Knocked Up By The Billionaire

by Tasha Fawkes

“Seriously,” he said. “Every time you sleep with me, I’ll knock fifteen hundred off Charlie’s debt.”

  “Like I said, go to hell.” I started to walk off.

  “Think about it, Dana,” he said, following. “That’s just thirty-three times! It won’t kill you, and you’d be doing your brother a favor.”

  I spun on him, furious. “I’m not going to prostitute myself to you or anyone else, Pete, you got that? And I wouldn’t sleep with you if you paid me a million dollars! Now fuck off!” I rarely cussed, but I was spitting mad. Of all the gall! How dare he!

  “You only have five days come up with fifty grand. How are you planning to do that?”

  “What about the payment plan?” I demanded.

  He stared. “What? What payment plan?”

  Shaking his head, he gave me the once over again. My heart sank lower.

  “I didn’t offer him a payment plan. The only payment option on the table is the one I just gave you. Sexual favors in return for repayment of Charlie’s debt.”

  “You’re full of shit, Pete,” I said. I wanted to kill him. At that very moment, I also wanted to kill Charlie for putting us both into this situation. I couldn’t even come up with enough money to pay for school tuition and—

  “Think about it, Dana.” He grinned and hitched up his pants hanging down around his hips. “I’m not so bad. I know how to please a woman.” He offered a slight shrug. “Five days. After that, you’re not going to like what happens.”

  “What do you mean?” I couldn’t hide the fear from my voice. “Please don’t hurt Charlie, Pete. We’ll figure it out somehow.”

  “You know how many times I’ve heard that? I’ve got a reputation to keep, you know. I let one guy slide, I gotta let them all slide.” He shook his head. “I’m warning you, Dana, like I warned Charlie. If I don’t have that money in five days, he’ll lose a finger for every day after that. Or worse. And if you think I’m kidding, try me.”

  The image elicited a surge of disgust, and my stomach clenched. I wish I had the guts to smash my fist into those stupid looking veneers, but I simply turned and walked away from him.

  “Think about it, Dana!”

  I walked fast, mouth breathing, my heart pounding so hard I felt the throbbing in my forehead. Dammit! Dammit!

  A sob erupted from my throat, but I choked it back and blinked tears away as I quickly walked the rest of the way home. My mind was spinning, my stomach a tight knot, and my legs threatening to give way beneath me with every step.

  After I got to my apartment and closed the door behind me, I broke down. The tears spilled over my eyelids, and I began to cry. Sliding downward with my back pressed against the door, I sat hunched, knees pulled up to my chest, despair filling every part of me.

  It was an impossible situation, one that I had no idea how to get away from. Charlie refused to leave town and go stay with Uncle Greg, and neither one of us had the money to set him up in a place anywhere else. I didn’t want my brother hurt. I didn’t want to see my brother on the streets. If he ended up on the streets, I would lose him. For good.

  I felt sorry for Charlie, but I was infuriated with him at the same time. Why? Why did he have to gamble? Why did he keep getting himself into trouble? Why couldn’t he just settle down, find a job, and be content with what he had?

  I looked up and around my dingy apartment. This is not where I wanted to be at twenty-two years of age. This is not where I had seen myself, but I was working hard to get out of here, to do better. When I passed the boards and received my certification and license to practice as an R.N., I could finally get a good job somewhere, make better money, and get the hell out of this crap hole.

  But no matter how hard I tried, it seemed as if I was forever being dragged backward. Two steps forward, one step back. I just couldn’t…

  I knew that tears did no good. They wouldn’t bring my parents’ back, wouldn’t change any of that. Crying wasn’t going to help Charlie either. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t care, that I could turn my back on him and let him face the repercussions of his own actions.

  But I couldn’t.

  He was all I had left.

  Chapter Five

  Brady

  I was doing a slow burn by the time I got back to the states and picked up my Ferrari from the airport. On the freeway back to my dad’s mansion I heard a vague rattling sound coming from the engine. Shit. Just what I needed. Spend three-hundred grand on a Ferrari and that’s what you get these days? I shook my head and immediately regretted it as the renewed pounding inside my skull reminded me that I was suffering yet another hangover, this one because I pretty much drank the whole way home.

  I wished I could just tell my dad to go fuck off and leave me alone, to let me live my life the way I wanted to live it, but I couldn’t. Regardless of the hard feelings, the resentment, and even some of the blame for the way I felt at this moment, he was still my dad.

  It was hot, the car seat vibrating slightly, the engine humming. I drove in a trance-like state, aware of the cars around me but still slightly on the day-dreaming side, at least until I glanced at the speedometer and realized I had just topped one-hundred miles an hour. Shit again. I started to slow down. Too late.

  Glancing in my rearview mirror, my eyes caught the red and blue flashing lights of a motorcycle cop. Triple shit! Could things really get any worse? I gradually pulled over to the right side of the highway, my hands wrapped around the steering wheel where the cop could see them. The throbbing in my head got worse when I realized I could still be over the legal limit. If I got arrested for DUI, Dad would be more than pissed. Especially after I had neglected to tell him I was overseas when he called, compounded by the fact that I hadn’t showed up as he asked—demanded. Since my accounts were still frozen, I wouldn’t even be able to bail my way out of jail.

  With a heavy sigh, I leaned my head back against the headrest and watched through my side view mirror as the cop parked his bike, lights still flashing as he dismounted. He approached the driver side cautiously, one hand on his weapon, the other grasping the mic high on his left shoulder as he spoke into it. Hence another reason I kept my hands on the wheel without reaching for my glove compartment to retrieve the insurance and registration for my car. Cops had it bad enough these days. I didn’t want any mistakes.

  As he came closer, I recognized him. My day did get worse. It was Jamie Morrow.

  God. I closed my eyes and squeezed them tightly for a moment, my heart thumping dully in my chest. Of all the cops in Dallas, why did it have to be Jamie? Jamie was the older brother of Elise… Elise Morrow, the only woman I’ve ever loved. I felt sick to my stomach. If one could literally feel the blood drain from their face, I felt the blood drain from my face. My head pounded even harder, my pulse trip-hammering now. Memories flashed in my mind, unbidden and unwanted.

  I hadn’t seen or heard from either Jamie or Elise since that night.

  The night of the fire.

  We’d been dating pretty hot and heavy about five years ago. Jamie and Elise had lived in a trailer park at the time. I swore that she was the girl I was going to marry, but as usual, Dad didn’t approve. She lived in a trailer park. I lived in a mansion. Their family was poor. We were filthy rich. I had—and still do have— plenty of faults, no doubt about it, but I try not to be a snob. I hadn’t cared that she was poor. She was beautiful, exciting, and filled a void in my life that has been missing for a long time.

  I loved her.

  Or thought I did. The night of the fire, the Morrow’s double-wide trailer had burned to the ground. It was my fault. I knew it. Elise and I had spent that wild weekend alone in the trailer. I don’t remember where her family was at that time, or Jamie. We partied pretty hard—drinking, smoking pot, having sex. After one particularly rambunctious fuck in her parents’ bed, Elise had dropped off to sleep. I stayed awake for a while afterward, sitting up in bed, my back against the headboard, smoking a cigarette. Just staring at her, reveling at how be
autiful she was. Her beautiful blonde hair, cut short in a boyish style that most women eschewed at the time, but it looked absolutely adorable on her. Petite build, small but firm breasts, and a waist that I could span with both my hands. Long legs to die for, and oh so very passionate in bed…

  And so had begun the cover-up, one that I was ashamed I had agreed to back then and the one regret… okay, so one of many regrets I carried on my shoulders today. I guess I’d fallen asleep without stubbing out the cigarette. It must’ve either dropped to the carpeting or the bedding. The next thing I knew, Elise was pounding on my shoulder, yelling, “Fire! Fire!”

  I remember the shrill, ear-piercing squeal of the fire alarm attached to the ceiling in the hallway just outside of the master bedroom just seconds later, followed by heart-stopping fear; the orange red glow in the room, the flames trailing along the bottom of the bed, the carpeting on my side of the bed, the curtains curling and blackened with the hot flames. We both scrambled out of bed, barely enough time to snatch our clothes in our arms before the bed caught on fire. Elise was crying frantically. My heart was pounding when I heard the whoosh of flame behind me and turned to look over my shoulder. The bed was fully engulfed.

  She couldn’t remember if she’d put out the cigarette she’d smoked after we had sex that last time. I didn’t say anything although I had seen her do so before falling asleep. I was a coward that night. I never told her about my own cigarette.

  Long story short, we both got out and managed to get our clothes pulled on before the fire trucks arrived. A neighbor in the trailer park had smelled the smoke before flames licked at the windows. I knew the kind of trouble I’d be in if the fire marshal and arson investigators found that the cigarette that I’d dropped on my side of the bed had started the fire. Thinking he could help and swearing to myself that if he did I would owe him big time, I told my dad what happened and how.

  Dad had ended up paying off the fire investigator. He suggested that the investigator’s report state that an electrical malfunction had been the origin of the fire. The Morrows didn’t have any insurance on their trailer. In order to alleviate any finger-pointing in my direction, and because he claimed he felt bad that I was even involved, he told Elise’s parents that he would buy them a brand-new double-wide trailer. Anyone else involved in the transaction was told that the ‘deal’ was to agree that the manufacturer offered the replacement, no questions asked. He claimed that if the Morrow’s knew the truth, they would refuse such charity. That much was true.

  But there was a catch. There was always a catch.

  It was the first time that I really felt true, deep-down and resentful animosity toward my dad. In exchange for the favor, he told me that I had to stop seeing Elise. If I didn’t, he would tell the family that the fire was my fault. I could face charges. They could sue me—us. For the parents’, the stipulation wasn’t that big of a deal. Like my father didn’t approve of Elise’s family, her parents’ didn’t much approve of me either. I was rich, spoiled, and arrogant. Elise had already told me that her parents’ were threatening to ship her off to Boston to live with family, just to get her away from my influence. They believed I was the one that had addicted her to smoking, not just cigarettes, but pot, and drinking, although I really hadn’t. She’d been doing that when I met her. Not a lot, but some.

  Anyway, I didn’t want Elise to have to pay for my mistakes, so I agreed. I complied with my dad’s wishes and broke up with the love of my life, never to see her again. It was at that time that I swore that I would never fall in love with another woman. Never go through that kind of heartbreak again. What was the point?

  Ever since then, I had dated plenty… well, maybe not dated, more like one-night stands. And so it had continued.

  A knock on my window jolted me from my not-so-pleasant memories. I looked up and saw Jamie standing next to the driver’s window, gesturing for me to roll it down. I did.

  “Hey, Brady, thought I recognized that car.”

  I hadn’t seen him in five years. He looked so mature, so grown up. So serious. He stared down at me, no expression on his face at all. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Did he know my secret? If he did, he didn’t give any indication. In fact, other than the brief acknowledgment of recognition, he went cop mode on me.

  “License and registration please.”

  Was that disappointment I felt? Why the hell should I feel anything? No one from the Morrow family had deigned to reach out over these years, not even Elise. Nor had I. Maybe it was just as well. I slowly reached for the glove compartment and pulled out the plastic sheet containing my registration. I handed it to him. “My wallet’s in my back pocket. I’m reaching for it okay?”

  He gave me the eye as I leaned forward and pulled my wallet from my back pocket, removing my driver’s license and handing that to him as well.

  “Wait here.”

  I said nothing as Jamie walked back to his bike, talking on this mic. I watched the traffic whizzing by, trying my best not to go back in time. I had put up quite a wall since the fire. Nothing had managed to budge it after all these years, but seeing Jamie was like opening the floodgates. I didn’t want to go there. Not now, not ever.

  A few minutes passed before Jamie returned to my car and handed a small leather folder toward me.

  “Sign that,” he said. “It’s your acknowledgment that you’re getting a ticket for exceeding the speed limit.”

  I took the small folder and scribbled my signature on the bottom, then glanced up at him. He eyed me warily. I hoped to God he couldn’t smell booze on me. He took a good look at my mussed hair, my likely bloodshot eyes, maybe even dark circles smudging underneath from lack of sleep. That’s what twenty-four hours of sex followed by a transatlantic flight could do.

  “You goin’ to your daddy’s?”

  I nodded.

  “Take the next exit and get off the freeway. Take the surface streets.”

  So maybe he did smell booze. He started to walk away, and the words just came out of my mouth, unbidden. “Jamie, how’s Elise?”

  Jamie stopped and turned, his expression still devoid of emotion. “She’s married, Brady, with two kids. She’s happy.”

  With that, he turned around and got back on his motorcycle. I sat behind the wheel of my Ferrari as Jamie drove his bike past my car and disappeared down the highway. My heart thudded dully in my chest. I couldn’t quite define my reaction. Jealousy? Guilt? Regret?

  “Stupid ass.” With a shrug of my shoulders, I brushed the emotion off, reaffirming my promise to myself. Never get attached or fall in love with a woman again.

  By the time I got to the mansion and knocked on the door of Dad’s office just off the foyer, I was in a foul mood to say the least. No one answered. I walked in and headed for the wet bar, knowing that he would, with his uncanny sixth sense, know that I was here. It’s like his head sprouted radar any time I was around. Sure enough, just after I poured myself a Scotch and gulped it down, wincing at the burn as it slid down my throat and warmed my stomach, in walked Dad.

  Standing just over six feet tall with dark hair graying at the forehead and temples, Clint Shaw was a formidable man. Broad shouldered, with skin weathered from years of exposure to the unrelenting Texas sun, he looked like he could’ve stepped out of one of the Westerns I used to watch as a kid. Always clean-shaven, back ramrod straight, a no-nonsense attitude that bordered on aggressive. Not physically. Just intimidating. He didn’t waste any time getting down to brass tacks. Nope, not with my dad. No exchange of pleasantries. He got right to the point.

  “Son, it’s time you quit sowing wild oats. You spend my hard-earned money like there’s no tomorrow. It’s time to stop.”

  I bristled, a typical knee-jerk reaction to any hint of criticism from him. My blood pressure immediately rose. I felt my face flush with heat. Pissed. “Nice, Dad, canceling my debit and credit cards and forcing me to come home. Don’t you wonder why that is? Why you have to force me home?”

&nb
sp; While I hadn’t really expected him to, I thought that comment might likely prompt him to take the bait. Did he have an answer for that? I had no way of knowing because he didn’t take the bait.

  “Brady, you’re twenty-seven-years-old. It’s time to grow up and stop acting like a good for nothing spoiled brat of a playboy. My God, you’re the sole heir to a billion-dollar oil empire! When are you—”

  “I told you, Dad. I don’t want to take control of your empire.” I stressed the last word as I held my father’s stare, casually placing the empty Scotch glass back on the bar. My hand trembled slightly. Not from fear but anger. “Maybe if you got away from this damned mansion once in awhile and enjoyed life a little.”

  “There’s more to life than women, booze, and God knows what else you’ve been up to. Frankly, I’m sick of it.”

  I saw him glance toward the bottle of Scotch on the bar. He strode toward it, lips pressed together, jaw muscles tight as he replaced the cap on the bottle and put it back on the shelf. The tinkle of bottles broke the thick silence. He waited several more seconds, getting his own temper under control? He turned around. I blinked. I hadn’t seen that expression on his face in a while. A long time.

  That stony expression. That slight drooping of his shoulders before he stiffened them again. For the first time, I noticed that he’d lost some weight. Not a lot but some. Were those new wrinkles on his face, or had I just not noticed them before? He didn’t shout. Didn’t raise his voice. On the contrary, he spoke softly, as if…

  “This is it,” Clint said. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but you’ve played your last hand.”

  I frowned. What the hell was he talking about? Last hand? I waited.

  “Here’s how it’s going to be. You’re going to marry—”

  “Dad, how can you—”

  “Shut up, Brady,” he interrupted, pointing a thick, stubby finger at me. “I’ve given you more than enough leeway. Now I’m going to rein you in whether you like it or not. Free ride’s over. I didn’t work my ass off my entire life to leave something behind for my child, my grandchildren, only to have you fritter it away so wastefully—”