The Billionaire's Beginning: A Billionaire Romance

by M. Never

  Jenn came into the picture a little over a year ago. When phase two of the beachfront project was approved, I moved Shane and Chase down south with me to get the logistics underway. Unbeknownst to me, they crossed paths with the biggest thorn in my side the first week they were in town. And to make matters worse, they went and fell in love with her.

  I was in the process of trying to procure her dilapidated property, and she flat out refused to sell. It was a tug of war for months until I finally won out. Not in the most forthcoming of ways, but legal, nonetheless. She’s had a hard time looking past my little stunt ever since.

  But business is business. I’m here to do a job, and I always execute. It's the Winters Travers way.

  A horn blasts, and two surfers run into the ocean. They paddle out and for the next several minutes try to catch as many waves as possible in the timeframe allotted. New Jersey isn't known all too well for its surfing. The waves aren't huge like Hawaii or consistent like Cali, but on a good day, and on the right beach, they roll in large enough to ride. The show this morning is a pretty decent one. Two more heats go off before it's Shane’s turn. He goes head to head with a female surfer who gives him a run for his money.

  He’s been talking about this competition for a month, and from where I'm sitting, he looks at ease on the board and takes advantage of every second in the water. When the heat ends, Jenn jumps up from the blanket and gallops down the beach in her little yellow bikini top and cut-off shorts to meet Shane, with Chase and I ambling behind her. She jumps into his arms just as he drops his board.

  As we get closer to the shoreline, I catch a better look at Shane’s female competitor. My body breaks out into chills as she runs up the beach and her face comes into view. Long, drenched, chestnut hair sticks to her wetsuit, her cheeks are flushed, and her tanned skin is dewy with salt water. Simone jogs right by us with a white board under her arm, and every part of me follows behind her like a piece of dead metal under a magnet. It's undeniable and unstoppable, and my feet move faster than lightning before my brain can even process what I'm doing.

  Fuck me. . .

  3

  Simone

  I feel good.

  Strong, confident, assured. The sun is beating down on my face, the sand is warm under my feet, and the air is fragrant with summer.

  It's an immaculate moment.

  But it's only just that, a moment.

  That's my life, a series of moments. A series of very few good and way too many bad.

  I jog up the beach, past the hordes of spectators and the announcer’s booth to my private tent. It's enclosed with walls and houses a portable shower.

  Privacy for me is of the utmost importance, especially for such public events like these. I love being a part of this charity organization. I love what they stand for and how much they help veterans like me. If my uncle hadn't found them two years ago, I don't know where I’d be.

  But I have my challenges, like so many other wounded warriors. My physical injuries may have healed, but the trauma of the past is still present and as potent as the day the wounds were inflicted.

  Just as I unzip my wetsuit, I'm startled to death by someone barging into my tent. “Jesus Christ!” I literally jump as Ty Winters appears out of thin air.

  Neither of us utters a word as we stare at each other, him looking like preppy perfection with his tousled, copper hair, pink designer Polo shirt and perfectly pressed khaki shorts.

  He doesn't seem all too happy either. There’s a scowl on his handsome face and fight in his sharp green eyes.

  We didn't exactly part ways on the best terms, not that we were ever on good terms due to the tumultuous past of our families’ business ties.

  “I know a sophisticated man like you has manners. Have you suddenly forgotten how to use them?” I demand as he sucks up all the space in the small tent.

  “When I'm around you, I seem to be someone completely different.” He stalks toward me, crowding me into the corner of the tent. My heart punches the inside of my chest from his audacity and proximity.

  “Ty,” I warn.

  “You’ve ruined my life, Simone,” he abruptly announces.

  “Excuse me?” I scoff. “How?”

  “Because I can't get you the fuck out of my head. I think about you when I eat, see you in my dreams, and relive that fucking kiss every goddamn day. You have ruined me.”

  My jaw drops. That kiss on the dance floor was completely out of this world. Connective, cosmic, kismet, if I dare say. I was drawn to Ty Winters the moment I laid eyes on him at the charity fight. But I kept my distance. I do from most people. Especially men. “I didn't realize the great Ty Winters was so easily taken.”

  “He’s not.” Ty wraps his long fingers around my biceps, and I fight not to hyperventilate. “That’s the fucking problem.” He inches in closer to my face, and I move my head back as far as it will go. We become frozen in the awkward stance.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I want to know if you think about me as much as I think about you. If I haunt you the same way you haunt me.”

  I remain silent, terrified of my answer. It's too dangerous to admit out loud.

  Ty scrutinizes me. “Deny it, Simone. Deny I affect you the same way you affect me.” He all but shakes me.

  I bite my tongue.

  I don't want to answer. I don't want to tell him he’s all I’ve thought about the last six months. That I dream about him, too. That that one kiss ruined me, too.

  His green eyes burn as I stand there like a mute.

  “That's what I was hoping.” His tone is victorious, a devious curl tugging at the corner of his lips.

  “I didn't admit to anything.”

  “You didn't have to.” He pulls me into his body, and the air becomes thin.

  “Ty, please.” I press my hands to his chest, his shirt damp from brushing against my wetsuit.

  “Simone, I don't care about your last name or the history our families have—”

  “It isn't that,” I protest. “Whatever happened in the past I wasn’t a part of it. I know nothing about it.”

  “Then what’s the problem? What’s stopping you?” he presses. This is the side of Ty Winters that precedes him. He always gets what he wants, and right now he wants me.

  I fight to breathe. “Ty, I just can't pursue anything with anyone.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You don't know me.”

  “Then let me get to know you. Don't run off and disappear into thin air. I looked for you.” He rattles me. “But Simone Travers doesn’t seem to exist.”

  The sentence is accusatory.

  “That’s because my last name wasn't originally Travers. I only recently changed it,” I explain, hoping it will make him back off. It doesn't. It only makes him hold onto me tighter.

  “Explain.”

  “My father was Alfonzo Travers.”

  “Alfonzo didn't have any children. I would have known. I knew the man my entire life.”

  “Well, I didn't. We were estranged for a long time. My mother was a showgirl in Vegas, which is where she raised me until I was ten. He came back into our lives shortly after your company split. I don't know all the details. Just bits and pieces of what I remember from my father and what my Uncle Joseph told me.”

  Ty studies me as if he is trying to read between the lines of my explanation. He’s looking for lies, but he won't find any.

  “That actually makes a lot of sense. Alfonzo was the whole reason the partnership fell apart. His drinking, his gambling, his mistresses. He was a goddamn mess and nearly took everyone he associated with down with him.”

  “I didn't know him all that well. He died too soon to form a relationship.”

  “Then how did you get tied up in the Travers family? Why change your name now?”

  “Because Joseph stepped in after he found out about me. He became the father I never had. He paid for my education, the house I grew up in, and made sure I understood
that even though we had different last names, we were still family.”

  “That definitely sounds like Joseph. It's amazing those two men shared the same DNA.”

  “I have their DNA, too,” I feel compelled to remind him. The rift between the Travers and Winters is almost as infamous as the War of the Roses. Their corporate meltdown has been used in case studies and taught in textbooks.

  “I don't care. The only thing I care about is picking up where we left off.”

  “You want to fight? Cause we didn't exactly part on the best terms.”

  “I'm not opposed to an enemies-to-lovers story.”

  “We can't be lovers. We can't be anything.”

  “I don't buy that. Our last names aren't going to stop us no matter who opposes.”

  “It’s not your last name that’s stopping me.”

  Questions, concerns, and the challenge of a conquest are evident in Ty’s stern glare.

  “Then what the fuck is stopping you? We have a connection, and it doesn't seem to be dying out anytime soon.”

  “It's so much more complicated than that.”

  “That doesn't explain a damn thing, Simone. I want you. You want me. The simple addition adds up.”

  My eyes start to burn with tears. “Nothing about me is simple. Please let go.” I jerk in his grasp. He hesitates for a beat before reluctantly releasing me.

  “I'm not scared of a challenge. I'm not scared of anything.” Ty yanks on his collar. “And I'm sure as hell not going to let you get away again. Whatever your hang-ups are, they aren't going to scare me away.”

  Apt choice of words, because when he finds out what my hang-ups are, I can guarantee he’ll go running. Just like the one before him. The ghost of my past.

  “Why don't we just end it here?” I try to persuade him. “You tracked me down. You found out my story. Case closed. Go your way and I'll go mine. It will be better for everyone involved.”

  Ty shakes his head vehemently. “That's complete bullshit. I found out one-fourth of your story. It's not enough. I want it all. The whole damn thing.” He leans in close, and I catch a whiff of his expensive cologne. Now that there’s some breathing room between us, my senses are working properly again. I can evaluate and recognize my surroundings without feeling like I'm going to pass out.

  “Ty,” I begin to argue.

  “Simone, don't.” He presses a finger to my lips. “You won't win. I found you. I want you, and I'm going to have you. Even if it takes me a lifetime.”

  I'm rendered speechless.

  “You’re not going to want me. I can guarantee it,” I speak against the pad of his finger.

  “I already do. My mind's made up.”

  “Want is a fickle thing.”

  “So much negativity. That gets you nowhere.” He drops his hand from my mouth and takes a step back. “I presume you’re going to the gala tonight.”

  “Of course. I am a huge part of this organization.”

  “Perfect. I'll pick you up at seven-thirty. We’ll go together, and you can tell me another part of your story.”

  “Ty, I don't think—”

  “You don't need to think, gorgeous. That's what I'm here for.”

  I cross my arms and glare at him. “Are you serious right now?”

  He smiles brilliantly. “Only half. And fuck, I love that fire.” Before I realize it, he swoops in and pilfers a kiss. It’s quick, but passion-filled and full of unspoken promises and terrifying desires.

  I nearly sway on my feet from the dizzying display of affection.

  “Are you staying at the Tradewinds Hotel?”

  “How did you know?” I question.

  “It's the only five-star hotel in the area. I took a stab in the dark.”

  “It's very nice.”

  “I know. I own it. See you at seven-thirty.” He disappears out of the tent like he owns it.

  And the sand he walks on.

  And me.

  Fuck, he may definitely own me.

  4

  Ty

  I'm fucking nervous.

  I haven't felt nervous because of a girl since junior high. And even then, the unease was minimal. But Simone has an unexplainable effect on me. Her name alone sends shivers down my spine and blood surging to the head of my dick.

  She’s seduction wrapped in an enigmatic package. And if there’s one thing I love, it’s puzzles. I love the challenge, and the sweet taste of satisfaction once I figure them out. Once I dominate.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking of the word dominate right now cause it's taking on a whole new meaning as I watch Simone float into the lobby in a black, form-fitting, one-sleeved dress. Holy ever-loving shit. Every curve she has is on display.

  It's a challenge to swallow since my throat is drier than bone and the rampant desire is overtaking my body. Do we have to go to this event? Maybe I can persuade her to go back upstairs and put on a strip show. Jesus, I would kill to watch her peel that clingy material deliberately off her skin.

  Wishful thinking.

  “Hi,” she greets me with a wry smile and her head held high. There is just something about the way she carries herself that is undeniably attractive.

  I brush the tip of my finger through her chestnut hair as a pitiful excuse to touch her. “You look. . . there are no words.”

  She smiles, but it's sad. “Thank you.”

  I want to know what that response is all about, but instead of strong-arming it out of her, I'm going to chip away at her secrets little by little. I'm in no rush to find out what they are. We have all the time in the world ’cause she isn't going anywhere. Ever again.

  I'm going to see to that.

  “Ready?” I put my arm out to escort her to the car. If I'm anything, it's a gentleman. When I want to be.

  The drive to the banquet hall is quiet but not uncomfortable. It isn't until we walk into the heavily decorated room arm in arm that tensions rise.

  There are many of the same faces from the charity competition along with some new ones. Two being my father and Joseph Travers. It’s extremely rare that Winters and Travers ever attend the same event, let alone tolerate each other under the same roof.

  Blood is bad, but I'm not concerned with past issues tonight. Tonight, all that matters is the woman on my arm. The gorgeous creature that is as mysterious as she is strong and is the envy of every person here.

  All eyes are on us, especially my father’s and Joseph's. My father hides his curiosity and disapproval much better than Joseph. The short, bald man in the expensive suit is wearing his scowl proudly. I feel the unease radiating from Simone, but I'll protect her from the backlash at all costs. Neither my father nor Joseph’s disapproval intimidates me.

  Simone leans into me and whispers, “Maybe this isn't such a good idea.”

  “Nonsense. Let them stew. Their hang-ups have nothing to do with us.”

  “Don't they?” She lifts her bewitching, brown eyes up to meet mine.

  “Fuck ’em,” I shoot her argument down. “Fuck everyone who has a problem with this.” I kiss her cheek, blatantly displaying my intentions.

  “Your father and my uncle may be the least of our problems.”

  “You’re not going to scare me away. So, stop trying.”

  “It may just be inevitable.” She chews on her bottom lip.

  I study her features. “Why count us out before we even get started?”

  “Because you know nothing about me.”

  “So, enlighten me. I'm eager to know everything about you.” I tug her a little closer.

  “It's not all pretty.”

  “No one’s story ever is.” I take her hand and lead her to the dance floor. “If we’re gonna talk, I want to touch you.”

  “Ty.” My name spills off her lips solemnly, but she doesn't protest dancing with me. I slide my hand across the back of her waist, pull her flush against my chest, and press my cheek to hers. We’re so close not even air could sneak between our bodies.

  “
So, tell me, how did you get involved with the vets organization?” I ask as we sway slowly to a sappy John Mayer song.

  “I'm a vet.”

  “You were in the military?”

  “Mmm-hmm. I was a medic.”

  “Did you fly in helicopters?” I inquire, intrigued.

  I feel her smile. “Yes.”

  “That’s badass.”

  “I loved it.”

  “You’re done?” I lean back to look at her.

  “I was medically discharged. Two years ago. It was difficult to accept my career was over.” Simone presses herself back against me, burying her face in my neck as if hiding.

  “What do you do now?” I keep the conversation going, eager for any morsel of information I can draw from her.

  “Volunteer at a hospital in Charlotte. In the emergency room. I like the environment.”

  “A bit tumultuous, no?”

  “Yes. And never a dull moment. It keeps me on my toes. I have a nursing degree, so it lets me utilize my skills with no commitments.”

  “Are you afraid of commitment?” I fish.

  “I didn't used to be. But my life changed dramatically when I got out. I'm not the same person I was.”

  “I like the person I'm dancing with right now,” I murmur.

  “You don't know anything about me,” she persists with the same old argument.

  “Yes, you keep saying that. But I beg to differ. I know you grew up in Las Vegas. Your mother was a showgirl. You like MMA fights. You can surf. You’re dedicated to this organization. You’re smart, strong, and if I broke a bone, you could fix me.” I grin down at her proudly. I pay attention.

  “I could splint you, but without plaster, you're up shit’s creek without a paddle.”

  “I accept those odds.” I drop my forehead to hers and inhale her flowery scent. Mmmm. Being with Simone is too easy. Too inviting. I inch my mouth closer to hers, the movement as natural as breathing.

  “Ty,” she utters my name just as our lips meet. It's a chemical reaction. A slow, soft kiss that charges with heat. Trapping her face with my hands, I deepen the embrace. I’ve dreamed incessantly about kissing this woman again, and it's every bit as insane and irrational and amazing as it was six months ago.