Home > Billionaire's Secret Baby : A Second Chance Romance(3)

Billionaire's Secret Baby : A Second Chance Romance(3)
Author: Jennifer Hartley

While I was cleaning off one of the counters at the checkout line, I noticed some cards left for customers to take, advertising local businesses. I flicked through them out of genuine curiosity: a local grocery store, a family-owned restaurant, a farmers market, and finally, a new card that I had never seen before. “Escape your every day. Rosemary Farm and Resort”. I picked up the tastefully decorated card with a small horseshoe shadow behind the bold, black text, flipped the card over, and saw a phone number on the back along with someone’s name, Martin Grayson. I slipped the card into my pocket and vowed to give them a call. What was the worst that could happen?

Come night, after I had closed up the shop for the evening and spent an hour on the phone with Rosemary Farm, I snuck into my family apartment so that no one would hear me enter. Luckily, Mom was already asleep, and William was out, probably partying with friends or making trouble somewhere else. At least that was a positive. With the utmost care, I began packing my bags. My heart was racing. I had dreamt of that moment, almost my entire life—freedom. All through college, I had no idea what I wanted to do and could never find a path that suited me. I finally felt as if a spark had ignited within me, and I knew the exact direction I was going.

Something about that card, that farm, filled me with life, and that was only confirmed by my conversation with the guy on the phone. My pulse raced through my veins as I carefully folded my clothes and packed what few belongings I had unpacked when returning from college. I took great care only to take the things I had purchased with my own money, too.

I didn’t want to bring a single thing with me that I hadn’t earned or that my family had tried to impose upon me. I wasn't going to let them guilt me into coming back, and if I brought anything they gave me, they would use that as a tool, the best one that master manipulators have. I only wanted to take myself. Everything I owned fit into two suitcases, and of course, I couldn’t forget my small armful of potted plants that I snuck off of the balcony.

At one point, I thought one would crash and wake everyone up, but I managed to reign it in. I took the time to pack everything carefully and consciously. By the time I finished, the silver lining of the morning could barely be seen behind the other massive skyscrapers on the horizon. I had moved slower than anticipated in an effort not to wake anyone but it was as good a time as any to get out of there.

As I stood on the sidewalk outside of the apartment and waited for my taxi to arrive, I stared up at the massive building which I had lived in all my life. It was all I had known, and I wondered if I was making the right choice. I couldn’t help but consider whether I would ever miss the place or if my family would care that I was gone. I couldn’t imagine being homesick, but it might happen. The taxi I had ordered halted right in front of me, snuffing out all of those thoughts. I climbed in after tossing my bags into the other seat and handed the driver the card to Rosemary Farm, the phone and address clearly visible.

“I will pay you triple whatever you would normally charge to take someone this distance, please don’t let me down.” I had a desperate urgency in my voice. It was kind of embarrassing, but I needed this to work.

I needed the ability to escape and find my own life. I was practically shuddering at the proximity of my freedom. Thankfully, the driver complied, and the engine roared to life. With a sigh of relief, I sank back against the smooth leather seat. Finally, I could go somewhere where I could be the person I always wanted to be.

I hoped that the note I had left on the kitchen counter would be enough to keep my family off my tail.

 

 

2

 

 

Andre

 

 

Everything I could see belonged to me.

As I sat back in my massive office chair, feet up on the polished walnut executive desk, my knuckles brushed over my pursed lips in thought. I could overlook Central Park and the other gigantic buildings that outlined the only green space the city had to offer. I tapped my fingers together in displeasure.

At my age, anyone would be proud of their accomplishments if they were me, but why did I feel so miserable? I owned the skyscraper—everything in it belonged to me. Everything in it brought me massive amounts of money, and that money, in turn, bought me every want or need I could have. But something was still bothering me—missing.

Ever since I was younger, I felt as if something were absent. I was the show-off in high school. A typical scene for me would be hanging from the gym's basketball hoop while friends applauded my reach. I was also the quarterback for our team—the Metro Maulers—and proudly wore the jersey with the face of a vicious black bear. I had gone to college to be a business tycoon and ended up running one of the most successful stock trading companies in all of New York.

Last year my business grossed billions, and my image was plastered all over magazines across the country, billboards, too. Thankfully I have a handsome face. In fact, I’d had my short black hair trimmed by one of the most expensive barbers in the city just before those pictures were taken. My hairline was so crisp and sharp some joked it was drawn on with a marker. All of the shots highlighted my chestnut-colored eyes, as well.

For most of my adult life, I had thought money was what I wanted. I was wrong. I had built my empire, and at twenty-five years old, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was a hole in me that no car or house or vacation property or fancy dinner could fill. No new clothing, no golden watches, no expensive trips around the world made me feel like who I was supposed to be. There was a heavy detachment that I hid well from the rest of the world, but it weighed me down like an anchor. I couldn't help but sigh, my head falling into one of my hands as I stroked my bare, chiseled face in smoldering contemplation.

“I guess I could try giving Greg a call. He always seemed to have his head on his shoulders and an answer to life’s problems,” I said quietly to myself.

Gregory Robertson was one of my best friends from high school, and we had stayed close ever since. We even went to the same college and played on the football team together in our sophomore year. He, too, was a successful business mogul, but instead of stocks and numbers, he worked in construction. He had built parts of my tower and did a damn good job at it. I could see my reflection in the black marble tile that covered the elevator foyer. And the custom columnar fish tank in my living room? Absolute artwork. Greg was pulling jobs from the other millionaires around the city. I hoped he would answer.

The phone rang once… twice… three times before I heard my friend’s familiar raspy voice. He sounded like a smoker, though I knew Greg wouldn’t waste money on that kind of vice.

“Don’t tell me you cracked that tank,” Greg said, only half-joking. He was referring to a party I held at my house.

A drunken guest threw an elbow into my prized fish tank, and Greg got called at 2 am to put an emergency patch over the hole before it could be fixed properly. He made sure I would never hear the end of it.

“What? No, no, no, dude, nothing like that. I’m calling for some other kind of help.” I knew Greg could see me rubbing my hand down my face in exhaustion at his joke.

Half joke? It did happen after all. I wanted him to take the sign that I needed help without actually having to come out and say it. I wasn’t known for being the gentle or emotional type, which often got me in trouble in more ways than one.

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