My Forever Billionaire

by Katie Evergreen

  Jackson’s face darkened. Her mom, who up to now had been polishing the windows with an old rag she must have found somewhere in the shop, was by her side in an instant. It felt good to know that she had these two people close to her. Despite the distance she had placed between her and her mom for five years, she was always there for her. And Jackson was certainly a pleasant addition.

  “Pete’s doing it so he can control you, love,” her mom said, the strain in her voice painfully obvious. “He controlled you all through your relationship, so why wouldn’t he think of doing it now you’ve escaped? He doesn’t want you making a new life without him, so he’s doing the best he can to stop that from ever happening. And I, for one, am not going to let him get away with it. He’s bitter because you left him, don’t let him drag you down to his level.”

  Her mom took a deep breath and shook her head. Her face was slightly purple, and it gave Clementine an idea for a color palette for the front door.

  “Ex-boyfriend and business partner,” Clementine offered to the Carters, aware that they were shuffling awkwardly by the empty shelves.

  “We know, dear,” Mrs. Carter said. “Your mom told us.”

  “Should have guessed,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

  The sun was rising higher in the sky now, sending bright orange rays of light through the front of the shop. It illuminated the dust and dirt and the amount of work needed, but Clementine wasn’t daunted by that. It was the cost that was tearing her in half.

  “Could we discuss dollars, please? I’m aware that my heart is falling for the place, my head has already fitted it out in full bakery glory, but my gut needs to be steadied,”

  Clementine smiled awkwardly, aware she was breaking the first rule of negotiating by telling them how much she wanted it. Mr. Carter glanced sideways at his wife. They shared a look that made Clementine’s heart drop all the way to her boots.

  It’s going to be too much.

  “Well, Clementine, we really want our shop to be busy again. It’s been a drain on our finances since the day we had to close its doors.” The pit of dread yawned open in Clementine’s stomach as he spoke. If their finances were already under strain, they wouldn’t want the lease going for cents.

  “We know you’ve fallen on difficult times, Clementine, and we want to work together toward something that can help both of us.”

  This was beginning to sound like the type of management speak that Pete used to give to his clients, just before he’d rip them off and buy their businesses for tens of thousands of dollars less than they were worth. Clementine looked around for Jackson. She could use his calmness, and the business acumen that he so obviously had in abundance.

  There was no sign of him.

  She peered behind Mrs. Carter to try and see if he’d slipped to the back of the shop to look in the old kitchenette, but the door was shut, and unless he had a torch with him, he wasn’t in there. Panic was rising in her chest.

  Where is he? Why has he left? Could he not bear to hear me lamenting about Pete?

  “Clementine?” Mr. Carter was looking at her expectantly.

  “Sorry,” she gushed. “Sorry. Please say that again.”

  Her heart was hammering so hard she could barely hear him talk.

  “We want you to have it for free for the first year. Then we can look at your accounts and see what would be sensible to charge based on your income. You’ll be doing us a favor, Clementine. Really you will. It’s sad to see the place empty, we’re not getting any younger, and we don’t have any children to hand the place over to. In all honesty we were wondering what to do with it, and you’ve come along at the most opportune moment.”

  Clementine’s jaw hit the dusty shop floor.

  “No,” she blurted. “I can’t do that? I’d feel as though I was taking advantage of you.”

  Mrs. Carter laughed a soft airy laugh.

  “You can give us free cakes if that’ll make you feel better,” she said, smiling.

  “Of… of course,” Clementine stammered. “Are you sure?”

  She looked between the couple, quite unable to comprehend what they were offering.

  “Of course, there’ll be overheads, utilities, you’ll have to pay those, but the shop is yours if you’d like it?”

  Mr. Carter held out his hand for her to shake. Clementine looked around for her mom, who until now had been uncharacteristically quiet. She was still trying to polish the windows, as if the deal had already been done.

  “Mom?” Clementine heard the quaver in her own voice.

  Her mom turned and Clementine saw the tears glistening in her eyes. She nodded her head vigorously at Clementine, gripping the rag in her hands so tightly her knuckles were white. Clementine grabbed Mr. Carter’s hand before he could change his mind and shook it as hard as she could. This was what she was meant to do, she knew this now. She had been destined to come home. Perhaps even going away in the first place was meant to happen too, otherwise she wouldn’t have known her hobby could become a vocation. She’d give Pete that, at least. He’d shown her the way.

  Mr. Carter peeled the key from his keyring and handed it over. It felt heavy and cold in her hands.

  “I’ll get some paperwork drawn up, but feel free to get to work immediately if you’d like to. The fittings can just be tossed, we don’t exactly have much need for video shelves anymore.”

  The four of them laughed. The air in the shop lightened in relief, motes of dust swirling in the sunlight.

  “I’ve got a cake that I need to ice today, but I’ll be back in the morning and I’ll get straight on it. I’m so excited and so grateful to you both for this opportunity.” She grabbed Mrs. Carter in a giant hug. “Thank you.”

  Clementine locked up the shop as they left. Her shop. Her stomach flipped at the thought of starting again on her own. She hadn’t realized how terrifying it would be and she found herself wishing that Jackson was here to celebrate with her. But there had been no sign of him since she’d started moaning about Pete. Trying to not let his disappearance hamper her happiness and excitement, Clementine turned back to the shop and pictured the fascia. A candy purple door, and freshly painted walls. Gleaming windows, decorated with white sign-writing depicting the kind of ginger bread houses that kids made at Christmas time. It was a dream come true.

  “The Gingerbread House,” she said to her mom as they reached the car.

  “And that,” her mom said excitedly as she opened the door for Clementine. “Is what we call good karma.”

  Clementine tried to smile.

  If this is karma, then what on Earth have I done to make Jackson disappear again?

  15

  Jackson knew he needed to hurry up if his plan was going work. He also knew Clementine would probably hate him for bailing on her. But he figured the outcome would be more than enough to counterbalance any ill feelings. He was so excited it felt like there was a swarm of bees buzzing around his skull.

  He had crept out of the shop when everyone was distracted by Mrs. Harper’s tirade about Pete. Clementine’s ex really did seem like a total waste of space. Jackson’s heart had hurt a lot when he thought of how she was being used and manipulated by a weak, controlling man. No, not a man. No man was that pathetic. Jackson knew he wanted to make life a little easier for her, and if doing things in secret was the only way to do it, then so be it—at least until he could reveal who he really was.

  He’d made his way out through the kitchenette and put the door on the latch so he could get back in later. It was a bit of a naughty thing to do, but Jackson knew the town well, plus there was nothing worth taking in the shop at the moment. If a thief wanted to help himself to a load of empty VHS shelves he’d be doing everyone a favor. It was unlikely, not impossible, but unlikely. Jackson had gone over the road to the diner and found an empty booth right at the back. He didn’t want anyone overhearing him, or Clementine spotting him through the window if she came to find out where he’d gone.

  Pulling ou
t his phone, he’d searched his contacts for the best painter and decorator he knew. He’d used the guy for all of his renovations, for the penthouse flat he’d moved into, for each factory building block he’d bought, for each retail outlet that he’d needed fitting out. Despite the sleek lines and top of the range electrics of each refurbish, none of the properties had felt like home to Jackson, but that wasn’t for want of trying. Being back here it was dawning on him that the discomfort he’d felt all through his adult life had nothing to do with the homes he had bought, and everything to do with the one he had left—and the memories it still contained. He punched dial and willed the phone to connect.

  “Hey, George, I need a favor,” he practically shouted, elated at hearing the voice on the other end. “It’s a ‘drop what you’re doing and help me right now’ kind of a favor that you will, of course, be rewarded handsomely for.”

  “Hi Jackson,” the voice at the other end of the phone replied. “I’m kind of busy right now, could we hold off until tomorrow? I’m in the middle of a refurb, it’s a huge unit and the deadline is tight.”

  “I know,” Jackson almost laughed into the cell. “It’s my job you’re working on. Look, drop it, it’s fine, the unit will wait. This won’t. I’m going to charter a plane and send you a list of things I need you to do. It needs finishing today, and there’s no leeway on that.”

  There was a moments silence on the line. Then Jackson heard George sucking air through his teeth.

  “You’re a tough taskmaster, Jackson. But I’m up for it. Email me the details and I’ll pack up here.”

  “Thanks, buddy, you’re a lifesaver.”

  Jackson hung up and flicked the screen on his phone over to email. He typed out a long message as the waitress came over to top up his coffee cup. Jackson gave her a smile and carried on with his work, sipping his drink. The coffee was surprisingly good for a diner. He was used to beans grown in ultimate conditions, ground by hand, and brewed at the perfect temperature. He’d found diners normally used cheap imports and the wrong temperature water, but this coffee had a wonderful silky quality about it. He made a note to compliment the owners on his way out, but right now he had a plane to charter and some supplies to request.

  With his emails sent, Jackson sat back and sighed. He drained the last of his coffee and was about to get to his feet when he saw the Carters push the door open and head to an empty booth beside the window. A flash of panic hit him hard and he slumped back into his seat, looking over at their booth to see if he could sneak past without being seen. It would be a tough call, but if he waited until they’d ordered they might be too interested in their plates to notice him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to speak to them again. They were a lovely couple. Jackson just didn’t want to get involved in a conversation about the past. Especially in his old home town where people knew him and were strangers all at once. His heart yearned for Clementine, she had been so kind and generous since he’d bumped in to her yesterday, he wished she were sitting with him now. She would know exactly what to say.

  This is ridiculous, Jax.

  He took a deep breath and stood, heading to the counter to pay for his bottomless coffee. The waitress from earlier took his cash and wished him a good day. In his haste to leave, he forgot to leave his compliments about the coffee. Shoving his hands into his pockets and keeping his head low, Jackson headed towards the door.

  “So wonderful to see her back at home,” he overheard Mrs. Carter saying.

  He slowed down a fraction, willing the Carters to carry on with their conversation.

  “Yeah, so wonderful,” Mr. Carter agreed. “The shop will be alive with people again, God bless.”

  “And Jackson too. It was a tragedy what happened to the Brodies. Such a tragedy.” Jackson saw Mrs. Carter shake her head. “I’m surprised he ever came back, to be honest…”

  Jackson couldn’t listen anymore. His blood was as thick and cold as ice, his whole body was starting to tremble. He stumbled out of the diner and straight into the street. Fortunately, there weren’t many cars, and the few that were there were going slow enough to stop in time. Ignoring their horns, Jackson tripped his way across the road and back to the now empty store. He headed around to the back entrance and let himself in the unlocked door. Bile swam in his stomach, threatening to make a fast exit. With the door shut behind him, Jackson took a few deep, steadying breaths.

  No one knows. No one knows. Stay calm.

  He squatted down on his haunches, scared that his legs might give way. With his head in his hands, Jackson kept on breathing, and with every breath he felt the panic ebb from his body. He needed to get it together. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the billionaire businessman who got up every day at 5am to work out before meetings; who made business decisions every day that were worth ten times what his family home had been. This wasn’t Jackson Brodie.

  Or was it? Was this the Jackson Brodie that belonged in Willingham? Was this the Jackson Brodie whose parents had dragged him away from his hometown for fear of people discovering who he really was, and what he had done? Was this the Jackson Brodie he had tried to forget over the last ten years.

  “Give me strength,” he whispered into his hands.

  A loud banging from the front door sent him jumping to his feet. He rubbed his face with his hands, the stubble on his chin scraping his palms.

  “Coming,” he shouted, making his way through the kitchenette to the shop front.

  There was a large van blocking the sun from the windows at the front of the store. A young man with a cap and a clipboard stood at the door, peering in through the glass until he saw Jackson. He waved the clipboard in greeting. Jackson undid the lock from inside and ushered the man in to the shop.

  “Have you got everything I asked for?” Jackson asked the young man before he’d even had a chance to introduce himself.

  The man nodded, holding out the clipboard for Jackson to take.

  “Yes, Mr. Brodie. It’s all there. Where would you like it?”

  The man didn’t have a local accent, but Jackson figured he couldn’t live too far away or he wouldn’t be here by now. It hadn’t been that long since he’d placed the order.

  “Just inside would be awesome, thank you,” Jackson replied, standing back and opening the door wide. “Can I give you a hand?”

  The delivery man shook his head, his thick mop of hair flopping in front of his eyes as he did.

  “Until it’s in the building it’s my responsibility,” the young man said. “And no offence, but I’m not sure you could help all that much. I’ll get the shelves out of the way once the van is empty.”

  He turned on his heels, left the shop, and started unlocking the back of the van. Jackson was taken aback. Not once, for as long as he could remember, had he felt so weak and inadequate. He was sure the young man hadn’t meant offence, but Jackson still felt winded by his words. He did feel weak, shaky, and in dire need of rest.

  A beam of sunlight flashed through the window, right into Jackson’s eyes, momentarily blinding him. He shifted slightly, out of the way of the blinding light, and stood by one of the large windows to let the man bring the goods into the store. As his eyes recovered he caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the window. Someone he didn’t recognize stared back at him. Someone with a shadow of beard that was growing straggly across his face. The dark circles under his eyes almost rendered them invisible, and his hair showed no respect for the five hundred dollar cut it’d had not even a week ago.

  No wonder I look unreliable, he sighed to himself, running his hands through his thick, dark hair to try and tame it a little.

  An anger ignited in Jackson at that moment—a fire in his belly, a spark of loathing for Willingham and what it had done to him in only a few short days since arriving. He couldn’t let the town do this to him, not when it made him forget who he’d fought so hard to become. No matter how hard it would be, he was going to sort out this place for Clementine. And when he was done—and when h
e had finished the task that had brought him back in the first place—he would get on his bike and he would leave Willingham behind forever.

  16

  Clementine was up and out of bed at the crack of dawn the next morning, excitement in her step as she bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her dad was finishing up his breakfast and about to head to the fields. He ruffled her hair on his way out, the twinkle back in his eye again.

  Clementine fixed herself a pot of coffee, her nerves far too jangled to eat, and started scribbling on a notepad she’d found by the telephone in the hallway. She started by listing all the things she’d need to do before the proper hard work began.

  Dispose of shelves.

  Clean

  Scrub floors

  Windows

  Get utilities sorted.

  She pondered the list for a moment, chewing the end of her pen, her eyebrows drawn together. There was so much to do, but it was doable. She’d tackle those things today and then write another list tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. It wasn’t going to be cheap, but with free rent she didn’t have so much to worry about. And her parents were letting her lodge for free, too, until she was back on her feet.

  Things were looking up, but Clementine couldn’t shake the underlying tense trepidation. She had a barrage of texts from Pete that were going unread, and she still hadn’t heard from Jackson since he disappeared yesterday.

  Clementine couldn’t help but wonder if the Jackson she’d known wasn’t really Jackson at all any more. Maybe he really was just a man who ran from his troubles without a care for who he hurt. She didn’t want to think that. He had been her best friend, her first love, her only real love. And when she had bumped in to him those positive feelings had been the first ones to reappear. When she’d spent time with him, she felt close to him—as if they had never parted—and she thought he had felt the same. But she must have been mistaken. She knew that she had to get him out of her system, and she figured the best way to do that was to throw herself into work.