Forever Branded (Billionaire Love Series #1)

by Jessa Eden

It was sweet, but I still wasn’t going to budge. I figured, if I ignored him long enough, he would just leave me alone. Turned out, the more I resisted his efforts, the harder he came after me.

  He was persistent. I’ll give him that.

  That next Saturday, Emma and I took the bus several miles from our apartment and made our way to the grocery store, which was part of our weekly ritual. It helped both of us feel normal to do an activity like buying groceries.

  The comforting whish of the automatic doors sliding open greeted us as the smell of ripe strawberries beckoned us into the store on that bright spring afternoon.

  “Ooh, can we get some fruit today?” Emma asked, dragging me by the hand toward the produce section.

  “Um... it depends on the prices, Sugarpop. If it’s cheap, we can get a little bit.”

  “Okay, yum, those strawberries smell good,” she said, sniffing the fragrant air.

  “Yes, they do.” I checked the price, relieved they were on sale as we stood in front of the display. “Let’s get two baskets.”

  “Yay!” she said, carefully selecting out two bright green containers and putting them in the buggy. “Okay, what’s next?”

  I squatted down on my haunches, putting my hands around Emma’s full cheeks, and pulling our faces together like we were in a two-gal huddle. “You know the drill. Everything must have a coupon or be on sale. You ready?”

  “Ready!”

  We made our way up and down the aisles while Emma pirouetted in front of the cart as she picked up different items.

  “Can I get a cookie?” she asked as I studied a can of navy beans.

  “Yeah, but remember to be polite and ask. Don’t just take.”

  “Okay.” She set off for the bakery as I continued to wander down the aisle.

  Canned food was a lifesaver. Cheap, but it still provided some nutrition. Vegetables saturated in preservatives weren’t my first choice, but they would do for now. I hoped when I graduated in a couple of months that I could get a job and be able to afford better food.

  Emma came back with her pink cookie and we finished the rest of our shopping. We checked out and headed back to the bus stop. We had at least five minutes before the next bus would arrive.

  Those five minutes came and went as Emma danced around me. I was starting to get worried as I looked down the street; the bus was already ten minutes late.

  Glancing up at the sky, I saw dark clouds gathering rapidly. I hoped the bus would pick us up before the rain hit. Carrying soggy groceries wasn’t going to be much fun.

  “It’ll just be a little longer, Sugarpop,” I said, shifting the two full grocery bags in my hands to get a better grip.

  “I’m hungry,” Emma announced as she twirled about.

  “Yeah, me too, kiddo. What should we make for dinner when we get home?”

  “How about tacos?”

  I was pretty sure we had a little hamburger to use.

  “Tacos? I don’t know...” I said teasing her.

  “Oh, come on,” she pleaded, bobbing up and down next to me with the youthful energy of a ten year old.

  “They’re just so hard to make,” I said in a fake, overworked voice.

  “Please, please!” Emma begged as she held her hands together in a prayer pose. “I promise to help.”

  I paused, acting as if I was mulling it over as she sweated it out. “Oh, all right. We can make tacos for dinner.”

  “Yay!” she clapped her hands together as she jumped up and down in excitement.

  I always enjoyed my sister’s enthusiasm. It was one of her greatest qualities. As she continued to celebrate, a sleek black Jaguar pulled up along the bus stop.

  Okay, weird.

  I didn’t know anyone who owned a Jaguar. I put down the groceries and put my arm around Emma, drawing her to me, wondering if we were going to have to make a run for it.

  The dark tinted window rolled down revealing Beau Shepard.

  Wearing aviator sunglasses, jeans, and a black Metallica T-shirt, he had his arm casually slung across the front seats. “Hey, ladies. Can I offer you a lift?” he offered politely with a blinding smile.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, glad it wasn’t some weirdo trolling for girls.

  I shrugged as I picked up the groceries again. “Nah, the bus will be here any minute.” I prayed to see the big blue city bus coming our way as I looked down the street for the millionth time.

  “You sure? It’s looking like it’s going to rain and the bus is caught in the traffic caused by an accident a couple of miles back.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, glancing at the angry sky threatening to let loose at any minute.

  “Please, Marla,” Emma begged, her blue eyes puppy dog wide as a big juicy raindrop landed on her shoulder.

  Crap, now I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want Emma to have to walk home in the rain. Plus, it wasn’t every day we got to ride in a Jaguar.

  “Okay, yeah, we’d appreciate a ride,” I said, still wondering if it was a good idea.

  “Hop in.” He reached over and the Jag door swung open.

  After we put the groceries in the back seat, we climbed in with Emma sitting on my lap. Looking around, I admired the soft creamy white leather seats and the classy polished wood dashboard as we pulled away from the curb.

  “I see you ride in style,” I casually offered as I took in the luxury of his car.

  “It’s my dad’s car. Mine’s in the shop.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks for picking us up.”

  “My pleasure. You going out tonight?” he asked as we waited to turn left.

  “Nope, Emma and I are just gonna hang out.”

  “Yeah, can we watch a movie tonight?” Emma asked excitedly.

  “Sure, Sugarpop.”

  “We like to watch movies. Do you like to watch movies?” she asked Beau.

  He shot her a lopsided grin. “Sometimes, but I usually only watch action movies.”

  “Action movies? That’s totally boy stuff. Do you like Pretty in Pink? That’s our favorite,” Emma volunteered enthusiastically.

  Oh god, she was revealing all of our embarrassing secrets.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen that one,” Beau answered good-naturedly.

  “Ah, come on! It’s a great movie! You see, Andie is girl on the wrong side of the tracks, but she’s really smar—”

  “I think that’s enough, Emma. You don’t have to give him the whole plot,” I said, hoping she would stop talking about our lives.

  Beau chuckled as we finally got a green arrow to turn.

  We rode in silence for a couple of blocks until Emma started giving out directions. “Turn right at the next stop sign,” she said in her best grown up voice.

  “Okay, I’m on it.” He nodded seriously, like she was really helping him.

  “Are you rich?” my sister blurted out as we stopped at a stop sign.

  “Emma!” I scolded, outraged by her question.

  Beau laughed. “No, it’s all right. My family does okay.”

  “I would say more than okay,” Emma added boldly, studying the top of the line CD player.

  “Yeah, maybe we do.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever known anybody who’s rich before,” she added.

  “We’re just like everybody else.”

  “Except you have a lot of money,” she pointed out.

  Thankfully, Beau laughed. “Yes, except for that.”

  “Turn right here,” I mumbled just wanting this whole cringe worthy trip to be over. “We’re on the right,” I said pointing to the big grey box that was our apartment building.

  Located up on a hill, it wasn’t much to look at, but I always noticed the bright orange of Mrs. Smith’s pretty window box full of tulips and the neatly cut grass surrounding the building.

  “This is us, apartment two B.” I could see Beau taking in the beat up cars in the parking lot, the rundown houses across the street and the fence with a kid sized hole in it.

 
I was halfway inclined to explain we had a wonderful neighbor and a lovely landlord who checked up on us after my mom had died.

  But what did it really matter?

  It wasn’t like I was trying to impress him.

  “We’re going to make tacos. You want to come over for dinner?” Emma asked before I could stop her.

  I squeezed her leg, signaling her to stop talking. “Ow! Why are you squeezing my leg?” she asked loudly.

  “Never mind. It’s just time for us to go,” I said, wondering if it would have been better to walk home soaked from the rain.

  “But Beau didn’t answer my question,” Emma insisted.

  “You know I would love to come to dinner, but I have to get home right now. Rain check?” he asked pleasantly, enjoying my sister’s outrageous comments.

  “Sure, rain check,” Emma agreed with a smile.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, even as a touch of disappointment ran through me. “Thank you, Beau, for the ride. We appreciate it. Come on, Emma. Let’s go make tacos.” She crawled off my lap and slid through the open door.

  “No problem. My pleasure.”

  I opened up the back door to get the groceries out as Emma bounded up the stairs to our apartment. The rain continued to spit as thunder rolled over our heads.

  “I’m gonna take you up on that rain check,” he announced as he glanced back at me.

  I smiled politely. “You don’t have to, Beau. Emma just thinks everybody should want to hang out with us.”

  He smiled another lopsided smile that made my heart skip a beat.

  “Thanks again,” I said, lugging the two grocery bags out of the back seat while trying to shut the back door.

  “Those look heavy. Let me help you,” he said from behind me.

  When had he gotten out of the car?

  He plucked the bags from my arms before I had time to protest. “Whoa! Where did you come from?”

  “Oh, I have lots of skills, Sunshine.”

  “I can see that, Speedy Gonzalez.”

  He grinned and followed me up to the second floor as I fumbled around in my purse looking for my keys.

  “How long have you lived here?” he asked, glancing around the dingy landing with the cracked cement and dodgy railing.

  “Oh, just about a year and a half.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It has its good points. We have a great neighbor. She babysits Emma when I need it.”

  “You guys live here alone?” he asked as I put the key in the lock.

  “Yep, it’s just the two of us," Emma supplied eagerly. “Marla takes real good care of me.”

  He shot me a quizzical thoughtful stare as he tilted his head sideways to study me. “I’m sure she does.”

  “I guess that will do it,” I said, pulling open the door “Thanks again, Beau. I really appreciate it,” I said, effectively cutting off any more follow up questions as I grabbed the groceries out of his arms.

  “No problem. Take it easy and enjoy those tacos. See you on Monday, Sunshine,” he called as he backed up.

  “Yeah, see you Monday,” I said, watching him turn and hustle down the stairs.

  He moved so fast, I could only assume he was embarrassed to be seen on the wrong side of town.

  Still, it was nice of him to bring us home.

  I hated to say it, but that boy was starting to wear me down.

  *****

  Beau:

  The musty smell of old cement filled my nostrils as I busted out another round of push-ups. Drops of sweat fell to the ground as I punished my body.

  “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six,” my trainer counted as he got down on his haunches next to me, “five, four, three, two, one. Good finish, Beau.” He gave me a half smile, showing me his brilliantly white teeth, stark against his dark skin.

  His name was Ibrahima Mbow and he’d been training me since I moved back to Baltimore. From Senegal, he had been in the states for twenty years. Built like a Mack truck, he was tall with a well-defined physique honed from years of MMA fighting and training. He was fierce, with the darkest, most intense eyes I had ever encountered.

  The man breathed out truth.

  He helped me remember what was real and what mattered. He was often my moral compass when I wasn’t sure what to do about a situation. Most of the time I listened to him, but not always.

  Our paths crossed one day as I worked out in an elite gym downtown. He strolled through the club as if he owned it. He made his way over to me as I worked out with a punching bag.

  He studied me as I did a series of roundabout kicks. “If you center yourself and breathe, you will master the bag. You will be able to make it do whatever you want.”

  “Really?” I asked, intrigued by his words.

  “Try it. Shut your eyes and breathe into the core of your being. Find your sweet spot. When you’re ready, hit the bag.”

  I centered myself and when I hit the bag, it must have flown ten feet.

  “Jesus! I’ve never done that before!” I let out, wondering what else this man could teach me.

  “Come see me. I’ll train you,” he offered, handing me his business card.

  It didn’t take much for me to follow him to his no-frills gym with a couple of mats, a few punching bags, and a fighting cage. Using tools like tires, ropes, and scaffolding planks, I learned his ways. He taught me to breathe and to find that place of mindful mindlessness, where I could turn off my restless brain. It had been a lifesaver.

  And that’s the way it had been for the last year.

  “Why do you do this, Beau?” Ibrahima asked as I lay on my back after doing the pushups.

  He often asked me philosophical questions; sometimes I had answers, sometimes I didn’t. But he always made me think.

  “You know in my world, everything is image and perception. What I do here is real and requires hard work, guts, determination. It reminds me of my life while I played hockey. I actually feel something when I’m in the octagon.”

  “So what’s eating you up?”

  “How do you know something’s eating me up?” I asked, sitting up in alarm.

  He tilted his head and stared knowingly at me. “Because you’re acting like you want to kill something.”

  “Isn’t that the point?”

  He shook his bald head no. “Rage narrows your field of vision and makes you vulnerable. You must fight with a clear mind. It is never good to fight angry.”

  I didn’t want to hear that.

  “So again, I ask you, what’s got you so ramped up?” he pressed for a real answer.

  “Ibrahima, I wish I knew. Maybe I’ve been working too hard.”

  He laughed openly, his melodic laughter filling the old warehouse. “Beau, you always work too hard.”

  He had me there.

  I did like to burn the midnight oil. I needed it. Otherwise, I would go crazy.

  “So what is it?” he asked in that rich voice of his.

  His piercing gaze was unflinching as I debated what to say. “All right, it’s a girl...a woman, now.”

  He cocked his head backward in disbelief. “A woman? You’ve never talked about a woman before.”

  “I know. Believe me, after her, I decided I would never sacrifice my heart again.”

  “She hurt you bad, huh?”

  He didn’t know the half of it. “Man, she was my first. I loved her so hard, and then she broke my heart for no good reason. To this day, I still don’t know why she broke up with me. Everything was going good, man; and then poof she turns to me one day and says it’s over. She just about did me in.”

  “So what does that have to do with today?”

  “Everything. I just saw her at a party and I can’t get her out of my head.”

  He nodded. “Ah, I see. Old wounds surfacing. Have you talked to her since you saw her at the party?”

  “No. I just don’t think I can control myself around her. I want to either kill her or kiss her. All I know is I want her to suffer.�
��

  “Whoa, she’s definitely messed you up, man.”

  “You could say that.”

  “So, what happens when you punish her? What’s next?”

  I wiped my head with a towel. “I don’t know...I just want to make her hurt.”

  “Ah, Beau. Nothing good comes from wanting to hurt another.”

  “Maybe, but I can’t see past what she did to me.”

  “I understand. But maybe you don’t have the whole picture. Do you even know her side of the story?”

  “What side? She didn’t want to be with me. She made sure I walked away. But man, when I saw her again, she looked as good as she did twenty years ago when I still loved her.”

  “When you still loved her? Are you telling me you’re over her?”

  I shook my head fiercely in denial. “No, I don’t think I’ll ever be over her. I just can’t get over how much she still affects me after all these years.”

  “So, shouldn’t you talk to her and see if you can put a peaceful lid on the past?”

  “Nah, not interested.”

  He nodded, his fierce gaze shadowed with doubt. “There is still time for you to come to your senses. But for now, let us continue our workout.”

  “All right. What’s next?” I asked, hopping up.

  “Hit the speed bag and I want you to practice the combination jab, cross hook. Mix it up, though. Let it come naturally, like you’re in the ring.”

  “Got it.”

  “Are you ready for your match?” he asked as I stepped in front of the speed bag.

  “Yeah, I am. I love preparing for a fight.” Every once in a while I climbed into the octagon and conquered my demons.

  I went at it for another couple of hours, clearing my mind and planning my next steps with Marla. I heard what Ibrahima said, but I didn’t care. I wanted her to feel my influence over her life.

  I got out my cell phone and dialed my head of security as I left training. “How’s it going, Mitch? Got anything yet?” I asked as soon as he answered.

  “Still working on it, boss. But I can tell you, she owns a salon called Casa Oshun.”

  I immediately had an idea. “Perfect. Listen, I need you to put a bug in the ear of Jim McGovern down at the state health department. I need a favor.”

  “You got it, boss. What do you want me to tell him?”