Bigger and Badder (A Caldwell Hope Billionaire Romance)

by Jackson Kane

  “And who is this?” he asked.

  “Me?” I gasped as if those waves were crashing over and drowning me. I didn’t ask him to notice me. It wasn’t like I was standing out in a crowd fangirling or anything; I was slightly behind both Dad and the other board members. For the first time in my life, I was at a loss for words.

  “Uh, hi.” I smiled, stammering the words out like a gibbering idiot. Garrett patiently waited, giving me all his attention. The band played a little louder to relieve some of the tension, but that seemed to only make everything more intense between us. I felt like I was going to turn into a puddle under his gaze. “They call me Judy—”

  “Don’t mind her, Mr. Walker. She’s my assistant.” Monica stepped between me and him and took his hand. She was all wide smiles. “I’m Monica, the head of PR, and on behalf of everyone, we’re pleased to have you.”

  His gaze lingered on me for another moment, then his lips hinted at a smile before finally shifting his attention to Monica and the rest of the group. My pulse was racing. It was then I realized I wasn’t breathing and gulped in some air as quietly as I could.

  What the hell just happened?

  I don’t get tongue-tied! If anything, I’m constantly putting my foot in my mouth for talking too much. Ah, that was weird. I’ve met famous people before, so what was so special about this guy?

  They call me Judy?

  I was smacked with self-doubt. No shit they call me Judy. Ugh, what else would they call me?

  For once, I was glad Monica had cut me off, even if it was rude as hell. Horribly embarrassed, I slunk back a few steps. I gritted my teeth in something that I hoped would resemble a smile and tried to disappear.

  With one look and a question, he’d turned me into silly putty.

  “Are you hungry?” Dad stretched a hand back toward the luxury boxes where everything was set up for Garrett’s arrival. That was where the meeting was supposed to start. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Let’s start at your loading docks and work our way around.” Again, Garrett had other plans.

  “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Right this way.” I watched Dad’s expression drop as we all started making our way to the gate beyond the southern end zone. He tried to hide his concern, but I knew him too well. His mouth pulled slightly to one side and brow furrowed. Dad was becoming less impressed and more worried with each step he took.

  He wasn’t letting on just how badly the stadium needed Garrett’s money. He was our last chance at getting the funds we needed to build the rest of the stadium. If this fell through, a whole lot of people would be jobless.

  It was hard to bear the weight of the pressure from the community.

  “Reynobond aluminum metal composite material?” Garrett absently pointed up toward the third-tier seats

  “Beg your pardon?” Dad asked.

  “Your panels.” Garrett raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Or are they insulated metal? Or are they a combination of the two?” Garrett’s expression flattened as he watched Dad stumble for an answer, then look to the others. No one else could do more than rifle through whatever paperwork they brought with them and shrug.

  Garrett might as well have been talking in a different language. So much for him being just another dumb jock.

  “That’s an awfully technical question,” Dad replied. “I’ll have to ask the construction company and get back to you.”

  “Who’s running this project?” Garrett snapped back.

  “I am.” Dad mustered as much authority as he could, then went into some of the information he’d carefully memorized about how this was a community project that reflected the growth of Caldwell Hope and symbolized the next step in our town’s evolution. There was a budding of pride in Dad’s tone as he began speaking.

  He got through about half of it before Garrett cut him off with a raised hand, telling him to stop.

  “Hope and community aren’t going to keep your stadium walls from collapsing, and it sure as hell won’t protect you from a lawsuit.”

  The rest of the tour was much quieter, even the band stopped playing. Garrett would ask in-depth questions about construction, projections, finances, and anticipated sponsors. Sometimes Dad or Monica would have an answer, but it was never as thorough as Garrett would’ve liked.

  The stadium project was a massive undertaking, with dozens of foremen and bosses overseeing hundreds of jobs. It was impossible for one person to know everything that Garrett was asking. I helped put together the informational package Garrett’s people requested from us originally, and none of these questions were in there.

  Did he come here just to make us look like a bunch of jerks? Hot or not, that was kind of a dick move on his part.

  Was Garrett Walker always this cold?

  I tried to remember what he was like when he was still playing football. I could’ve sworn my roommate showed me some of his interviews. We were both a little in love with him.

  When we finally reached the stadium’s massive glass and steel entrance, Dad had an employee come over with a wrapped gift atop a silver tray. It was slightly larger than a shoebox but was ornately wrapped in leather and cord.

  “I know this is just an introductory meeting,” Dad started, taking the box off the tray and dismissing the employee, “but as a token of our appreciation for you considering partnering up with us… well, here you go.”

  Garrett took the gift, pulled the cord and watched as the whole box opened up in his hand. It was an old beaten up football with a faded A stamped on one side.

  Garrett abruptly blew out his breath as he turned the football over in his hands. “I’m impressed. This is my old university in Auckland, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” Dad beamed. “I’m not just the manager. I’m also a fan. I’ve had that in my collection for a few years now.”

  Garrett slid his thumbs across the long-since-glossy exterior of the ball, then brought it to his nose and sniffed in old memories of his past. He looked lost for a moment, like he was somewhere else entirely. The ball didn’t seem to make him any happier, just distant.

  I had to wonder, were they good memories or bad?

  “So,” Dad asked, attempting to wrap up the rocky business stuff on a high note. He’d probably try to get Garrett upstairs for small talk for a while. “Are you free tomorrow, or would you like to meet the following day to see the rest of the facility?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Garrett spoke slowly and to no one in particular. It was almost as if we weren’t even there. “I’ve already made up my mind.”

  What? Already? He just got here. I didn’t know much about big corporate deals, but I thought they were supposed to take more than twenty minutes. Dad blocked out the rest of the night for this and freed up a few more days later on in the week. This was a big deal!

  “Woah.” Dad chuckled, smiling nervously. “Are you sure? You haven’t even seen the finished half of the stadium.”

  Like a man waking from a dream, Garrett’s crystalline blue eyes came sharply into focus and snapped a gaze at Dad, then in turn he looked at the rest of us.

  “My answer—” He calmly lowered the football. “—is no.”

  Three

  Garrett

  This is the part they always fuck up.

  “You can’t be serious. You just got here!” Paul Sullivan kicked off the wave of pleading and outrage while wearing a look of disbelief. I patiently waited for everyone else’s shouts, complaints, and pleas to die down.

  Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t enjoy crushing people.

  I didn’t enjoy it on the field during my three straight years of MVP either. Just because I was really good at something, didn’t mean I had to like it.

  In the end, it didn’t matter that I was the best in the business—you still couldn’t take the championship with a bad team.

  You wouldn’t think it, but there was a surprising amount of carryover into the world of suits and ties. This stadium, for instance, was a bad team
. I knew it before I stepped foot out that helicopter.

  I didn’t become the youngest billionaire ever by diving headfirst into bad investments.

  “Here.” I handed the football back to Paul, then turned to walk down the staircase that would take me outside to my waiting limo. “I’d hate to break up the set.”

  “Just wait a minute.” Paul rushed after me. He laid a hand on my shoulder and in a hushed tone, he added, “Your father told me you’d at least hear us out.”

  I snapped an annoyed glare at his hand, which prompted him to immediately remove it.

  “My father is the only reason I’m here.” I paused, exhaled, then continued. “You’re looking to sell naming rights for a stadium that’s only half built. The long and short of it is if your town can’t afford a stadium, then don’t build one. Why would I want to put my name on something that might not get made?”

  A silence washed over the group as I turned back around and resumed walking. I reminded myself that it’s always best to leave after making my decision; nothing good has ever come from trying to explain my reasoning.

  With a swish of air, the door closed behind me, ending my obligation to my father. I pulled my lapels a little tighter to protect against the chill. The sound of my steps on the concrete stairs down toward my limo rang out ominously, splitting the quiet, cold air of the dead winter.

  Another wasted evening.

  At least that tall blonde was nice to look at.

  “Hey!” a voice cried out behind me.

  I didn’t bother stopping. I’d said everything I needed to say.

  “Hey, jerk.” The cute blonde from earlier jogged up and stepped in front of me, blocking my path. She didn’t seem at a loss for words now. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  Her champagne-colored hair was neatly pinned in a French updo. She wore a white dress with gold jewelry that was a little too cocktail party for a business meeting. But who was I to talk?

  My original attire was a parachute.

  She had these sparkling green eyes, and they were flared with anger.

  I studied the woman and could only smile in response. “You know who I am.”

  “Yeah,” she said briskly. “Garrett Walker. You’re some big, dumb jock who likes to ruin people. Good people who are trying to look out for their community. You obviously didn’t want to be here with your ten-cent questions and your too-cool-for-school attitude.”

  “This… isn’t how you’re supposed to argue a point.” I regarded her curiously and couldn't help cracking a grin at the way she spoke. Too cool for school? Was she sent out as some last-ditch effort, or did she chase after me on her own?

  “I don’t care. This might not matter to you, but this is our livelihood, and not just mine and my family’s but the whole town’s. Since the factories started moving away, Caldwell Hope has turned into a tourist-based economy. We need this stadium.”

  She was a few steps below me on the stairs, which made me tower over her.

  “You shouldn’t have built it in the first place.” I’d had to harden myself over the years since Heidi. I did only what was necessary now. “That's not my problem.”

  “How can you be so cruel?”

  “Cruel?” I cocked my head accusingly. In business, it was always better to tear the Band-Aid off fast rather than slow. I wasn't cruel. I was efficient. “I didn’t tell you to overreach. You have a ski resort. That should be enough. When times are tight financially, you don’t expand.”

  I took a step down, intent on passing her on the stairs, but she matched me by walking backward. Her shoes crackled against the blue deicer-covered steps.

  “Y’know,” she called out to me. Her foot skipped off her next step down, but she caught herself on the one below it. “I remember seeing an interview of you back when you played football. Everyone loved you. What happened to turn you so cold?”

  “It's a cold world.” I pulled my coat closed tighter. “I adapted.”

  That stopped her backward descent enough that I could finally walk past her.

  “I understand now why they call you the Grim Reaper.” Judy’s disgusted tone bothered me more than I cared to admit. She reached out to shove me as I passed. “You're a cold hearted sonofa—”

  Her shove knocked her off balance and sent her falling up the stairs. I was already too far away.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, I snapped a hand out and caught her by the wrist. Her glove was too loose and slid right off. I had to pivot, really reach in and wrap a hand around her waist. I caught her just before she busted her ass on the stairs.

  It would've made for a great tackle.

  Or a dance move.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, pushing the weird sense of déjà vu out of my head. Had we ever done this before? No. That was impossible. I just met this woman. The only thing that mattered was that I had her now. She was completely safe.

  “T-Thank you,” she stammered, wide-eyed. Her breathing spiked with the abruptness of the fall, and an even quicker catch. “I mean yes.” Her pulse was still racing, but her beautiful green eyes began to narrow. “I mean, what do you care?”

  She tore away from me and pulled her glove out of my hand.

  “I'm not a monster, Judy. I'm just—” That's when I noticed her one uncovered hand had a birthmark right above her thumbnail. It couldn't be, could it?

  The blonde hair, her figure, the sound of her voice, the crescent-shaped birthmark, it all came back to me. It was her—my dance partner from the masquerade.

  I didn't believe in fate or second chances. I never had to. I made my own luck. But could this really be a coincidence?

  “Three days.” I turned away from her.

  “What?” Her hostility turned into curiosity.

  “You have three days to change my mind.”

  Four

  Judy

  Five Years Ago

  “Judy!” Gloria waved me over to her table. The table, like most of the golf course clubhouse interior, was decorated in various shades of black, orange, and purple. Lace flourishes adorned the furniture. Elegant macabre paintings hung from the walls and small abstract sculptures were propped up on waist-high stands.

  Halloween had come to Caldwell Hope and the town had never looked so classy.

  The men mostly wore black waistcoats and trousers and white cravats, low vests, and white gloves. The elaborate dresses women wore were the black, scarlet, and violet of Victorian-inspired mourning, and the masks were inspired by the Phantom of the Opera. It was the PG-13 gangbang of Mardi Gras, Eyes Wide Shut, and Downton Abbey.

  I was loving every second of this!

  “You're ruining it!” I spread my hands out wide, then let them drop to my sides, rustling my light blue tarlatan dress. I approached the table in a huff. “The whole point of a masquerade ball is so you don't know who everyone is.”

  “This isn't a car key party, Judy.” Even through her mask I could see Gloria raising an eyebrow at me. “We're not criminals attempting a madcap caper. It’s not against the rules to know who we’re talking to.”

  “You're no fun.” I shook my head at her, then turned to the woman who Gloria was chatting with. Molly was unmistakably pregnant in her indigo floor-length lace gown. “Molly, right? Luke's wife?”

  “Hi.” Molly smiled wide beneath her bright pink half-skull mask. “Don't tell me.” Molly placed two fingers to her temple, closed her eyes, and rubbed her belly in feign divination. “Your name is... Judy.”

  I smiled. I knew of Molly and might've even seen her a few months back the night the King brothers played a concert at the record shop Gloria and I owned, but we'd never officially met.

  “See?” I turned back to Gloria. “That would've been much harder to figure out if Miss Buzzkill hadn't spilled the beans.”

  “Speaking of personal titles.” Gloria's lips betrayed her and curled up into a giddy smile as she brought up her hand for me to see.

  “Get out!” I cried, grabbing h
er hand and sitting down next to her to admire the ring. I wrenched her toward me so I could get a better look in the low lighting “When?”

  Gloria scowled at me for the sudden jerk and tore her hand away.

  “Like two hours ago. I think he's going to make an announcement about it later.” She couldn’t be mad for long; she was still beaming from being proposed to. “I really hope he doesn't.”

  That made sense. For as take-no-shit as she was, Gloria hated being the center of attention in a group. She was the quiet mastermind type—basically my total opposite.

  “Yep,” Molly added. “She's Missus Buzzkill now.”

  I laughed. I immediately liked Molly and could tell we were going to be fast friends.

  “Where's the rest of it?” I grabbed her hand again and turned it over. The diamond was small, like regular people small. “Richard is the eldest billionaire son of the King family fortune. There should be enough ice on your finger to sink the Titanic! What gives?”

  Molly's eyes flashed at my audacity. Despite our working relationship becoming strained this past year, Gloria and I had still managed to become good friends. She was the straight woman to my craziness.

  “I'll have you know this was the ring Mercy Joel Oliver gave Missy Gladstone when he proposed to her. They died ten years ago. I have no idea how he got it.” Gloria beamed, looking at us expectantly. “The band Twilight Son.... The bassist and the drummer!”

  “Interesting.” Molly nodded, trying to be supportive but obviously having no idea who Gloria was talking about.

  I just shrugged.

  “Heathens.” Gloria shook her head. “Both of you.”

  The crowded dance hall made room for a couple across the way that was clearly in a fight. The large beefcake of a man stood stoically as the much shorter woman shoved a finger into his chest.