Finding Spring (Almost a Billionaire Book 3)

by Bridget E. Baker

  I laugh. “I guess you might understand after all.”

  He closes his eyes and exhales dramatically. “Please tell me you aren't going to work for James.”

  I shrug. “I don't know, but I've agreed to an interview at least. It's not like I'd ever see him.”

  “You can get a job anywhere. Name the place, and I'll call them,” Paul offers.

  “Ah, ah, ah, that's exactly what I mean.”

  “Right, right,” he says. “Sorry, I forgot for a second.”

  I call out to Troy. “Sweetie, it's time to go.” I ask the valet for my car, and when they swing it around, I buckle Troy into his seat.

  Paul catches my hand before I climb in myself. “I understand your reasons, but that doesn't mean I'm throwing in the towel.”

  My heart does a little somersault.

  “I'll give you your space and I'm not in a rush, but I'm not going to sit in the corner with my hands folded, either.” He leans down slowly and brushes his lips over mine. My heart quakes in my chest. “I'll be patient, and I'll wait, but every time you see me, every time you hear my voice, every time I smile at you, I want you to know that you're missing this. We're missing this because you need space, not because I'm not all in.” He kisses me again, even slower this time. And then he steps back and stands up straight, his eyes still locked on mine. “I'm ready when you are Trudy.”

  Breaking off eye contact and driving away is the hardest thing I've ever done. Luckily, Troy doesn't notice the tears streaming down my face the whole way home.

  18

  Paul

  Once everyone's gone and I finally pick up my phone, I notice an email in my inbox.

  Harvard for Trudy. We're even. JF.

  I should be mad. I realized today how much I actually like Trudy. More than anyone I've ever dated, and she dumped me before we were even officially dating. And then she quit her job so she wouldn't need to be around me.

  I should want to throw my phone across the room. And if James really had anything to do with it, he deserves a punch in his smug, condescending, grudge-holding face.

  But I don't think he can take credit for this one. I think Trudy made this decision for herself, and she didn't even seem mad about me lying anymore. Which means it has to do with her, just like she said. She's only been officially divorced a little while, and her loser ex only left them a few months before that. She's got a son with a lot of medical needs, so I get it. She needs to stand up on her own feet, and know that she can do it. Isn't that what SITB was all about for me?

  The thing is, I wasn't just interested in her if everything was easy. And I'm not bailing because she isn't ready today, or tomorrow. To play a long game, I need to think smart and make sure she doesn't forget about me, or meet someone else while she's getting her head straight. I'm not going to sit on the bench and hope she calls me in a few months when she feels better.

  Pining is for losers. Pathetic, lovesick idiots throw in the towel. I'm going to give her space, but I'm going to be around to lend a hand whenever she needs it. Accessible without badgering her. Available all the time.

  My phone buzzes and I check the screen. Luke's texting me on his wedding night. Sheesh.

  I SAW YOU TALKING TO TRUDY. WIGGIN WOMEN AREN'T EASY TO WIN OVER, BUT THEY'RE WORTH THE EFFORT.

  How do I make an effort when she's cut me out of her life? That's the real question. There's a fine line between tenacious and stalker. I need to make sure I don't cross that, but I also need to see her. Regularly. Non-threateningly. I think about following her to the grocery store, but that’s probably over the line.

  She did mention church, and tomorrow's Easter Sunday.

  I text Luke back. WHERE DOES SHE ATTEND CHURCH? I'VE BEEN FEELING A LITTLE MORALLY BANKRUPT. I PROBABLY OUGHT TO SEE TO THE WELLNESS OF MY IMMORTAL SOUL.

  CORNER OF BLEEKER AND DUNLOW.

  I pull up google maps and jot down the info on the church. From there, it's easy to pull up their service schedule. I know where I'll be at ten a.m. tomorrow. Or maybe nine-thirty. I’m not following her if I get there first. I can imagine it now. “What? Me? I always come here. What are you doing here?”

  Ha.

  Luke texts me again. MARY SAID SHE USUALLY KICKBOXES MWF AT LIFETIME. 7:30 AM.

  It's nice to have people pulling for me. I can see her four times a week, as long as I don't completely freak her out. It's not every day, all day, like it would have been at work, but I can do something with this. I'm not out of the game yet.

  The next morning, I'm dressed in a suit on the very last pew at nine-fifteen. I might be a little nervous. I text Trig.

  I NEVER SHOULD HAVE MADE FUN OF YOU AT MACARONI GRILL. I'M AN IDIOT.

  He texts back immediately. THAT'S TRUE ENOUGH. BUT WHAT BROUGHT ABOUT THIS SUDDEN AND UNCHARACTERISTIC INSIGHT?

  NOTHING. I'M JUST VERY SELF AWARE. AND EVOLVED.

  Trig sends me a rude emoji. Creatively rude. I'm almost impressed, except it feels inappropriate to be impressed in a church.

  Before I can put my phone away, he texts again. WHO ARE YOU STALKING EXACTLY?

  I put my phone in my pocket and ignore the buzzing. I'm not stalking anyone, not at all. It's rude of him to suggest that.

  Two buzzes later I pull it out again and check his messages.

  TELL ME.

  IT'S MARY'S SISTER. RIGHT?

  Trig is obnoxious. I never should have texted him. I wish Luke hadn't just left the country. Except he deserves a honeymoon, but still.

  YES.

  GEO KNEW IT. SHE'S SMART.

  DON'T TELL HER ANY OF THIS! I text him immediately. THE WOMEN ALL TALK.

  SHE ZIPPED HER LIPS. THAT MEANS SHE'LL KEEP QUIET.

  Yeah right. I'M NOT STALKING HER.

  THAT'S WHAT EVERY STALKER SAYS UNTIL A COURT RULES DIFFERENTLY.

  I scowl until it occurs to me that he can't even see me. SHADDUP.

  BUT SERIOUSLY. GOOD LUCK. Thumbs up emoji. Geo has practically turned Trig into a teenage girl with all these emojis.

  I might need to see a chiropractor tomorrow with the number of times I crane my neck around whenever someone new walks in. Every kid sounds like Troy.

  The service starts, and there’s still no sign of Trudy or her curly haired son. Also, no one sent me the memo that people don't dress nicely for church anymore. I guess that's on me for not coming much, but I'm the only person here in a suit. The guy in front of me looks like he's wearing swim trunks. Have some respect, dude.

  It occurs to me that Luke and Mary might have punked me. Luke does have reason to give me a hard time, and now I'm stuck here for the entire service.

  “Excuse me, can we sneak past you?”

  I turn to look at the latecomer and stare right into Trudy's startled, cerulean eyes.

  “Oh,” she whispers. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was about to ask you that question,” I say.

  “Excuse me, I always come here.”

  “Are you implying I don't?” I grunt and shift back against the pew so she can slide past me. “I love God. Even more than I love French fries, and that's saying something.”

  She rolls her eyes, but Troy claps when he sees me. “Uncle Paul!”

  Uncle? Yuck. “Uh, maybe call me Mr. Paul,” I whisper.

  Troy nods. “Mr. Paul.” He climbs up on my lap. Trudy looks a little flabbergasted, but she sits next to me without arguing.

  The next hour passes too quickly. Trudy has a bag full of toys for Troy, and he's clearly accustomed to sitting still and quiet. She pulls out a big book with different activities on each page, all silent. A Tower of Babel made of felt. A fabric mock-up of a dress shoe that Troy can lace up and practice tying. A basket to weave out of ribbons for baby Moses.

  “Where did you get this?” I whisper.

  “I made it,” she says.

  “How?” I ask.

  “Be reverent,” she hisses.

  I pretend to be chastened, but really, I'm too busy admiring how her eyes f
lash when she's scolding me. When the service ends, I high five Troy. “Nice to see you, buddy.”

  He looks up at his mom. “Can Mr. Paul come over for dinner? He will love your chicken and dumplings, I know it.”

  Trudy blushes. “No sweetie, he can't. He's busy.”

  I want to protest. I have all day free, and I'd love to come! But that's not what I'm doing here. I'm not pressuring or wheedling my way into her life, or at least, not in an obvious way. I stand up and brush the goldfish crumbs off my pants. “I can't come today, but you're a very polite gentleman to offer.” I wink at Trudy. “Maybe some other time when it's your mom's idea to have me over.”

  Troy kicks the pew. “Alright.”

  “Don't be disrespectful in God's house, sir.”

  Troy frowns. “It's not a very good house. There isn't even a bedroom. I checked that time you thought I was lost.”

  I suppress a chuckle at Trudy's choking sound.

  “We better go,” she says.

  Troy turns back around to face me when they're ten or fifteen feet away. “Can I sit by you next week Mr. Paul?”

  I bob my head. “Fine with me, but that's up to your mom.”

  “Pretty please, Mom?”

  Trudy sighs. “We'll see.”

  “You always say 'we'll see.' But I don't ever see anything. I think that really means no.”

  I wonder how often she had to say that about whether he was going to do something with his dad. I bet Chris didn't do what he said he'd do very often. My parents didn't have a lot of money, but they were there for everything we ever did.

  I'm on my way out when a lady in a grey dress with very curly hair stops me. She smiles and points to the left. “Sunday School?”

  Uh. I can't exactly say I'm here to follow someone, and they've left, so I'm headed home too. I regretfully mumble, “Sure.”

  After all, I seem to have some catching up to do with religious stuff.

  The next morning, I expect to groan when my alarm goes off earlier than usual, but I pop up out of bed energized. Turns out, unrequited love is motivational, at least for me it is. I put on a pair of nylon pants and a t-shirt. Then I second-guess it. What should I be wearing to kickboxing? I've boxed off and on at boxing gyms since I was a kid. How different can it be?

  The meathead standing by the door at Lifestyles holds up a hand when I try to walk past him. “Membership pass, sir.”

  “Uh, I'm not a member yet.”

  “You can't just come in,” he says in a voice so deep that he's got to be faking it.

  “But I did just walk in. Like, literally two seconds ago.”

  “You can't go inside, sir, not without a pass.”

  “You guys suck at recruiting,” I say. “You need to work on that. How about you offer to let me try a class and if I like it, I can fill out all your forms.”

  He frowns.

  “Which word didn't make sense? Let me guess. Recruiting?”

  He scowls.

  I step a little closer and drop my voice. “Look Popeye, there's a girl I need to see today, okay? She shut me down, but I'm not ready to give up yet. I need to get into that kickboxing class.” I point at the back wall where there's a sign that says “Group Fitness.”

  “We're not supposed to do that,” he says. “You can look into the class, but you can't take it until you're a member. There's legal forms.”

  “Okay, I know. I'll arm wrestle you for it.” Four or five people are listening in now, and the guy’s eyes are shifting around, which tells me he knows and cares. “If I can beat you, you let me run into that class before it starts and fill out the forms after.”

  Popeye sizes me up. I don't look so big, especially compared to him. He thinks there's no way I can take a guy with pythons like him. After all, he's done sixteen million and one arm curls. Today. But he hasn't really arm-wrestled anyone, except as some kind of party trick.

  He has no idea I paid for my books every semester decimating a bunch of frat boys who spent a lot of time on free weights, too. It’s easy when you know the physics behind it.

  “Fine.”

  I point at a table covered with as stack of little rolled up towels and he nods. Less than a minute later, we're set up. Even in such a short time, a crowd of onlookers has gathered.

  I'm a righty, so I bring my right foot forward, hugging my right hip against the table. That ensures my arm won't be the only thing doing the work. When he reaches out, I make sure to grip high up on his hand, lifting my wrist higher than his. And when he yells, “Now,” I curl my wrist over immediately.

  My hook flattens his wrist, and I push for where I imagine Popeye's shirt pocket would be, if he had pockets on his stupid tank top. Pushing for the nearest corner saps his strength and relieves the pressure on my upper arm. Five seconds later, I've shoved the back of his hand into the table. I ignore the hoots and hollers and stand up.

  “So it's this way?” I point at the big room in the back and check out the clock. Four minutes until class. I better get in there.

  I'm lucky Trudy didn't walk in during my stunt, but I hope she shows at some point, or I wasted a lot of time and pissed off Popeye for no reason. I walk to the back and look around.

  I'm the only guy in the room.

  Can that be right? It's martial arts, right? I also see no bags hanging from the ceiling. Not a single one, which leaves me wondering what exactly we're supposed to be kicking or boxing. I don't see mannequins, either. Am I really supposed to spar with one of these hundred pound chicks?

  The music kicks on and every female in the room starts bouncing around, punching. . . the air. Not what I expected, but I roll with it. After some initial stretching and bouncing knee strikes, we settle into a lot of uppercuts, jabs and hooks. This I can do.

  I notice the second Trudy walks in, five minutes after class started. I'm sensing a pattern.

  She puts her hands on her hips. “You've got to be kidding me.”

  “You go here?” I ask. “What are the odds?”

  She lifts one eyebrow, but before she can say a word, we switch to doing some kind of jumping lunge. To say it's not something I'm comfortable with might be generous.

  By the time we finish that set, Trudy's laughing so hard that tears are streaming down her face. “You look like a marionette piloted by a lunatic.”

  I ignore her and practice the elbow strikes the instructor is doing. The lady next to me in tiny black shorts and a crop top says, “Don't listen to her. You're doing great. We all sucked our first class, and we're happy to have a hot guy in here for once.” She frowns. “Which probably means you're gay. Please don’t be gay.”

  I shake my head. “Not gay.”

  She grins and looks me up and down. “I'm Alice. Welcome to class.”

  I consider turning on the charm like I usually would. I could probably have half a dozen phone numbers by the end of class, even if I look like a puppet with cut strings. But ...although jealousy might work with some girls, I don't think it would help my case with Trudy. She needs to see me often, but watching me act like a flirt might set off warning bells. I doubt her ex cared much about making her feel special.

  “Thanks,” I say. “But I'm sort of not-so-secretly pining over the woman who thinks I look like an asphyxiating fish.”

  Alice widens her eyes. “Good luck.”

  “I need it,” I say.

  After class ends, Trudy doesn't even talk to me. She races out of the room and toward the childcare area to pick up Troy. I head over to the membership desk to sign up. I can't have Popeye's head exploding every time I arrive.

  After the gym, I head into SITB to come clean. I call everyone to the conference room and explain my real name, my reasons for using my middle name and mother's maiden name, and tell them we've received several offers to purchase the tech we've been working on.

  “What's going to happen to our jobs?” Andrew from digital programming asks.

  “I'm still deciding which offer to take. But no matter which
one it is, the buyer will want a skeleton crew at a bare minimum to go with the product and help get it ready for a launch. Some of you will certainly be on that team, and I'll make sure I negotiate raises for you. Whoever isn't included will be welcome to come work with me at LitUp, the company I own with my brother Luke. I’ve already cleared that with him. That company will buy the other ideas we’ve been working on, and job offers will be extended to each of you. No one is going to be fired or laid off.”

  A collective sigh of relief brings a smile to my face. “I'm sorry about all the secrecy. My decision to do this had nothing to do with any of you. You've all been phenomenal to work with, and you'll continue to be amazing, I'm sure.”

  I'm just relieved I was able to purloin an IT guy from LitUp so I won't need to search for a new one myself. I could really use a new assistant, but when I call Nancy, she assures me she'll be back in the office soon.

  “This baby’s sleeping like a dream. I can actually start doing several hours from home each day this week, and I think I'll be back to full time well before six weeks.”

  “I had a friend analyze our offer and I'm making a counter offer today. Hoping to get this laid to rest by the end of this week, so we may be at LitUp by the time you’re back.”

  “Does that mean the employees with a share in the company will get paid soon?” Nancy tries to sound casual about it and fails miserably.

  I laugh. “Soon enough. It won't all be distributed until we dissolve the corporation, and first we need to complete this transaction. Assume at least a month, probably more. Due diligence, paperwork, patent amendments, etc.”

  “Still exciting,” Nancy says.

  “Yes, it’s still very exciting.”

  The rest of the week of Luke's honeymoon flies by. I negotiate forty percent more and sign with 3M. I kickbox two more times. Badly. Worse than my lack of natural talent at cardio kickboxing is that Trudy pretends I'm not there at all. It's a little disheartening.

  I head home Friday night, beat, ready to watch TV and eat Chinese food. I've just changed into flannel pajama pants when my phone rings. It's Trig.