The Billionaire's Lover (Second Chance Romance Series), page 1
The Billionaire's Lover
By:
Scott Wylder
Table of Contents:
Also By Scott Wylder
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Copyright © 2019 by Scott Wylder
All rights reserved.
http://www.scottwylderauthor.com/
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited, and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
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Chapter 1
(Selah Jones)
I started working at The White Duck restaurant about five years ago as a waitress. It’s a fine dining establishment and my paychecks are significantly more than if I had taken a job at a lesser job; for instance, a fast food restaurant, or the laundry service across from my overpriced apartment, or even as a secretary to some of the big companies here in Chicago. Still, it is no white-collar job, but I love it.
Dawson was already a regular when I started my job. He is handsome. So handsome that I can hardly think straight when he’s in attendance. I was assigned his table the first time because his regular waitress had been out sick that evening. Then, every time he came in, he asked for me by name.
We only chatted idly about things that didn’t much matter in the bigger world back then. But, by the time he had been coming in and asking for me for a year, we were discussing politics, religions, waxing nostalgic about our teen years, and philosophizing about the state of the economy.
It was fun. We enjoyed each other’s company and he always gave such large tips. At first, I thought the hundred on the table had been an accident, but he had meant to give me that large of a tip simply because two more people joined him unexpectedly and without reservations—I accommodated them even though the maître d’ wasn’t happy about it. It almost got me fired and it did get me written up, with a verbal warning not to blatantly override the maître d’s authority ever again.
I haven’t yet, but that’s only because I haven’t had an opportunity, or the notion, to do so again.
Dawson came in one evening, looking particularly sexy in his smoke-grey suit. I knew he would be in the mood to flirt; he always wore the grey suit when he was feeling frisky. This was just last year, and I had often lain awake at night wondering what it would be like to share his bed. He’s single. I’m single. So, when he asked if I would join him after my shift, it only seemed like the natural procession of things.
I’m not naïve, I knew what he wanted. I knew partly because it was the same thing I wanted. That’s why we had spent the better part of four years posturing and getting to know each other bit by bit through our conversations at The White Duck.
Anyway, his car was parked out front when I got off work that night. He opened the door and I got in, he scooted in after me and ordered the driver to take us “home”. I was so nervous I could have threaded a sewing machine with the damn thing running.
That was my first time being in his home, well, that’s an understatement. The place was as big as a resort, it was a palace fit for royalty. I’m sure I looked like a tourist, with my jaw hanging slack as he took me in the main entrance and through the main hall. I thought places like that only existed in movies and fairy tales.
I was wrong.
Our first attempt at lovemaking was awkward and we were both fumbling and bumbling so much that I half-expected him to send me away. I also feared he might be angry or disgusted with me for being such a nitwit about sex. It’s not like I’d had a ton of boyfriends; hell, I was just out of my second year of college when I pulled up my roots and shook the dust of Southern Texas off my boots to move to Chicago. There, I had worked two jobs for a while and then I found The White Duck, and my love of everything culinary, so I put myself through several culinary training classes. I hadn’t taken time to learn much about mind-blowing sex.
On our first night, I wished I had done so. I was embarrassed as he kept having to instruct me in what I needed to do and when.
After that, we fell into a sort of routine. I would see him at The White Duck in his grey suit, that evening I would get into his waiting car, and we’d spend the night together. The sex was mind-blowing, and it didn’t take long for each of us to figure out what brought the most pleasure to the other.
Sometimes it was sweet and slow; other times it was hard, hot and sweaty, leaving us both exhausted and satisfied. It was the best time of my life.
Then, everything changed.
Dawson and I were sitting together, snuggled under the rumpled duvet. We drank wine and talked about our hopes, dreams and goals for the future. I told him about my dream to own one of the finest high-end restaurants around—only I wanted it to be in Texas. I wasn’t exactly sure of the location, but definitely Texas. I had already drawn up rough sketches of what the place would look like, inside and out; the menu was partially done, too. Hours of operation, estimated cost of construction, and the estimated cost to run the place for the first year. I didn’t tell him that I had gone so far as to make up a mock-schedule for the first year, but I had.
He told me about his dream of being able to pull away from work within the next few years, running the business remotely. Then he handed me a set of keys and told me they were for the house; his house.
“I want you to feel free to come and go as you please, Selah. My hope is that you’ll eventually move in here with me. The place is plenty big enough, and we could remodel rooms to your liking; even make you an office from which to run your restaurant.” He had smiled and kissed my temple as I sat staring mutely at the ring of shiny new keys. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.” He put his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close. “What do you say?”
Stammering, I shrugged. Words wouldn’t come. We hadn’t professed love for each other before. I did love him. With all my heart and soul, I loved him. But I didn’t want to move in with Dawson. I wanted to move back to Texas and start on building my restaurant soon. And, I was doing quite well for myself, my bank account proved that. Most of all, I didn’t want to give up my independence.
That set of keys was our undoing. Most women would have swooned and shed tears at the sentiment, I suppose, but not me. I was determined not to end up like so many women I’d seen in the past, dependent on some man, at the mercy of his ever-changing whims. Nope. Selah Jones was independent and hard-working, and no man, regardless of how rich he was or how much he said he loved her, was going to take her independence.
Chapter 2
(Dawson)
I was in love with Selah before I ever invited her over to my place that first time. She was so fresh, so vibrant, so new. Her lack of experience in the bedroom bothered her, but it only incited my lust and love to higher levels.
Most of the women I’ve been with were already well-versed in the ways of carnal pleasure, and I could never quite get it out of my head that they had probably been with more men than I cared to think about. Sex with those women was just that, sex. And nothing more.
With Selah, however, lovely, sweet, innocent Selah. It was wonderful and fulfilling. I had never in my life felt the way I had after our first night together. To protect her from the cruelties of the world and make her dreams come true became my priority.
Not wanting to scare her off, or seem overbearing, I waited a full eight months from that first night to give her the keys to my place. My deepest desire was to have her move in with me. My idea of being romantic had been to go to her apartment while she was at work and empty it, take all her things to my place, and then surprise her after work. My friend Rick shook his head when I told him my plans.
“Oh, Dawson. You can’t do that. That might have passed as romantic back in the sixties, but not now, man. Women don’t like that sort of thing now. You have to let them decide that kind of thing.” Rick had poured us a drink and then sat with me, talking me through Romance in the New Era.
By the end of our talk, I had made my choice. I gave her the keys and told her how I felt the next night as we sat in my bed drinking wine and talking of the future. It seemed like the perfect opportunity. I should have known something was wrong when she merely shrugged and kept staring at the ring of keys. Thinking she was merely shocked, I sat there, practically glowing with love for her, fantasizing about the day she would move in and we woul
As she was leaving the next morning, I saw the keys lying on the foyer table. I picked them up and dangled them in front of her. “Don’t forget your keys, my love.”
Wanting to go with her, I asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to ride with you? I really don’t mind at all.”
“No. It’s okay. It’s not far.” Haltingly, she took the keys, and her expression bounced from shock to sadness and then to exasperation and finally to neutral. It was a strange thing to witness. Why would a set of keys cause such upset?
“Thanks.” She dropped them into her purse and turned to the door without the customary embrace and kiss.
“Hey?” I loved the way the early-morning sun fell through the doorway and filtered through her thick mane of light brown hair, turning the outer edges and the tips to gold.
She turned, eyes downcast. “Yes?”
“I’ll see you this evening? I’ll have Carter pick you up after your shift, yes?”
“No. I can find my way here. Not like I’ll get lost.” She had chuckled nervously and spun on her heel to leave again.
Confused, and a little frightened of what her actions meant, I watched her go to the car. Carter, of course would see her safely back to her apartment, but I wanted to accompany her. But if she needed a little time to think over the offer I had made, then so be it. I would give her that time, and her space, to think. I was confident that she would return to me that evening with an acceptance.
I was wrong. I was so very wrong.
Chapter 3
(Selah)
My entire day had been consumed by those keys. Those damnable keys. Why had he made such a choice when we had never once discussed it? I called out of work that evening, it was the first time in five years that I had done so. I had always been the reliable one, the dependable, indispensable Selah Jones. I felt guilty calling out.
Dawson had changed the rules of the game drastically, and I could no longer trust that I knew him as I had once believed I did. The Dawson I thought I knew and understood was independent, wealthy, headstrong, sexy, strong, and had a way of planning things that might change his future. To me, the keys were not a planned thing. He surely could be the man of my dreams, and in many ways, he had been the man of my dreams. But the keys? That had to have been a spur of the moment decision with no planning.
I had thought that Dawson knew me. I had thought he understood my need for independence and that his money meant nothing to me, not when it came to how I felt about him. I would have treated him the same if he had been a poor nobody.
It ate at me, tied my stomach in knots, made me sad and angry in turns. By the evening, I was a total wreck. I thought I had met my dream love. That one thoughtless gesture, though, proved me wrong.
I drove to his house and rang the bell. I was determined to never use the keys.
Dawson answered the door. He actually laughed, thinking it endearingly funny that I had rang the bell. “Why didn’t you just use the key, Selah? That’s the whole point of giving them to you, so you could come and go at your leisure.” He opened his arms for a hug.
I held out the ring, the keys tinkling together lightly.
He looked at them as if I were holding a loaded gun on him.
“What’s this?” He didn’t reach for them.
I stepped inside and placed them on the foyer table. “Dawson, I can’t.” It was amazingly difficult to spit out my pre-planned speech, and I left it at that.
“You can’t what, Selah? Don’t leave.” He caught my arm and turned me toward him, closing the door to bar my exit. “You don’t have to take the keys; I just thought, that after all we’ve shared…”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t give up my independence so easily. Thank you for everything.” I reached for the doorknob again, the pain in my heart threatening to stir up tears.
“Is that a goodbye? What are you doing?” He placed himself between me and the door.
With my emotions so raw and close to the surface, I looked away. “For now. I need time to think. Please, don’t make this any more awkward than it already is.”
“All right.” He stepped aside. “I’ll give you all the time you need to decide, think, whatever you need. I love you. With everything in me, I love you. If you’ll only give me the chance, I’ll spend the rest of our lives showing you just how much I love you.”
He put his hands on my shoulders and tried to pull me in for a hug, but I pulled away, opened the door, and fought to keep my stride somewhat even as I walked down the long concrete sidewalk to my car.
Glancing back as I put the car in drive, I saw him standing at the head of the walkway, looking lost and scared. Too late to turn back now, I thought as the first tear slipped down my cheek.
The next day, I resigned from my job at The White Duck. Naturally, my boss was shocked and horrified that I had plans higher than being his perfect little career waitress. But I stuck to my guns and done was done.
Dawson called me and I ignored the calls. He texted me and I ignored those as well. He even came to my apartment twice, standing in the hallway, knocking on the door and calling out his professions of love like some misguided teenager. I heard every word, but I did not answer that door. I knew that if I gave in to one shred of the tender feelings I had for him, I was doomed. My restaurant would never happen. The only mark I’d be making in the world would be riding in his shadow, and people would always think that any amount of fame I acquired had been funded by Dawson.
I could practically hear people whispering, “If it wasn’t for all Dawson’s money, the little gold-digger would never have had a chance.”
Both times he came to my door, I cried myself to sleep afterward. At the end of the week, the movers came and loaded up my personal belongings. With my life neatly packed into the back of a moving truck, and not a very big one, I was on my way back to Southern Texas.
***
Building my restaurant had been my dream when I came back here to Corpus Christi nearly a year ago now. However, plans change, life happens, and the best you can do sometimes just isn’t enough. Does that mean I have given up my dream? Absolutely not. It just means I’m going to have to work harder to attain that dream.
And that’s exactly what I plan to do.
The pile of money I had set back in Chicago didn’t last long and I was over-zealous in my haste to find a suitable plot of land to put my restaurant on. I found the perfect parcel of land and went through hell to buy it outright. The price was outrageous, and by the time I had secured the land, my bank account was nearly empty, leaving me without the means to secure a loan or get started on construction.
So, now I’m the proud owner of a beachfront property that sits empty and cordoned off with perimeter markers, and not much else. Of course, all the taxes still have to be paid, or I’ll lose it. Being zoned commercial, whew, the taxes are also outrageous. To get money flowing again, I have started working as a manager to one of the finer restaurants here, Gilly’s Gladhouse. The pay is extraordinary, and, were I a less-resolved, less-stubborn woman, it would be easy to just get comfortable at Gilly’s and forget about realizing my original dream.
After all, I could sell the property and get back my money, live in an upscale apartment, or even buy a big house, or the ranch in San Antonio that I always wanted. But that isn’t what I’m going to do. I set out with a goal, and by God, I’m going to realize it one way or the other. I’m still young enough to achieve it.
Seaside Savory would not remain a mere dream for long.
Chapter 4
(Dawson)
The better part of a year passed with me feeling miserable and being bad to myself. I drank too much, refused visitors, and I let my wounded heart (and pride) get the best of me. I couldn’t believe my true love had ignored my calls, texts, and even more, I couldn’t believe that she had let me stand in the hallway outside her door, professing my undying love and she didn’t even speak.
Selah Jones disappeared from my life as if she had never been there to start with. All I had ever wanted was to be the man of her dreams. I spent so many months devising ways to prove my love to her that I lost myself.
