Indebted: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Tharp, Emma

  Seven

  Donovan

  My brother and I high-five and the crowd around us cheers, as our team just scored a goal in the final fourteen seconds of the game, giving them a two-point lead.

  "Great win,” Garrett says after the cheering in the bar calms down. We like to get together for a couple of pints and wings during our favorite hockey team’s games.

  "It was touch and go in the first two periods. I'm glad they pulled it together," I say and take a bite of a chicken wing.

  Garrett wipes his hands off with a napkin and tosses it on the bar. “I have some bad news.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He rubs at the back of his neck. “You know how I was going to propose to Camille by putting it in the New York Times?”

  How could I forget? I told him it was a dumb idea. Of course, I’m no expert, but what woman is going to think that it’s romantic to find your proposal in the paper next to the most recent presidential scandal or weather highlights? Doesn’t make sense to me, but who am I to judge? “Sure, I remember.”

  “Well, I’ve been giving it some thought and I don’t think it’s the best way to do it.” He blows his cheeks out and lets out a long breath.

  I tilt my head back and laugh. Not only did he decide not to go with his first proposal idea—at the ball game this summer in between innings—but now he’s bailing on idea number two.

  “This isn’t funny, Donovan. I don’t know what to do.”

  When I finally stop chuckling, I look into my brother’s eyes. “You want to marry her, right?”

  “Absolutely. Yes.”

  “Then quit making it so hard. Camille is not the type of woman who needs a grand gesture. Make it simple. I have an idea. Let’s have a small cocktail party with your closest friends and family and you can profess your love there.”

  He swats me on the back. “Damn. I like that idea.”

  I take a swallow of my beer as a plan starts to take shape. “Good. I’ll set it up. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

  "That’d be great. This has been stressing me out. Hey, tell me if I'm wrong, but it seems like something is going on with you today.”

  He's right. My meeting with Liza yesterday has me stuck in my head. I’ve been trying my best to figure out how to approach my new situation with her. "I think I figured out a way to rectify my past."

  "Which part?" Garrett cocks a brow and his voice is full of curiosity.

  “Remember how I told you that I was going to bankroll Liza Dooley’s catering business?”

  Garrett finishes his pint and orders another one. “Sure. How’s that been going?”

  “I’m not sure. We had a meeting yesterday and she told me that she isn’t going to be able to start paying back her loan in four months, when her first payment is due.” It’s hard not to smile when I say this.

  “Why are you grinning? That doesn’t sound like good news to me,” he says.

  I put my finger up. “It’s good for me. Bad for her.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “She needs my help again. And this time, I’m going to give her a taste of her own medicine.” My heart rate speeds up just thinking about how much fun this is going to be. Sure, it might seem sharky that I get off on her misfortune, but I’m like this with others as well. That’s why I’m so damn good at my job and why I love acquisitions and mergers so much. But this time, with Liza, I’m feeling it on a different level.

  Garrett dips celery in blue cheese dressing and pops it all in his mouth. Even though he’s chewing, I can tell he’s still confused.

  It’s too warm in the bar. I roll up my sleeves. “It’s simple. I’m going to make her fall for me, but I’m not going to keep her. It’ll be exactly like it was back in high school. She led me on for years and always kept me in the friend zone. Now she can see how it feels.” To have her feel even a tenth of what I felt back then, all the frustration and bitterness…it’ll be retribution.

  His eyes widen and he’s wearing a disapproving look on his face. Maybe I’ve said too much. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea? Before, you were thinking it’d be enough for her to see the man she missed out on, but what if emotions get involved?”

  I did say too much. Silly me, I should’ve known that Garrett would have to go there. The man doesn’t know how to do casual relationships. “No, Garrett. I’m not going to take it that far. I just have to do this so I can move on with my life. It won’t be a big deal.” I wave a hand dismissively in his direction.

  He shakes his head before taking a drink of his beer. “I don’t know, man. Just be careful.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I know what I have to do.”

  I’ve been planning it since our phone call yesterday. And little does he know, but he’s the one who’s given me direction on how to win her over.

  Eight

  Liza

  Moving my French rolling pin and steel scraper out of the way, I make room for the beef tenderloin on the counter. It's been in the oven ten minutes and is ready to be wrapped in the puff pastry.

  Donovan called yesterday and we set up a meeting for today. I asked him to stop by the commercial kitchen. There are a couple reasons behind it. First, I want him to see how beautiful this facility is, and second, and what's more important, is I want to impress him with my cooking. He needs to see why this matters to me.

  This is my passion, and what better way for him to see that than to sample some food.

  I top the meat with the onion, mushroom, and sherry mixture, then wrap the dough around it, covering it completely and securing it all around the beef. It’ll go back in the oven for about twenty-five minutes. Just enough time to finish the sides before Donovan arrives.

  Opening up my music app, I put on some Coldplay and get to work on the steamed asparagus and a field greens salad.

  Waves of nerves shift around in my belly when I hear a knock at the door. I tug my apron off and throw it across the counter then scurry toward the door. I open it wide.

  I do my best to regulate my breathing and seem unaffected, but his eyes are so penetrating and beautiful, my heart rate quickens. "Hi, Donovan. Come in.” I step aside.

  He walks inside, his eyes moving all around my space. He has to appreciate the state-of-the-art stainless-steel appliances. It’s a great space with good lighting and set up perfectly for easy work flow.

  “This is nice. And it smells great in here,” he says as he strolls past the counter that has the remnants of the meal I’ve been creating.

  “I’m glad you think so. I’m making you some food,” I tell him.

  His eyes widen and mouth goes slack. “You are?”

  Pulling out a chair for him at the table in the corner where I offer tastings to prospective clients, I crook my finger and gesture for him to come sit. “Yes. Why don’t you come over here and have a look at my financials while I finish up the meal? I hope you’re hungry.”

  Donovan meanders over and pulls out the chair. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I look forward to sampling your food.”

  Hearing him say that puts a stupid grin on my face. “Good.” I walk toward the oven while Donovan takes a seat and starts looking at my laptop.

  The timing is perfect. I take the Wellingtons out of the oven and let them rest. Dressing the salad, I use olive oil, fresh lemon juice, salt, and pepper.

  “Can I offer you something to drink?” I ask.

  “I’d take a glass of wine if you have it.” He doesn’t look away from the screen when he answers. I try to read his expression, but I can’t. It’s a little unnerving having him look at my private financial information again, but I don’t really have a choice—I’m asking for a modification.

  “Sure.” I uncork an inexpensive—but very tasty—bottle of full-bodied Bordeaux and pour two glasses. I bring them to the table and set them down and then get the salad bowls. I place one in front of Donovan, and one at my seat. “How does everything look?”

  Do
novan finally pulls his nose away from my laptop and glances up at me. "At first glance, your finances show that you're not being outrageous with your purchases. You're simply not bringing enough money in."

  I could've told him that without him looking at my bank statements. My shoulders slouch forward and I pick up my fork and start playing with the lettuce in my bowl. "Do you have any suggestions?"

  He closes my laptop and pushes it aside. "As a matter of fact, I do. I'm planning a cocktail party at my place. My brother wants to propose to his girlfriend. I find myself in need of a caterer."

  My stomach clenches hard and I haven't even had a bite of food yet. "Really?"

  Donovan takes a large bite of his salad and nods. "Yes. I trust you. And it’ll be great exposure for your company." He gets another forkful of salad ready and puts it in his mouth. When he finishes chewing, he looks at me with the most handsome smile. "This is really good."

  "Thank you, I’m glad you’re enjoying it. When are you thinking about throwing this party?" I ask, still reeling from his comment. He trusts me with his party.

  He sets his fork down, nearly done with his salad. "Will you have time in the next few weeks?"

  I get up to retrieve my phone and look at my schedule. "I can do two weeks from Friday night. Would that work?"

  "It sounds good to me. Let me double check with everyone else’s schedule and I will let you know."

  While I am up, I plate the dishes and bring them to the table with me. Donovan eyes his plate and licks his lips. God help me. As if he wasn’t sexy enough already. I can’t get distracted by his mouth.

  “Damn, Liza. This looks amazing.” Without preamble, he lifts his fork and knife and cuts into the Wellington. It’s the perfect shade of pink, beautifully medium rare.

  Holding my breath, I wait for him to finish his bite. It’s impossible not to watch him chew. His eyes are closed and he moans. When he finishes his mouthful, he opens his eyes and points at the steak with his fork. “Liza, this is incredible.”

  I smile and heat creeps up my neck. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

  He takes a sip of his wine and he laughs. “Do you remember the time when you made us macaroni and cheese? It was the boxed kind, but you added cheddar and garlic. It was next-level good.”

  I giggle at the memory. “Yes. We were stress-eating before our big geometry test.”

  “You always loved to cook and entertain. It only made sense that you’d want to start a catering company.” Donovan lifts his glass and has a sip of his wine. “After trying this food, I know your business will be a success. We just have to get your name out there.”

  “I’m ready. And don’t worry, I have great ideas for your cocktail party. What about some seafood, either shrimp cocktail or bacon-wrapped scallops, mozzarella toast, a cheese board, oh, and a signature cocktail like mint juleps? And champagne, of course.” The words come out fast and jumbled. “Sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself.”

  He rests his hand on mine and I love how strong and warm it feels—and familiar. “No. It all sounds good to me. And what about flowers? Should I get roses?”

  “Oh, no. I like peonies and sunflowers. They aren’t overstated. They’re elegant and classic.” My mind races with all the possibilities. This party has to be perfect and go off without a hitch.

  Donovan loads his fork up with asparagus. “Peonies and sunflowers. Okay. This is going to be a great party. I think it’ll be the perfect event for you to showcase your talent.”

  His confidence in me is exactly what I needed. It’s been too long since I’ve had confidence in myself. My chest tingles and I’d like to hug him, but I don’t think we’re there yet. I’d like to get there though, like we were before.

  We enjoy the rest of the food and the bottle of wine, reminiscing about old times in high school. It’s comfortable and for the first time in a long time, I have hope.

  Nine

  Donovan

  I have this woman eating out of my hand.

  Liza Dooley is an incredible woman. I've always known that, ever since high school. It seems that she has forgotten. I've been building her up since I met her at her commercial kitchen. Sending her little texts to tell her how good her food is and how excited I am for the cocktail party. She's absolutely eating it up. And it isn't like I'm lying to her. It's all true. Still, the fact of the matter is that I'm having a great time watching her fall for me.

  Tonight is the night of my cocktail party. I gave her the code to get into my apartment because I'm so busy at work today I won't be home as early as she needs to arrive to get things ready.

  I have one more client meeting, but right before I get up to go to the conference room, Garrett calls my cell. I don’t have much time, but I know I should take the call in case there’s something he needs to tell me before the party tonight.

  "Hey, what's up?" I ask.

  "How are preparations coming for the party? Is everything set up?" he asks with a bit of panic in his voice.

  "Everything is going to be great. You don't have to worry about a thing. Liza has it under control. I have one more meeting, and then I'll be heading home to make sure."

  Garrett sighs into the phone. "Shouldn't you be spending time together if you want to woo her?"

  "Oh, yeah. Good point." I haven't been spending face-to-face time with her. It's been more texting and phone calls. But he's right. I want this plan to work. "I'll rush through this meeting and get to my place as soon as I can. And don't worry, okay? You're going to do great tonight. It's going to be the perfect night to propose."

  "I know. I'm still nervous though. Everyone RSVPed, and I know Liza will make it perfect."

  Getting up from my desk, I walk out my door and head to the conference room. "It's going to be a night she'll never forget. Now I have to go, or I’m going to be late for my meeting." I end the call, and tuck my phone into my pocket.

  After an expedited consultation and a rush through traffic, I'm home in record time. I take all of this seriously, and my brother is right. I need to spend time with her if I want my plan to pay off.

  As soon as I walk in the door, the smell of garlic and spices wafts past my nose. Making my way to the kitchen, Liza is chopping tomatoes, looking gorgeous in a little black dress with a red apron over it. My heart skips a fucking beat just like it used to in high school. It’d be great if it’d stop doing that.

  The Dave Matthews Band is playing on her phone. Her voice is off key as she sings along.

  "This is how home should smell," I say loud enough for her to hear.

  She startles and puts her hand over her chest. "You scared me. I didn't hear you come in." She giggles and turns the music down. "Your house didn't smell like this growing up?"

  Taking off my jacket, I hang it up and go to stand next to her, peering over her shoulder to see if there's anything for me to sample. "Hardly. My mom was amazing, but she didn't know how to cook." Bless her heart. The woman tried, but nothing tasty ever came out of her kitchen.

  Liza looks up at me, biting her lip. I wish she wouldn’t do that. Her mouth is already too distracting. "Here." She picks up a shrimp and raises it toward my mouth. "Have one of these until the crostini comes out of the oven."

  I do as she asks and chew on the cold shrimp. The sauce has a savory tang that hits all the right spots on my tongue. "Delicious."

  "Hey, princess. How much longer on the beef?" A good-looking guy I don't know comes from around the corner. He's tall, thin, and wearing a black suit. "Oh, hello," the man says when he sees me standing near Liza. He walks closer to me and puts his hand out.

  "This is Spencer. I hired him to work with me tonight. Figured I could use the help here." She turns to me. "This is Donovan Monroe."

  I shake Spencer's hand, squeezing it tighter than necessary. I don't say anything and I really don't like how close he's standing to Liza—shoulder to shoulder—or the familiarity. Spencer called her “princess.” Every muscle in my body tenses. I'm bristling, and I
have no way to stop myself. I need to get a grip. "Good to meet you, Spencer," I say, my tone flat and cold.

  Liza clears her throat, her eyes moving from Spencer to me. “Spencer, why don’t you start opening the wine bottles so the wine can breathe? And, Donovan, can I have a word with you?”

  “Sure,” Spencer says and retrieves the case of wine from the pantry.

  When he walks away I’m able to stop glaring at him.

  Liza pulls me toward the hall. She fidgets with her apron, balling it up in her hands. “Is everything okay? I was hoping you wouldn’t mind that I hired someone to be here with me. I didn’t mean to upset you. I should’ve asked.”

  Damn. I’m making her nervous, and maybe a touch insecure. Not exactly the best way to get her to fall for me. “No. It’s fine. Sorry, I was caught off guard.”

  “It’s just that I want tonight to be perfect, and Spencer is my best friend. I’ve worked with him for years in the restaurant business. I trust him and know that he won’t let me down. I wish I’d let you know in advance. I’m sorry,” she says and puffs out her cheeks.

  Her best friend. Okay. That’s where the familiarity comes from. I have friends and colleagues who are women. I’ve never called one of them princess before, but that’s not the kind of guy I am. “The two of you are close,” I observe, almost as a question, but not quite.

  “We are. We work well together and we’re each other’s support system. He and I commiserate over our guy troubles, and when I have a bad day, he’s the one I call.”

  It’s a little overwhelming, the sudden and unexpected release of all the tension in my body. “Our guy troubles.” They both like guys. Spencer is gay. The realization makes me feel lighter—almost giddy. I clear my throat. “Liza, I apologize for my reaction. Work has been stressful, and when I saw Spencer round the corner, I was surprised. If you need the help, it’s fine that you hired your friend.”

  Now it’s Liza’s turn to relax. Her smile builds and she presses her palm to her heart. “Thank you, Donovan. Tonight is going to be great.”