Billionaire Single Dad

by Claire Adams

  The phone rang and Daddy damned near launched out of his chair to go get it. He usually couldn’t be bothered, but I figured maybe he was waiting on somebody today. He may have gotten more talkative around Pete and the old timers, but he still wasn’t much for chatting on the phone more than he had to. He went into the kitchen, speaking low for a few seconds before hanging up. He walked back out to the living room.

  “Who was on the phone?” I asked. “Big Tom?”

  He shook his head once. “It was Pete. He asked us to run out to the ranch to give him a hand with something.”

  I furrowed my eyebrows. “He said he’d be busy all afternoon, but was planning to join us over here later for dinner.”

  “I guess he changed his mind.” He walked off without another word of explanation.

  I sat for a second on the couch, still looking after him, confused, before I got up myself and followed him out to his truck. I climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Did he say what he needed?”

  “Something to do with the barn,” Daddy replied as he got the truck started.

  I rolled down the window as soon as we got going, closing my eyes, just enjoying that cool breeze blowing my hair back from my forehead and cheeks.

  We pulled up to the barn a few minutes later. Pete’s truck was in the driveway, and the barn door was open just a crack. Besides that, no one was around.

  “What the hell is he doing?” I muttered.

  “Let’s go on up to the barn,” Daddy said.

  We climbed out of the truck and walked over to the barn. He slid open the alleyway door, and I stepped inside. I froze just inside the doorway, my mouth dropping open and eyes trying to look everywhere at once to take in everything.

  The other alleyway door at the rear of the barn was closed, sealing out the sunshine. Behind me, Daddy slid the door I’d just come through shut, not coming in himself. There were twinkling electric lights strung from banister to banister and all along the alleyway. Red rose petals were strewn all over the roughened concrete floors. Someone had put wreaths of colorful wildflowers around the horses’ necks and decorated their shining manes with more flowers. They were so beautiful. At the other end of the barn, Pete was standing with a big smile on his face, his hands folded in front of him, clearly waiting for me. He was dressed in a brand new dark blue suit, tie, and shiny brown dress shoes, his dark hair cut and swept back off his forehead.

  “Pete?” I said, but I couldn’t think of a damned thing to say besides his name.

  He walked towards me, his grin getting a little wider with every step. He stopped a foot short of me, and I could smell the sweet aroma of his cologne. I was too stunned to speak. I could only look at him. He never dressed like this, never wore cologne, not even when we went out at night.

  “Emma,” he started. “My life hasn’t been the same since you started on the ranch. I never knew how happy I could be before you entered my life.” He paused, swallowing hard and shifting his hands, which were still folded together in front of him.

  “I remember my daddy telling me about the moment he knew he loved my mama. They hadn’t been dating long, but he made her smile and something inside him just melted, and he knew. That’s how I’ve felt around you since the morning we went to the Texan the first time.”

  I smiled, blinking to hold back tears at how steadily he was looking at me with his gorgeous blue eyes.

  “I’m sure you know how much I love you,” he continued, swallowing again. “And, I can’t imagine my life or the farm without you. I don’t ever want to be without you again.”

  He moved his hands now, and I could see he was holding a small silver whistle. He brought it to his mouth and blew into it. I didn’t hear anything at all, but Riley came running around the corner from the direction of the tack and feed room. I’d never seen that dog run before. I smiled as Pete dropped to one knee on the alleyway floor and Riley ran right to him.

  “What have you got there, boy?” Pete asked.

  Riley had a big red ribbon tied around his neck, the full bow just below the back of his head.

  “Did you do all this?” I said, smiling just a little.

  Pete turned the ribbon on Riley’s neck until I could see a black velvet ring box hanging from it. He untied the ribbon and gave the dog a good scratch behind the ear.

  “Good boy, Riley,” he said. The dog laid down right where he was, his job well done, and curled up, nose to tail.

  Pete looked up at me, opening the ring box and turning it so I could see the tiny ring inside of it — a yellow gold band with a sparkling diamond right in the middle that flashed in the twinkling lights.

  I brought my hands to my mouth, drawing in a breath that I couldn’t let out again right away.

  “Emma Flowers, will you do me the great honor of marrying me? I can’t think of another person on this Earth that I’d rather spend my life with.” He gazed up at me, so much love brimming in his wide blue eyes that I could only stare at him for a few moments, my heart ready to burst from my chest with how much I cared for him.

  I nodded, tears spilling from my eyes as I dragged in a stuttering breath. “Yes,” I whispered, but behind my hands. I dropped them and, still nodding, answered a second time. “Yes!”

  He grinned and rose to take me into his arms. I kissed him deeply, the excitement spinning between us stealing our breath away too quickly. We broke apart, gasping and giggling. He put the ring on my finger, and I couldn’t take my eyes away from how lovely it was and how perfectly if fit.

  “I love you so much, Emma,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too,” I whispered back.

  He took me in his arms again, and this time we kissed for a long time, not pulling away until Daddy knocked on the door behind us to find out how it went. Smiling, we opened the door to Daddy – and to the rest of our lives.

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  INVESTIGATED BILLIONAIRE

  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 © 2017 Claire Adams

  PART 1

  Chapter One

  Delilah

  “So what exactly are we supposed to do at one of these things?”

  “Mattie, it’s an art show. We are supposed to look at the art.” I tried not to roll my eyes at my best friend.

  I loved coming to art shows and had been doing it for years as a kind of release. Sometimes, I thought I could have been an amazing artist myself, and other times, I just enjoyed looking at the hard work the artists had put together. It was a way of relaxing for me, and luckily, I’d been able to convince my friend Mattie to tag along this time, even if she didn’t like art all that much.

  “You’ll have to excuse Mattie; she’s not as cultured as the rest of us,” Mattie’s boyfriend, Markus, said as he obnoxiously held his pinky out while sipping on his rum and Coke.

  “Come on, guys; this is a great place for me to recruit people for Dating the Rich. You know we have that huge summer bonus going on right now, and I could really use that extra cash. Plus, these paintings are amazing. Can you even imagine how much time and effort goes into making one of these?”

  “Delilah Hunter, are you using us to help you get more referral bonuses for work?”

  “Yes, Mattie, and you get free alcohol and an evening of class and art. You know you can get the bonus referrals, too, if you would just grab some of the cards when human resources is handing them out.”

  “Barf. I have to talk to people enough on the phone all day. I don’t want to do it outside of work, too.”

  “Come on, it’s not that bad. L
ook at that painting over there; it has beautiful colors. Don’t you think?”

  It was terribly hard to get Mattie to go to any events that I wanted to go to. She didn’t like running, the theater, or art shows. So, the best we could do was alternate who got to pick the event for the night. I wasn’t thrilled she had dragged Markus along with us, but I didn’t want to go alone, so it would have to do for the evening.

  Art shows were the perfect place to recruit for Dating the Rich and I really did need the bonus. The men and women at art shows like this one were exactly our target clientele. Although I worked in the computer department, not marketing, I had heard about the bonus opportunity and couldn’t turn it down.

  Basically, I just had to hand out cards with a link to our website on it. I had a personal link attached to my name and if they used it to sign up, then I got the bonus. It was an easy way for me to earn a little extra cash while hanging out at an art show I wanted to see anyway.

  “Del, six o’clock,” Mattie said quietly as she nodded toward a man who was coming our way.

  “Wow, he’s cute,” I whispered back.

  “Hey, doll, you want me to buy you a drink, baby?” the man asked in a thick, Brooklyn accent.

  I really had nothing against people with a Brooklyn accent. In fact, I’m fond of people with accents different than mine. The guy was decent looking, for sure. His large biceps bulged out of his dress shirt and his deep, brown eyes were mesmerizing. Unfortunately, calling me baby and asking to buy me a drink at an event that served free alcohol really wasn’t a great way to pick me up.

  On the surface, the cute guy would have been exactly the type of man I liked to date. He was clean cut, dressed well, and obviously took care of himself physically. The exterior package was not everything, though, and I really had learned that over the last year of trying to date. I would much rather date a decent-looking nice guy than a drop-dead-handsome jerk of a guy.

  “Nope. Enjoy your night,” I said as I pulled Mattie with me and fled the scene.

  Markus followed obediently behind us as we went over to the large painting I had pointed out earlier. Standing up close with such a large painting made each detail come to life. From across the room, it had looked like just some paint splattered onto the ten-foot-tall canvas, but here, I could see words and pictures embedded into the paint. In the red, there were words of hate and as I read them, my heart raced and my emotions stung. I quickly moved over to the blue paint with words of kindness and love and felt my heartrate slowing down as I reviewed the rest of the painting.

  The blue in the painting really looked more like waves from an ocean and the red like the sunset, although I wasn’t exactly sure what the artist was trying to portray. Art was one of those things where if you saw something meaningful, then it was a significant painting to you. Another person might not see the same thing and wouldn’t be willing to pay the same price.

  To me, art was just another expression of what was on the inside of someone. Music and theater were some other art forms that really showed the soul of the artists. That was why I loved the arts so much: the emotions and pure feelings that artists, singers, and actors put into their work were incredible to see.

  Sometimes, I’d thought I really wanted to be an artist when I grew up, but then I became a mother and realized I had to have a job that was more responsible.

  “One million dollars!” Mattie exclaimed so loudly that everyone in the room turned to look at us.

  “Shhhhh.”

  “Del, they are seriously selling this painting for one million dollars. How on earth did I not become an artist? If this is how much money they make for putting globs of paint onto a canvas, I seriously need to rethink my profession.”

  “Come on now, this painting took a lot thought and work, look closely,” I said in defense of the artist. Although, I couldn’t imagine anyone would pay that high of a price for artwork, either. It seemed pretty astronomical.

  “You just like it because it looks like something Connor would paint for you at school,” she laughed.

  “I have to agree; it does look a lot like one of his paintings. Except he doesn’t charge as much for his artwork. I could make a real killing if I started marketing his school artwork. Maybe I should get started on that.”

  “How is Connor doing in kindergarten?” Markus asked.

  “Really good. I like that he doesn’t have to go to daycare all day. The school day is much better because he really loves to be busy, just like his dad. I don’t think he ever sits down.”

  The mention of my late husband quickly had both Mattie and Markus quiet. Anytime I mentioned Spencer, people didn’t know what to say. It was as if I had set off a bomb in the room. First, total silence; then, a quick change of subject so no one had to talk about the dead husband or that fact that I was officially a widow at only twenty-seven years of age.

  “Do you think anyone will buy this?” Mattie asked as she changed the subject to avoid being uncomfortable. “It seems like a lot of money for someone to pay for one painting. I mean, not even a rich person would want to pay this much, right?”

  “I don’t know, probably. There are a lot of really wealthy people here, and art is so subjective. Maybe the painting will mean something to the person who purchases it. You just never know.”

  “It blows my mind that there are people in the world who have an extra million dollars to just buy spattered paintings. I mean, think about it: if they can afford a painting like this, it means they’ve paid for all their bills, all the fun extra stuff, probably have a summer house and tons of extra money. You don’t just spend this kind of money if it’s your last million dollars. The person who buys this is going to be so filthy rich, they literally think this is just a fun purchase. That’s mindboggling to me.”

  “A lot of our clients at work are this rich. That’s why it’s called Dating the Rich, Mattie,” I laughed.

  “Technically, I know that, but it’s always an abstract thing since I’m just on the phones for customer service issues. Really, most of my conversations are with ditzy girls who are trying to set up their profiles and can’t figure out how to upload their scantily-clad photos. It’s odd to me that these girls end up landing the rich guys. I mean, come on, do they have no shame, at all? These guys are actually just looking for a piece of ass.”

  “Yep, that’s basically what we do. Hook up old, rich men with beautiful, young women who want their money,” I said, and we both busted into laughter.

  The dating criteria some of the men from our website had seemed a little ridiculous. Many of them were simply looking for a pretty girl to show off and didn’t actually care if she was smart, career oriented, or had any goals in her life. There were some guys who seemed to be looking for a real partner and love match, but they were much fewer than the other type of guys.

  “Excuse me, ladies,” a young man said as he walked past us to put a sold magnet over the placard for the painting we were looking at.

  “It sold? I can’t believe that,” Mattie exclaimed.

  “Yep, we only have a couple paintings left; they are over there, if you’re interested.”

  “Okay, thanks,” she replied as she tried to play off her shock as being upset because she was just about to buy it. I could hardly contain my laughter and turned away so the worker couldn’t see me. “I’ll go take a look. Thank you so much.”

  “Hey, doll face,” the handsome Brooklyn man said as I turned almost directly into his chest. If I hadn’t stopped quickly, I would have run smack dab into him.

  I had to admit the firmness of his chest was very appealing. It had been months since I had been laid, and although that wasn’t a driving factor in choosing a date, I was starting to consider the benefits of a one-night stand with this guy. With a babysitter in place and a whole evening to myself, it did seem like a waste not to at least have some sex.

  “Are you enjoying the art show?” I asked in an effort to test the waters and see if I could handle an evening with
him.

  If I wasn’t looking for a guy to actually date, I could settle for someone a little less than perfect. This guy was handsome. He would probably be fun in bed. I started to play over the possibility of bringing him home with me, but first, I’d have to at least have a full conversation with the guy.

  That was my problem when it came to one-night stands. I had this crazy notion in my head that they needed to be able to hold a conversation. It was certainly a woman-type of criteria for a one-night stand; I doubted guys worried if their women could hold a conversation before they brought them home for a night full of fun.

  “Sure, man, this is on point. I love art shit.”

  “Will you be buying any of the pieces?” I ventured to guess he wasn’t wealthy enough to purchase one of the paintings, but you never knew what someone had in their wallet.

  Money wasn’t all that important to me, though. I didn’t plan on settling down with any man in the near future, so I was only asking as a form of reference to see why this guy was at the art show. If he was there to purchase something, at least I’d know we had art in common.

  “Yeah, I might,” he said unconvincingly. “You think I should buy some of this painting crap?”

  That was it: I couldn’t pretend to like this guy long enough to sleep with him. I could hardly stand having a conversation with him. This was exactly why my life as a one-night stand type of woman was so limited. I couldn’t sleep with someone I didn’t at least like, even if it was only going to be for one night.

  “Well, I need to get back to my friends. It was nice talking to you. If you’re interested, I work at a high-end dating site and they are always looking for good-looking guys to join. Here’s a card,” I said, as I started to turn back to my friends.