An Heir For The Billionaire

by Towers, Terry

  An Heir For The Billionaire

  By

  Terry Towers

  Dedication:

  This book is dedicated to my mother who passed away on Oct 14, 2012 after a year and a half long battle with lung cancer. She was my biggest cheerleader and my best friend and is greatly missed.

  It is also dedicated to those who are currently battling or have battled cancer in the past and their loved ones.

  Finally, it is dedicated to my readers. Much love to all of you and thank you for supporting me and by purchasing this book helping fund the Canadian Cancer Society.

  Regards,

  Terry

  *****

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  An Heir For The Billionaire

  Copyright 2013 by Terry Towers

  Cover by: Terry Towers

  All rights reserved. With the exception of brief quotes used for critical reviews and articles no part of this book may be used or reproduced without the written permission of the author Terry Towers. Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada. Terry Towers can be contacted via her website at www.elixaeverett.com

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via internet or other means, electronic or print without the authors permission. Criminal copyright infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov.ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors imagination and used fictitiously.

  Chapter 1

  "Ohhhh no, no. I can't do that." Looking up at the work schedule Katrina Alexander gave her head a soft shake. Her blonde ponytail swung back and forth behind her head, like a whip lashing out in mid-air.

  "Why? You doing something that night?"

  Katrina sighed tugging at her black necktie, loosening it. There was a brief moment of silence between them, as she tried to collect her thoughts before turning her attention over to her closest friend and co-worker Farrah Glover. "No, I can't. I mean... I can. But I don't want to."

  "Why? It's a high school reunion, those are the easiest jobs. People tip bigger than normal trying to impress everyone else and it's a buffet so there's not much clean-up. And we get to work it together. We got lucky baby."

  With her tie loosened she pulled it up and over her head. Crumbling the tie in her hand she stuffed it into the front pocket of her black vest. "Yeah, but it's for my high school."

  "Oh, so you're attending then?"

  "Nope." Grabbing at the black fabric hair-tie that was keeping her long blonde locks secure behind her head, she gave it a tug freeing her silken strands. Flipping her head forward, she shook her hair free. As it straightened out, it cascaded down her shoulders and back.

  "Why?"

  Katrina took a step back and motioned towards her server uniform. "Farrah, I'm twenty-eight years old, single, and a banquet server at a hotel. Besides, I was never all that popular in high school anyhow." She shrugged. "The only reason I'd go to begin with would be to gloat about how wonderful my life is and, well, as you can see it leaves a lot to be desired."

  "Oh, come on. There must be someone that you'd like to see again."

  Katrina turned and began to walk down the hallway in the direction of the car park, Farrah hot on her heels. "Geez. I don't know."

  "What about that guy you dated?"

  "Damon?"

  "Yeah. Don't you want to see what he's done with his life?"

  Katrina paused in her tracks as she was teleported back to the day he told her he was leaving Bangor, Maine to go to school in California: the day he'd broken her heart. He'd claimed that they'd keep in touch and they'd find a way to move her out there as well, once he got settled in, but there was never enough money and he became consumed with his studies. Daily calls turned to every few days then to once a week. After a year of trying to make a long distance relationship work they'd thrown in the towel.

  She often wondered about him. She'd heard through the grapevine he owned a company and moved to New York, but whether it was true or not, she had no clue. However, she couldn’t help but wonder on whether he was now some hotshot, while she had remained in Bangor, making nothing of her life. It would be humiliating. The last thing she wanted was for him to find out about the mess she'd made of her life.

  Reaching the back door of the hotel, she pulled it open while waiting for Farrah, who was not far behind, to catch up. "I would have loved to go, but the truth is; I'm embarrassed, Farrah. What if they’ve all made it in life, you know doctors, lawyers, professionals.” Katrina bent her head sheepishly before uttering her next few words. “What if they’re all successful?”

  Farrah edged in closer, patting her on the back for comfort. “Having a good job doesn’t always make you successful or happy.”

  “I know, but it’s not just about their careers…I’m sure most of them are probably married with wonderful kids and suburban homes; you know, with the white picket fence. Living the American dream."

  "No one lives the American dream," Farrah interjected.

  "I'd be humiliated to tell them I'm just a server, barely getting by and scared to answer my phone because of all the bill collectors calling."

  Farrah tisked at her. "Oh, come on Katrina, give yourself some credit. You work hard, making an honest living. You're beautiful. And although you may not realize it, you do have a lot going for you."

  Katrina rolled her eyes in response.

  "I'm serious. We make an honest living and there's nothing wrong with being a server. Listen honey, just because you're a server now, doesn't mean you'll be a server forever."

  "You know, just last week I had to serve someone from my high school for a meeting breakfast banquet. She's a lawyer. She looked at me with sympathy, like I was the most pathetic thing on earth, and told me maybe one day I'd catch a break. Then she proceeded to gush about how wonderful her fiancé was while flashing me the gigantic rock on her finger. And she used to be a friend of mine in high school. Now I’d imagine that type of condescending attitude from someone I never got along with, but a friend..."

  "I'm sure people like that are few and far between. Everyone is out of work these days. We're lucky we even have a job that pays the bills."

  "Barely pays the bills you mean. I swear it feels like I'm begging for an extension on the rent more than I pay on time. I'm just sick of this shit, you know."

  Farrah shrugged, as they approached Katrina's ancient yellow VW. "It'll get better. Gotta have some faith honey."

  "Yeah." Opening the car door, Katrina slid in, reached across the seat and unlocked the passenger side for Farrah.

  Once they were both in, seat belts secure, Katrina thrust the key into the ignition.

  Click.

  Frowning and getting a bad feeling in the bit of her stomach, Katrina tried the ignition a second time.

  Click.

  “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me!” She slammed her hands on the steering wheel in utter frustration.

  *****

  Damon stood and extended his hand to his long time friend
and doctor, Gary Van Buren. "Thanks for coming by the office with the results Gary, I appreciate it. I've been swamped with work." He motioned to a chair across from his desk. "Please, have a seat."

  "No worries Damon." Sitting, Dr. Van Buren pulled a file from his briefcase and using the case as a mobile desk on his lap, opened the file.

  "So... Tell me. What's the results?"

  "Well, just let me say that the surgery wasn't for nothing..."

  Damon let out a low huff of air as he sat back in his chair. His right side suddenly began to ache, where the incision had been made and the lower lobectomy had been performed. While the incision had healed, he still felt some discomfort.

  "So, I still have it, I assume."

  "Yes. We didn't get it all. I'm sorry Damon. We can still see fine specks of it in the lymph nodes and chest."

  Damon pushed his chair back, stood and made his way over to the bar he had set up in the corner of his office. Opening a bottle of scotch, he poured a couple of ounces into a shot glass and chugged it down. The liquid burned as it slid over his tongue and down his throat. He motioned towards the bottle. "Care to join me for a drink, Doc?"

  "No thanks, Damon." Gary paused as if deciding on something. "You shouldn't be drinking Damon."

  "Doctor, I've never smoked a cigarette. Never did any type of illegal drug. Eat healthy and work out five times a week and still got lung cancer at the age of twenty-nine. Pretty fucked up if you ask me. I think having a couple shots of scotch is the least of my problems at this point. Don't you?" Damon poured another drink and drank it down as he waited for the verdict. "So what do we do from here?"

  Gary looked down at his files, studied them a moment and then met Damon's gaze. "I suggest we start chemotherapy in a couple of weeks, followed by radiation. And then go from there."

  "What are my chances?"

  Gary shifted uneasily in his chair.

  "That bad, huh?"

  "You see when we went in and did the lobectomy we thought it was a different type of tumour. One less aggressive. We didn't realize it was small stem cell..."

  "How long Gary? If this treatment you have planned doesn't work. How long?" Damon made his way back to his chair. His mind was numb. He'd been bracing himself for this news, but hearing it was still none-the-less hard. Twenty-nine years old and he was facing death, possibly in the near future.

  "Well, without treatment maybe a few months."

  Fuck! Damon thrust a hand through his dark hair as he sat back into his tall-back black leather desk chair. "And with the treatment?"

  "With the treatment, we may be able to cure you. Maybe not. It's a crapshoot to be honest, but it's a hell of a lot worse if you don't do the treatment."

  "And with the treatment. What's the odds?"

  Gary grimaced. "About twenty percent Damon. You're young and in good health so you have a fighting shot. I'm quite sure that it'll give you a solid year if not cured, but a year is much better than a few months."

  One year to live. It seemed surreal to him, like he was caught in some nightmare and he was going to wake up at any minute and it would be over and he could get back to his life. Though when he thought more deeply about it the truth of the matter was that his life was rather one-dimensional. It consisted of work, building an empire that was worth billions and nothing else.

  No wife. No children. No family. Not even any close personal relationships. He didn't even have someone to leave his empire too when he passed. If he let himself ponder on those things he'd be too depressed to even function. But he pushed those things to the back of his mind.

  Damon's eyes fell on a letter from his former high school. The letter was an invitation to his ten year high school reunion. A soft smile touched his lips as he thought back to his high school days. Life was so much simpler back then. Hell, if he knew back then what he knew now maybe he'd have changed several decisions he'd made in his younger years.

  "Damon?"

  Damon lifted his eyes and met Gary's gaze. "Alright. Set it up."

  Gary made a couple of notes in his files and thrust it back into his briefcase. Gary's brow furrowed as he noticed the letter for the reunion. "Your reunion coming up I see."

  "Yeah. Not going though."

  "When is it?"

  "This weekend, in Bangor. I have a meeting Friday afternoon in LA and to be honest I'm not sure I'd be up to seeing people from my past again."

  Gary leaned forward and caught Damon's gaze. "If you'd like my opinion, I think you should go Damon. I'm confident we can beat this, despite the odds, but I would suggest you start reconnecting with people and start living your life instead of continuing to consume yourself with work. Speaking as your friend and not your doctor - fuck work." He motioned to the lavish office. "You can't take it with you Damon."

  "Work is the only thing keeping me sane Gary."

  "I'm just saying. Don't waste the time you have left, just in case."

  "I'll think about it."

  *****

  "I really can't afford this, Farrah."

  "I'll pay."

  "You can't afford it either." Katrina examined the tight black crushed velvet dress from all angles in the full length mirror of the clothing boutique. The sweetheart neckline dipped low into her amble cleavage and the tight skirt fell to mid-thigh. It was simple, but had an air of elegance to it.

  Farrah came up behind Katrina and caught her friend's eyes in the mirror.

  "Look how it brings out your blue eyes. Add some smoky cat eye make-up and a pair of sexy stilettos and you'll be a knockout. It won't matter what you do for a living, or you're so broke that you can't afford to fix your car. You'll have every man there drooling and every woman green with envy."

  "Exactly. I can't even afford to fix my car Farrah, so does it make sense to you for me to spend a hundred bucks on a dress?"

  "Like I said; I'll lend you the money for the dress and the car repairs. I haven't maxed my VISA yet."

  "But Damon isn't even going to be there anyhow and he's the only person I'd be even remotely interested in seeing."

  "How do you know he's not going to be there?"

  Katrina flushed, a guilty expression crossing her face. "I kinda snuck into Winnie's office and checked the reservation list."

  "Well, he can always confirm at the last minute. Besides, Winnie already approved you the night off, so you have to go or she'll be pissed that you made her change the schedule for nothing. You know what kind of tight-ass she is about changing the schedule."

  "Yeah... I suppose..."

  A wide smile emerged on Farrah's lips; she knew she won. "Then it's settled."

  "Alright. You win. If you'll stop harassing me about it I'll buy the dress and go. But I'm not promising I'll stay for the whole thing. More of a drop in for the dance, see what's going on, and leave. No dinner. Just the dance."

  Chapter 2

  "I'm so nervous you wouldn't believe it." Katrina spun around and stuck her hand out, palm down. "See." Her outstretched left hand vibrated slightly.

  Farrah laughed and rolled her eyes. "Look. I'll be serving drinks the whole night, so if you need back-up, I'll be here. And at least you're at work. You can escape back here and hang with us at any time.

  "I suppose." Katrina turned back around to peer at her reflection in the mirror of the hotel's employee bathroom. She had to admit she looked like an entirely different person with the dramatic make-up and new dress. And despite the nervousness, she felt good. People say that new clothing and a little bit of pampering can do a whole lot for a persons' self-esteem and as she stood there examining herself, she believed it.

  "Thanks for convincing me to go. I think you're right. This might be good for me."

  Farah grinned. "Told ya."

  "Farrah, the guests are leaving the banquet area and beginning to arrive in the ballroom, I need you out serving the drinks and appetizers," Winnie called, from the other side of the bathroom door.

  Katrina spun back around to face Farrah and gav
e her a quick hug. "Thanks."

  "Anytime."

  Katrina gave herself one more look in the mirror, looking for any flaws in her make-up, as Farrah left. None. Grabbing her velvet clutch she took a deep breath in and slowly released it calming her nerves. After giving herself a quick pep talk, she exited the bathroom and made her way to the front entrance of the ballroom.

  As she approached the front entrance she immediately recognized the two women who were manning the front door passing out name tags to those who hadn't attended the dinner. Neither one of them had been all that friendly to her during high school. They'd been on the cheerleading squad and she'd been a nobody. But she supposed being a nobody had been better than being one of the untouchables.

  Keeping her head held high and shoulders squared she approached the table. The two women looked up and examined her, their eyes surveying every detail of her appearance. After what felt like an eternity, they finally met her gaze and smiled, questioning expressions on her faces.

  "Katrina Alexander," she explained. Looking down at the list she found her name and pointed a perfectly French manicured finger on her name. The manicure was yet another expense she hadn't wanted to take on, but Farrah had insisted she go all out, so she'd finally given in and splurged. Twenty-eight years old and still giving in to peer pressure, she was disappointed in herself.

  "Ahhhh Katrina." The first woman began to scrawl her name on a white sticky nametag in black magic marker. "How have you been?" She gave Katrina a smile that was so fake it made her want to roll her eyes. She refrained, but it was hard.

  She took a second to look a little further down the list and a shiver of anticipation shot down her spine when she saw Damon's name pencilled in and checked off. He must have called in at the last second. And he was here... Somewhere.