Billionaire Unattainable

by J. S. Scott

  Billionaire Unattainable

  Copyright © 2019 by J. S. Scott

  All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission.

  Cover Design by Lori Jackson

  ISBN: 978-1-0910-6877-3 (Print)

  ISBN: 978-1-946660-76-3 (E-Book)

  This book is dedicated to all my readers who like my atypical heroines, and my previous curvy girl stories. Thank you for asking for more. This one is for you. : )

  Xoxoxoxoxo - Jan

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Laura

  A Year Ago…

  I knew I’d had way too much champagne and cake, but I wasn’t quite sure what order I’d consumed them in.

  A bunch of cake, and then a ton of champagne?

  Or did I swill the champagne first, with the pound of cake as an afterthought?

  Damn! I should have skipped this engagement party!

  My stomach was upset, so I stepped outside to the patio to get some air.

  Normally, I wasn’t much of a drinker. I had a one-drink limit, and I stuck to it. Unfortunately, I had way too much on my mind today.

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.

  God, the last thing I wanted was to hurl on the patio of a multimillion-dollar penthouse owned by a powerful billionaire.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” a deep, gravelly voice asked from a dark corner of the balcony.

  Crap! There is somebody else on the patio!

  “Breathing,” I answered stiffly. The last thing I wanted was company when I was about to toss my cookies.

  However, I did end up turning my head toward the mystery voice because watching all those fuzzy lights of the city of Seattle below me were making me slightly dizzy.

  I was startled to see that the man was Mason Lawson. I almost groaned out loud.

  Why did it have to be him? Mason’s younger brother, Jett, was the host of the party, and the owner of the extravagant penthouse.

  My memory was sketchy, but there was no way I could forget that I’d seen Mason…once. At a charity auction. We hadn’t spoken, but that hadn’t stopped me from admiring all his assets from afar.

  He looked just as yummy now as he had that night.

  “We breathe all the time,” he grumbled. “You don’t really need to try. And you were doing it pretty loud.”

  “Did I disturb you?”

  “No.”

  “Am I bothering you?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you want me to stop?” I knew I sounded like a total idiot, but in my alcohol-muddled brain, it didn’t matter.

  “I just asked why you were breathing so hard. I didn’t ask you to stop.”

  “I ate too much cake, and drank too much champagne. That almost never happens to me.”

  “Then why did it happen tonight?” he questioned, sounding displeased.

  Or maybe Mason always sounded that way. It wasn’t like I knew his normal demeanor.

  It was a good question. Why had I drunk too much, and binged on cake? Now that I thought about it, I was pretty sure I’d scarfed down some of the pastries, too.

  “I think I was trying to escape my own thoughts,” I confessed because I didn’t give a damn what I said to who at the moment.

  “What were you thinking about?” he asked, like he was interrogating a witness to a crime.

  Jesus! Was the guy always this…intense?

  “I want to have a baby,” I happily admitted, my mouth completely unchecked because of the alcohol. “I’m getting old, and nobody really wants me and a baby. Well, I’m sure somebody would marry me because I’m a supermodel. Okay, I’m a plus size model, but I do have money. Sometimes, when you make a lot of money, you’re never sure why a guy wants to be with you. Do you know what I mean? And no guy has never wanted to be with me.” I was rambling, but I couldn’t seem to shut up.

  He let out a bark of laughter that sounded like it was rusty, and that he didn’t do it much.

  “How old are you?” he demanded to know.

  “Thirty-three. My biological clock is ticking, and I want to be young enough to still play with my kids. If I have kids. Plural. Although I’d be really happy if I just had one. But being an only child is lonely.” Nobody knew that better than me.

  “So how do you have a child if you don’t have a man in your life?” he asked, sounding confused.

  I slapped him on the arm. “Women don’t need men anymore, silly. Well, not the actual man. But we do need a sperm donor. So I guess we kind of still need them. But I don’t have to put up with one all the time. I just need his sperm.”

  “Are you trying to say that you want to have a test-tube baby?” he asked gruffly.

  I nodded so hard that I made myself dizzy. “Yep. My egg, his sperm, and I’d never even have to meet the guy. I think it’s better that way.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you that someday, that child is going to want to know something about his father?” His expression was grim.

  “I’d love him or her enough to make up for the child not having two parents,” I argued.

  But yeah, I had thought about that, and that was probably the reason I’d cut loose and tried to forget about it at this party.

  “You have time. You’re beautiful and successful. You’ll find somebody to do it the normal way,” he said, his voice icy.

  “Are you always this grumpy?” I asked.

  “Are you always this chatty?” he shot back.

  “As a matter of fact, I’m not. I think I’m just drunk. I guess I’d better get home.”

  “Do you know where it is?” he asked dryly.

  “Of course I do. And you don’t have to be so mean to me just because I want to have a kid. Women are doing it every day.”

  “I thought I was being nice,” he said hesitantly. “I’m talking to you.”

  If he thinks he’s being nice, I’d hate to see what his crabby moods are like.

  “Well, thanks for the chat then,” I said as I started to turn around to find my way back inside.

  “Wait!” he commanded as he grabbed my arm. “I really wasn’t trying to be mean.”

  I turned back to him. “It’s okay. You don’t know me, and I probably sound like a crazy drunk lady.”

  “Are you really trying to have a child?” He grilled me as hard as he had a moment before.

  “I am. I’ve always wanted to have a family.” I felt the tears well up in my eyes, but because I was hammered, I didn’t even try to control them.

  He put his enormous hands on my shoulders. “You’ll find somebody. You can give it some more time. Hell, I’m thirty-four and I haven’t even thought about having kids. Or a wife, for that matter.”

  “You’re a man. You can father children until you die. I can’t. My clock is ticking.”

  “It’s not ticking that damn loud,” he snapped.

  I
was beginning to think that Mason Lawson had no idea how to be nice. But he was listening.

  God, he was a handsome devil. His hair was dark, but his eyes were a smoldering gray, which I found pretty damn sexy.

  “It is loud.” My words came out terribly slurred. “Loud enough that I’m considering going to a sperm bank. I turn thirty-four in a couple of months.”

  “Have you ever considered using somebody you know? Somebody who can at least give you a medical history and a background? A guy who the kid can visit when he comes of age?” His voice was still chilly, and his eyes were focused directly on my face.

  “Oh, God no. I don’t know any man who’d be willing to do that.”

  “I might know one,” he rasped.

  “Who?”

  I wanted desperately to hear his answer, and I was pretty sure that he actually uttered “Me!” before I passed out in his arms and he caught me before I hit the ground.

  Laura

  One Year Later…

  “Are you pregnant yet?”

  I rolled my eyes as I heard the graveled voice of Mason Lawson come through my cell phone. As usual, he sounded unhappy, but for him, that was his normal tone.

  Not that I hadn’t been aware of exactly who was calling before I’d reached for my cell phone in my home office.

  It was six p.m. on a Sunday. I’d been getting the same call for the last year.

  Every Sunday.

  At exactly six p.m.

  Mason was nothing if not reliable—right down to the second.

  “I didn’t go to the clinic this week, no,” I informed him with a sigh, just like I did every single week. “How do you always know that I’ll be home every Sunday?”

  “Good,” he said, acknowledging the fact that I hadn’t gone to get artificially inseminated during the days prior to his weekly call. “And I know that you’ll be in your office on a Sunday because you’re a workaholic. Since most people are doing family stuff on Sunday, and most businesses are closed, it’s the best time to work in peace.”

  I snorted. “I guess you would know. You’re in your office now, too, right?”

  “Of course,” he answered. “I’m at my most productive on Sunday.”

  I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. Maybe I did work a lot, but I was nowhere close to being as obsessed with my business as Mason was with his.

  Then again, I didn’t own one of the biggest tech companies in the world, and I wasn’t a billionaire.

  Having the same exact call with him every single week really was nonsense.

  The fact that I continued to answer it every time was ludicrous, too. There had to be some kind of solution to the madness.

  “Can’t we just like…make some kind of agreement that if I get inseminated, I’ll let you know instead of doing this weekly thing every single Sunday?”

  “No,” he said gruffly.

  “Why?”

  “Because I feel that if I keep reminding you what a bad idea it is, it won’t happen.”

  I sat up straight in my office chair, thumping my drawing pencil against the half-finished image in my sketchbook.

  The drumming of the pencil got louder as my irritation grew.

  Honestly, I was more pissed off at myself than I was with him. Why in the hell had I been so relieved when he’d refused my solution?

  Did I really like this every Sunday torture?

  “What if I don’t answer my phone?” I asked grumpily.

  “I’m always well-prepared to leave a detailed message,” he said calmly.

  Of course he is!

  Mason was always prepared for anything. The man was like a robot who never made a wrong move.

  I tossed my pencil onto my sketch pad, afraid that if I didn’t, I’d injure the work I’d already done on a new design.

  Over the last year, Mason and I had formed a very cautious friendship. A casual friendship. Oh, hell, maybe it would be more accurate to say we were sort of friendly acquaintances.

  Mind you, Mason Lawson wasn’t the type of guy to be an actual hangout buddy. I was fairly certain he didn’t have the time…or the inclination…to do much that didn’t include work.

  He was abrupt.

  He was annoying as hell.

  And God, he was bossy. In fact, he was so demanding, so self-controlled and exacting, that I doubted anybody refused him anything unless they were family who could get away with it.

  Well, I guess there was me.

  My road to success had been so long and difficult that I wasn’t about to take any shit from any guy. Not anymore. But Mason had been so persistent in his weekly calls that, at this point, I pretty much just ignored him and told him what he wanted to hear because it was the truth.

  Maybe I’d thought that he’d finally give up and stop calling.

  But he hadn’t.

  Really, I had to give it to him…Mason was tenacious.

  I didn’t hear from him at any other time except…

  Six o’clock.

  On Sunday.

  Like freaking clockwork.

  Yeah, we ran into each other, but I guess it was stretching things to say we were even friendly acquaintances.

  Mason’s younger brother, Carter, had married my best friend, Brynn, about nine months ago. So we’d been forced into each other’s company a lot during their nuptials.

  Now, we were only six days away from his brother Jett’s wedding, and since I’d gotten close to Jett’s fiancée, Ruby, Mason and I had seen each other a lot during their pre-wedding activities, too. I was a bridesmaid, and he was a groomsman for Jett. It was hard not to see Mason under the circumstances. Since Jett and Ruby had waited a long time to get married, there had been some kind of wedding activity every week for the last several weeks. Jett wanted to make sure that his bride-to-be had the full wedding experience, and I was pretty certain that the number of events he’d planned had far exceeded Ruby’s expectations.

  In other words, Jett had gone ape-shit crazy about giving his fiancée the wedding of her dreams, and I would have found it incredibly sweet—if it hadn’t meant seeing Mason one hell of a lot over a few months’ time.

  Luckily, Mason was now all out of single brothers, and his sisters were already married and living in Colorado.

  Thank God we’ll bump into each other much less often once Ruby and Jett’s wedding is over.

  Maybe he’ll stop calling me every Sunday and asking me if I’m pregnant.

  I wanted to bang my head against my desk when I reminded myself exactly why Mason knew such sensitive information about me. Why he knew that I was considering artificial insemination. Stupidly, I’d blurted it all out to him in a drunken state at Jett and Ruby’s engagement party a year ago, so maybe I deserved to sit through his brief, high-handed phone calls every week.

  Finally, I answered tersely, “I’m nearly thirty-five. With no man dying to marry me and have children in the future, one of these days, you are going to get a yes answer when you ask if I’m going to be a mother.”

  I was perfectly okay with not having a man in my life, but I did want a child or children. Money wasn’t an issue. I was completely able to give a kid or two anything they needed, and then some. My long career as a plus size model had made me financially independent, and my business of developing a line of clothing for women of all sizes was currently booming.

  My new clothing line had been one of the things that had kept me from pursuing my goal of motherhood sooner.

  Brynn had been an investor in Perfect Harmony almost from the beginning. She was also a handbag designer with a very successful business of her own now, but she was still the person I talked to the most when I started feeling overwhelmed with the success of Perfect Harmony.

  Brynn’s husband, Carter Lawson, had also invested in Perfect Harmony because he believed in my brand. Mason had followed suit—for reasons I’d never really understood—with an even bigger sum, and my clothing line had exploded when I’d moved online about ten months ago.
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  Because Brynn and I were both successful with modeling, we used our significant followings on social media to push our brands. But I knew that without the money invested by Carter and Mason, I wouldn’t be anywhere near as successful as I was at the moment.

  Even more than the money, I’d needed their expertise. And I’d gotten it in the form of expert advice from every top-level marketing executive who worked for Lawson Technologies, which was another significant factor in why Perfect Harmony was flying high.

  My only regret was that I’d had to put being a mother on hold to handle what had become a huge, breakout company over the last ten months.

  I’d had plenty of Lawson support in scaling up my business and getting the right people in place to help me once my brand had exploded. Shipping was getting streamlined from a big warehouse, and the website had finally been smoothed out after some glitches, but I was still modeling for some of my long-term clients. So my schedule had been absolutely insane.

  Things were just starting to get to a manageable pace for me, and I was able to stay in my home office more to create new designs these days. There weren’t nearly as many dumpster fires to put out now that everything was running smoothly.

  In fact, because I wasn’t nearly as frantic anymore, in the last few weeks, I’d had time to start thinking about…

  “Don’t do it,” Mason finally answered in an ominous voice, like he’d just read my mind.

  “Stop saying that,” I snapped. I had already heeded that cautious voice in my head that laid out all the pitfalls that could occur from artificial insemination from an anonymous sperm donor. I didn’t need Mason reiterating all of them for me every damn week.

  “You know I’m right,” he replied smugly.

  I desperately wanted to reach through the phone and slap his handsome face. “No, I don’t know that,” I said irritably. “I think if you had your way, I’d end up eighty years old, and we’d still be having this conversation. Why in the hell do you care what I do with my life anyway? We hardly know each other.”

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t asked him that question every Sunday.

  Mason just chose not to answer. Every. Single. Time.

  “I don’t want to see you regret your decision,” he answered brusquely.