by Claire Adams
BILLIONAIRE’S SINGLE MOM
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 Claire Adams
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Chapter One
EMILY
Dread. That’s what surged through me when I opened the door of my car to help Juniper out. My little five-year-old daughter was fine, but it wouldn’t be soon before I had to face Mama and whatever she had planned for me. Anyone in Nashville could tell you that going into Sally Jolie’s house without knowing her plans for you was asking for trouble.
“Do you think Grandma has any cake?” Juniper asked. “She always gives me cake on Sundays.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, my little sweet pea. If she has some cake, then she’ll probably offer you some, but a proper lady doesn’t go asking for something just because she wants it. A proper hostess will know what the guests want, and Grandma is a proper hostess.”
“Okay, Mama,” Juniper said, hopping out of her car seat and then onto the ground. She bounced around for a few seconds, her excitement obvious.
I took my daughter’s hand in mine and took my first step on the red brick path leading between the carefully cultivated lawns Mama’s gardener maintained. Dogwoods covered in white and yellow flowers and the green sugar maples surrounded the property. Mama hated fences but loved trees. In springtime, like now, they made for a much prettier sight too.
Walking down the path, my mind raced about why we were even there on a Tuesday.
Now, our tradition was to have dinner with Mama and Daddy every Sunday. Even after Daddy passed away, God rest his soul, I made sure to continue coming over to Mama’s. She needed the company, and we needed her.
Family should be everything. Another dark cloud entered my thoughts. Yes, family should be everything. Children should love their parents, and husbands should love their wives. At least that’s the way it’s supposed to work, and it did in my family growing up. Too bad my ex-husband Lionel couldn’t love me enough not to chase other women.
I shook my head, trying to clear out the sad thoughts. I’d been divorced for two years, and I still couldn’t stop the bad feelings from coming up. Maybe that’s why I was questioning Mama now.
She had been by my side during the divorce, and I was grateful. So why was so I so afraid?
Tuesday was the problem. My stomach churned.
We just never had family dinners on Tuesday. Sally Jolie, my mama, was many things, most of them good, God-fearing, loving, and generous. She also was what most people would call a creature of habit, if not the very Queen of Habit Country.
In my thirty-two years of life on God’s green Earth, one of the ironclad rules I’d learned about Mama was that if she broke her routine, it usually meant she was scheming something or other. Not mean schemes, bless her heart, but still schemes.
Mama usually had guests over from the Nashville Ladies’ Historical Preservation Society or the Davidson Charitable Foundation on Tuesdays to discuss fundraisers, projects, sternly written letters to the city council, and that sort of thing. She’d been a fixture in Nashville society for decades, a force of nature really, and other than a brief period of mourning for my daddy, she’d kept to that. Keeping a tight schedule was a big part of it.
I glanced around. I didn’t see any other cars parked nearby, and I doubted all those fine society ladies would walk halfway across town for a meeting, even to such a lovely and huge old Nashville mansion.
Juniper started humming some song I didn’t know with a smile on her face. She’d always been a good little girl and strong, maybe stronger than me in some ways. Every time I felt bad about my divorce, I realized it was better that I ended my marriage sooner than later, if only so my little girl didn’t have to deal with years of her daddy and me being together when he didn’t love me. It wasn’t her fault her daddy liked to chase other women.
We arrived at the door, and I knocked lightly. It didn’t take long before Mama opened the door and pulled me in for a tight hug. The warmth of knowing I was loved passed through me, doing a little bit to fight my unease.
That’s Mama for you. Every time you saw her, she acted like she’d just got back from a three-month trip and was missing you every day. She finished hugging me and picked up her granddaughter to give her a tight squeeze.
Mama put Juniper down and gestured inside. “We’ll just take a seat in the parlor, Emily. It’ll be a while before the casserole is ready. The cooking started late.” She beamed a smile at Juniper. “You can go to the toy room.”
The toy room was really just a huge walk-in closet where my mother kept a lot of toys and games for Juniper, but it was something she looked forward to on each visit, and I appreciated Mama always thinking of my little sweet pea.
My daughter clapped her hands together a few times.
“We’ll also have cake after dinner,” Mama added and winked.
Juniper squealed, but then stopped when Mama raised an eyebrow. My daughter gave a perfect curtsey in her adorable little pink jumper.
“Thank you, Grandma,” she said, and then sprinted away from the foyer.
“Juniper Blue, you don’t run in your grandmother’s house,” I called.
She slowed for a few seconds before breaking into a run again. I listened, waiting for the sound of a thud or something shattering.
Mama laughed and started toward her parlor.
I smoothed out my skirt and followed Mama to the parlor. We sat opposite each other across a familiar cherrywood table. She loved that table. It was eighteenth-century and had even been owned by John Sevier, the first governor of Tennessee.
“No Bella tonight?” I asked, looking around for Mama’s housekeeper. “Is that why you got started late on cooking the food?”
“Bella’s in the kitchen trying to salvage the meal. It’s not her fault, bless her heart. It was my fault for not telling her ahead of time.”
Bella usually helped with Sunday dinners. Mama did enjoy cooking and thought it came with the duties of being a proper hostess, but she was also a woman with a busy social calendar, and Mama’s house was not something she could manage by herself. Even Bella had more than a few helpers during the week.
Still, Mama didn’t care. Delegation, she always told me, is part of leadership.
That feeling of dread returned. Another typical sign of a Sally Jolie scheme was that she kept it close to the chest so someone wouldn’t alert you to the scheme. The fact that this dinner was a surprise to not only me but also Bella pointed to Mama trying to pull something.
Now, to be clear, Mama wouldn’t stoop to lying. That was beneath a proper Nashville lady, according to her, but that didn’t mean she would always tell you everything either. Even at thirty-two, I had a hard time figuring out when she was holding something back.
She picked up a glass and a pitcher of sweet tea sitting between us. “Do you want some tea, Emily?”
“Yes, please.”
Mama poured the tea and then plucked a lemon slice from a nearby tray to place on my glass
before handing it to me. I didn’t like the look in her eyes. Hungry, I guess you might call it.
“Thank you,” I said after taking a sip of my tea.
The unease and worry I felt about coming to Mama’s had a lot to do with that first year after my divorce. Mama was kind and supportive, yes, but she’d gotten a peculiar idea in her head, an idea that I hadn’t had to deal with much lately, but this mysterious Tuesday dinner made me think it was coming again.
“How are things at your job, Emily?” Mama asked.
“Good. I think so at least.” I shrugged. “There’s some talk about me getting promoted.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, dear.” Mama took a sip of her tea. For a second, I swore I spotted a little grin.
My stomach did a little flip. Oh, no. It was coming—and coming soon.
“How long until the casserole?” I said. If we started eating, maybe I could escape.
“Oh, it’ll be ready when it’s ready.” She let out a long sigh. “You know, it’s good that you’re doing well at work, but it’d be better if you could be home with Juniper. A daughter needs her mother when she’s young, especially a girl whose daddy, well, is Lionel Blue.”
“He’s good to Juniper. I’ll give him that.” I shrugged again.
Mama snorted. “But he wasn’t good to you, now, was he, dear?” She shook her head. “It’s okay not to like your cheating ex-husband, dear.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Especially one who was using drugs.”
“I don’t like him, Mama. That’s why I divorced him.” My heart kicked up. If this wasn’t a prelude to something bad, I didn’t know what was. “Anyway, I’d love to stay home with Juniper, but I need to work, Mama. I can’t just live with you. I love you, but I’m a grown woman.”
“You wouldn’t have to work or live with me,” Mama began and then took a sip of her tea, “if you found yourself a nice man and remarried. You’re a woman who comes from a proud family with strong roots in Nashville. You deserve a man of equal stature.”
The cannon had been fired. I knew a Tuesday dinner was too weird for Mama’s schedule.
I ran a hand through my chestnut brown hair. “Mama, we’ve been over this.” I sighed. “We went over it almost every day after that first six months of my divorce. I don’t think that dating a man is something I need right now. It’s too much trouble.”
“Oh, you hush now.” Her brow furrowed for a moment, revealing the wrinkles mostly concealed by Mama’s makeup efforts. “You most certainly do need a man. All women need a man. Juniper needs a positive male role model in her life and not that bum Lionel.”
“Let me guess, Mama. You already have someone particular in mind?”
She held up a hand. “Now, just hear me out, Emily.”
“Oh, those are some scary words.” I took a gulp of my tea as if it could protect me from what Mama was about to say.
“You know I work with Amelia Hawkins in a lot of my charitable endeavors, right?”
I nodded slowly and then groaned as a realization hit me. “This is about her son again?”
“Now don’t be like that. Logan is a good man,” Mama said. “Hard-working, good relationship with his parents, and he’s a man already ready to support you, Emily.”
I chuckled. “You mean he’s rich.”
“Most women consider that a good thing. He’s also quite handsome if I do say so myself.”
I wouldn’t know. I’d never seen a picture of him. That made me suspicious.
“I suspect you care more about his money and his family history than what he looks like.”
Mama sighed. “Well, if you have a rich man and a poor man, and both are good, wouldn’t you want to marry the rich man? And you don’t have the poor man right now. Handsome or otherwise.”
I laughed despite the situation. “You’ve been trying to throw Logan at me for weeks now. And Mama, I tried being with a man obsessed with money already. That didn’t go well. So why would Logan be any different?”
“Not everyone’s Lionel, Emily.” She clucked her tongue. “Logan’s older, for one thing, but not too much older, thirty-nine. He’s already had plenty of time to sow his wild oats, and Amelia has made it clear he’s a good catch.”
I stared at Mama. “Of course, she would say that, Mama. She’s his mother.”
“Don’t get lippy.” Mama shook her finger at me. “I’ve met him a few times myself, too. He’s a nice man. Like I said, handsome, has money. Very respectful to his mother.” She fanned herself. “So polite. It’s hard to find a good man who’s polite anymore. When I first met your father, God rest his soul, I was struck by how polite he was. Everyone’s so rude nowadays. I blame that internet.”
My face heated, and my heart sped up a bit. I didn’t like being angry at Mama, but I also didn’t like her trying this sort of thing over and over and over again.
“Is that all this Tuesday dinner is about? Trying to sell Logan Hawkins to me?”
“No, dear,” she said. “I just thought it’d be nice to spend some time together. Now, if it so happens that we can discuss Logan at the same time, I don’t think it’s a problem.”
“Enough, Mama,” I said, careful not to raise my voice.
She might be annoying, but she did care, and she was my mother after all. I understood where she was coming from. She just needed to understand where I was coming from.
“If we can’t find something else to talk about other than Logan Hawkins,” I said, “then I’ll just grab Juniper, and we’ll go pick up a burger or something.”
Mama pursed her lips together and frowned as if she was disappointed with me. I fought the urge to apologize. She was the one who needed to mind her own business.
A smile appeared on her face, though it was forced. “All right, Emily. Let’s go check on Bella and that casserole then.”
I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. At least the torture was over for the moment.
Chapter Two
LOGAN
I turned in my chair and looked out my office window. The nice thing about being on the thirtieth floor was the expansive view of the city. There were certainly worse nights a man could have than one where he ate a nice slice of pie while being able to watch the glorious lights of an evening in Nashville.
A weathered but still lovely woman sat across from me, watching for my reaction—my dear mother.
“How does it taste, Logan?” she asked, an expectant look on her face.
I hesitated for a moment and then swallowed a forkful of her cherry pie. Okay, maybe not such a nice slice of pie. Too tart, not that I’d ever tell my mother that. There were some things a good son just did not do, and that included insulting his mother’s cooking, even if it wasn’t good.
She’d taken up baking after my father died as a way of coping. She’d been terrible at first, though she’d improved a lot in the last few months. My mother did fine in a kitchen normally, even without her cook’s help, but she’d not been into baking before, especially sweet things, if only because of my father’s diabetes.
Then, a heart attack took him, and it was almost like her way of dealing with remembering him, baking things that he wouldn’t have been able to eat a lot of. Weird, I guess, but it made her happy.
“Tastes great, Mother,” I lied.
Munching down on the pie, I eyed my mother as she sat in a chair across from my huge glass desk, her hands folded in her lap and a smile on her face. I couldn’t help but be suspicious. She almost never came to my office. At least, she hadn’t much since my father died.
That didn’t bother me. I ran a financial management company, and our offices were far away from her home. She told me after my father’s funeral that she didn’t like coming to offices anymore. Even though he was in health-care services and not financial management, the office environment reminded her too much of him.
So that only raised the question of what brought her to my office a little after dinner in the middle of the week. Not exactly prim
e family time. I had more than a few theories in that regard, but it’d be rude to broach the subject until my mother brought it up.
“Logan, you work too hard,” she said. “It makes me worry about you.”
I finished my pie, put the plate down on my desk, and shrugged. “You don’t become successful by not working hard. This is my first year on Forbes’ billionaire list. You and Dad didn’t raise me to be lazy.”
“I’m not saying I want a lazy son.” She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
I let myself chuckle. I did know, but I’d make her say it. “Oh? What do you mean, Mother?”
“You’re thirty-nine years old, Logan.” She gestured with her hands as to suggest the implications were obvious. “You’ll be forty in not too long.”
“Last time I checked. But that’s not exactly old.” I folded my hands in front of me on my desk and smirked. Just because I loved my mother, it didn’t mean I couldn’t take a little joy from ribbing her.
“You really don’t know what I’m talking about?”
“Maybe.”
My mother narrowed her eyes, likely sensing I was messing with her. “Your father married me when he was twenty-five.”
A light chuckle left my mouth. “And you’re worried that I’m not married?”
My mother nodded. “I’m worried that you’ll never get married at this point. You barely even date anymore. I don’t think I’ve met a woman you’ve been dating for at least a year.”
“Well, most of my relationships haven’t gotten that far. No reason to waste your time with a woman I’m not interested in a long-term future with.”
“But a man needs a wife to help him see many things about the world, to civilize him.”
I shot her a mock glare. “You don’t think I’m civilized? What does that say about how I was raised?”
“Don’t try to joke your way out of this. This is a serious matter.”
“Oh, yes, life and death.”
