Reunited: A Billionaire Secret Baby Romance (Lost Love Book 2)

by Marcella Swann

  Ricky grinned, and they high-fived again. Tristan finished his drink and asked for another from the hot flight attendant he’d personally hired. Her wink made him smile, and he took great pleasure in watching her ass wiggle in her tight red uniform as she walked back up to the front of the plane.

  Beautiful. Just beautiful.

  While Ricky watched the scenery out the private plane window, Tristan turned his attention to the Van Doren Seating Company folder. He had all the confidence in the world that this business would be so much easier to take over than Eastman Foods. For one, it was just one company, not the challenge of a 50-store chain business. Tristan usually went for much bigger fish in the sea. A small-scale operation with less than 300 employees was, according to its stock portfolio, not all that lucrative. Ricky had even voiced concerns that it might be a loss, which Tristan didn’t believe. In fact, he found that unthinkable. He’d never bought a company that he couldn’t make at least a 40% profit on, and even that seemed a ridiculously low estimate. Once all the negotiations with Walmart would finish, Eastman Foods would turn over an 80% profit to his firm. Together with Ricky, they would dominate this new challenge with Van Doren.

  Ricky Ellesmere was his best friend, a business partner who shared in the profits of the Booker Firm, and his old college roommate from Columbia. Fresh out of the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, Tristan had showed up at this guy’s dorm room in New York City. Within days, the two of them formed a lifelong friendship and hit the town, chasing girls, chasing dreams, and, with the humble beginnings of the Booker Firm, chasing profits. Tristan couldn’t get enough of those percentages. His favorite game had always been Monopoly, and to play it in real life? Gave him an innate sense of pride and satisfaction that no other venture came close to providing him with. It was easier to make bank than gambling in Vegas, with much more certainty.

  After getting his degree, Tristan had turned his entire attention to the Booker Firm. Ricky gladly gave up his own six figure day trading job to join him on board. Together, they turned the firm into one of the most ruthless and successful companies on Wall Street. Getting on the cover of Forbes was one of Tristan’s proudest moments, and he had the cover made into a life-size painting back at his penthouse apartment in New York. Greed was good, and getting better all the time.

  Now, with an estimated worth of just over $1 billion, 31-year-old Tristan Booker couldn’t wait to see the reactions of those who still stayed in his home town!

  He was a handsome man, and he knew it. Thick wavy brown hair framed his angular face. His eyes, usually hidden by at least one pair of designer shades, were a deep blue-green hazel that changed color depending on the light. His smile, though, was his absolute best feature. Just one lift of his lips to flash that cheeky, shit-eating grin, and the world couldn’t wait to rush to his beck and call. He was always dressed impeccably, thanks to his personal stylist and small army of shoppers and tailors. From head to toe, he was polished, elegant, and classy. A gentleman on the outside, a lion on Wall Street, and a tiger in the bedroom.

  The private flight from New York to Michigan was peaceful, giving Tristan plenty of time to get really familiar with the numbers in the Van Doren stock portfolio. It was a lovely Friday evening in late September, and the different rays of sunset lighting came in through the plane window. They’d already flown over the city of Detroit and were heading west towards the tiny town of Chelsea. Population less than five thousand, just the same as when Tristan grew up there. Chelsea wasn’t popular enough to attract more new residents and grow its population, and it wasn’t popular enough for Tristan to choose to stay here after graduating high school. After his acceptance to the University of Michigan, he hotfooted it out of there and had never looked back.

  Why would he?

  Chelsea just never offered anything to him. Not enough of a challenge. Not enough opportunities. Too far away from the bright lights and big city living he’d dreamed of. He knew at 18 years old, he’d never want to come back here—and he never had.

  Until tonight.

  On a typical Friday night, Tristan would be wrapping up his last few phone calls at his exclusive and amazing Booker Firm corner office, staring out over the Manhattan skyline and lining up a booked social life. As one of the wealthiest men in his neighborhood, he’d be interested in grabbing his current girlfriend and spiriting her off to his favorite rooftop restaurant, before a night of partying and then planting her on the luxurious marble countertops of his enormous kitchen and taking full advantage of her sexy frame. Why she buried those perfect tits and sexy ass beneath a chef’s coat boggled his mind. But he was all too glad to shed those right off her and let her nakedness reflect off all the mirrors. He was the best at what he did and she was the best up and coming chef in the city, her restaurant in the final running to receive a third Michelin star.

  Ricky took out his iPhone X and started filming a video of the scenery outside the plane window.

  “What’s the point of recording this trip?” Tristan asked.

  “Hey, shut up dude. You might be pissed to be back in your Hicksville home town. Some of us think the Hamptons are the boonies.”

  Tristan sipped his drink. “You ain’t seen nothing yet. Wait until we land and you get a whiff of that nasty ass Chelsea smell.”

  “Ugh! I can’t show my face in midtown if I smell like cow butt.”

  “Get used to it, pal.”

  Ricky glanced at his phone screen, then grinned. “Hey Tris, check this out. It’s our girls! Looking super hot.”

  Tristan took the phone and looked at it. Richard Blue, a fellow Wall Street trader colleague, had sent Ricky a pic of Ricky’s girlfriend Theresa and Tristan’s girl Lacy at Lacy’s restaurant. Richard sat at the corner table, raising a martini and looking smugly satisfied to have these gorgeous women on either side of him. Tristan handed the phone back to him.

  “Having a better Friday night than us.”

  “Of course. Should be us right there.” Ricky pinched the screen to enlarge the picture. He whistled. “That Lacy chick chose the restaurant décor, too?”

  “Yep. Designed it herself from the ground up.”

  “Sweet. Man, look at the rustic reclaimed boards on the walls. Shit, that’s real forged iron hardware, too. You just can’t find that stuff in the city. That’s exactly the look I’m going for in the loft. Upscale handmade.”

  “Only you, Ricky.” Tristan smirked. “Getting a boner over restaurant decorations.”

  “Shut up, this looks awesome. She’s got a great eye for the details. It just makes me want to eat there. That ultra modern look is so over. All the newest mags are going for this rustic ambiance instead.”

  “Well, the quicker you renovate your place, the quicker you can get out of my place.”

  “You’re just tired of me bringing Theresa around.” Ricky leaned closer. “The bathtub’s her favorite spot to fuck.”

  “Good choice. Lacy prefers the countertops in the kitchen. Gives me something to hold on to, and she says she likes the feel of good marble under her ass.”

  Ricky laughed. “She’s got great taste. You should see her longer.”

  “Eh. She works like fucking crazy hours. The sex is hot, if and when I get it.” He finished his drink. “At the MoMA charity fundraiser ball the other night, I met this new girl Janna. Guess what she does for a living?”

  “Based on what you go for? Works for a marble countertop company.”

  “No, dumbass.” Tristan chuckled. “Get this. She’s a travel photographer. Yeah, she goes to like, Kenya or the Congo or wherever way out in the African jungle and takes pics of all the animals.”

  “Nice.”

  “Yeah, she’s got some sort of sweet gig with National Geographic. She’s won awards for her work. She showed me some. All these cool zebras and giraffes and a gorilla, too.”

  “Forget the jungle. She can just come down to Wall Street. I’ve seen plenty of gorillas there.” Tristan rolled his eyes. “Really, dud
e? That was lame.”

  “Not as lame as you dropping Lacy for that chick. Lacy is hot!”

  “Did you not hear what I just said? Girl works too much. I like to eat and all, but Lacy’s obsessed with food. I get that she’s a chef, but come on. She’s down right crazy. As for this photographer, she’s leaving for Africa again in a month. I’m thinking of joining her on that little safari. Think I could answer her call of the wild.”

  Both of them laughed. Tristan gently tilted back in his plane seat, staring absentmindedly out the window. He’d already had three bourbons and the alcohol was warmly swishing in his stomach. He’d decided on this trip to Chelsea to buy out the Van Doren Seating Company only a few days ago, because he honestly didn’t want to think too much about it. They were flying over Ann Arbor now. He recognized the familiar buildings down there. As he pointed it out to Ricky, the pilot announced they were due to land soon.

  Unusually for him, Tristan felt a strange tightening in his gut. Just as soon as it arrived, it passed. That was weird, and he didn’t think anything of it. He leaned over and shut his plane window. In truth, being back in Chelsea wasn’t exactly a happy homecoming. He just knew he’d bump into his kooky mother, his equally kooky stepfather, and actually have to visit the Van Doren Seating Company. None of those thoughts brought back any pleasant memories. There was a damn good reason he’d never come back here. The quicker he bought this stupid little business and the more money he made on it, the better it’d be for Booker Capital and himself. Unlike all the other times he’d bought a business, this time was personal.

  He wanted Van Doren, and he aimed to get it. Fast.

  “Hey Ricky. Ricky? Dude, will you put the phone down for half a sec?”

  When his friend’s attention at last turned to him, Tristan leaned over. “So. I got a proposition for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Let’s make a bet. I bet you $5 million I can buy Van Doren within two weeks.”

  Ricky’s eyebrows raised. “Five mil of your own capital?”

  “Yep. Personal check right to you.”

  The plane was lowering its descent. They’d be landing at Winters Field Airport in just a few minutes. Ricky silently considered it, tapping his finger against his chin.

  “Think of all the new plumbing fixtures for your new loft you’ll be able to buy.”

  Ricky smirked. “You don’t have to work that hard to convince me. All right. I’m in.”

  He leaned forward, and the two men shook hands. Tristan smiled gleefully.

  “Now there’s my own money at stake. Let the games begin, my friend.”

  “A game you’ll win,” Ricky pointed out.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I know you, man. You’ll find some way of taking that company well before the two weeks is over.”

  Of course he would. Tristan Booker didn’t see any obstacle to stand in his way on this one. Two weeks from this Friday, Van Doren would be his and he’d be on his way back to New York to join that Janna girl on her safari adventures.

  No fucking chance, he thought to himself, this doesn’t work out my way.