The Billionaire's Mermaid

by Amberlee Day

  Cleo took a sip of her water. “I don’t know if that sounds very Christian, or very Canadian.”

  Van laughed, a full, happy sound that told Cleo his headache probably was really better. “I hope it’s both,” Van said. “While we’re definitely out to make money, I think you’ll find that the Canadian way is about looking out for the little guy, not just number one.”

  “Americans can be that way, too,” Cleo said, although she couldn’t think of any examples to share off the top of her head. “I confess, I don’t know any billionaires back home that I can brag about, but I like to think that most of us don’t value a dollar over a person.”

  “No, I know of at least a few Americans with redeeming qualities.”

  Cleo heard the tone in his voice before she saw that flirtatious smile. “Now, that look right there,” she said, calling him on it before she had a chance to consider. “I don’t know what to do with that look you sometimes have.”

  “What look is that, Cleo?”

  She gulped. “You ... One minute, you’re just talking, like you’re somebody’s uncle. Like it’s a normal conversation. The next, you’re ...”

  Van leaned back in his chair. He was enjoying himself, darn it!

  “You’re flirting,” she accused.

  “And I shouldn’t, because you’re an employee. You’re right.” He was back to talking like an uncle. “I shouldn’t be making you uncomfortable. It’s wrong. We should talk about those interview questions.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s not that—” She wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence, but he jumped in so she didn’t have to.

  “No, that was my fault. About the interview, while I do have some questions for you, it turns out that the information you’ve already given me was enough for my belated background check.”

  “Well, that’s good.” She tilted her head. “Sorry, what information did I already give you?”

  “Were you aware that you’re the only Cleopatra Belinda Willey in the United States?”

  “No, but that’s not a surprise, is it,” she said, taking a forkful of macaroni.

  Van retrieved a briefcase resting next to the armchair he’d occupied earlier. He shuffled through some papers before choosing one to read aloud. “Born in Florida to a Lisa Jean Willey, age seventeen. No father listed.”

  Cleo narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to say something judgmental, but he didn’t.

  “Legal guardians William and Sarah Willey, then just William. Your mother is still living. Do you have contact with her?”

  Cleo shook her head. “Not really. I talked to her at my grandfather’s funeral two years ago. There just isn’t much to say. She married when I was six and moved to Texas. They have children of their own. I wasn’t ... convenient. It’s fine.”

  Van let that thought sit without comment. Cleo was ready for the conversation to change, which thankfully it did. He continued reading. “Honor student, swim team. Four-year college, scholarship for swimming, but you dropped out. Can you guess why?”

  He was teasing, but kept the flirting under control. Cleo, uncomfortable with Van looking at her past under a microscope, struggled to match his lightheartedness. “I think I can,” she said.

  “Synchronized swimming. You dropped out of college to practice for the Olympics.”

  Cleo leaned back in her seat, and sighed. “I did.”

  “And then, what? You quit that?”

  “It was a bit more complicated than that.” Cleo frowned. “Seriously, where do you get that kind of information? Just a basic internet search, or do you hire a private investigator?”

  “It’s not hard to find.”

  “But did you hire someone, or do it yourself?”

  Van scratched his ear. “We hire someone for this type of work.”

  Cleo grinned. “I should be creeped out, but it’s kind of awesome.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. I haven’t done anything illegal,” she said with a hint of regret in her voice, “or heartbreaking, or heroic. Nothing to be embarrassed about, or worthy of being made into a movie of the week. No villains looking for me. Pretty ordinary life.”

  “I don’t know. Raised on a boat, professional mermaid, competed in high levels of synchronized swimming. Those are all pretty interesting things.”

  “I suppose. Mostly they’re just a lot of hard work. Mermaiding and synchro, I mean. They just happen to be the areas I worked hard in, just like you work hard in your line of work.”

  “And you don’t mind being investigated?”

  “I guess not. I thought I might, but ...” She patted her dress at the knees, sitting up a little taller. “It feels just fine.”

  “Well, good.”

  “Actually, it’s kind of nice,” she said, thinking about it. “Normally you don’t get to know people that well, do you? Unless people go around either bragging about their accomplishments, which is boring, or hiding all the colorful parts of their lives like they didn’t happen, which is depressing. I don’t like to toot my own horn, you know, but it’s awesome to have someone outside of the synchro world know that I’ve been part of it.”

  A smile played at his lips. “If you think that’s awesome, wait until you see the pictures.”

  Chapter 13

  “I’m doing it!” Lily exclaimed happily through labored breaths. “Aren’t I doing it, Cleo?”

  Cleo wiggled her fingers, placed just under Lily’s tummy to keep her from sinking. “Do you feel that? That’s me, just helping you out a little.”

  “Let go! I can do it!”

  Cleo moved her hand for just a moment, and Lily instantly started to sink.

  “You almost have it,” Cleo said. “I know it’s tricky, remembering to draw on your core rather than your flutter power, but you’re getting there.”

  After a few more minutes of practice, Lily swam over to the side of the pool. She slipped off her goggles and wiped water from her smiling face. “I’m going to be the best mermaid,” she said to Cleo, who joined her to rest along the side. “I think my core is getting stronger.”

  “I think so, too. You’re working hard, Lily. Mermaiding is about being strong and graceful, not just beautiful.”

  “I love my tail.” Without letting go of the pool edge, Lily watched over her shoulder as she flipped her pink and purple tail behind her, out of the water. “I’m glad I got this one. It’s easier to get on and off than your fancy tail.”

  “It is.” Cleo flipped her own tail expertly, sending a perfect swirl of water trailing after. “This one’s my favorite for everyday. I normally just use the good one for performances, and photo shoots.”

  “Ooo!” Lily exclaimed. “I want to do a photo shoot. How do you do that?”

  “Well, I could take some pictures for you.”

  “Will they be underwater pictures?”

  “They can be, if we can find an underwater camera.”

  “I want you in the pictures with me. We’ll get Uncle Van to take them.”

  A deep voice from above surprised the two mermaids. “Underwater pictures? That means I’d have to get in the pool.”

  From Cleo’s point of view in the water, Van looked tall and commanding standing next to the pool in his expensive sweater and jeans. Somehow, it made her want to splash him.

  Van must have spotted a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m not here to get wet,” he said, a good-natured warning in his voice.

  Cleo shrugged. “You get close to the water, sometimes it just happens.”

  Lily giggled. “Yeah, Uncle Van. Accidents happen.” She flipped her tail again, trying to splash her uncle. She missed, but he jumped back and gave her a stern look.

  “Hey,” he said. “You wouldn’t get me wet, would you? These shoes aren’t cheap.”

  “I would if I could,” Lily said brightly. “I bet Cleo could do it, though.”

  A mischievous smile spread across Cleo’s face. “I bet I could, too.”

  Van moved back as far as possible
. He leaned against the wall when he reached it, as if that were his only reason for moving.

  Cleo laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t get you. You should come swimming with us sometime, though. It’s good exercise; just ask Lily.”

  “It is,” she assured him. “My stomach muscles are super sore.”

  “Well, I’m glad Cleo’s giving you a workout,” Van said.

  “It’s how you get to be a good mermaid,” Lily said. “Strong and beautiful.”

  Van’s eyes lingered on Cleo’s. “Yes, I can see that.”

  Cleo didn’t look away. The warm feeling that came over her wasn’t so bad. She’d enjoyed her evening with Van the other night, sharing with him stories of her time in synchronized swimming. He was a good listener, and she hadn’t realized how happy it would make her feel to have someone to share it with. While they’d talked occasionally since then, at meals with Lily and in passing, that feeling had remained. She knew the first time she’d seen Van that she was attracted to him, but she was also starting to really like this Canadian billionaire. He was kind, and devoted to Lily despite whatever inconvenience it was for him to have her. His employees seemed to respect him, and Cleo believed that Mrs. Fortney would defend him at any cost. And when he didn’t slip into a grouchy mood, she was pretty sure he liked her, as well.

  “Lily,” Van said, a tone of the businessman in his voice, “has Cleo told you that she also does synchronized swimming?”

  Cleo’s heart did a little flip-flop. She had hoped to eventually get Lily interested in synchronized swimming, which would likely mean Cleo could stay at Eagle Hill longer, sharing something she loved. Also, she loved that Van seemed to value her work in the sport. She’d found that not everyone did.

  “Actually, Cleo calls it synchro.” Lily spoke as she often did, like hers was the voice of authority. “And it’s just some moves that help you be a better mermaid. I know all about it.”

  Cleo cleared her throat. “That’s true, Lily, the synchro moves I’ve shown you do help you with mermaiding. But synchronized swimming is actually a sport of its own.”

  Lily flicked her tail again. “I don’t like sports. I just like being a mermaid.”

  Cleo wasn’t sure how to approach that, but a glance at Van told her that Lily’s uncle didn’t love the girl’s inflexibility.

  “Synchronized swimming is a sport,” Van said, “and it’s one that you can actually compete in. It’s even an event in the Summer Olympics. I think it would be a worthier use of your time than mermaiding.”

  Lily took a defensive stand. “I like being a mermaid. I like my tail, and I’m getting good at it. Maybe it’s not a sport, but it’s something I’m good at. And I’m getting better. I don’t want to do sports.”

  “You know, stubbornness isn’t always the best quality,” Van said. “It wouldn’t hurt you occasionally to listen to someone else’s ideas, instead of trying to dictate everything without trying something new.”

  “Mermaiding is new.”

  “And it was very much your idea. Are you aware that swimming is a sport? And ice skating?”

  “I don’t care if they are. I still like them.”

  While it was somewhat amusing to watch how easily the tiny girl could rile her uncle, Cleo decided to step in to keep things from escalating. “I think that—like me—your uncle admires your dedication to swimming, and mermaiding, Lily. You put a lot of effort into it, and that’s impressive.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it,” Lily said. “It sounds like he just wants me to do things he wants me to do, instead of what I want to do.”

  Van’s temper rose. “Maybe if you—”

  “That must be frustrating,” Cleo interrupted. “I know you want to be a mermaid. Is there something else you have in mind that you want to do?”

  Van remained quiet, though Cleo could easily imagine smoke puffing out his ears, the way he glared at Lily.

  “Well,” Lily said without any acknowledgement of her effect on her uncle, “I have a to-do list.”

  “Really? What’s on the list?” Cleo asked.

  “Learn to be a mermaid,” Lily said. Cleo tried not to look at Van, but even from the corner of her eye she could see his reddening face.

  “Okay,” Cleo prodded. “You’re working on that one. What else is there?”

  “Redecorate my room.”

  It wasn’t what Cleo had expected, but she could work with it. “Awesome! Do you have plans for that?”

  “Some,” Lily said, her tail still flapping in a splashy rhythm. “Mostly, it needs more pink.”

  “You can never have enough pink. I wonder, could I help you with the redecorating? I mean, if it’s okay with your uncle.”

  “Would you?” Lily asked. “That would be so fun. Uncle Van, would it be okay if Cleo helped me?”

  Before Van had a chance to veto the idea—which Cleo wouldn’t put past him, just from watching him—Cleo packaged the whole idea up for him, to sweeten the deal. “Yes, would it be okay, Van? It would give me a chance to spend time with Lily out of the pool, doing girl stuff. Then maybe I could show her some of my old pictures and videos, of mermaiding. I’m pretty sure there’s some synchro in there. Not that Lily likes sports—” She and Lily both shook their heads. “—but just so she can see the moves that work into mermaiding. What do you say?”

  Maybe Van had a short fuse, but he also had an eye for a good deal. Cleo could see the change in his face instantly. “I suppose there’s some value in that,” he said. “I mean, you probably haven’t had your room redone since, when? Since we took the toddler bed out?”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Lily said.

  “And pictures and videos of Cleo ... that’s a great idea. Maybe you can even get some ideas for that photo shoot you two were discussing when I came in.”

  “Okay,” the ten-going-on-twenty-year-old said in her pixieish voice. “It’s a go. I’ll write up a bid for how much money I’ll need, Uncle Van.”

  “A bid ...?” Van was clearly not keeping up with Lily’s ability to bargain, and Cleo stifled a laugh.

  Lily only saw that she’d gotten her way. “Yes, a bid. What do you think, Cleo? When do we start?”

  Chapter 14

  Walking down the south wing hallway, Van whistled a happy tune that he couldn’t remember the name of. He moved with a spring in his step and a lightness that had nothing to do with his brisk treadmill run, and everything to do with a certain person who was somewhere in Eagle Hill, right now.

  What was it about Cleo that made him so upbeat, so balanced? Yes, he was attracted to her. Who wouldn’t be? Tall, velvety skin, and those crazy beautiful eyes. But there was so much more than that. Van had been told before that he had a hot head. Well, he didn’t actually need someone to tell him that. He knew it, and he worked hard to keep his emotions under control. In fact, he worked hard to keep everything under control. Without control, things fell apart.

  But Cleo saw those moods, and she didn’t shy away from them. She didn’t try to fix them, either, but gave him space to do what he needed to do and see things a different way. Somehow when Van saw the world through Cleo’s eyes, he wasn’t seeing red anymore.

  And she was so good with Lily. His heart swelled with gratitude for how upbeat and genuine they were together. He’d worried that Cleo wouldn’t be an influence for good, but so far she was better than he’d ever dreamed.

  Cleo never joined Van and Lily for breakfast since she’d arrived in Lake Louise. He thought at first she must be a slow riser, until Mrs. Fortney said she took Cleo her breakfast in her room the first couple of mornings, and then it just became a habit. So Van hadn’t seen Cleo yet this Saturday morning, but he walked on air knowing that at some point he inevitably would.

  And it really wasn’t a good thing that it made him so happy—despite Cleo exceeding his expectations as a positive influence, he had his reasons to keep their relationship professional—but so what? His mermaid would only be there temporarily. It wasn�
��t like a couple of weeks or even months was enough time to get serious with someone. He’d decided that the night they shared dinner in the library. And if it wasn’t enough time, then there couldn’t be a danger in enjoying this vibrant, lovely woman while he could.

  He zigzagged downstairs and along hallways to the kitchen, looking for Mrs. Fortney. Rounding the corner, he spotted a platter of freshly cut vegetables, and snagged a red pepper slice without slowing down.

  “Mrs. F, I don’t suppose you know where—” Van stopped short, the pepper halfway to his mouth. Mrs. Fortney was nowhere to be seen, nor were the normal kitchen workers. In their places were two people Van had never seen before.

  A thirty-something-year-old man, with a slender build and several inches shorter than Van, nodded in greeting. Van only stared at the man, who would have resembled a dangerous biker-type if he weren’t so scrawny. His black T-shirt revealed arms and a neck so covered by tattoos that at first Van mistook them for part of the shirt. He wore his black hair in a slick ponytail, and despite the cooking utensils in each hand, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a 1970s rock concert.

  Van’s manners—and authority, it being his house and all—kicked in, and he would have spoken, but the second person in the room caught his attention.

  A First Nations woman, Van would guess. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, but was as round as her companion was thin. Worn black boots reached up to her knees, and her jeans were more than stylishly shredded in places. She also had very black hair, but her two long braids were dyed bright purple.

  “Who are you?” Van asked. He knew it sounded less than friendly, but he wasn’t used to surprises in his own home.

  The man shifted a wooden spoon to free one pale hand, and extended it to Van. “Loren. You must be Mr. Rivers.”

  His easy friendliness elicited a wary handshake from Van. “I am.”

  “Reva,” the woman said in a very soft but direct voice. Van shook her hand, too, still wary.