Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
The Trouble with Billionaires
By Michelle Pennington
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2017 by Michelle Pennington
First eBook edition September 2017
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written consent of the author.
http://www.michelle-pennington.com
This book is dedicated to Ethan.
You may not be a billionaire, but you make my life rich. Thanks for loving me.
Chapter One
Charlotte couldn’t believe the price of children’s baseball cleats. After searching each of the tags, she gave up finding any she could afford and groaned. “Some people in this world have too much money,” she told her son Taylor.
Taylor scrunched his eyebrows together. “How can you have too much money, Mom?”
“Oh, believe me, it can happen.”
“Does my Dad have too much money?”
Once again, Charlotte found herself unsure how to answer one of Taylor’s questions. The divorce had been hard enough on her, but he was only six. She tried to shield him from as much of the tension between her and Daniel as possible. And lately, that had been nearly impossible. “I guess not, since he’s still playing baseball, right?”
“Yeah. He makes the big bucks.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Did he tell you that?”
“Yeah, he said that’s why I couldn’t go to his house for a while. He has to work hard to keep making the big bucks.”
Charlotte clenched her jaw a moment. “That’s why you suddenly want to play t-ball so bad?”
Taylor nodded. “Dad says if I’m going to go pro like him, I need to start practicing.”
With a sigh, Charlotte put a hand to her forehead to ease the stress headache forming there. Even though she despised baseball, she’d agreed to let Taylor play when he begged her to sign him up. She’d suspected his new and intense interest in the sport had something to do with his dad, but it still aggravated her to hear about this conversation. Mostly because Daniel always found a way to smooth things over with Taylor when he cancelled their visitations. It had been happening more frequently after she decided to move from Missouri to Alabama when she inherited her grandma’s house, which allowed him to blame it on her.
Trying to calm her irritation, Charlotte put her hand on Taylor’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “Well, we’re going to have to find you some cleats if you’re going to play.”
“We will.”
Charlotte sighed. The boy was an optimist—a trait he did not inherit from her.
She adjusted the strap of her Louis Vuitton handbag—one of the last relics from her marriage—and bent down to resume the search. She might have to sell the bag to make ends meet, but she needed the shoes now. Well, they could always eat ramen noodles for a while. Taylor wouldn’t care.
“Mom, can I go check out the bats over there? I need one of those too.”
“Sure,” Charlotte said looking in their direction. A sick feeling roiled in her stomach. How much did bats cost?
Apparently, the prices weren’t too high for most people. Mack’s Sporting Goods was packed. Balls bounced and rolled around the aisles with kids chasing after them, and she’d already nearly tripped over a kid who sat with his legs stretched across the floor as he tried on shoes. Most of the parents looked cranky, but one man was actually laughing as he lifted a small boy up six feet in the air so he could reach a shoe box on the top shelf. The kid shrieked and clutched at the man’s arms, but grinned when he was able to reach the box. The man was tall, but the top shelf was a good two feet over his head, and Charlotte stared openly as his arm muscles flexed. If only Taylor could have a man like that in his life.
Okay—if only she could.
Charlotte rolled her eyes at her thoughts. A man would only complicate her life worse than it was. Although from the way he was having such a good time with his son, she doubted his wife would have any complaints about his parenting. Or anything else for that matter.
Then the man turned at looked at her as if he’d felt her stare. She looked away quickly, blushing hotly. “Focus, Charlotte,” she whispered to herself.
Taylor came running over with a silver and lime green bat. “I like this one, mom.”
“All right. But I’ll have to check the price before we buy it. We still have to get a glove too. And I hate to say it, but there’s no way we can afford any of these.” She motioned to the shoes, glaring at them as if they were to blame for their prices.
Taylor’s expression grew worried. “But what will I do? I have to have cleats to play.”
“Maybe we can find some at a thrift store.”
Wrinkling his nose, Taylor said, “Gross, no! Come on, Mom.”
It was a good thing Daniel was eight hundred miles away in Kansas City, because she wanted to strangle him. Ever since the court had issued the order that allowed her to move out of state with Taylor, he hadn’t been paying his child support. The quickest way to get him to pay was to have his wages garnished, but pro ball players only got a pay check during the regular season, so it would be a few weeks before she’d see a cent. She hadn’t been able to earn much money for the last year since she’d been in beauty school, and the move had wiped out most of her savings. She was desperately hanging on to the nest egg she’d saved to get her salon going.
Taylor grabbed her hand, which was curled into a tense fist, and tugged on it. “Look, Mom. Those are only fifteen dollars.”
With a burst of hope, Charlotte bent down to the bottom shelf to see what Taylor was pointing at. There, shoved to the back, were two pairs of cheap cleats. Maybe if she hadn’t been distracted by Smokin’ Hot Dad over there, she would have found them herself. “Good eyes, buddy! They even have your size. Looks like the fates are on our side today!”
She grabbed the box with size thirteen shoes and straightened up. About to
direct Taylor over to a stool, Charlotte paused when she saw Smokin’ Hot Dad walking toward them. Her eyes widened as she took in his chiseled good looks up close. With an even, golden tan and a square jaw covered in dark stubble, he would have been gorgeous enough, but the confidence gleaming in his eyes put him over the top into too-good-to-be-real territory. Wow.
Thankfully her instincts were still in working order. She moved gracefully to the side to allow him to pass, and smiled slightly. But instead of going by her, he stopped and smiled, momentarily freezing her ability to think or even breathe.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and colored with a hint of southern accent. “A word of advice, ma’am—don’t get the cheap ones.”
“What?” She asked, not quite following him.
He motioned with the shoe box he held in one hand, his big hand gripping it easily. “Sorry. It’s just that I have some experience with those cheap shoes blowing out part way into the season. And when they do, you won’t be able to find another pair because they only stock them at the beginning of the season.”
Charlotte stared, trying to figure out how to respond to this. She knew he was being nice, but it wasn’t like she had any choice. “Thanks, but these will be fine.”
She turned back to Taylor with the shoes, so when he leaned over her shoulder to look at the box, she started to think maybe his wife had a few issues to deal with after all. “Excuse me?”
“Size thirteen, huh?” He stepped over, examining the shelves and selected a box of sixty-dollar shoes. “Have him try these on.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “Look, I know you’re trying to help, but I can’t afford those shoes, so it doesn’t matter if they fit.”
“Oh. I see.” His eyes slid to her Louis Vuitton bag, then met her glare straight on. “But you can afford that?”
She didn’t like what he was implying. “You know nothing about my financial situation. In fact, you know nothing about me at all.”
“I know you’re going to be shopping for a new pair of cleats in about five weeks.”
Now she was mad. Charlotte straightened, wondering how she could get rid of him. “Don’t you think you’d better go find your son instead of bothering people who don’t want your help?”
The man glanced around quickly, but relaxed when he looked over at a group of boys gathered around the baseball bats. He turned back to Charlotte and took a deep breath. “Okay, look. I’m sorry. But you really should get different shoes, and if you can’t afford them, I’d be happy to help. I’ll pay for these and leave them at customer service for you to pick up on your way out.”
The man started walking away with the shoes, obviously used to getting his way, but Charlotte was too mad to accept his generosity. “No thank you,” she called out to him.
He spun around and eyed her with his jaw clenched, betraying his irritation. “Fine, but there’s a good chance your son will be on my team, so I think I’ll hold on to them for you. I don’t want one of my players not having any cleats to play in.”
Fuming, she turned back to Taylor. He was looking at her with concern in his eyes, so she forced herself to calm down. Smiling, she said in a bright voice, “Well that was crazy. Let’s get these things on your giant feet and see if they fit. You know, it sure would be nice if you’d stop growing so fast.”
***
An hour later, they rolled up in front of the weathered farmhouse she had inherited from her grandmother. Charlotte still couldn’t believe it was actually theirs, free and clear. It needed updating, but that could wait.
Taylor jumped out of the car and ran down the walkway, swinging his bat at the azaleas until pink petals littered the ground. “Taylor, cut that out. Those flowers are the only presentable part of this yard.”
“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t look too concerned. “Can I play in the backyard?”
“Go ahead. I’m going to get dinner started.” She watched him run to the gate and smiled. His excitement was worth every strain t-ball put on her wallet.
As she walked up the steps to the front porch, Charlotte felt a zing of happiness. Surely here, she’d be able to build a good life for Taylor. She’d always loved the small town of Chester, Alabama and her grandmother’s cozy home with its big yard at the edge of town. But as much as she’d loved it as a kid, her favorite part now, as a single mom trying to support her son, was the old slab foundation for a workshop that had been torn down years ago.
She’d come down to look over the property six months ago and discovered that there were still water lines in the old foundation, ready to be hooked into. Ever since then, she’d been planning to open a beauty salon on the spot. It faced the main road, so the location was perfect. If only she could get the permits she needed and get approved for a loan to put a new building there.
Inside, she set the shoe box and her purse on the table. Looking around the long, nearly empty living room, she sighed. There was so much work to do around here, and her few belongings looked sparse in all this space.
After opening the kitchen window to let in the sweet, spring breeze, she put a pot of water on to boil for macaroni and cheese. As she waited for it, she tried to make a to do list, but ended up replaying the scene at the store over and over in her mind. Her friend, Jill, had warned her that people were different in a small town, but that was just crazy. And irritating.
The doorbell rang, and she looked up from her to do list where she’d written nothing but “Stupid man.” She scribbled it out and got up to see who was at the door.
A middle-aged woman with improbably dark hair stood on her porch holding a foil pan, and a short, hunched-over man hovered behind her. He wore overalls with a plaid, short sleeved shirt, and looked for all the world like a well-trained husband. Charlotte wondered why she had missed out on the husband training trait so many women seemed to have.
She smiled at the couple, and with a note of curiosity in her voice, said, “Hello.”
“Hello there, honey,” the woman answered. “We’re the Johnstons. We live next door.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve met you before, haven’t I?”
Mrs. Johnston nodded her head. “You were little though. I didn’t think you’d remember us. We’ve been dying of curiosity ever since you moved in.” Her eyes twinkled. “There’s no better way to get the scoop than to bring over a tater tot casserole and a peach cobbler.”
Charlotte smiled, but the woman, glancing back at her husband’s empty arms, pursed her lips. “Paul, where’s the cobbler?”
“Stop fussing, Lanelle. I just set it down ‘cuz it was hot,” he said, picking up another foil pan from the rickety porch swing.
The fruity, buttery fragrance wafted across the porch as he held it up. Charlotte grinned. “Oh my gosh. You two are already my favorite people.”
“Just wait till you meet the rest of the town,” Mrs. Johnston said.
“Oh?” she asked, stepping back and gesturing for them to come in.
“Yeah,” Mr. Johnston said. “When you meet them, we’ll still be your favorite people. My wife here might be nosy, but she ain’t mean spirited about it.”
“Thanks, dear,” Mrs. Johnston said, her voice dry. She turned back to Charlotte. “Please call me Lanelle. And this funny guy is Paul.”
“I’m Charlotte Mabry.”
“Ah, that’s it. Your grandma never referred to you by your last name, so I couldn’t remember what it was. I know my way to the kitchen. We’ll take these in for you.” The couple walked to the kitchen with Charlotte following behind, feeling like she’d somehow lost control over her visitors.
“Were you friends with her?” Charlotte asked.
“Sort of. We kept an eye on her once your grandpa died. At least as much as she would let us,” Lanelle said. “I would come over and visit with her sometimes, and Paul took care of her lawn. Of course, he hasn’t been up to it ever since he hurt his back. I’m sure you noticed your grass needs mowing.”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows
, not sure if the woman was making conversation or hinting that something should be done about it. “Yes, it’s pretty overgrown. I haven’t had a chance to go see if there’s a mower in the shed or not.”
“I’ll save you the trouble,” Lanelle said. “There hasn’t been a mower in there for nearly ten years. But we have one. Maybe we could do a swap. You could use our mower and mow both lawns.”
Wow, this woman was good. She was all smiles, strong arming deals with someone she’d just met.
Even though Charlotte didn’t exactly feel like mowing Mrs. Johnston’s lawn on top of her own, she quickly realized it was a good solution. There was no way she could pay for either a new mower or professional lawn care. “I guess that’ll do temporarily,” she said. Then thinking fast, she added, “But you need to keep the gas tank full and keep it running.”
Lanelle nodded at her husband. “See there? Anne always said she was a bright one.”
Charlotte smiled to hear her grandma referred to as Anne. “Not so much bright as really, really frugal.”
“Adds up to the same thing,” she said. “Well, we’ll leave you to eat. Tell that little boy of yours that if he hits his ball into my yard again, he’s welcome to come through the gate to get it. No need to ask permission.”
“That’s so nice. I’m surprised he actually hit it.”
Paul laughed. “Oh, he hit it all right. Backwards.”
“That makes more sense. He’s never played before.”
“Don’t worry,” Paul said. “He’ll pick it up soon enough. He looks like an athletic kid.”
“Yeah. He takes after his dad,” Charlotte said, her voice a bit strained as usual when she talked about her ex-husband.
“Oh yeah?” Lanelle asked, looking like an inquisitive bird. Clearly, she had a nose for the interesting details.
“Yeah. He plays ball for the Royals.”
“Sounds like quite a catch. What fatal flaw did he have, dear? Alcohol? Other women?”
She asked this as if it could be nothing else. Charlotte couldn’t believe she was even answering all her questions. Surely the price of one tater tot casserole and a peach cobbler wasn’t her life story. “No, nothing like that,” she said vaguely.
The Trouble with Billionaires (Southern Billionaires Book 1) Page 1
