The Boss (A Billionaire Romance)

by Adams, Naomi

  "You can shove your donations. If it wasn't for your casinos we wouldn't need donations."

  "You can't believe that. Online gambling sites are big now, too. And there are other casino owners too. Anyway, like I said before, they're my father's casinos, not mine. I can't sell them."

  "Why can't you sell them? Makes no sense to me."

  Fredrick went to answer her, but she raised her hand.

  "Actually, I don't care. Please leave. There's nothing left to say and you shouldn't be here. How did you even get in?"

  "Stop," he grabbed her arms. "For once, listen to me instead of assuming you know everything about everything."

  Clara's eyebrows shot up, "How dare you?" She snatched her arms out of his grasp. "Leave me alone."

  Damn, she's impossible.

  "Fine!"

  She never lets me explain.

  Why do I need this stubborn woman so much?

  "Sir? Sir?" said Jane, arriving on the scene.

  "Ah," Clara said to Jane, clearly pleased she was there to help her deal with him. "Please make sure this… this man is shown out immediately." Scowling at Jane, she added, "Then you can explain how the hell he got on the guest list."

  Focusing on Fredrick, Jane bit her lip and said nothing.

  "He won't bite," said Clara, clearly frustrated with her. "Why aren't you doing anything, saying anything?"

  Jane stared at the floor, "Sorry, Ms. James, but as it is Mr. Walters who employs me, I . . . "

  Clara glared at Jane, her frown so deep her eyes receded.

  Until they widened, "No . . . Anon employs you for my foundation.”

  “Yes…” Jane replied.

  “What are you saying?"

  Jane looked at Fredrick hopefully, making it the time for more confessions.

  "What's going on between you too?" asked Clara. "I don't understand."

  Fredrick wondered if he'd made the right choice, showing up like he had.

  But it was too late to turn back now.

  He said, "I think you do understand. You're refusing to listen to reason, as usual."

  "Wait?" she protested, pointing at Fredrick with a shaky finger. "You? You can't be . . . "

  "The wonderful, saintly Anon? Yes, I'm afraid we are one and the same, though not so saintly where it counts, if you recall."

  Fredrick sighed, hoping she'd finally be able to see the truth of his heart, instead of insisting he was like his father.

  "No," she said, shaking her head and grabbing the hair at her temples. "I don't believe it. I won't."

  People observed the situation unfold and Fredrick glanced at Jane, "It's time I put the record straight. Is the microphone still on up there?"

  Jane said, "Ready when you are, Mr. Walters."

  "What?" Clara grabbed Jane's wrist. "What's going on?" Jane refused to answer so Clara turned to him, "Fredrick?"

  Large green jewels in a small pale face, Fredrick hitched his breath at the beauty of Clara's desperate stare.

  But her tears nearly broke his heart.

  "Don't worry, Clara. I don't mean to cause you or your foundation harm. Thought it was time to 'come out.'"

  Clara closed the gap between them and gripped his arm, "By 'come out' you mean reveal the truth about your identity, or our . . . relationship?"

  "Both."

  "No, you'll ruin my reputation. They'll think you paid me off all these years. That I'm conspiring with gambling organizations for my own gain. That I'm doing all this for the money . . . "

  "Anyone who knows what car you drive knows you don't do this for the money, Clara. Allow me to say my piece, then I'll leave if you still want me to." He placed a finger beneath her chin, "Seem fair?"

  She allowed his touch for a moment, and their eye contact was as electrically charged as ever, until she appeared to remember they were arguing and moved away. "Yes, it would be fair . . . to say I want you to leave before you ruin everything for me."

  Fredrick had no choice but to tell everyone who he was.

  To take the hate and scorn which always came with it.

  He hoped that once they realized what he had given to the foundation over the past five years, they would understand and forgive his association to his father.

  Mostly, he hoped he would then be able to have an honest relationship with this impossibly stubborn woman.

  "Sorry, I have to do this so step aside, Clara. I will have my say this time, whether you wish to hear it or not."

  Clara stood in front of him with her arms crossed and her chin jutted out.

  Stubborn as a damn mule . . . but beautiful with it.

  Chapter 8

  Fredrick walked to the stage with a straight spine looking like a confident professional in his black tuxedo and shiny shoes.

  When he reached the podium, he flashed his best gleaming-white-teeth smile at the crowd.

  No one would guess he'd just been arguing with the founder of this benefit.

  Clara watched him, fisting her palms at her sides, allowing her nails to dig into the flesh as a distraction.

  This could be the end of all her years of effort and hard work, but in the depths of her heart, she wanted his speech to restore her trust in him, too.

  Fighting the instinct to flee to the ladies-room and cover her ears, she grabbed a glass of Champagne from one of the servers and finished the vile bubbly drink in one gulp.

  When he stepped up on the stage and addressed her audience, her legs wavered and she had to lean back against the bar.

  "For five years now, I've seen this foundation grow into something astounding. For those who suffer from addiction, especially gambling addiction, this foundation offers a lifeline, a route out from the darkness and into the light, if you will. It now spreads the good word further afield by expanding into schools, colleges, and offering leaflet education everywhere in our community. This is because it's founder understands that the best hope is to drag those in the dark into the light, but also to reach people before the darkness takes hold." He focused on Clara, "So, I'd like to hear your support for the incredible lady responsible for this charity. She started it with funds from her own father--a gambling addict with the forethought to invest in life-insurance."

  Part of the crowd laughed, some expressed surprise, not knowing about where the initial start-up funds came from.

  Clara snarled, hearing nothing but fluff and praise. This wasn't an explanation good enough to excuse him, as she needed.

  "I'd like you to stand and raise your glasses for Clara James--an extraordinary woman, an angel for the suffering, and a dear friend."

  Not anymore.

  The few people who recognized Fredrick Walters as the billionaire owner of multiple casinos looked at one another, confused, or whispered gossip to those sitting next to them on their table.

  Those who didn't know him at all shrugged and frowned at the ones who called out slurs.

  In all, the crowd was fractured in their acceptance of him, and the toast was, as a result, half-hearted.

  Clara cringed and slumped into one of the bar stools.

  Hot tears ran down her face.

  "This is it. He's ruined me."

  Lisa came from the front to the back of the room, and joined her.

  "Hey, why the tears? That was some speech in your honor."

  "Oh yeah, I love how everyone now thinks I'm taking a payoff from the very businesses we want to shut down. He's my billionaire date, Lisa. But worst still, he's also Anon." Clara gripped her throat and stared up at her friend, "I've been taking millions from a casino tycoon for five years."

  "Fredrick is also Anon?" Lisa seemed impressed rather than freaked out.

  "You say that like it's a good thing?"

  "Think of how much he's paid this foundation. You said yourself, without his support, the foundation would have closed down years ago."

  Another argument with her friend stormed ever closer.

  "Oh really? The lies don't end there. The PA Anon financed out
of the goodness of his heart actually works for Fredrick, not me. So he knows everything there is to know about my charity, and probably me, too. There's no way out of this. I want to go home and hide for the rest of my useless life."

  "Don't be stupid." Lisa grabbed her wrists and shook Clara until she got her attention. "These people have too much cash and need to give it away so they can feel good about themselves. Are you going to deny them the privilege? That's why you're here, remember. Not for you, for a good night, or for your love life. For the rich to give, and for you—like some modern day Robin Hood—to take. Hell, money is money, if it's going to a good cause. Who cares where it's made? Not the people you help, that's for sure."

  "Doesn't mean it's right." Clara sniffed and wiped her tears away. "But you're right, that idiot needs to get the hell off the stage for the auctioneer."

  "Idiot? As far as I can tell, Fredrick's been making a massive effort to offset the damage of his father's business by plowing money into your foundation. He doesn't need to do that, does he? Just like he doesn't need to risk his life fighting fires in his spare time. Give the guy a break, Clara. Nothing's quite as black and white as you think, and no one's entirely good or evil. You gave your dad the benefit of the doubt all his life, so why not him? Look at life in more muted color schemes for a change?"

  Clara's hands formed fists and she huffed at her annoyingly reasonable friend, "I preach about the grey areas, so don't throw that in my face. Whose side are you on exactly?"

  "The kids who's stamping her foot in front of me. As always. I'm asking you to think about him with the same level of compassion and understanding you offer to gamblers."

  She's right, I am acting like a child.

  I'm stubborn like my mother.

  Everyone judged my father without giving him a chance, and I hated them for it.

  Sure, he behaved badly, but Dad was a good guy where it counted.

  What if Fredrick's a good guy where it counts?

  Clara glared up at Fredrick, taking the mixed reaction to his presence on the chin.

  He appeared used to the scorn of people, which made her sad.

  He donated millions to her cause, and like Lisa said, he didn't need to.

  Didn't she owe him her support?

  "Clara," asked Lisa. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

  "Thinking I better help him out up there. The crowd's pretty hostile."

  "You're going up on stage, for him? You hate it up there and I thought you hated him?"

  Clara said nothing.

  Instead, she marched up to the stage and stole the microphone from him, "Thanks Fredrick. I can take it from here."

  Addressing the audience, she continued, "Yes, I can tell a few of you are confused about the appearance of the billionaire son of a gambling tycoon at a fundraising gala for gambling addicts." She sniggered, feeling anything but jovial. "Believe me, when I found out I'd been accepting anonymous donations from this guy for five long years, only moments ago I might add, I was pretty baffled too. Well, if I'm entirely honest with you guys, I used a few expletives I won't repeat here, in the presence of such polite company."

  The audience began to relax and laughed along with her.

  "Thing is," Clara said, "although Fredrick made me promise not to reveal his generosity this whole time, his anonymous donations were the main reason I've been able to hire two full-time therapists and ten educators, run four workshops, and open three addiction support clinics this year alone."

  The crowd considered one another, frowns creasing those faces not frozen with Botox.

  Some even clapped and jeered.

  The tide of protest changed before her eyes, face by face.

  "In fact, he's given so much support to this charity over the years it would take hours of working through paperwork to show you exactly how much." Clara peered up to find him blushing and smiling down at her. "If this isn't enough reason to give the guy a break, he's a voluntary fire-fighter in his spare time, and while doing that job, he saved my life."

  People gasped, even the doubters nodded at each other, beginning to see the ogre in a more generous light. "I admit, before I knew his true identity, we . . . were friends. When I discovered who his father was, I reacted like a stubborn child and wanted nothing more to do with him."

  Fredrick slipped his hand in hers, behind the podium.

  A silent thank you she didn't want.

  "Let this be a lesson to us all: Who is anyone to judge a person by his parents choices? Certainly not I."

  The crowd stood and clapped.

  In small groups first, and like sheep, the rest followed.

  She had talked the crowd into giving him a chance, but Fredrick still owned those casinos when he should have sold them as soon as his father died.

  This remained unexplainable to her. Clara's policy to see the grey in the black and white reached only so far.

  "So, can we raise a glass to Mr. Walters for all his support. Long may it continue."

  "It will, and thanks everyone," Fredrick said, raising his glass and smiling at her.

  A minority mumbled, still unimpressed, but most stood and cheered after the toast.

  Job done, support reciprocated to the best of her abilities, Clara decided it was time for her to leave the stage and for Fredrick to vacate the premises.

  "Please remain seated, the auction is about to begin."

  Chapter 9

  Clara returned to Lisa at the back of the function room, while Fredrick stayed on stage.

  "What's his problem?" said Clara. "Why's he still up there?"

  "Thank you Ms. James, for such a touching tribute made in spite of your prejudice."

  Clara spun around to face him, "My what?" Clara gasped and gaped.

  Lisa sniggered, "Sorry, but he's spot on."

  "Thanks to those of you who cheered in spite of how evil you judge me to be. To those who didn't cheer for whatever reason, I will try to understand your motives, while leaving you with a reminder: Judge not lest ye be judged."

  He saluted to the crowd, winked at Clara who stood rigid with rage in the distance, then left the stage calmly, in complete control.

  "Where's Jane? I need security to throw him out."

  "Fuck, he's sexy and you don't like it because he's put you in your place along with a lot of other . . . "

  "Other what?"

  "You know."

  Fredrick marched from the stage towards Clara, though he wanted to sprint.

  On his way, he ignored the clapping audience surrounding him, as well as multiple attempts to shake his hand. His focus aimed entirely at Clara, who stared back at him from the bar.

  A mixture of rage, but also desire, fired from her eyes.

  He was no freshman; he recognized the signs.

  Clara just needed to understand him, but for that, she needed to shut up and listen for once in her life.

  When he reached her, he grabbed her elbow and moved her out of the function room, out into the lobby and into the elevator, which he decommissioned with the turn of a key.

  "Let go of me, what are you doing?" complained Clara, "and where did you get the key?"

  "I'm ensuring you don't run off, so you can't refuse to listen to me again, you impossible woman."

  Her jaw dropped, "Let me out. I listened to what you said up their on the podium. You made your excuses and I heard them all. You still earn a living from your father's business though, and I'm afraid that sickens me too much to give you the time of day. Now open the doors and let me out of here." She turned her back to him. "Donations need to be secured, which is far more important to me than stroking your fragile ego."

  "Ego? This isn't about ego dammit, or at least not mine." He swung her around and held her arms while she struggled to break loose. "It's about getting you to listen to something other than your own voice."

  "You didn't actually say that? Get away from me, I won't listen to you because I don't trust a word you say."

  "Why? B
ecause my father left his business to me in his will. Is that a crime now? Or is it a crime even to be related to my father?"

  "Oh go away," Clara tried to turn away from him.

  His spicy cologne, the fullness of his mouth, confused how she felt.

  Fredrick pulled her to see him, holding her chin.

  "Truth is, it's neither of those things, unless your name is Clara James--or should I say, Saint Clara James."

  "Hey," she yanked herself out of his clutches, "I don't claim to be a saint. My issue isn't with your inheritance, it's with your choice to keep it and continue to live off the misery of others! That should be a crime if you ask me."

  He huffed, "The only reason I still own those damn casinos is because my father stipulated in the will that I couldn't close or sell them for ten years."

  Clara frowned, "What?" Her posture softened slightly while she thought, then the rod returned to her back. "No, I don't believe you. You could sell it if you wanted to enough, surely. Your father left you with enough money for the best lawyers on Earth."

  "Don't you think I tried, Clara? I saw every big-shot lawyer in the country and even tried a few from Europe, too. All useless. My father's lawyer closed every loophole." He kicked the elevator door and wished it was his father's face, then shook his head. "Being his son has brought me nothing but scorn, and I never respected my father. Not like you do yours, in spite of everything."

  He wanted to scream but ground his teeth instead, letting his teeth dig into his gum a little as a distraction.

  "You're forgetting all the billions it's brought you. Sure the weight of hard cash is hard on you, huh?"

  Now she was just being rude and bitchy.

  "Are you saying I'm the kind of guy who can be bought off? Do you think money changes everyone it touches? If you do, did I buy you when you accepted huge sums of cash anonymously? You didn't seem too fussed about where it came from then, did you? Or is ignorance bliss?”

  She ground her jaw, "Back when I assumed a donor of such amounts must be a good person, ignorance was bliss. Yes. I thought Anon to be a man of high morals and endless generosity. Not . . ."

  "Not the son of a casino tycoon. Yeah, yeah, I'm tired of this bullshit." He held her cheeks, looking her straight in the eyes, "I live off the earnings from investments I made as soon as I received access to my Father's estate. I sold off everything he owned, all his bonds, and gold. Anything worth a damn, I sold. Fine, I originally invested cash for the sale of items purchased from gambling proceeds, but it's the proceeds of those investments that have paid for my apartment, my car, and our dates. All of the casino profits are sent right back into either your foundation or places like it. It's all I can do for another five years." She struggled to break free so he grabbed her shoulders, continuing to stare into her eyes, "Stop fighting me, Clara. I'm not the bad guy."