Boss On A Leash: A Single Dad Billionaire Romance

by Kara Hart

  No, this is not incredible news for me. I have to get her back. I’m just not sure what the best method is for doing that.

  I stand. “This is perfect,” I say. “The entire staff can keep their jobs. We can find another acquisition to take on. The world is our oyster.”

  The excitement on Sandra’s face is so palpable it makes me feel bad. And falling into the old habit of working obsessively isn’t going to make me feel any better. It’s just a habit, something I’ve grown accustomed to doing when the going gets really tough. I’m not saying it out loud, but I feel like absolute shit.

  I loved Ali. She was my person, but we needed more time. Now, there’s no going back.

  I don’t want this job. I just want her in my family.

  “I have an idea,” I say.

  Sandra drops her smile. “Then you should shut your mouth fast and throw it in the trash,” she says. “Your ideas suck. You need to have less of them.”

  Clearly, she’s right. Everyone I love ends up running for the hills, or they die. That’s why I think this idea in particular is a decent one. If everyone is so repulsed by me, it might be better if I just live in the hills instead. When you’re unwanted, it’s better to stand to the side.

  “Just hear me out,” I say.

  “I’m done hearing you out, Marc. There’s nothing I would rather do less than to hear you out.”

  She’s going to want to hear this, so I don’t let her stop me. “I want you and Brian to be partners. And I want to step down. You take over. Brian gets thirty percent. I don’t know. We’ll figure out.”

  I’m just spitting things out before my headache takes over and stops me from driving home later.

  She stands, unable to accept it. “Marc...”

  “I’m serious, Sandra. I’m done,” I say with a tone that lets her know how serious I am. “I think I’ve been done for a long time.”

  She doesn’t know what to say, so I keep going. “It’s a much overdo gift,” I say. “You’ve been propping up the company for years. You were my secretary. Then, you quickly excelled to be the best team leader I’ve ever hired. Now you’re at the very top, and you’re going to roll in the money. Take the gift.”

  She blushes. “This is… too much.”

  “Sandra, I don’t want it. It’s toxic for me. Besides, I need to see my daughter more,” I say, turning to stare at Mount Ranier. I’ve always wanted to hike something like that mountain. I’ve just never had the chance to find that adventure. Maybe that Mama Bear idea is rubbing off on me. How much is a bulk order of patchouli soap again?

  Sandra is tearing up.

  “There’s a lot I need to take care of,” I say. “Just promise me one thing.”

  The tears finally spill over. She paces the room, fanning her face. “Anything,” she says. “Keep talking. Don’t mind me.”

  “Don’t ever talk badly about Ali again,” I say. “And if you see her again, treat her with the utmost respect and kindness. Apologize.”

  “I will,” she says.

  “Promise me.”

  She furrows her brows. “She’s not your girlfri—”

  “Promise.”

  She bends her neck. “I promise,” she says. “That was… wrong of me.”

  “You were taking out your frustration with me on her,” I say.

  “You’re a bastard sometimes,” she says.

  “I’m sure she’d agree with you.”

  I’ve never been good at consoling people when they cry, but this is kinda nice. Brian will make a stink about the thirty percent thing, but thirty percent of a billion is still three hundred million dollars. “You deserve it,” I say, standing. “As for me, my time is done here.”

  She dampens the tears with a tissue. “No, it isn’t,” she says. “You’ll be here for the next holiday party.”

  I laugh. Probably true.

  The holidays are behind us. Soon, spring will bring its healing showers. And then, in the summer, the weather will be stunning. Everyone will spend their hours outside. It’s the perfect time to go on a walk or, you know, take your dog with you.

  “Gotta take care of things, Sandra. Have a great day.”

  Ali probably hates me right now. But I’m on a mission to get her back.

  Ali

  A Prius arrives to pick me up. It’s not a stretch limo by any means, but that’s okay. I don’t need the glitz and glitter Marc offered me last week. I’d rather live a humble life, anyway.

  Oh, who am I kidding? I’d kill to ride in comfort.

  The man in the driver’s seat looks young. His hair is long and greasy, barely covered by a beanie. The vehicle smells like a wet dog.

  The driver turns up the song on the radio. It’s an electronic dance tune with a beat that is practically ear-shattering. The driver turns it up even louder. “Cool if I max out the volume for a bit?”

  I throw my hands over my ears, but it’s not enough to dampen the noise. “Um, actually, I’m sorta trying to concentrate,” I say.

  “What?” he yells.

  “Silence would be nice, actually.”

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “Never mind.”

  He seems to hear that just fine. “Rad. Holler if you need anything!”

  That’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll holler, you jerk.

  For most of the drive, I lean back and close my eyes. I try not to relive every good moment I had with Marc and Sammy, but it’s just not possible. The grass is always greener on the other side, and I’m on that other side, trying to see through the window to new pastures, but the window is just too dark to see out of.

  The driver snaps me out of my depressive thoughts. He’s looking in his sideview mirror, mumbling to himself. “Come on, man,” he whispers, tapping the steering wheel.

  Blinker on, he’s so focused on the car next to us that I have to take a look. There’s a jet-black car in the other lane, speeding. The figure behind the tinted glass isn’t paying attention to us, but he sure is in the way.

  “I can’t get over,” he says. “This guy won’t let me in.”

  “Can you speed up?” I ask.

  “I can try,” he says.

  He floors it, attempting to get over so he can make the exit. The black car does the same move, blocking us from getting into the exit lane.

  I recognize this car. It’s a BMW M-Series with a custom paint job. This is Marc’s car.

  Fate is beyond twisted.

  “Might have to take the next exit,” he says.

  “Oh, no you don’t. You get in that lane if it’s the last thing you do,” I say.

  If this is a race to the finish line, we’re neck and neck. After a few seconds of speeding next to each other, he looks over. At first, he doesn’t seem to think much of it. But after a few more seconds, he notices me. I see him mouth something like my name before slamming on the breaks.

  As we’re nearing the point where the freeway merge ends, he lets my car pass. We speed through the finish line without a moment to spare. But the problem wasn’t that he was beating me. It was that I didn’t expect him to get home so early.

  Pulling into his gravel driveway, I feel my heart start to pound, rather than it sink. I didn’t expect to see him today. I just wanted to get my things back.

  Taking a few seconds to breathe, I lean back. The Prius driver turns. “I hope you give me five stars.”

  I exhale and open the door. “Sure. Five stars. Whatever.”

  Marc is standing near his car. He’s not saying a word, but his eyes are all over me. He looks like he’s searching for something to say. We both are, but none of us can seem to find the right words.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hi. I mean, hey,” he says. “Didn’t expect you to come over today.”

  I take a few steps toward the door, shooing away the urge to come up and give him a big hug. “Yeah. I got a call from your daughter. She was pretty broken up about what happened.”

  He laughs, thinking I’m joking.
When he sees that I’m not, he changes the expression on his face. “Wait. How did Sammy...”

  A tinge of betrayal comes to the surface. “You must’ve told Amanda,” I say. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure you were just relaying the situation, so she knew you wouldn’t be coming home.”

  “You heard I spent the night at the office?” he asks.

  “I’m looking at your hair. It’s pretty obvious, Marc.”

  He nods, scratching the back of his head. He’s still handsome, but his clothes are wrinkled. The front of his hair looks like a chaotic tidal wave. Bags have formed under his eyes. “I fell asleep in my office chair,” he says. “It’s remarkable I didn’t fall.”

  He mimics sleeping with a really dumb look on his face.

  I’m trying not to smile or laugh, but I still jive with his sense of humor. Unfortunately, compatibility doesn’t just go away because someone gets hurt. Well, maybe for some. For me, it’s not that easy. I don’t like to let go of unexplored possibilities.

  “I take it you came here to grab your things,” he says. “Don’t let me hold you up. They’re right inside.”

  I start to walk toward the door, taking note that he isn’t following close behind. “You coming?” I ask.

  “I thought I’d wait outside. Gives you more time away from me,” he says.

  “It’s your house, Marc,” I say. “Quit acting weird. You can come inside.”

  Stiffly thanking me, he follows me in and shuts the door. Ragamuffin betrays my quiet footsteps by barking. Rowdy slides into the room, barreling toward me. I put out my hand, and he slips into the sit position. “Good boy,” I say.

  “He’s a much better boy than me,” Marc jokes.

  That gets a quiet chuckle out of me, as well as a lingering smile. Still, I don’t waste time near Marc. I don’t want to smell his cologne, or keep hearing his stupid dad jokes. I don’t want to see Sammy, and I don’t want to stand in this giant, cozy house, knowing it could have been so different.

  Those are things that will keep me here forever. And I just have to let go.

  I head into the family room, inhaling the smell of old, expensive parchment for the last time. “Here are your things,” he says, pointing to my bag on the table. A book is sitting on top.

  “Marc,” I whisper. It’s that copy of Pride and Prejudice, First Edition.

  “I don’t need it,” he says. “I thought you could have it. You’d enjoy it more than me.”

  Feeling melancholia tug on my heartstrings, my eyes start to water. I didn’t know I’d miss this place so much. Now that I’m here, I don’t really want to leave.

  I come up to the book, slowly dragging my fingers over the binding. “Marc, you know I can’t take this.”

  “You’re taking it,” he says. “If you want, you can read it to the class.”

  I laugh, tears falling down my face. Even though I’m facing the other way, I think he knows I’m crying. “I’m not sure second graders will enjoy it,” I say.

  “Well, in any case, it’s yours.”

  I look up from the book. Amanda is in the hall with Sammy. My friend is looking at me with empathy in her eyes. At the same time, she looks very uncomfortable. I wish she didn’t see me like this.

  I wave to her. She gives a wave back.

  “Mr. Wylan, I’m going to go now,” she says.

  Marc gives her a pretty hefty wad of cash before seeing her to the door. When she’s gone, it’s just us three, the family that couldn’t be.

  “Well, I got all my things,” I say.

  Marc sucks in his lips, seemingly occupied on his thoughts. “You sure the station wagon will start?”

  It’s another joke, but it doesn’t hit right. And it just makes me realize that if I don’t leave now, I never will. “Only one way to find out.”

  Sammy marches into the room. “Hearie! Hearie!”

  Marc turns, chest rising. For the first time since we the day we met, I see tears in his eyes. He’s trying harder than ever before to hold them back. I can see the physical pain, the emotional wrought that this has taken on him, and I recognize it as my own because I’m right there with him. This is shit. To protect my heart, I had to be the one to call it off, but nobody really wins.

  We all just lose.

  Tears spill down his cheeks, resting in his stubble. He looks years older, as if one small fiasco can wreck someone beyond repair. “Sammy, not now,” Marc says.

  Sammy won’t stop. She’s in one of her moods again. Strutting around the room like a queen, she yells, “Hearie! Hearie!”

  Marc grabs her. She kicks him once in the chest and another time in the balls. Even in his down moments, he’s gentle with her. My dad would’ve spanked me to high hell and back.

  He falls to the floor with a soft thud. “Sammy, stop.”

  Does she stop? No. Instead, she picks up the pace. She runs across the room, flinging her dress above her head, showing her butt to everyone in the household. Chaos takes over, and soon, she’s running over the sofa, knocking over a lamp in the process.

  Up against the calamity of the situation, I just snap.

  I walk right over to her, take her hand, so she can’t run away. She can kick me in the balls if she wants. I’m not budging. “Enough is enough, young ma’am.”

  “No,” Sammy squeals, pulling.

  I point to Marc. He’s a shell of a man, breathing on the rug. “You need to apologize to your dad right now.”

  She bucks. She kicks. She fights me. “No, no, no.”

  However, eventually, she stops. And that’s when the hurt forms in her eyes. “Daddy...”

  She breaks down, scream piercing my ears. It’s hard to hear what she’s saying over her breathing.

  Finally able to stand, Marc cautiously approaches his daughter. “Sammy, what has gotten into you?”

  Marc takes her in his arms, hugging her with so much love it breaks my heart. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “Remember what I told you? It’s always going to be okay. I’m here with you forever.”

  It’s not my place to see this. I feel like I should go. This is too tender of a moment.

  She bends forward, over his arms. She reaches for me. “I don’t want her to leave.”

  “You have to let her go, Sammy,” he says.

  “I don’t want to. I love her,” she says.

  And that’s when I realize that this is not even about me. She’s thinking about her mother and realizing that when I leave, she’ll be back to where she was. Just her and Marc. At the time, she seemed pretty enthused about that dynamic. She got a taste of the other side, that place with greener pastures. I don’t blame her for acting out. I don’t blame her for anything, but I do have to go.

  “I’m sorry, Marc,” I whisper.

  He nods toward the door, still hugging Sammy. “It’s okay. Text me if you get home and realize you left something else.”

  Something like my heart? I’ll do that.

  Rowdy sits at my feet, tail wagging with excitement. I wish I could return the sentiment.

  “Okay,” I whisper. “Goodbye, Marc.”

  “Goodbye, Ali.”

  Outside, I try my station wagon. Ironically, it starts without any problems.

  I take the long way home, avoiding the freeway as much as possible. The weather is beautiful today, accentuating the green forest mountains and dark blue bay. I’m not even mad to hit ten minutes of traffic. Then again, I’m not feeling much of anything except the emotional waves that roll in with the tide.

  I flip on the radio to offset my feelings. First, I land on a talk radio show. Some old man is screeching like a crow about the senate. Something crappy happened, I guess. Something always happens, but I can’t focus. I turn to the next station instead. It’s classic nineties. Alannis Morissette is playing, my mom’s most favorite singer-songwriter in the world.

  The angst used to make me giggle as a kid, but as she belts out an emotional chorus akin to spilling ten pumpkin spiced lattes, it hits me hard
er than I thought any song could. As I turn on the main intersection near my house, I slam the volume to ten and belt out the lyrics. Tears cloud my vision, and I feel every word. Rowdy looks concerned.

  I pull into the parking lot and finish the song. Rowdy’s ready to get inside, so I throw a leash on him before hugging and kissing him. “You’re the only man for me,” I tell him.

  He responds with a loud fart.

  Desperate to get into bed, I jog toward the promenade, shut the gate, and head up the second floor. Every step seems to take away ten energy points from me.

  When I get to my front door, there’s something waiting for me. It’s a letter and a bundle of sunflowers.

  “Marc?” I wonder.

  If it was him, he must’ve sent a courier very early in the morning.

  I bend and pick up the card. On the front are two hand-drawn people tied up by a dog leash. “I’ll always miss the fun we had. I was so tangled up in you.”

  This is never going to get better, is it?

  The good times never go away. They fester as memories, waiting for the wrong moment to surface.

  In reality, there’s never a “right moment.” Dealing with those memories is a part of moving on. I’ve done that with plenty of other men.

  Problem is, I don’t want to let go of this one.

  Because with Marc, every moment is right.

  Marc

  February 16 is the day I lost my company. And February 16 is the day I lost Ali Greenwald forever. It’s not a holiday, but I’ll always remember today because I wasn’t the only person to lose someone I cared for. Sammy did too.

  Sammy was rooting for us the entire time. A big part of that comes from losing her mother. That’s also the reason why I haven’t dated anyone in a while. If I give the wrong person the keys to captain this ship with me, it could have detrimental consequences.

  Ali wasn’t the wrong person. She was everything Sammy needed and more. I didn’t tell Ali this, but I think her presence was a huge reason why she made it through the winter. I thought I could come up with a plan to get her back. Now that she’s gone, I’m not sure what we’re going to do.