Confessions Of A Billionaire 1 (2 page)

“Are you ok?” the man asked looking at Madison. “Are you ok? Did any get on your skin? Are you burned?”

Madison looked the man over. “Oh my God, look at your suit, I’ve ruined your suit.” Madison felt like such an idiot, who literally runs into a store?

They were both speaking at once until finally the cups were picked up. Madison was apologizing profusely while the man dismissed her apologies.

“Let me buy you replacements at least, and I will pay for your dry cleaning. The lady right next door does a great job and she knows who I am.” She couldn’t slow down her speech and the man seemed just as quick to push her apologies aside.

“It’s really not necessary, I have an appointment so I really don’t have time. Really,” he took the empty cups from her hand. “I wasn’t paying attention, it’s not your fault.” He took the cups, gave a half-hearted smile in her direction, and then was gone. She watched him leave before she walked slowly into the shop—there were at least ten people getting their morning coffee and Madison could tell that they’d all witnessed the coffee catastrophe. She picked up some napkins and wiped coffee off the raincoat and the part of her exposed pants it might have hit. She was wet from the rain anyway so it made little difference.

She kept the large jacket on with the hood up as she stood in line hoping she might be able to get both coffees without really being seen.

Chapter 2

Connor was mad at himself, he’d spent the morning preoccupied and now he was covered in coffee and a caffeine headache was just around the corner. He was on his way to D.C. for negotiations his father had put him in charge of. So far, they were not going well.

His driver had just merged onto 95 South and traffic was getting thick.

“Madeline,” Connor had his cell on speaker. “I’m running late—can you push the meeting by an hour and would you have coffee waiting for Ms. Lambert and me?” Connor ended the call.

“If you call me Ms. Lambert while we’re alone one more time, I will have to resign my services with you.”

“Sorry—Rita.”

“That’s better,” Rita gave Connor a pearly smile. She smelled like Hermes, her suit was Chanel, her teeth had been whitened, every hair was exactly in place, not a scuff on a shoe or a mark on her face. She would make some man a very good wife one day. He looked out of the tinted car window at the rest of the morning commuters. The smell of her perfume wasn’t helping the oncoming headache.

“So you like to sail?” she asked uncrossing and re-crossing her legs.

“What makes you think that?” Connor was trying to be polite, he could really use a little silence to get his thoughts together.

“I thought your father said something about a sailing trip.”

So it was his father that thought this was a good idea—not that she was a great lawyer, but a shiny new present that might make a good addition to the family collection.

“I don’t sail,” Connor replied with a partial truth.

“Your father sai—“

“Sometimes he gets me mixed up with my younger brother.” He turned his head back to the window, mentally urging her to be quiet.

When the hired car went through security and pulled up to the rather unassuming building, Connor stepped out. Madeline was standing at the front entrance waiting to meet them with two coffees and a folder in hand.

“Good trip?” Madeline asked, raising her eyebrows. Madeline had been Connor’s assistant for the last seven years. She was twice his age but nothing like his parents. She knew everything about him and she was well aware of how a drive into DC with Rita Lambert might be trying on his patience.

“Lots of traffic,” he said in an almost hostile manner. “Sorry,” he apologized for his tone of voice. “Thank you for the coffee.” And he was thankful. More than he probably should be.

When they walked into the lobby, Madeline led him to a side room where a fresh shirt and tie were waiting for him. He would still smell like coffee but maybe they would think it was some new quirky aftershave. The thought made him smile. He had to relax; this wouldn’t go well if he went in with his shoulders around his ears.

“Would you tell Ms. Lambert to wait for me by the elevators?”

Madeleine walked out of the room and Connor took a long sip of coffee. Had he been harsh with that girl? He couldn’t remember. He just remembered tons of apologizing and a giant blue raincoat. She was probably some high schooler who had cried after he’d left. Connor mentally kicked himself for not paying more attention.

His father bulldozed people all the time, never apologized, always came off harsh, and was totally unaware of the effect he had on people. Connor was determined not to be like his father. Money was not going to be Connor’s life work and only passion.

The clean shirt and tie made him feel better. When he put his dirty clothes on a small table pushed against the wall he noticed a small bottle of his usual cologne. Madeline truly thought of everything—it was about time that woman got another raise. He gave himself a spritz, took a deep breath, and left the room.

~

Connor considered himself a serviceable businessman. He wasn’t highly affected either way, which made him a better negotiator. His disinterest was offensive to his father but that didn’t bother Connor.

He had a passion for the inner workings of the business that six generations of Brooks men had worked so hard to grow. Connor often thought of his distant relatives who had cultivated the land, worked the vines, and harvested grapes. The men that came before the Middle Loire wine had become big business. At some point it must have been about the work, the pride of being a large property owner, and the beauty of living and working in Anjou.

The business negotiations had gone exactly according to plan. There would be no deficit to the Brooks’ earnings either way. Connor sat back in his home office. He tried to work from home whenever possible, mostly to stay out of his father’s way. Simon Brooks could be a real jackhammer when he wanted to be.

A glass of his own family wine sat next to his computer, his tie and jacket thrown over a chair. He was exhausted. Fending off a woman like Rita all day, making negotiations that his father would approve of, and otherwise have a real wreck of a day.

“Excuse me, young Mr. Brooks is here to see you,” security called through telephone intercom system.

“Send him on up,” Connor spoke into the speaker.

Connor’s brother Émeric was one of his favorite people in the world. There was no one who could understand the trials and tribulations of being a Brooks’ heir better than he could. Walking in, Émeric was wearing one of his amazingly put together suits. There may be no other man in the DMV (DC, Maryland, and Virginia) area as dapper as his brother.

“Slogging away are you?” Émeric was just as handsome as his brother with paler skin, clear blue eyes, and a softer, more feminine face.

“Not anymore,” Connor got up and hugged his brother. He hadn’t seen him since his brother had gotten back from a month long trip around Europe to do some winery reconnaissance. “You hungry?”

“No, but I know you are.” Connor laughed. His brother was much thinner and notoriously out of an appetite while Connor had a good thirty pounds on him and seemed to have a healthy appetite.

They ended up at a small pub just down the road from Connor’s incredible four-story home. He liked that he could just jump down the road and suddenly no one knew who he was, and nobody cared. He came to the pub for dinner more often than he liked to admit.

“How was your trip?”

“Long, exhausting, and magical,” Émeric said in his usual way.

“You met someone?”

“When don’t I meet someone?” Émeric turned to look at his brother. “Actually I did meet someone in particular… Italian, brown curly hair, the best laugh you’ve ever heard.”

“And…”

“And, he might be the one.”

Connor tried to read his brother’s face, “Is it dad?”

“He would disinherit me,” Émeric’s face got rosy. Connor’s brother had told his family that he was gay when he was getting his MBA from Harvard. His father had gone into a ridiculous rage. Simon and Émeric hadn’t talked for four months afterward. When Connor and his mother finally persuaded both parties to do a nice Christmas together, no one had mentioned the incident. In fact, no one had mentioned it since. Connor tried to brooch the subject with his father a few times but he’d been stonewalled and had to give up.

“I can’t hide who I am. I won’t hide who I am.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Connor exhaled loudly trying to think for the millionth time what to do with a father who would exile his own son for being different.

“You know I would never let him disinherit you, or kick you out of the business in any way. You’ve done more for this business already then I ever will. Dad has you to thank for a seven hundred million dollar deal last fall.”

Émeric smiled, “Thank you.” He made a loud dramatic sigh, “I don’t want to talk about it any more it will only make me upset.”

The two brothers sat in silence for a while, Connor eating his fish and chips and Émeric picking at a large side of steamed vegetables that Connor would probably end up finishing in the end.

“What about you?” Émeric asked.

“What about me?”

“A lady, someone special, worthy of notice?”

Connor sat back and ran his hands through his hair. “I haven’t met anyone. The only women I meet are money mongers, or women dad tries to send in my path, or ones that know nothing about me, have really nothing interesting about them but are ready to marry me and settle into a cozy little castle in Monaco.”

“A castle in Monaco does sound nice.”

Connor was happy to see his brother smile. “I was thinking,” he began.

“Thinking what?”

“I was thinking about doing some online dating. Maybe be a regular Joe for a while.”

Émeric looked at him for a long moment, “I think—that is the best idea you’ve had in a long time. At least you might get laid.”

“I have no problem getting laid. I’m more interested in finding someone different. Someone I can talk to. Someone I actually
like
.”

Chapter 3

“I just want to give it one more date before I’m sure,” Madison said to Willow. The morning sun spilled in through the large panes of glass meant to act as barriers between them and the outside world.

“You mean be sure that you
don’t
like him?” Willow was wearing purple-rimmed glasses today. She seemed to enjoy looking over the top of them whenever asking a question.

“Right,” Madison could see the strangeness of her plan. “He’s nice, and he rock climbs, and he’s fit—he’s a podiatrist…”

“That would be convenient.”

Madison gave Willow a dubious look.

“Especially for your clients,” Willow said assuredly. “I also have been having this foot issue, runs in my family, it will probably turn into a hammer toe one day.”

“Maybe you should date him.”

Willow and Madison both laughed.

“I’m starting to feel like it might be me and not the guys. Maybe I’m too picky. I mean…this is the second guy I’ve been out on a date with. I’m just not sure there’s anything there though,” Madison said.

“And you’re not attracted to him?” Willow asked as if she weren’t paying any attention to the member she was checking in right in front of her. Madison smiled and waited for the member to walk past before continuing.

“I don’t know what it is. He’s really good looking, and my type, what I think is my type anyway, he seems to be a good person,” Madison frowned as she looked out the front window.

“You’re not required to like someone, you know?”

“Willow the wise, you are absolutely right,” Madison said as she returned to the training office. “But I think,” she stopped for a moment, “I will go out with him one more time, just to be sure that I don’t.”

She walked down the hall and into the office. The computer was on and every time she walked in, it started calling her toward the screen. She didn’t have a client for another half hour. Madison considered walking out of the office but instead she sat down in front of the wildly moving screen saver. She moved the mouse to wake the system up and pulled up a plain search page.

She typed,
Benjamin Whitaker Fresno CA

She hit enter. The usual things popped up, the things she already knew about. A published piece in grad school, Water Purification: New Ramifications in 2009, a few pictures of him playing water polo during college. Then information on a mess of other Benjamin Whitakers. Madison felt the panic in her chest as she typed new search terms.

Benjamin Whitaker and Tiffany Bembenek Wedding

When she hit enter this time there were new results. Her heart immediately began to sink and a vague outward flowing anxiety began building in her chest.

Benjamin Whitaker and Tiffany Bembenek Wedding Registry on theknot.com

…and below that:

BenjaminWhitakerTiffanyBembenekWedding.com

Everything told her that this was a bad idea to go any further, but she wanted to know. She needed to know. Maybe if she really saw it, without any pretense or diffusing language, then maybe it would sink in.

She was in the website with one click.

There was a picture of them standing together with his arm over her shoulders. They were smiling out to the camera and something inside Madison began to slip away.

The story of how they met was next to their picture. They met at a bar, where he ate a pencil and she had nice cleavage. What did that even mean? How do you eat a pencil? It was probably some sort of strange inside joke. She wanted to put them down in her mind but it was only jealousy consuming her.

Her body sank deeper and deeper into the rickety office chair. The story goes on to say that he proposed to her on May 2
^nd
. His birthday, Madison knew automatically.

The year before she’d been the one celebrating his birthday. In their house—that they owned together—with their dog Bruno who now belonged to another woman.