by Taylor Hart
Her First Love Billionaire
Second Chance Time Travel Billionaire Romance
Taylor Hart
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
The Dancing Groom: Chapter 1
Also by Taylor Hart
About the Author
Copyright
All rights reserved.
© 2019 ArchStone Ink
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. The reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form whether electronic, mechanical or other means, known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written consent of the publisher and/or author. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This edition is published by ArchStone Ink LLC.
First eBook Edition: 2019
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the creation of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Damon, That Summer
Damon watched one of the rich kids who were visiting the ritzy Beach Club for the summer. He’d only been hired two days ago, and her group had arrived yesterday. He could recognize the groups that already knew each other, because the kids who’d been here before would run to each other like they were siblings separated at birth. This rich kid, a redhead, was taller than the other girls, and when they’d locked eyes only seconds ago, he had felt something. Which was stupid for a boy like him to even think.
Rather than dwell on her, he focused on getting all the sand off the chair he was working on. He spoke to his cousin, Frankie, who was the manager of the staff and currently supervising him. “It’s disgusting, isn’t it? All these rich kids with nothing to do but hang out the whole summer.”
“Remember, you can look, but you can’t touch.” Frankie marked something on his clipboard. “There’s going to be a lot of cute girls here all summer, and it’s best you remember that you work here. That’s all you’re here for.”
Damon glanced back at the group of teenagers, who all seemed to be about his age. “Where’s all the parents?”
Frankie snorted. “The parents are probably all off in the high-class country club, drinking wine and eating cheese.”
It would be a world apart from his mother and their trailer, less than five miles away from the resort. Damon marveled at the idea. “How would it be?”
Frankie shook his head. “We’ll never know.”
The kids were now laughing extra loud, and one of the guys jumped on a pool chair, pretending to be Tarzan. He pounded his chest, then leapt off the chair and into the pool. Damon couldn’t even imagine their lives. What kind of money would it take to stay at a place like this for weeks or months at a time? He thought about the letter on the junk counter next to the microwave, the one that had past due stamped on it for lot rent. He’d have to pay it as soon as he could.
Frankie frowned and marched toward the kids. “Hey! Stay off the chairs!”
Damon watched as Frankie picked up a chair the kids had knocked over and spoke to them sternly. His cousin was two years older than him, and while Damon didn’t have any siblings, Frankie was the closest thing he had to a brother.
Again, Damon wondered what it would be like to be to be one of those rich kids. The guy who had pretended to be Tarzan was clearly giving Frankie grief. Frankie didn’t let it show, but Damon imagined he really wanted to clock the disrespectful jerk.
The kid turned away from Frankie, and the whole group moved toward the beach. Damon worked quickly, wiping and unfolding the chairs. It was only ten in the morning, but that’s when the beach service officially opened. He only had two more umbrellas and beach chairs to go.
Last summer, he’d worked at the diner where his mother waitressed. When Frankie had offered him this job last week, he’d jumped at the chance, grateful for the chance to be outside. It was hot and humid, but at least he wasn’t in a greasy kitchen. He got to the last cabana and opened it, then unstacked the chairs around it and began wiping them down.
“Hey, are we good to put our stuff down?”
Damon looked up and saw the guy who’d just been giving Frankie crap. He was holding his wet T-shirt right above the chair.
“Sure.” Damon gestured to the chair he’d just wiped off. “I’m about done.” He finished up with the last two chairs.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the cute redheaded girl move next to the jerk. Damon glanced up, surprised to see she was staring at him. His pulse kicked up a notch. Her hair was loose and she had freckles.
The jerk saw them staring at each other and nudged the redhead. “Hey, what’s this?”
Damon looked down to work the last chair, trying to ignore the conversation.
“Knock it off, Troy.” The redhead’s voice was sharp.
His work complete, Damon started to walk back toward the main pool area; he would stay there for the next couple of hours, checking out towels, washing towels, folding towels, and making sure everything that concerned the towels was taken care of.
“Hey,” Troy called out behind him. “Wait. I wasn’t done talking to you.”
Annoyance trickled through Damon. Rich types were all the same, bossy and entitled. Damon turned back, keeping his tone measured. “How can I help you?”
The jerk hesitated, then pointed to Damon’s face. “How’d you get that?”
Damon’s hand twitched toward the brass knuckles he carried in his pocket. Sometimes he had to use them when he would run the three miles home from Frankie’s house. They kept the gangbangers and druggies at bay. He held the guy’s eyes for a second. “It’s not your concern.”
“I asked you a question.” The guy’s tone was privileged. Snotty. If he’d used that tone on Damon in public school, well, Damon would surely end up suspended after teaching the kid some manners.
But this wasn’t public school. He needed this job.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” Troy growled at him.
Damon rose to his full height, part of him daring the punk to push this. Standing at a bit over six feet, Damon was about an inch taller than the other guy. With the look he’d given the juvie officer last week, he asked, “Oh, you mean the scar on my face?” and sputtered out a fake laugh.
Troy nodded, and Damon saw the flash of worry in his eyes. Yeah, he’d better worry.
“Troy, stop.” The redhead sounded angrier this time.
“What?” Troy looked at her.
She shifted her gaze to meet Damon’s. “Sorry. Troy doesn’t have any good sense to know that he should keep his mouth shut.�
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Damon couldn’t stop himself; he grinned at her. “It’s fine.”
Troy jolted back toward Damon. “Answer the question.”
“Stop,” the redhead said again, putting a hand on Troy’s shoulder.
“You stop!” Troy threw his hand back, out of her reach.
Well, so much for the cozy summer job. Damon would be back at the diner before nightfall. “This,” he said, pointing to his face, “was a little present from my father before he left.” He put his hand inside his pocket, ready to slip on the knuckles and deck this guy.
Troy’s mouth opened and closed. “Oh.”
The redhead’s face fell. “Wait.” She crossed the distance and stood in front of Damon, close enough for him to smell a trace of vanilla. Gently, she reached up, almost touching his scar.
He wanted to jerk back, but he couldn’t move. This was not what he’d expected today to be like.
“May I?” she asked.
“Madison! What are you doing?” Troy stomped toward them.
Damon put up his hand, signaling that Troy should stay back. As he looked the redhead in the eyes again, Damon felt passion strike him for the first time. Sure, he’d kissed girls, but he’d never felt this type of thing. “Go ahead,” he said, almost daring her.
Softly, she pressed her hand against the jagged scar on his face, tracing it from right below his left eye down to the crease in his lip. That simple touch sent a bolt of lightning coursing through him. Her eyes shifted back to his, and she put her hand down. “If you ask me, I think you’re the most handsome guy in this whole place.”
Her sincerity extinguished all of Damon’s urges to slam her boyfriend’s face into the cabana umbrella. “Thank you.”
A brilliant smile lit up her face. “I only speak the truth.”
The rest of the group of kids sauntered toward them. “What’s going on, Madi?” called a girl from the group.
“C’mon, Madison.” Troy yanked at her hand, pulling her away. “Stop it, or he’ll think you like him.” He laughed again and his eyes swung to Damon. “Maybe in a different timeline, right?”
Damon watched as the girl was dragged off, going with the group to the beach. The only thing he knew was that he would want her in any timeline.
Chapter 2
10 Years Later, Damon Present Day
The place was posh. Very governor-ish, thought Damon as he stepped out of the limo.
Ivan Volga, his friend and visiting scientist, pestered him again. “So, do you believe in time travel or not?” Ivan was staying with him for the next month while they worked on someone’s combined IP for Damon’s company. The company had sold his IP directly to the American government, which had turned into a very lucrative deal.
Damon began to ascend the long stairway to the house. “I wonder if the governor has some small-man issues or something with the way he built this house. Man, it’s like being in Rome.”
Ivan ignored his commentary. “So you don’t believe in time travel?”
With some effort, Damon tamped down his irritation and flashed Ivan a smile. Damon’s monkey suit was already getting on his nerves, and he’d only accepted the invitation to the governor’s mansion because he knew his old business partner, who’d stolen some precious IP, was going to be here. “Could I time-travel back and not become business partners with Patricia?”
“You do believe, then?” Ivan asked. Between the wire glasses, his Russian accent, and the way he constantly spoke of theorems and science, he made an interesting friend to have around.
Damon considered his question, his mind flashing to that moment all those years ago he wished he could take back. “Do you?”
“I believe in powerful forces that drag people to wherever they need to go. Maybe with some science.” Ivan nodded. “AI, maybe?”
This surprised Damon. “How many Nobel Peace Prizes have you won?”
“That doesn’t matter. Isn’t there a place you would travel back to, Damon?”
Her face lingered in Damon’s mind. If Damon knew anything about the last ten years, it was that it wasn’t healthy for him to dwell on her. Their choices had put them on different paths in life.
“Damon.” Ivan twisted his mustache.
They arrived at the top of the steps to see nicely dressed, nicely muscled bouncers preventing anyone from getting in. Damon handed over his invitation, and the bouncers let them through. They walked through the vaulted entrance into the Tuscan-style mansion, where a large fountain dominated the center of the room. Soft music played, and people in fancy dresses mixed and mingled around them.
Ivan pulled out a cigar as Damon scanned the crowd. “Still looking for your ex-business partner?” Ivan asked.
“If she’s here, I’m getting some answers.” Damon frowned at the cigar as Ivan lit it. “Those will kill you.”
Ivan shrugged. “The cigars or the alcohol. You and I both know the only reason I came is for the exceptional vodka they should be providing.”
“You’re such a stereotype.”
Ivan laughed. “A cocky billionaire, thinking he might have a chance to get his precious stolen IP back—now that’s a stereotype.” An usher led them to their assigned table. When they settled, Ivan sized Damon up. “Did you and Patricia have a … thing?”
“No,” Damon said quickly. “Not my type.” She had wanted to start something between them, but Damon knew never to mix business with pleasure.
Ivan puffed out a stream of smoke. His eyes held mischief. “Why do I think that you might have been her type?”
Damon let the comment go, opting to take a sip of water and search the room again. Patricia was tall, almost six feet, so she was hard to miss. He didn’t see her.
“Ah, let it go, my friend. Let it go and trust in creativity to win the day.” Ivan puffed more on the cigar, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.
Damon turned to him. “What does that even mean?”
“You don’t think I’ve had many ideas taken from me? Hundreds. My country takes what they want, when they want. I have been lucky to claim the small amount I have been given credit for.”
Damon winced. From that angle, his own grievance was petty in comparison.
Ivan leaned back and tapped the side of his head. “No one can take your mind. And the mind can create anything. And more. The mind is not finite. The problem with you capitalist pigs is that you think you deserve something. Never think that.” He put a hand to his chest. “Know, right here, that you can create anything. And then you can create more.”
Damon thought of the next-level project Patricia had taken. It would have brought in a lot of money. “I just need to make sure she’s sufficiently threatened that I’ll come after her if she sells it.”
Ivan’s thick eyebrows lifted. “Is this going to affect the project I’m helping you with?”
Damon brushed a hand through the air. “It might. I saw some of the code pop up on open source.” He didn’t like admitting this, but he had to level with Ivan. The two of them had been working together a long time—not just on Damon’s projects, but also on government projects that were classified. They had spent long hours together, and Ivan probably knew him better than most people did. Well, except Frankie, but it’d been over a year since Damon had been back home. After his mother’s funeral, he didn’t really have a reason. Plus, there were too many memories of her.
Ivan swore. “Where did you go, my friend?”
Damon jolted back to the present. “I’m here.”
“You see, my friend, I don’t think you’re that distracted by Patricia.”
“You don’t?” Damon scanned the room for the tall woman again.
“No.” Ivan grinned at him. “I think you’re mostly distracted, all of the time, with your past. A past—” He held up a pointer finger in the air. “—you haven’t told me much about.”
A sting of truth pierced Damon’s center. He’d gone to great lengths to keep the past where it should be—behind him.
“Be smart, friend: don’t ask about things you don’t need to know.”
“Hmm.” Ivan shook his head. “Keep your secrets.” He glanced around the room. “I’ll focus on the vodka, cigars, and possibly the women.”
Damon grunted and let his focus of looking for Patricia abate. He watched the people around them as they settled at their tables. The seats next to him and Ivan were soon filled. Damon politely shook hands around the table but instantly forgot their names and faces.
Ivan was speaking to the couple next to him, as if oblivious to Damon’s discomfort. Now that the subject of time travel had been brought up, all Damon could think about was what he would change if he could. Gently, he tapped Ivan’s foot.
“Excuse me,” Ivan politely said to the couple. He leaned in to hear what Damon had to say.
“I just want to know why you are thinking about time.”
“I knew you would care.” Ivan let out a soft laugh. “The truth is, I was sent an article by a friend. A friend closely associated with Steven Pear. The legend of Pear.”
Damon frowned. The only Pear he was familiar with was the billionaire, possibly trillionaire, owner of a software computer company. “What legend is that?”
Ivan leaned in closer. “The legend is that Pear found a way to go forward in time when he was young. At the beginning of building his company.”
“Okay.”
“The tale is that Steve met a woman and fell in love, but couldn’t stay in the future, so he brought the woman with him back to the present.”