Single Dad Billionaire

by B. B. Hamel

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  He takes my hand and squeezes. “Hey. We both got out.”

  “You’re right.” I curl up next to him, my head on his chest. “We did.”

  I close my eyes as we lapse into silence. I don’t want to push him for more of his story, but I can imagine it. I lived some of it, I bet. It’s amazing that he ended up here and I ended up here too, but we took such different paths. Similar beginnings, but such different choices and events.

  I can feel sleep tugging me down, and I want to resist it since he’s still here, but I can’t. All I hear is his breath and his heartbeat thumping slowly in my ear. It’s comforting, and when I finally go back under, I don’t dream anymore.

  It’s just peaceful and calm. There’s nothing else.

  19

  Ethan

  I glance at my agenda and sigh. The day is nearly over and yet I feel like I haven’t gotten a damn thing done. I’ve been feeling like this ever since Aria came into my life, but I know it’s not her fault. I’m just distracted by her.

  Last night, I fell asleep in her bed. I told myself I wasn’t going to do that, but it happened. When I heard her screaming, I thought something horrible was happening.

  Instead, I ended up opening up about my life. I never talk about my father, not with anyone. It’s not that I’m ashamed, or not exactly, but I just can’t stand people feeling any sort of pity for me. I survived it and got the fuck out of there, and that’s all I care about.

  I still speak with my mother maybe once a month. I paid off their house, despite my father asking me not to, and bought them a new car. But that’s the extent of it. I’d give them more, take care of them for life only because they’re my parents, but my father made it clear that he doesn’t want my help.

  Too proud or too stupid, I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m moving on past all of this.

  But I understand what Aria is going through. I used to dream of my father and the beatings he’d give me, all for my own good, all because he wanted me to toughen up. Of course, he was beating on a fourteen-year-old boy, but that didn’t matter to him. I was a sissy because I was good with computers and I was smart, and no son of his was going to be a sissy.

  As soon as I turned sixteen and hit a growth spurt, the beatings stopped. Mostly because I got big enough to fight back and defend myself. He didn’t want to risk getting hurt. But the emotional abuse never stopped, not until the day I left that house and never looked back.

  I’m not a weak man. I don’t let that shit define me or hold me back. I’m not some fucking victim. But I can’t pretend like it didn’t happen. I was just a kid and I didn’t know any better. I shouldn’t be ashamed of it.

  And I’m not, not exactly at least. I mostly just don’t want people defining me by my past. Everything I’ve accomplished since then is so much more important to me, and I don’t want to become the abused kid that made it big.

  Maybe it was dangerous to tell Aria that story. She could easily turn around and sell it to some tabloid. The Syndicate would probably have something to say about that, but that wouldn’t really stop her, not if she was really determined. She could make a nice chunk of money and disappear.

  But I know she wouldn’t do that. What she told me last night was real, very real. She couldn’t fake the screaming or the emotion that I saw plainly on her face. She understands what I went through, just like I understand what she went through, and I know she’d never betray my trust. Just like I’d never betray hers.

  The unspoken bond between us sends strange shivers down my spine. I never imagined feeling... whatever this is. It’s an attachment, that’s for sure, a very powerful bond that I don’t entirely understand yet. There’s so much between us already, and we have so much in common, that I can barely believe it.

  My secretary buzzes my phone suddenly, snapping me out of my haze. I hit a button. “Yes?” I ask, getting myself back into the moment.

  “Richard Taylor on line two,” she says.

  I pause. “Thanks,” I say, before picking up the phone and hitting a button. “Richard,” I say. “Hello.”

  “How are you doing, Ethan?”

  I pause, wondering how to proceed. Do I pretend like the blackmail never happened?

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “Have you thought about our last conversation?”

  There it is. I was waiting for that. I wonder how direct he’ll be over the phone.

  “I have,” I say.

  “And?”

  “And it doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice in this situation, does it?”

  “No,” he says, and I can hear the joy in his voice. “That’s the point though, of course.”

  “Send over your next round of contracts.”

  “I will. I’ll be reasonable, Ethan. I’ll go easy on you.”

  “For both our sakes, Richard. Remember, you need this deal as much as I do.”

  “That’s true,” he says, laughing. “That’s very true. Well, I’m glad you came to your senses. We’re both going to be rich and happy men soon.”

  “I suspect you’ll be richer and happier,” I say.

  “Of course. That’s the game, isn’t it?” He laughs and then hangs up the phone.

  I stare at my receiver before hanging it back up. I feel fucking sick to my stomach all of a sudden, and although I have more work to do, I know I’m done for the day. It’s around five anyway, and there’s no shame in leaving at a normal time for once. I’ll go home, check on Aria, eat something, and then work from my home office for a few more hours.

  With that plan in mind, I stand up and head out, trying to shake the sinking feeling I have in my stomach. Richard Taylor has me over a fucking barrel, and he’s going to take advantage of this. People are going to wonder why I took this fucking deal when inevitably I do, and it’s going to look very bad. This is a losing situation for me, and I have to find some way out of it.

  The car gets me home quickly and I’m optimistic as I climb out and head up the stoop. I’ve been ignoring this Richard thing, or at least I’ve been trying to. I’ve been using Aria to help distract me from the fucked up shit that’s happening all around me, and she’s been doing a damn good job.

  But as soon as I open the door, I know something’s up. The house is normally quiet, and usually Jenkins is there immediately to greet me. Instead, I hear hushed voices coming from the kitchen, and there’s nobody around.

  I don’t mind if they’re busy. That’s fine. Hell, I don’t even care if they’re just standing around and chatting and didn’t know I was coming in. But that just never happens. Jenkins is always on top of things, probably because the driver normally calls ahead. This time though, as I walk down the hall and into the great room, I know something is amiss.

  Jenkins is standing in the kitchen with a tall, thin, striking woman, maybe in her late forties. She has black hair pulled back in a tight bun and her red lipstick makes her pale skin that much more intense. She wears a loose black dress and her eyes flit to mine as soon as I’m in the room.

  Jenkins, for his part, looks utterly embarrassed. “Sir,” he says quickly, rushing toward me. “I’m so sorry. I was distracted by this, this woman.”

  “It’s okay, Jenkins,” I say. “But who is she?”

  “Ethan Locks,” the woman says, speaking over Jenkins and walking toward me with her hand extended. “My name is Lucille and I’m with The Syndicate. We need to talk.”

  I take her hand and shake, but the world feels like it dips and disappears around me.

  I knew The Syndicate would come and check on Aria, but they assured me it would be discreet. They said they wouldn’t even be seen or noticed by me or anyone in my staff. They assured me that they’re professionals, and that they do this all the time.

  If this woman is from The Syndicate and she’s here, in my home, speaking with my butler, then something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. She shouldn’t be here.

  I feel like th
e world is spinning around me as fear for Aria spikes through my body.

  20

  Aria

  When I wake up, he’s gone. That doesn’t surprise me. But what surprises me is that he slept in my bed all night, and only left during the early hours of the morning.

  I woke up when he left, but only briefly. He slipped out of the bed and for a second, I thought it was a dream.

  But hours later, when I’m fully awake, I know that it wasn’t a dream. He really slept in the bed with me, our bodies intertwined and cuddling. That’s the most intimate thing we’ve done together, and I can hardly describe and explain how happy it makes me feel to know that he was willing to stay with me.

  He opened up to me. I stretch, smiling to myself. He really opened up. That story about his father is horrible, and reminds me so much of myself. I didn’t know that we had this much in common, but clearly we grew up in similar circumstances. He knows pain and suffering in the same way that I do, which almost scares me.

  But it shouldn’t scare me, I know that. I should be elated, and I am. This is what I want, what I’ve always wanted from a man. This level of intimacy was never something I ever pictured could happen for me. I assumed I was always doomed to push men away and to live my life alone.

  Maybe that doesn’t have to be the case. Maybe there’s something more happening here. He finally fucked me, finally held me, finally made me his. Everything should be perfect.

  So why do I still feel like there’s something missing?

  He still owns me. At the end of the day, that’s the truth. He owns me and there’s nothing either of us can do about it. No matter what happens between us, it’s only happening because he bought me. I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t.

  Him opening up was real. And the way I’m feeling is real. But I don’t know what any of that means, how long any of it will last, because of our situation. It’s inherently messed up.

  I wish I could just tell him that I want him to get his money back. Or that I will donate all my money to a charity or something, if it just means that we can have something beyond this exchange of value. I want him for real, not as some man that bought me and keeps me as his pet. I want something real.

  I want whatever happened last night to keep happening. I’m afraid that it was just a moment of weakness for him, and as soon as we wake up, the spell will be over.

  It’s impossible to say one way or the other.

  The day drags on. Jenkins brings me lunch and I don’t hear from Ethan at all. I keep thinking about him, of course, but I just keep doing what I always do. I’m confused and trying to figure all of this out, but there’s nothing I can do.

  I’m still stuck in this room, waiting for him to come to me. I know he will, or at least I feel that he will deep down inside of me. He’ll come and we’ll talk. And we’ll make this real.

  I’ll give up the money. Forget about the money. Sure, it’s a life-changing amount, but I’d give it all up for the chance at something real and lasting and good.

  It’s a crazy thought, giving up millions, but I can’t help but seriously consider it. Maybe if I told him that, he’d break the contract and we could try this seriously. I don’t know if he’d even want that, though. The whole point of buying me is that it’s temporary and there aren’t any feelings involved.

  Feelings are involved now, though. I can’t say what they are or what they mean, but they’re there and I can’t stop them.

  The day wears on and soon it’s around five. Normally, Jenkins is very prompt with my dinner, but today something is different. He brings it at five on the dot, which is way too early for me, but I haven’t really complained. Today though, it’s five thirty and there’s still nothing.

  I shrug and figure maybe he’s finally figuring out that five is too early for a healthy young lady like myself.

  Around five forty-five, Jenkins appears knocking at the door. He hustles the dinner cart inside, looking stressed and worried. I stand up and head toward him.

  “Evening,” he says. “Your dinner is served.”

  “Wait,” I say as he turns to leave. “Is everything okay?”

  He cocks his head at me. “I think you know all about that already,” he says with such vile scorn that it really surprises me.

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Your little Syndicate is downstairs talking with Mr. Locks right now. And you pretend like you don’t know. I know you text them every day.” He makes a face like he smells shit.

  But my head is spinning too much to pay attention to that. “Wait, The Syndicate is talking with him?” I ask. “Why would that happen?”

  He narrows his eyes. “You don’t know?”

  “I have no clue.” I step toward him. “You have to let me down there. I have to see Ethan.”

  He considers for a moment then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Absolutely not. You’ve been enough trouble already.”

  “Jenkins, please,” I plead. “I can’t stay up here. I didn’t know they were coming and that can’t be good. Let me down there.”

  “No,” he says, and turns to leave again.

  I leap forward and take his hand. He rears back, shocked, his face a mask of disgust and outrage.

  “Please,” I say again. “You have to let me go down.”

  “No, and kindly never touch me again.” He turns and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  I stare at the shut door, shocked and terrified.

  The Syndicate said they’d never make contact with Ethan unless they absolutely had to. That was only meant to be a last and worst-case scenario. They’re supposed to discreetly check up on me and act invisible.

  But if they’re here, something is wrong, something is very wrong. I can’t just stay in this room. I have to go down there.

  I take a deep breath and then open the door, heading out into the hall. I march toward the stairs and head down, not slowing, and not taking no for an answer.

  I’ll have a say in this, whatever it is. I can’t let this real thing slip through my fingers, not now, not when it’s so close.

  21

  Ethan

  Lucille from The Syndicate sits across from me on the sofa, her back very straight. She sips from the cup of tea that Jenkins brought us on a tray.

  Jenkins disappeared soon after I came back. I had to remind him to take dinner up to Aria, mostly just to get him out of the room. I don’t want him listening in on this conversation.

  “I’m sorry to come here like this, Mr. Locks,” she says.

  “Please, call me Ethan.” I frown at her. “I assume there’s a problem.”

  She nods slowly. “There is a problem, Ethan. I’m very sorry about all this.”

  “I don’t know what you’re apologizing for yet.”

  She looks a little uncomfortable, but she’s hiding it well. Clearly she’s used to dealing with this sort of thing, but whatever she has to say she doesn’t like.

  “It’s an, ah, unusual situation,” she says. “We don’t typically sell the girls for more than a couple weeks. One month is a long time.”

  I shrug. “You agreed at the time.”

  “You offered a lot of money.”

  “And you took my money.” I lean toward her. “Are you regretting it?”

  “Yes, we are,” she says. “Truth is, we shouldn’t have sold you Aria for a month. You’re a new client. There’s normally some kind of short-term trial period.”

  I cross my arms and watch her for a moment, trying to read her. She looks back impassively, and I get the sense that she’s not telling me the full truth. They didn’t have any issue selling me Aria at the time when I offered them a lot of money. And there haven’t been any problems up to this point.

  “Have I mistreated her?” I ask. “Has she complained?”

  “No,” Lucille says, shaking her head. “Not at all.”

  “Then you’ll excuse me if I’m trying to figure out what the hell
you’re doing here.”

  She looks a little surprised at my forceful tone, which was the point. I want to throw her off balance, make her actually tell me what’s going on here.

  “We want her back, Ethan,” she says. “We’re willing to refund most of your money as compensation.”

  “Fuck the money,” I say.

  She frowns but continues. “Aria will be treated well, of course. She’ll get her payment. Maybe not as much as she would have, but still a generous amount. And we’re willing to offer you another girl to finish out your month-long contract at a very agreeable discount.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “So you’re willing to give me another girl, but I can’t have Aria?”

  “That’s right,” she says. “Aria is new as well. She wasn’t prepared for this level of contract.”

  “Aria is fine,” I say. “There’s no reason for you to take her back. We’ll finish the contract as we agreed.”

  “I’m sorry, Ethan. But I’m not allowed to do that.”

  “Listen, Lucille. I don’t know why you’re here. You’re giving me these vague excuses, and none of it adds up. You’re clearly lying, or at least you’re keeping something from me. So until you tell me why I should give her up, we’re done here.”

  I move to stand and she sighs, holding up one hand, her eyes closed. I can tell she’s pained. She’s probably not supposed to tell me the real reason why The Syndicate wants Aria back.

  It’s probably something embarrassing. The fact that Lucille is here at all is a breach of their decorum. They’re normally incredibly discreet and professional and apparently pride themselves on their efficiency. But sending Lucille here to gather up Aria and to break their contract seems like it’s very out of their character.

  “Please, I’ll explain.” She looks at me with a frown on her face. “Please, sit.”

  I slowly sit back down and lean toward her, elbows on my knees. “Go ahead,” I say.