.

  “Tomorrow by seven, I’ll be home.”

  “I can’t wait to see my baby,” she said, still smiling.

  “I can’t wait to see you too, Mom.”

  Chapter Two

  Friday night passed like it was a second, and my Saturday morning was spent in bed reading book after book. I love a good romance. It takes me to another place and I could read them all the time if I had the chance.

  But I was also excited to have the opportunity to chat with my mother. I got in my car and drove there listening to the radio and even singing louder than the speakers.

  I knew that this was a perfect night when I could forget about work, Mark, and all the nasty things that happened to me the past couple of months.

  As I was driving to Mom’s house, I felt like life was starting to come together.

  But things never stay good in my life for long…

  So as I entered Mom’s house happy and in a good mood, and my eyes saw something I thought I never would see—and frankly, I never wanted to.

  In there was Thomas, standing by the table, looking at me and smiling as if he just won the lottery.

  The moment I saw him, my body froze.

  I never expected to see the sperm donor who helped with my conception again. I stopped calling him my father, the day he walked out on us when I was five years old.

  Bastard.

  I started referring to him as a sperm donor because I couldn’t call him a father, as he never helped raise me.

  When I was close to five years old, he just left me and my mother.

  The bastard left us without any remorse that he was leaving behind his little girl—a little girl who needed a father to raise and protect her from the mean world.

  For him, something seemed more important than raising me.

  He had aged so much, but I could still remember his face.

  I wondered why my mother let him enter the house when she could clearly remember how much we had to struggle because of him.

  That selfish bastard destroyed my mom’s life because she got stuck with me, being so little.

  She never married again, raising me as her only purpose of her life.

  This wasn’t right—no one should have the right to take happiness from someone else’s life, and then come back after years just like that and say they’re sorry.

  This was bull.

  I couldn’t help it; all that rage and fury accumulated from work and Mark was released at once.

  “Mom, what is this man doing in our house, paid with our own money from our hard labor?” I said pointing at him, half yelling.

  “Come on, Clara. Please calm down. Your father just came here to—”

  “My father? I don’t know who my father is, because I was raised only by my mother. Besides her, all are strangers to me, so please don’t call this man my father! He is not, and will never be, no matter who he pretends to be!” I said while standing close to the door, ready to open it the moment he decided to leave the house.

  “Clara, please just let me…”

  “Sir, please, you will talk to me only if I ask you to. And I’m afraid that won’t happen soon… probably close to never!”

  My mother stepped in, gently held my arm and took me to the kitchen.

  She poured two glasses of wine and we stayed there for a couple of moments.

  “Please, baby, just hear what he has to say. Just this one time. And then he’ll leave and won’t bother you ever again.”

  “But Mom, how can I pretend that nothing happened?”

  “C’mon, let’s act like adults,” she said.

  I trusted her with my life, so we headed back to the living room to sit and see what Thomas had to say in his defense.

  Chapter Three

  My father.

  It is a term that I struggle to even think about.

  I wanted a father.

  I wanted a man to protect me and teach me the ways of the world.

  I wanted him here for years.

  But I learnt that men cannot be relied upon and I would have to fight for everything I ever wanted.

  His departure was probably one the greatest things that ever happened in my life. Because of his exit, I learnt how to be a strong, independent proud woman.

  His departure made me who I am today.

  Maybe I should be thankful for that?

  But if he dared to come up with an excuse for his actions, I would most certainly break his nose…

  As all three of us sat at the table, a strange silence fell upon us. Neither Mom nor Thomas dared to say a word.

  While I looked at the window, he was looking at my mother, like he was asking for her permission to open his mouth.

  “Clara, you look beautiful,” he began, and I suddenly looked at him with nervousness.

  “Please leave the chivalries aside,” I said, looking like wanting to throw him out the front door.

  “Clara…” he started.

  I approved. “That’s my name.”

  “Clara, I don’t want your forgiveness if you don’t want to give it to me, but at least allow me to explain myself and tell you why things happened the way they happened. I really didn’t want you to suffer.”

  “Just go through with it,” I said. “I don’t have all night to listen to your lame excuses.”

  I was rough.

  But that was the calmest I could be in such a situation.

  “I loved your mother a lot, and you as well, but soon after the marriage something bad happened to me. I lost my only sister, and I guess because of that I started drinking…a little bit at the beginning, but soon enough I became a heavy drinker. Before I realized it, I was drinking bottles and bottles a day with no control over myself. I had no idea what to do, and by then I was doing more harm than good to both of you. I wasn’t able to work and your mother had to support the three of us from her small wage,” he said, trying to look at me.

  “That’s all you got?” I asked rhetorically.

  “Clara…” he pleaded.

  “You’re asking for my forgiveness with this pitiful discourse? You’re pathetic, you should know that.”

  “I know it sounds harsh and empty, but it’s the truth,” he replied. “And I’m lying to you…my intention is not to convince you of anything or to make you do something you don’t want. All I want is for you to know the truth and to stop living with fictional scenarios in your head.”

  “Is that right,” I replied ne
rvously, looking straight in his eyes because I wanted to see right inside his soul and make him feel sorry for his shitty decision made decades ago. “And you thought it now to be the perfect moment to come and destroy the little balance I’ve managed to establish after so many years of tears and hardship? You picked the wrong moment, DAD.”

  “You have to understand that for me, it hasn’t been easy either. I had troubled times and almost killed myself soon after I left your mother because I regretted my actions. But I knew deep down that I did what was best for the both of you,” he said, looking at me with tears in his eyes.

  But this little act wasn’t going to convince me.

  No way.

  After years of taking care of myself, I had developed a very thick skin.

  “Leaving us was in our best interest? That’s what you call the thing you did to us?

  “Well, that’s what I thought at that time to be the best thing to do…” he replied humbly.

  “Hmm, let me tell you what I think would’ve been best for us: you quit drinking and act like a real man, a real father and husband, and not hide behind a bottle of liquor, ditching all your responsibilities. I’m telling you that in my eyes you have no alibi and no forgiveness for what you did to us, period!” I tried to stand but my mother stopped me before I could do so.

  “Please, Clara,” she said calmly. “Don’t go. Stay a bit more, and let him finish.”

  I was convinced by my sweet mother to stay for a couple more moments.

  But my heart was racing—I just couldn’t stand the man who’s pretending to be my father.

  “I know that what I did is unforgettable, and the years you lost can’t be brought back. All I ask of you is to let me compensate for that and try my best to repent my sins.”

  I don’t know why, but his face started shining in a weird way.

  His next words would reveal the reason.

  “You see, after a second attempt at suicide, the Lord saved me and showed me the true path I should follow in life. Now I’m a changed man. I quit drinking and devoted my life to the church.”