The Boss and the Brat: A Billionaire Romance

by Frost, Sosie

  Another woman?

  I had my hands full with just this one.

  “There’s only ever been Mackenza.” I assured her. “Problem is…she’s the only one who ever will be.”

  I rubbed my face. Hadn’t slept in two days and probably looked on the verge of death. Felt like it too.

  “I took over her father’s company—a merger, technically, but we knew what it was about. I promised her that I’d do all I could to prevent another sale of the business, her family’s legacy. But, when the time came, I didn’t have a choice. I had to sell, and I couldn’t tell her why.”

  “Surely you can tell me.”

  Hardly mattered anymore.

  I sighed. “The one pressuring me to sell was her own father. He was bankrupt. I loaned him money to keep his family afloat and promised to keep the truth from Mackenza. It would’ve destroyed her. She idolizes her father. If she knew he was the one leading the charge to sell and lose a fifty-year-old legacy, it would’ve killed her. And if she learned he didn’t have the money to support his family?” I shook my head. “I wasn’t going to be the one to destroy her image of her father. I’d rather her hate me than lose what she has with her daddy.”

  “You sacrificed your happiness for hers?” Mom asked.

  “It wasn’t a sacrifice. I had to do it. I’d do anything for the little brat, even protect her from that awful truth.”

  Mom went quiet. Never a good sign. Her eyes welled with tears, and she did her best to catch a breath before a happy sob racked her shoulders. She wrapped me in her arms, but I didn’t mind. Actually liked her gentle touch. Still used the same rose-tinted cold cream on her hands from when I was younger.

  One last squeeze, and she pushed me away to arm’s length.

  “I wondered when you’d find it,” she said.

  “Find…what?”

  “What you’ve been missing. Searching for.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mom took my hand. “Don’t you see? Don’t you realize what it is that keeps you desperate, scouring the world for answers? All those jobs and fancy travels, adventures and dangerous stunts. You’ve searched high and low, from the skies to the oceans. And it took you until now to find what you’ve always needed.”

  The frustration roughened my voice. “What?”

  “A family.” Mom stared at me, more bright-eyed and rejuvenated than she’d been since before Julie’s death. A newfound joy echoed in her voice, and she sat straighter, the weight off her shoulders. “You don’t even realize it yet, do you, Cameron? You’ve found it. A woman. A baby on the way. You’ve created a family!”

  The woman had gone mad in isolation. I frowned.

  “I don’t have shit, Mom. Mackenza left me.”

  “Then why aren’t you out tearing up the world to find her? Why are you sitting in my kitchen instead, pouting like a little boy with a scraped knee?”

  Fuck. So much for coming home.

  “She doesn’t want me,” I said.

  That earned a smack to the side of my head.

  “I didn’t raise a fool.” Mom warned me. “But I am tired of you wasting all these years hoping one day you realize the truth. You are scared, Cameron. Afraid to settle down, love someone, and live the life you’ve denied yourself.”

  “I’m not scared.” I looked away, but my eyes rested on the framed picture of me and Julie. “I’ve never wanted that life.”

  She didn’t believe me. And she was right not to.

  It was a lie.

  A cold, bone fracturing, mind splintering lie.

  “You are afraid,” she said. “And it’s time that you faced that fear before you lose your one chance at happiness forever.”

  “And why would I want to admit that fear?” I asked. “What good would come from searching for a woman to love? Why would I ever want a family?”

  “That’s our purpose in life.”

  “Was it yours?” Pain cracked through me, nearly stealing my voice. “What purpose can it serve when it only ends in misery?”

  “Misery?” Mom whispered. “What are you talking about?”

  “Mom. Look at what happened to us. Look what family tore apart. Julie getting sick. Her dying. Dad drinking himself into oblivion and then an early grave. I don’t know if it was better or worse after he died, but it still destroyed us just the same.” My words hardened, bitter and cold. “Family was nothing but pain and suffering for us. We had no money. We had no hope. And you want me to go searching for family again? Why? So I could invite that same misfortune back into my life?”

  Mom closed her eyes in a brief prayer before edging close. “Cameron, I don’t know how I failed you this much. Our life was not misery. I wouldn’t trade what we had for anything in the world.”

  I stared at her, stomach turning. “But our life was horrible.”

  “Cameron, it was wonderful. It was wonderful to have that love. Wonderful to have Julie in our lives, if only for a few precious years. Wonderful to live with a man as loving and generous as your father, and to take care of him the same way he took care of me. Wonderful to see you become such an important, powerful, influential, and accomplished man.”

  To prove it, she slipped from the table and pulled an impossibly thick scrapbook from her desk. She flipped through the binder. Interspersed through the pages and pages of newspaper clippings and magazine articles featuring pictures of me, interviews, and noteworthy gossip, she’d pasted pictures of me and Julie as kids. Laughing. Playing. Blissfully unaware of words like cancer.

  Mom squeezed my shoulder. “It’s a wonderful life to wake every morning and breathe this country air. Yes, we faced challenges. Yes, we lost those close to us. But I’m still here. You’re still standing. As long as I have those good memories, every last moment of pain was worth it—because it gave me your sister, just as it gave me you.”

  She believed it. Genuinely.

  Spoke with such conviction that I could do nothing but sit in my own dumbfounded, mournful silence.

  What the hell had I been missing my whole life?

  “Son, you’ve avoided love and settling down and building yourself a family for far too long,” she said. “I know your childhood was hard, and losing your sister clouded our lives with such heartbreak. But you can’t hide from what you truly desire forever. Jumping from industry to industry, adventure to adventure won’t fulfill you like the love of a good, kind-hearted woman. There’s nothing else in this world like being loved. Nothing better than holding a child that love created in your arms. You can search all you want and spend all the money you’ve ever made, but nothing will fill that void except her.”

  She was right.

  I pulled the sonogram picture from my back pocket, wrinkled and nearly torn as I’d kept it with me, tucked close for the last three weeks since we’d received it.

  I showed her the baby—the little life all blurry and fuzzy in black and white.

  “I found what I wanted…” My words fell heavy. “But then I lost her. And it’s every bit as painful as I feared.”

  Mom stroked her finger over the photo. Her eyes glistened, but her voice remained firm.

  “Since when has my son ever given up on anything?” she asked. “You’re a man who climbs mountains. Surely you can move one for her. You’re a man who has traveled to the stars. Don’t tell me you’ve never made a wish. And you’re a man who has more money than rightfully exists in this world. Don’t tell me she isn’t worth spending every penny.”

  If only it were that easy. “Mackenza isn’t like other women.”

  “The good ones never are. But you’ve searched far and wide for a challenge. Here’s your next one: be a good husband. Be an even better father. Show that woman you can’t live without her, and then prove just how much better her life would be with you in it.” She winked at me. “There’s no giving up when it comes to love, Cameron.”

  I was already a better man because of Mackenza.

  And I’d be a greater fat
her because she’d showed me what it was to love.

  I wanted that family.

  I’d damn the money.

  Forgo the power.

  Ignore the fame.

  I’d thought I’d already experienced everything life had to offer.

  Christ, was I wrong. I’d had nothing until I met her.

  And I wouldn’t rest until I met that one last challenge.

  Convincing Mackenza Maxwell that I was worth loving.

  23

  Mackenza

  By the time I arrived in Ironfield, I had only twelve hours to find suitable maternity models to wear my designs.

  When that proved impossible, I did my best…

  And that was the reason I stuffed the cushions from the couch in the Maxwell Intimates’ lobby under the clothes of three elderly women who had returned to model my designs with the promise of coffee, pie, and a free piece of lingerie.

  Who knew Cameron’s brand would be more popular than the Senior-ita?

  Martha, Ruthie, and Cleo did their best with what God gave them—and took away about twenty years ago. With fake pregnancy bumps matching the humps on their backs, they strutted through the meeting room as quickly as Martha’s walker allowed.

  Unfortunately, the pillows shifted their center of gravity. They hobbled and swayed on bad knees as they did their best to catwalk with attitude.

  Not my greatest presentation, but at least the pillow might’ve broken their fall and not their hips.

  Cleo sashayed around the meeting table, focusing her attention on Mr. Montgomery.

  “Go on, sugar.” She cackled. “You can take a peek. I birthed eight babies from these hips before my husband passed. Ain’t making no babies now, but momma sure ain’t closed for business.”

  “It is a lovely conservative dress…” I gestured over the soft coral material which had so easily covered my curves. On Cleo however…the dress stretched like a bubble on pizza crust. “Perfect for the modest mother-to-be.”

  Cleo wagged a finger at me. “If you wanna make some real money? You design yourself a nursing bra as convenient as a McDonald’s drive through. Because, sweet child, in a few months you’re gonna wish they turned you into hamburger instead of making you the dairy cow.”

  I nervously chuckled, doing my best to tug Cleo’s neckline into a sensible position before Mr. Montgomery enjoyed his second heart attack.

  I gestured toward the projected images on the screen, featuring my other maternity designs—pretty blouses, stretchy yet professional trousers, a pleated skirt which could conceal if the expectant mother so chose, and a darling sundress which accentuated everything mommy-to-be wished to show.

  And, so far, the designs had been a hit.

  Unfortunately, the only board member brave enough to face me was Mr. Jones, and he offered the same conciliatory smile since Bonne Chance’s offer on the company. He’d already exchanged his suits for Hawaiian shirts and applied bronzer to his pasty skin. He was off to Florida—anywhere, according to him, that promised a winter without snow.

  “Mackenza, this was a very…entertaining presentation.” Mr. Jones fished a Werther’s Original out of the front of his pants—a casualty of Martha’s catwalk. “You have some fantastic designs.”

  I felt what was coming next.

  The dreaded but.

  “Don’t forget that I’ve created a price plan which compares this brand to seven other labels,” I said. “Organized from the most expensive, couture pieces down to the most affordable. I feel that we could very easily slot ourselves in the higher-end markets, shown in upscale department stores.”

  “Yes, you’ve certainly done your homework,” Mr. Jones said.

  And he hadn’t even seen half of it yet. “I’ve also developed a plan for our initial run—factored in material and supply costs, labor, design. Production quotes and estimations and distribution times. I’ve spoken with our vendors and they could easily provide us with the materials we need at modest prices for a small test-run within the month.”

  And yet, the board shifted. Exchanged glances.

  Humored me.

  Mr. Jones folded his palms. “This is an amazing idea. We love it. But…it’s just too late. We’ve already signed with Bonne Chance. It’d be impossible to rescind the offer now.”

  I didn’t believe that. “Then we’ll talk with our attorney. There’s gotta be a clause in the contract…”

  He quieted me with a raised palm. “Maxwell Intimates is no more. But Mackenza Maxwell still exists, and no one can take that away. This is your idea, so run with it. Start your own label and your own company. Create your own success so that you may begin a new family legacy and pass it down to your baby.”

  The board members all stood.

  Ten minutes.

  That was all I’d been given. Ten minutes of pity and half-attention to save a company that had served them for fifty years.

  Mr. Jones patted my shoulder. “You tried, Mackenza. And we appreciate how hard you fought. But times change, and you need to change with them.”

  I said nothing as they funneled from the room. My models approached, offering me comforting smiles.

  Cleo tucked her feather boa around my shoulders.

  Martha passed me the rest of her candy.

  And Ruthie, bless her heart, had to shout at the others so she could hear herself.

  “It really was a beautiful baby shower!”

  They left the room, and I flipped the switch underneath the desk, dimming the lights.

  As long as a girl cried in the dark, it didn’t count.

  Too bad I was going to need a lot of darkness.

  But a shadow moved in the doorway, and the residual blue light from the disconnected projector silhouetted him in a soft glow.

  I hadn’t invited him to the meeting, but it didn’t surprise me that he’d show.

  Cameron really had an otherworldly beauty about him. The sort of confidence and class that only a man who had traveled the entire world more times than he could count possessed.

  His dark eyes focused on me, but I had nothing to say. Just swallowed hard and pretended my heart hadn’t broken yet again.

  “I’m not in the mood to fight,” I warned.

  He took the seat opposite me with a nod. “Then you really must be upset.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to see the presentation.”

  I didn’t need to be patronized. “Yeah? And what did you think?”

  “Thought it was great.”

  Sure, he did. “What was your favorite part? The pregnant eighty-five-year-old lady reenacting her son’s breech birth?” I shuddered. “Cleo convinced me. I’m calling my OBGYN and scheduling my c-section ahead of time.”

  “I must’ve missed that part,” he said. “Had some business to attend to first.”

  “Doesn’t matter now.”

  “Think so?” His voice resonated in me, warming me, soothing me even though I had no right to ask for his comfort. “My judgment might be clouded because you’re so damned beautiful and carrying my child…but the idea is genius. Creating a company that caters to the needs of a woman through every aspect of her life—from her honeymoon to her maternity months and into retirement? It’s perfect. Fits the Maxwell Intimates’ brand. Really showcases a woman’s natural beauty.”

  “It would be perfect,” I said.

  “It’d save the company.”

  “It’s too late.” The tears threatened to fall. “Company’s been sold.”

  Cameron’s sly smile always foretold trouble of the best kind.

  “Yes,” he said. “It sold to me.”

  My gaze snapped up. Couldn’t have been a joke. The man looked all too proud of himself. I clutched the table, breathless.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Cameron leaned his chair back and crossed his arms behind his head.

  “I contacted Bonne Chance. Decided Maxwell Intimates’ was too valuable a commodity to bundle with
LACE Industries. So…I bought the company back, figuring with some new ideas—like a genius maternity line—I could make Maxwell Intimates profitable again. Especially if it were to remain independent.”

  The man had an unearthly talent to make my heart race.

  My stomach and the baby both leapt for joy, and that was a nausea I was more than grateful to endure.

  “Did you seriously buy this company?” I whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He smirked. “Because you have a good idea. A sellable, workable idea that would make us more money than this sale to Bonne Chance while preserving the legacy of a fifty-year-old enterprise.” He heaved a deep breath. “Problem is, it’ll take a while to teach the new CEO the ropes…might have to hang around in this industry for a little while longer…teach her what she needs to know.”

  I pointed at myself. “Me?”

  “It’s your name on the building. Who better to lead than Mackenza Maxwell herself?”

  I leapt from the table, rushing to his side. He met me halfway and captured me in his arms.

  The tears came, thick and blubbery. I dissolved into a mess of foolish, reckless vulnerability.

  But Cameron Mitchell held me.

  I trusted him with every part of me—the strong and the weak, the lost and the found, the best and the worst.

  And he loved me despite it all.

  “You would do this for me?” I whispered.

  His fingers brushed through my hair, and he stole a selfishly decadent kiss.

  “No,” he said. “I’m doing this for us.”

  “Do you really mean that?”

  “Thinking about settling down…” His touch forged together every shattered bit of my heart. “I have no reason to run anymore. Not now that I know what I’ve found—and what I might’ve lost.”

  “Cameron…” The apology would never be enough, but I’d beg his forgiveness from now until my last breath. “I said some horrible things, and I…”

  “You were right.” His gaze hardened, and he stared at me with a newfound adoration. “You were always right about me. You knew that I worked so hard to find something new, some sort of excitement in my life. You were the one who said I was looking to fill a void that even I didn’t know existed. I was afraid to admit what I actually searched for in this life…and I accidentally found it in you.”