Billionaire Boss

by Scarlet West

Secret Daddy (Preview)

  1

  Trina

  “What time do you want to go back?” I asked my daughter Amelia as I looked up from where I scrubbed coffee stains off the floor.

  Sitting at the table, eating a peanut-butter sandwich, Amelia shrugged and swallowed.

  “Don’t know, mom,” she said. “Soon?”

  I chuckled and stood up, stretching my sore back. I tucked a strand of brownish hair behind my ear and wiped my hands on my apron.

  “Two o’ clock?” I asked. I checked the clock on the wall. It was one pm. I had a busy afternoon ahead of me; clients to see, and then my brother planning a visit around five.

  “Is Greer going to be there?” Amelia wanted to know, interrupting my planning.

  I shrugged. “I guess, Millie,” I said, and went to the sink to start washing dishes. I glanced at the clock again. In half an hour I needed to get back to work. I shook my head to clear it. Why was I so tired today?

  Skyler had better be here soon, or I’m going to have to call Mrs. Harris to drive Millie over to her place. I really didn’t like Mrs. Harris. She was well-meaning, but a real busybody sometimes. And I didn’t like busybodies. My daughter’s paternity was something I kept hidden from everyone, even my brother, Tom. I wasn’t about to divulge the story of her conception to anyone, especially not Mrs. Harris. No matter how much she insisted on asking pointed questions.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?” I rinsed a pot and slid it into the dishwasher, wondering if I’d made enough stew for dinner tonight.

  “Can I go to Greer’s party?”

  I tensed. Parties meant expenses; a new dress for Millie, and a present for whoever’s birthday it was. But Greer was Millie’s best friend. And Skyler – my best friend – was her mom. We could work something out between us.

  “Sure,” I said. “I don’t see why not.”

  “Whee!” She wiggled in her seat, nine-year-old face lit up with joy. Jumping up to put her plate aside, she came and hugged me around the waist. “I love you, mom.”

  I swallowed hard, wrapping my arms around her and holding her close. I could make her day bright with a few words. It made me feel good.

  “I love you too, baby.”

  She grinned up at me, all blonde flyaway hair and big soulful green eyes. I kissed her forehead and turned sharply away, feeling my throat tighten with tears.

  She looks exactly like her father.

  It was weird but the more Millie grew up, the more obvious the resemblance to her father became. At birth, nine years ago, it had just been her eyes that signaled her as Drake’s baby. But now, with her face a softened heart-shape, her jaw determined, just like his, she was his spitting image.

  “What’s wrong, mommy?” she asked, looking up at me, a small frown on her brow.

  “Nothing, honey.” I sniffed, turning away so that she wouldn’t notice I was tearing up again. “I was just thinking, is all.”

  “Stop thinking sad things, mommy,” she said authoritatively. “It’s too nice outside for being sad.”

  I grinned. “You’re right,” I said. What would I do without her? In so many ways, she was my salvation.

  “Yes,” she said, knowingly, then ran out of the kitchen to go and get ready.

  I heard her scampering up the hallway, and her feet heading up the wooden stairs to the room that had been an attic but was now her bedroom. She giggled and flopped onto the bed. I heard the mattress squeak and I smiled to myself, glad that she at last had her own pink and purple painted space.

  It had been hard to find our place, but I was proud of it. Our new flat had three rooms and the attic, and it was snug and cozy and reasonably quiet and safe.

  I finished with the dishes and went through to the sitting-room, checking the windows were closed and the safety bars slid across. It was sad, but Bridgeway was starting to become dangerous. When I was a kid, theft and muggings were rare. Now, they were an everyday thing.

  At least, I thought, bending to plump up a cushion and move a small pink cardigan off the couch, the neighborhood around us was a safe one. Tom had been relieved too, when I finally moved from the small, cramped place on Stirling Avenue.

  “Tom worries too much.”

  “What, mommy?”

  Amelia had reappeared, dressed in the white-and-blue dress Tom had bought for her. My twin brother treated Amelia like his own daughter. He’d never asked me questions, never probed or challenged my choice. Even when Dad had threatened to disown me, when I’d gotten pregnant, Tom had stood by me, quiet and supportive.

  “Nothing, baby,” I said, smiling. “You look so cute.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Cute is for babies,” she said dismissively. “I look pretty.”

  “Well, yes,” I said, stepping around the couch to stand before her, my hands on her shoulders. “You do. Very pretty.”

  “I wonder if Gray will be there.”

  “Who?” I stared.

  She blushed. “Gray Stanton. He’s a boy.”

  I bit my lip, trying hard not to smile. Something in my chest melted a bit. My daughter was becoming interested in boys?

  “What, mom?” she sounded defensive. I saw her green eyes squinting up mistrustfully.

  “Nothing, sweetie,” I said, letting my grin loose at last. “I’m sure Gray will be there. Is he a friend of Greer’s?”

  “No!” she sounded cross. “Or, not really.”

  I studied my fingers carefully. Greer might be Millie’s best friend, but where boys were concerned, the girls would probably be rivals soon enough. I tried to think of something neutral to say.

  “Will you wear that to the party?”

  She blushed. “Maybe,” she said. Her fingers twisted in the hem of the dress and she moved from side to side, shyly.

  “Great!” I said, smiling sincerely. The ringing of the phone interrupted the conversation.

  I ran to the hallway, grabbed my purse and took out my phone. My best friend Skyler’s voice came through the airwaves, with the sound of traffic in the background.

  “Hi, Trina! I’m outside waiting for Millie. Is she ready?”

  I frowned at Millie. “You ready to go?”

  “Yes!” she said, jubilant. I grinned and nodded.

  “Yes,” I said. “In case you didn’t hear that, she’s ready. Are you at the corner?”

  “Yes,” Skyler called. “I’ve just pulled off. Engine’s still running.”

  “I can hear that,” I called. “Millie? I’ll walk down with you, okay?”

  She sighed. “Yes, mom.”

  I said my goodbye to Skyler, then slipped on a light coat and unlocked the door. Millie was starting to chafe at my being protective, seeing it as babying her. I didn’t feel like I was being anymore than necessarily careful. Together, we walked down to the car.

  “Auntie Skyler!” my daughter greeted her. “Hi! Is Greer there?” She was peering hopefully through the windows of the truck.

  “Greer’s at home, sweetie,” Skyler said, getting out and opening the door to the passenger seat. “You look pretty.”

  My daughter blushed and turned away. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She climbed up into the pickup and shut the door.

  Blonde hair scraped back, piercing blue eyes fixed on me, Skyler gave me a grin.

  “See you on Saturday for the party?”

  “Probably,” I said. I had six clients to see on Saturday morning, so I wasn’t sure if I could make it.

  “Great,” Skyler nodded. “You look stressed, Trina.”

  I shifted position, feeling self-conscious. “I’m just tired,” I said.

  “You work too hard,” she said.

  “And you?”

  She giggled. “I like working hard. It’s good for me.”

  I grinned at her. “Don’t keep it up too long, huh? You need a rest.”

  “I’ll get a day off on Saturday. For the party.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. The idea of having fifteen ten-year-old kids runni
ng around my house was not my idea of a relaxing day off. She grinned and nodded.

  “See you Saturday,” she called, then went around to the driver’s door and climbed in. “Bye!”

  “Bye! Bye, Millie!” I yelled, waving as the pickup lurched and then pulled away from the curb, heading briskly out of sight.

  When they’d gone, I went back to my house, feeling strangely lonely. I walked briskly to my bedroom, heart thudding with fresh stress, dragged a brush through my hair and quickly touched up my makeup. I drew fresh dark eyeliner around my blue eyes; just a touch, nothing too garish.

  When I was done, I headed swiftly down the street toward the salon. Seen from the street, it looked just a little shabby. It was still called “Gina’s”, though nobody named Gina owned it now. My boss, Sloane, owned it. I liked working for her, though sometimes I found her demands stifling.

  I wish I could own my own salon one day.

  That was my dream. I could see the place in my mind’s eye; cream and brown, with proper padded seats for the clients, and nice modern décor. The cutting capes would be bright colors and the cuts we offered would be modern and cool.

  “Trina!” I saw Sloane appear in the doorway.

  “Sorry,” I puffed, pausing in the doorway to catch my breath quickly. “I had to drop Millie off at a friend’s.”

  “I know, Trina,” my boss looked upset. “But you have a client waiting. I need you to be here on time.” ”

  I sighed. Feeling embarrassed, I looked at my shoes a moment.

  “Yes, Sloane,” I said.

  “Great,” she said firmly. “Now, let’s get going. Mrs. Parkhurst?” she called to our client. “This way, please.”

  I went to get to work.

  While I cut, I found myself daydreaming. Millie’s face swam before my thoughts, overlaid with the face of her father. I sniffed, surprised by the effect that it still had. Drake was someone I tried not to think about too often. It was getting harder, though, as Millie grew.

  I wondered if he ever thought about me?

  I could have been mad at Drake for what he’d done; leaving town and leaving me, without even thinking about the fact that our relationship might have had results. But somehow I’d never quite managed it.

  Drake didn’t think about it because it’s not his nature. He doesn’t really think much. Not because he didn’t care for me.

  I wanted to believe it. I didn’t want to think badly of him. I didn’t want to believe that all the times he’d said he loved me forever were a lie. I think that’s why I never told Tom.

  If he’d known Drake was the father, he’d have killed him. So now nobody knows the story. Except me.

  And now each day I saw him in his daughter’s face.

  “Trina?”

  I blinked, coming into sharp focus. My client had turned to ask me a question and I’d barely heard her. I swallowed, glancing towards Sloane.

  “Yes?” I asked, relieved Sloane hadn’t seen me.

  “You think I should keep dyeing my hair? Or let my natural grey take over?”

  I shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of a good answer for the question I dreaded. “Um, well, I think that your hair is still in excellent condition,” I began my answer carefully, “but if you want to stop dyeing it, I think you’d look great.”

  I fumbled my way through an answer, scarcely aware of what I was saying.

  My client left shortly after, seeming pleased with the results and the advice. I cut two other client’s hair after that, and we were getting around to closing time.

  “Trina?” Sloane called, coming in from the back room with a broom. “Could you tidy up in here? I have to take stock this evening.”

  “Sure,” I said, and glanced at the clock. It was ten past five.

  My mind suddenly flashed to my plans. Tom, calling me on the phone this morning, asking if I was going to be home at five because he had a surprise.

  “Oh, for…”

  I managed to stifle the expletive that came to my mind, grabbed the broom and hastily swept up the hair that littered the floor. Then I ran to the storeroom to find Sloane, heart thudding.

  “I’ve cleaned up,” I said breathlessly. “Can I go, now? I just remembered I have an urgent appointment.”

  Sloane’s tailored brow went up archly. “If you have to go then go. Please be on time tomorrow though, ok?” she asked.

  “Of course,” I answered.

  I grabbed my coat and my purse and ran quickly out.

  “Damn it,” I swore, my high-heels pounding on the sidewalk as I ran from my work to my home which was fortunately within walking distance. . It wasn’t so much that I thought Tom would be upset or offended, as that I had missed his call and I figured he’d be worried. He was super-protective and always worried about me, especially if I had to walk home after work in the dark. As it was, it was summertime and the sunshine was only just starting to move toward the horizon.

  “I’m coming,” I yelled, pounding around the corner and up to my flat. I grabbed the door handle, raced inside, and ran up the stairs to the first floor. There, exhausted, I stopped, and my jaw nearly hit the floor.

  “Why, hello, Trina,” Tom said, grinning at me, blue eyes shining. “Great to see you! I was just starting to get worried. Look who’s here! Isn’t it amazing?”

  I was already looking. And it was amazing. And scary. And unbelievable.

  Standing next to my brother, wearing a tweed jacket and jeans, looking every bit as handsome and shy and gorgeous as he had the day I met him, was Drake.

  “Hello, Trina,” he said.

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