Once Upon a Billionaire: Blue Collar Billionaires, Book 1

by Jessica Lemmon

  And, yeah, sex is not off the table. If I’m really lucky, we’ll have it on the table after we eat. I can clear Villa Moneta with a wave of my American Express card.

  After dinner, I’m admiring the expansive backyard with my adoptive father. William Owen is the OG blue-collar billionaire. He didn’t inherit his wealth, he created it. He started with cleaning companies—you heard me—franchised them and, after fifteen years of solid growth, sold the company for a mint. He’d been in touch with many large businesses by then, so he branched into new-builds—mostly office buildings. Once my brothers and I came along, we were groomed to run our own sectors of Owen Construction based on our talents and skills. Will never missed an opportunity to teach us to get dirty, either. We may have wealth, but hard work is the backbone of this company.

  Arch and Benji took to it better than I did. I never lost my rough and tumble. I don’t exactly fit in at corporate meetings, and whenever I visit our headquarters, I’m sure everyone can tell. Will, on the other hand, has learned to blend. He can attend a charity function or an investor’s meeting without standing out like my thrice broken nose. I’ve never had the reputation for being easygoing. I don’t suspect I’ll have one soon.

  “How’s Grand Marin?” he asks. It’s time to talk business since we aren’t allowed to talk business at the dinner table. That’s Will’s rule. He wants to keep Lainey happy and she’s happiest when we talk about our personal lives at dinner instead of the goings-on of the company.

  “On schedule. Ahead, actually,” I say proudly. “We start filling units next month.”

  He raises one bushy eyebrow. He’s shaven, but a dark five o’clock shadow presses his jaw. Like his son, Will could easily grow a full beard. If Lainey let him. “I hear you took out a wall with a sledgehammer.”

  “Shoddy craftsmanship doesn’t stand with me.”

  He offers a half smile of disbelief. He knows I don’t mean it. I’d never berate or belittle the men and women I employ. I know the struggles they face. I understand they have bills to pay and families to support. I relate to them, and that’s what makes me aces on site.

  “You shouldn’t cause problems where there aren’t any,” he warns.

  I suck on my cigar and crane my head to take in the stars. The Owen property sits on several acres. Without light pollution, I can see the Pleiades. Which is why I fought those restrictions for lower-wattage bulbs at Grand Marin. Everyone should be able to see the stars, not just rich folk. I don’t know that I ever looked up when I lived in Chicago. There was too much going on in front of me I had to keep both eyes on.

  “I keep my enemies close,” I say, the cigar between my teeth.

  And I keep my would-be inspectors closer, especially when they look like Vivian. Which, by the way, they never do.

  “Not every relationship can be exploited, Nate,” Will explains. I’d be insulted, except he’s not wrong. I’ve used my reach and money to woo people over to my way of thinking. When you’re a hustler, you hustle. In lieu of business brains, I lean on my street smarts.

  That electrical permit stood between me and a C.O., better known as a Certificate of Occupation. If I don’t have my permits in order, I can kiss retail and residential contracts adios. A little money in Gary’s palm sped up the process and a little more in Daniel’s persuaded him to sign in a timely manner. I think he still hates me, but the feeling is mutual. Vivian in the middle was a kink I hadn’t seen coming. She’s hellbent on following the rules for some reason.

  She fascinates the hell out of me.

  “The big picture is what’s important,” I tell Will. “These live-works are going to employ and house a lot of people. People who will have date nights and attend book signings and celebrate grandma’s eightieth birthday. They need what I’m building. If I have to smooth rough roads along the way, so be it.”

  Will puts his cigar in his mouth, answering with silence. For good reason. He inquires about my arm of Owen Construction on occasion, but he lets me run it. He understands the value of mistakes. I’ve made plenty. The more mistakes I made, the more I learned. And the more cautious I am not to make them in the future.

  I think of Vivian and wonder if her caution is born of her desire to stick to the straight and narrow or make up for her past mistakes. Maybe both. I admire the stars and blow smoke rings over my head.

  Guess I’ll find out if she shows up for dinner tomorrow night.

  Chapter Seven

  Vivian

  Villa Moneta reminds me of an Italian place I used to frequent in Chicago. It’s dark and moody, the tables set with fine, white, crease-free linens. A single flickering candle in a glass votive holder sits at the center of each table. The restaurant’s palette is classic black, white, and gold. Luxury.

  Clear Ridge proper doesn’t have restaurants quite this fancy, so coming here required some traveling. It was worth the forty-minute commute to satisfy my curiosity.

  “Ms. Vandemark,” the host greets. I eye him with suspicion. How the hell does he know who I am? “Mr. Owen left word you’d be arriving soon.”

  Did he, now. I wonder how Mr. Owen described me. Dark hair, sort of tall, resembles infamous thief Walter Steele… I hope he hasn’t figured that part out. I’ve had people sniffing around my past enough to last two lifetimes.

  I dug into the back of my closet for my nicest little black dress. It’s one of the few items of clothing I kept from my former life. Thank goodness it still fits. Slipping into Dolce & Gabbana followed by a sleek pair of Louboutins for my date was a lot like slipping into my old identity. I remember dressing up with my mom before she made a habit of day and night drinking. We would stand shoulder to shoulder in front of her big bathroom mirror and share makeup.

  That thought makes me miss her again. An ache carves into my chest and I shake it off and confirm to the host that, yes, I’m Ms. Vandemark.

  I checked Villa Moneta’s website before I drove here tonight. Proper upbringing kept me from wearing a thrift store dress. And…fine, I’ll admit it. Part of me wants to wow Nathaniel Owen. He might think he has my number, but he has no idea what he’s up against. I am skilled at pretending I have no idea anything is amiss.

  I haven’t had this much excitement in a long, long time. Six years ago I decided I was done with excitement. I sought, and attained, an ordinary, plain, blend-in-with-the-woodwork life. Entanglements with men were rare, and I kept things light. I haven’t been on a date since I moved here, so that could explain my sudden curiosity for the scenic route.

  I have to be careful. If he’s figured out I’m the daughter of Walter Steele, he could threaten to share that information with Daniel. If he strips my identity to the studs, and forces me to start over with a new job and a new name in a new town…well, he’d better be prepared to offer up some secrets of his own. I won’t go down without a fight.

  My date stands to his full height as I approach. The host pulls my chair out and I sit, setting my clutch on the edge of the table. Our table is tucked into a corner and the vibe is almost romantic. Nate smooths his tie and nods his head to the host in a secret signal before retaking his seat. Candlelight dances on the imperfect lines and angles of his handsome face.

  When I dated in my former life I stuck to country club guys. Bankers. Lawyers and, once, a software developer. Pretty boys, all of them. Nate isn’t pretty. He’s… I don’t know the word. I react to him on a carnal level, though. Way down deep. Almost dangerously deep. I can’t be deep with anyone. Especially a billionaire.

  “You wore the shoes,” he says. Arrogantly.

  I cluck my tongue as I unfurl my napkin. “You had a chance to compliment me, but instead complimented yourself. Poor form.”

  He watches me, not taking his eyes from mine as a sommelier pours wine into our glasses. Nate waves off the offer for a taste test.

  “It’s perfect,” he says. “Trust me.”

  “I’m not sure I do.” I raise my glass and await his toast.

  “Touché.”
He touches his glass to mine. After holding the red wine in my mouth a moment, I determine he’s right. The wine is perfect.

  “Have you been to Villa Moneta?” He tries to come off as innocent, but fails. He should know better. A man like him could never pass for innocent.

  “No. I haven’t lived in the area long.”

  “Where are you from?” he asks casually, like he’s not sniffing around for answers.

  “The city,” I answer cryptically. “What about you?”

  “Chicago.”

  I stare at him. That’s where I’m from.

  “You have that air about you,” I say to cover for the staring.

  “Now who’s noticing details? Was it the accent? I’ve tried to tone it down.”

  “Chicago is rough and relatable. Like you. And yes, I noticed a hint of an accent.” I lift my wineglass to my lips again. I’ll have to take it easy since I’m driving. I could easily settle into this seat and sip on a fine red while taking in a candlelit Nate for a good, long while. I remind myself to keep my guard up. “Why’d you invite me here?”

  “I wanted you to put those shoes to good use. They’re wasted in a government building.” He dips his chin. “As are you.”

  “I’m good at my job.” Sort of. “I’ve only been there a handful of months.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “Other than the site visit I made to Grand Marin, yes.” We smile at each other. The waiter returns and Nate orders in Italian.

  “Did you just order for me?” I ask.

  “The chef’s menu is eight courses. It was either that or the basic tasting menu. You don’t strike me as basic, Ms. Vandemark.”

  “Why did you invite me out tonight, Mr. Owen?” I sort of repeat.

  “Nate.”

  “I’m allowed to call you Nate now?”

  “I was being an ass.”

  “You don’t say.”

  He smirks, his cobalt blue eyes glittering in the subdued light. “I could use a friend at CRBI.”

  “I thought the mayor was your friend.”

  “He’s okay.” He sips his wine, watching me over the rim of the glass.

  “What about Daniel?”

  “We’re not friends.” His voice is almost a growl.

  I hum, not committing to a response.

  We’re polite during the first two courses. Nate observes me as I choose the proper forks. Watches me down an oyster without flinching. I wonder if that’s why he brought me here. To suss out his suspicions. Not that I expected him to point at me and shout, “I know who you really are!” dramatic-courtroom-TV style, but you never know.

  Maybe he’s telling the truth about needing a friend at CRBI. He wants something from me or I wouldn’t be sitting here.

  By the time the main course arrives, I’m warm from the wine and, surprisingly, enjoying his company. “You’re better on a date than you are on a job site,” I quip.

  “Is this a date?” He watches me carefully and I realize I walked into a trap.

  “Meeting, then?”

  His turn to hum. The sound reverberates low in his throat as he cuts into his dinner and forks a bite of veal into his mouth. I follow suit and try not to look like I’m waiting on his answer. I am. On tenterhooks.

  “This is more intimate than a meeting. I want something from you, Vivian.”

  A flare of desire blooms in my belly. “Is it my loyalty?”

  “You came to my site and threatened the one thing in this world I hold precious. My work. I can’t allow you to do that again.”

  “Follow the rules and you won’t have to worry about it.” I slice another bite of veal and tear my eyes off his attractive mug. I don’t have to look at him to know he didn’t like my answer.

  “I can’t allow timeline delays. There are too many people counting on me.”

  “And here I thought you and your ego were the only two involved.” I send him a sly smile.

  “I play well with others, Vivian. You caught me on a bad day. This is my attempt to make it up to you.” He spreads his hands to gesture at our dinner while his forearms rest on the edge of the table. “Aren’t you impressed?”

  I swallow a smile before it pushes my lips to one side. “I’ve been treated to nice dinners before, Mr. Owen.”

  “In gifted shoes?”

  “Pretty impressed with yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Generally. So are you. Admit it.” He holds my gaze for a good, long while. “I noticed your shoes. Found out your shoe size. Bought you a pair that suited you. Slipped them onto your feet. You liked every moment of it. You’re the kind of woman who appreciates a man who appreciates details.”

  “I appreciate men who tell me the truth about what they really want from me.”

  He shakes his head slowly. “No, you want to be chased. Not presented with an offer.”

  I suck in a breath and take another bite of my food. He’s right but I’ll die before I admit it. I’m beginning to think he doesn’t know who I am after all. Which makes tonight a different kind of game. One where I can be Vivian Vandemark and let this “chase” play out a bit longer. I can’t remember a time I’ve been more tempted.

  “Owen Construction is a large company. Tell me about it.”

  He cocks his head at this somewhat tepid turn of topic, but allows me to take us there.

  “It’s a family affair,” he says, and then mentions that he and his two brothers were at his parents’ house for his mother’s birthday party last night. He doesn’t seem embittered while talking about family like I do. I’m filled with an unfamiliar emotion: jealousy. And a more recent one: loneliness.

  “The Owens are incredible people,” he goes on. “They are generous. Kind. Open and loving. I couldn’t have been luckier.” He makes the emotional admission casually. I can tell he cares about them, deeply. His career revolves around honoring the family’s reputation. That’s important to him.

  Our dessert plates arrive. At the offer of a cappuccino, coffee, or other after-dinner spirit, I can’t resist. “Cappuccino, please.”

  Nate holds up his hand as a “no, thank you.”

  “So you’re adopted,” I say after the waiter leaves.

  “You didn’t do your research on the Owens before you visited Grand Marin?”

  “I wasn’t given much time, seeing as how Gary was thrown out on his ass minutes prior to my assignment.”

  “What about after I saved your life and you returned to the office? You didn’t research us then?”

  I try to hold in a laugh and in the process emit a quiet snort. His eyebrows lift in amusement. He wants to know if I was curious about him. I was, but I didn’t satisfy my curiosity. Dig deep enough on anyone wealthy and you’ll find one common denominator. Lies.

  But. I’ve been in his company for a good hour and I’m no longer sure I’d find lies. He doesn’t seem to be driven by power the way the men in my past were. I don’t know what to make of him. He’s rough, charming, attractive, surprising, superior, and kind. It’s an odd cocktail of attributes.

  My father was secretive, efficient, self-serving. He supported Walt and me out of a sense of duty more than from the goodness of his heart. The optics on the Steele name and all that. A name I ran from.

  I answer his question with one of my own. “Are your brothers adopted too?”

  “Benji, yes. Archer, no. He’s authentic. A born-and-bred billionaire. I entered the family as a punk kid with a chip on my shoulder.”

  “So, you feel less than authentic?”

  “Sometimes.” He shrugs big shoulders. The suit is delicious on him. There’s no other word for it. All his brawn outlined in fine fabrics. Yum. I wonder if it took him a while to feel comfortable wearing one. As if proving my point, he tucks his finger into his collar and scratches underneath where his tie is knotted.

  “What about you, Viv? Any family struggles?”

  I hesitate a moment before saying, “No family. I’m an orphan.” I decided when I changed my nam
e that’d be my story if anyone asked.

  “No foster family?”

  I shake my head. “I was an adult when I lost them.”

  Thankfully, he doesn’t press for details.

  “What do your brothers do for Owen Construction?” I ask, curious about everyone’s roles. Are they as saintly as Nate implied, or yet another family of billionaires hiding a secret that will eventually put some, or all, of them in jail?

  “Benji crunches the numbers. Archer builds bars and clubs.”

  “And you gravitated to live-work communities?”

  Nate pulls his shoulders back. Just when I think he’s going to brush off the question, he answers so sincerely it takes my breath away. “Home is important. It provides a sense of belonging and love. At home you should be able to relax and feel safe. Something I wasn’t able to do during the years before I met Lainey and Will Owen.”

  I never expected a testimony to come out of my date’s—er, Nate’s—mouth. He’s either buttering me up or telling the truth.

  “Why do you do what you do?”

  “Are you asking if I’m passionate about working at the bureau?” I lift my cappuccino to my lips, nervous he knows the truth. As a woman who came from a high-powered corporate environment, I’m grossly overqualified for the position at CRBI.

  “You seemed plenty passionate when you came to my site.”

  “You broke a rule.”

  “Bent,” he corrects. “There are a lot of ethical gray areas in life.”

  “And you operate from several of them.”

  “The sooner the site is complete, the sooner wide-eyed, passionate entrepreneurs can move in.” He sounds slightly defensive. “I provide a place where they can thrive. That’s worthy. More worthy than words printed on papers that haven’t been looked at closely in decades. Bureaucracy has its shortcomings.”

  “So does seeing oneself as a saint.”

  His firm mouth shifts to one side, a ghost of smile playing on his lips. “You were hell-bent on shutting me down. Why?”

  “That’s my job.” I shrug.