Home > Billionaire's Secret Baby : A Second Chance Romance(4)

Billionaire's Secret Baby : A Second Chance Romance(4)
Author: Jennifer Hartley

“Do you need bail?” Now Greg was joking.

He knew with my billionaire status, I could easily buy my way out of any legal trouble I was having. I hadn’t even had a speeding ticket in over a year. That was my personal goal. I had no reason to need bail, right?

“Okay, enough kidding around. I need some help.” I almost had to grit my teeth. “I haven’t been feeling so great…”

I didn’t like to admit how I felt to others. I was a big guy, standing almost six and a half feet tall with a frame as strong as a house. Being weak or vulnerable wasn’t in my wheelhouse. I didn’t think there would ever be much that could bother me.

“Oh, yeah, okay? What’s up?”

“I just feel off. I’ve been working as hard as I can, and nothing I’ve done feels like enough, you know. I just feel…antsy? Like something is missing.” I cracked my knuckles nervously under the desk.

My phone sat in front of me with the speaker on, and I watched Greg’s picture as if he were talking to me in person.

Greg’s curly red hair poked out over his oversized sunglasses, almost like a wig. He was always sunburned after working outside all day. There was a longer than average pause on the other end, but Greg was never one to talk just to talk. He always thought about what he said before speaking. It was a trait I valued in my friend and wished I could embody more of. I just loved to be heard.

“Every summer, I go to Rosemary Farm. It gives me a center or a way to feel…grounded, I guess. Does that make sense?”

“Rosemary Farm? What’s that?” I had never heard of the place before, and why would I? A farm? Filled with dirty animals? Why would anyone want to go there? I was starting to doubt Greg; maybe he would steer me wrong after all.

“It’s a resort. You hang out there, do some work, and get your head back straight. It helps to put the really important things into perspective. I go once a year because it helps give me a lot of peace of mind. I have a reservation in a few months. I’m pretty excited to go.”

“So, you pay money to go do someone else’s work?” That sounded like the biggest scam I had ever heard of.

“I guess if you look at it like that, sure. But there are family dinners. You can ride horses. You can even swim in the river on the property. There are no giant pools or expensive cars. At night, the lights are off, and in the morning, the sun comes up. That’s all that happens there. Try it out; I have the number here for you.”

I took the number. I wasn’t happy about it, but I took it. It was in a county about four hours away; just far enough, I wouldn’t be tempted to drive home after a day because I stepped into a pile of cow crap or something. I was able to look up some pictures online of the place, and I had to admit, the people hugging cows and relaxing in hammocks next to a field of flowers did seem nice, although I wasn’t convinced it was my cup of tea. But Greg was a different person—he was accustomed to dirt and grime and disgusting physical labor for hours on end in terrible conditions. My worst condition was an overcrowded gym, so I bought my own and put it on the fourth floor of my complex. I thanked my friend for the information, and after a pleasant chat, despite the initial call, Greg hung up. I studied the number on the pad on my desk.

“I have no clothes to wear on a farm.” I fiddled through my wallet to find one of my many debit cards and figured I hadn’t been shopping in a day or two anyway. Maybe the spree would fix my attitude before it ever came down to some dirty farm work.

 

 

3

 

 

Lillian

 

 

I arrived at the farm in about four hours. It was mid-morning, and the sky was bluer there than I could ever remember it being in the city. The air seemed more crisp and breathable, too. It tasted almost sweet on my tongue and felt like it could get caught in my strawberry lip gloss. The driver brought my bags to me in the gravel parking lot lined with rough-hewn log fences and decorated with massive sunflowers. Did they always grow so big? I realized I had never seen a sunflower in real life. I just assumed people exaggerated how tall they grew for Instagram.

Thanking the driver, I paid him an exorbitant amount of my small savings—I didn’t want to devalue what he had done for me. That was something my family would have done, something I was trying to avoid. I hitched one of my suitcases to my belt to drag along behind me. I had one arm filled with potted plants, and the other carried the leather name-brand bag. I didn’t care if it got scuffed by the chunky gravel that crunched under my feet. Birds sang loudly throughout the property, and as I ducked under a flower-filled archway, the street-facing side of a massive and beautifully redone colonial farmhouse greeted me.

The white paint on the building was enough to blind me, but the beauty of the place floored me. It had a wrap-around porch that took up two sides and was, in turn, covered by a red metal roof: creeping vines and satiny deep-purple flowers tangled through the railings. Chairs sat around gaming tables for chess and checkers, cards and dominos. An occasional bench or bench-swing dotted the space for people to relax.

Honeybees could be seen on all levels of the home as they appreciated the flower boxes outside every single window all the way up to the third story. Two stone chimneys capped the home and contrasted nicely to the brightness of the walls and roof. Smoke billowed out of one of them, and I could smell the sweet scent of breakfast pastries wafting out of the now-open door. I almost hadn’t realized a man approached, and only acknowledged him after providing me with a gruff greeting.

“Lillian Rushmore?” he asked, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

The old man had a face of leather and lines, but his eyes were emeralds of happiness topped with white clouds for brows. His crooked smile was most likely a handsome thing in his time, and he held a hand out to me in greeting. “I’m Mr. Arnold Frey. We spoke on the phone yesterday.”

His voice was as solid as granite and his hands as firm as steel when I shook his respectfully.

“Hello, Mr. Frey. Thank you for bringing me on with such short notice. I sincerely appreciate the opportunity. I know accommodating someone isn’t the easiest.” I was one of the only members of my family with actual people skills, thanks to my public service work.

I always tried to be respectful and honest and show my thanks for everything around me.

The older man nodded a few times in recognition of my statement. He seemed pleased? Was that the correct word? Did I say the right thing?

 

“We get plenty of workers with only a day or two notice; some leave the same way. No harm is done either way as more always manage to show up.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “So, you said you wanted a place to work, correct? No offense, ma’am, but you do understand that you are signing up for farm work, right?”

He gave me a nod, gesturing to my outfit.

I hadn’t considered changing out of my New York City apparel. What counted as suitable attire in the heart of NYC most certainly wouldn’t fly out there. I almost blushed at my stupidity and gave a breathy laugh to try and excuse myself.

“Oh, yes, I know. I left so quickly that I didn’t have much time to change. I know farm work is difficult work, but this is right for me. I promise I’m a hard worker, and I’m willing to learn just about anything you need me to.”

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