The Billon Dollar Catch: A BWWM Billionaire Romance Novel Page 3

  The secretary had told the truth, and it was a harsh truth. She had banked on this agency and nothing else, banked on intuition, banked on the whole “I have a good feeling about this.” This opportunity was supposed to be her ticket to earning a significant amount of money for her master’s degree and living expenses. She looked around, seeing people engrossed in their own thoughts; some were laughing with companions, and some were kissing and talking on their phones.

  Sierra suddenly missed her family, her home, her town. It had only been twenty-four hours since she had left. Whatever happened to her whole go-getter attitude? She had told herself that day one would be busy, and whatever modeling work Vanessa found for her, she would be totally game for it. She fought off the urge to call her mother, just to hear her voice. She arrived at her apartment, a rickety-looking, twenty-four-year-old building. Her neighbors were loud; someone was screaming about children and bills. Sierra did her best to block out the noise by making herself a sad dinner of pork and beans. This was not good for her health or for her figure. Tomorrow, she could apply at other modeling agencies; she did have her portfolio with her, a hastily taken one from Rushport. She had seen modeling portfolios online and realized hers looked so understated, so boring. She hoped the agencies wouldn’t find her images boring. Vanessa had certainly been keen on having her. That must have meant something.

  This was just a minor setback, she repeated to herself. She looked at the cracked, full-length mirror across from her, willing for something good to happen to her. She wasn’t that dull to look at, right? She was doubting herself already, just because her supposed good luck charm didn’t work out. Then she shook her head and continued eating her canned dinner.

  ***

  It had been seven days since he had broken up with Denise. It wasn’t easy, Ben realized. Breaking up was never easy. And he was always the one that broke off the relationships first. They’d had lunch and then he had brought her back to her office.

  She had lingered for a kiss from him. And then realized he wasn’t going to give her any.

  “Ben? Is something the matter?” Denise asked.

  “Denise, I don’t think this is working out.”

  “Are you breaking up with me?” her tone rose. “You’re breaking up with me just because I mentioned marriage?”

  “Yes,” he’d admitted hesitantly. He prided himself on being honest like that, though.

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “Why not? You assumed we’d get married?” Ben said quizzically.

  “You said you loved me,” Denise spat out.

  “Well, I do. But I’m just—I don’t see us together.”

  “You’re afraid of commitment,” she accused him.

  “You’re not the one for me, and I’m not the one for you, it’s as simple as that,” Ben reasoned.

  “And this ugly monster of a thought came the moment I mentioned weddings and marriage?” Denise gasped. “I can’t believe you’re this much of an asshole.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m telling you the truth.”

  “You led me on.”

  “I didn’t,” Ben insisted. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

  “People date other people because they see a future together.”

  “People date other people as a test run,” Ben snapped.

  Denise shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re comparing me to your car shit. We’re two adult people, and we got together because we’re compatible.”

  “We aren’t. We have nothing in common.”

  “I just don’t know anything about cars!” Denise cried out. “I’m not a car; I’m your girlfriend.”

  “Denise, I don’t know what else to say. I’ve said what I wanted to say,” Ben said, sounding tired.

  She walked up to him and slapped his face, hard. A streak of red ran down his cheek. “Get out of my office,” she seethed, “I hope you never find anyone. You treat women like shit.”

  He had walked out without saying a word. Funny how two days could still bear the brunt of a woman’s ire. His cheek had kept a faint bruise. He had thought about what she’d said, and he felt a little sorry for Denise, but he knew that he was going to be sorry if he went with the flow. She’d expect to move in with him, expect a three-carat ring and kids in less than a year. It was all too much for him. There were still so many things to see in this world, so many things to do, and so many people to meet.

  The idea of soulmates did not resonate with Ben. He had seen enough of what his father had done to his mother, a woman that many men would have killed for. His mother was his father’s soulmate, according to his vows to her nearly twenty-eight years ago. She was his soulmate, until the senior Eriksson had found someone younger, more carefree, and liberated. And then he found another. And that was how his parents’ supposed fairytale marriage had come to a halt.

  It was strange. Despite the fact that his father had partially damaged Ben’s youth, he still loved his father and respected him. At least, that was how he felt for his father. And he loved his mother even more for her resilience in the face of the destruction of her marriage. How could someone carry so much respect for his father even if he had done the worst thing a married man could do? Sleep with not just one, but four other women.

  Out of the four, Ben had gotten two younger half-siblings. He met with these younger siblings once in a while, two younger brothers who looked just like their father. They used to sleep over at their father’s townhouse every weekend, until his stroke happened.

  Claus Eriksson had provided his children every living comfort imaginable. At least he did not go wrong with that. Even if he had long stopped the affairs and tried to mend the error of his ways, the lifestyle he had lived ricocheted back to him. No one mentioned it aloud, but everyone who knew what a scandal it was, what a pain it was for Grace Cooper Eriksson.

  Ben had taken it in stride and well, for a teenager. He had dealt with it as best as he could. There was minimal angst involved, and no acting out was required. There was no use to be negative to both parents, especially to a father he idolized. It would have made things worse if he had picked sides or criticized his parents’ decisions. So he did well in school, spent time with both parents, and made friends and acquaintances who were useful to his life. He had kept a few close friends, but those friends were quite far away from him now.

  Ben coasted along relationships. It wasn’t with ease. It was more of a need in him to have companionship; a pretty face that went along with the companionship was a plus. There was some fear in him, but he refused to acknowledge it. He probably wasn’t ready yet, that was all, right? Who in the hell would have a need for marriage when things were alright? He didn’t want to mess things up even more. But he’d messed up with Denise. Wait, correction, she messed him up.

  The mere mention of weddings and children sent panic alarms ringing through his head. It was a fight-or-flight stimulus, and flight won like it always did when it came to relationships. He had loved her at some point, but it wasn’t enough and he knew it. It was a cycle, a cycle he found difficult to break. Every time things got too serious, he flew the coop.

  His mother had been badgering him to find a nice girl and settle down; even his father’s mother, grand old Ingrid Eriksson, agreed with this. It was also a funny story, how Ingrid Eriksson remained close to her daughter-in-law, Grace, despite the separation with her son, Claus.

  “Your father was an imbecile for cheating on your mother,” Ingrid had told a twelve-year-old Ben the day he had first seen his mother cry hysterically.

  Ben didn’t want to be an imbecile and cheat on his wife when he had found other women who could satisfy his wandering eye temporarily. His father had been right to marry Grace; she was beautiful, worked hard, and was a sweet person. Yet, even his mother’s qualities couldn’t satisfy his father. How would that go well for him? His whole life, he had been unsure about his relationships with other women. He had dated extremely younger, nubile women. He ha
d also dated older women who were equally voracious. He had dated the daughters of millionaires, dated royalty, and dated independent-minded business women (Denise was one), but it didn’t hold on to his ego.

  Just when you think you’ve found the one, she always has something that annoys the shit out of you, he told himself, remembering Denise. Did she really have to ruin something so good? The mere mention of marriage shattered all that he had felt for her. These girls were always so needy, always looking for reassurance, always dreaming about marriage and having kids, the instant they saw his attention was solely on them. He was no serial cheater. He always broke it off before he cavorted with someone else. That was because of the respect he had retained for his mother and for his grandmother, two women who had had a good hold on his behavior the moment they got wind of it.

  He moved his jaw a little, feeling a bit of pain radiate from the slap. He had been slapped before, had been called an asshole. But hey, he was honest. Didn’t that count? He didn’t waste his time any longer than she would have. How could Denise say he was leading her on? He had wanted to work on their relationship on a day-to-day basis, just like how he planned the cars that rolled out of Orion’s factories. A day-to-day basis worked for him; it gave him time to assess things, like how he felt for Denise. And the day she mentioned marriage, his assessment was over.

  Couldn’t she have waited until he wanted to take that step? Why was she in such a hurry? Denise was almost perfect–his mother approved of her immensely, and so did his grandmother. He shook his head, irritated at the thought of remembering Denise. Why in the hell was he thinking about her now? He should be concentrating on work.

  His mother and grandmother wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily for breaking up with a potential daughter-in-law. And what was it with those two women in his life, always wanting grandchildren? It was annoying. Couldn’t he have just paid someone to date him for a while so they’d leave him alone?

  Chapter3

  Sierra bolted awake. Her phone had been ringing off the hook.

  She had been in deep sleep, deep in a dream where she had been talking to her mother. Her mother had asked her how she was. Sierra had launched into an elaborate lie, telling Tasha that her life had been wonderful the moment she had stepped into New York City. Then she realized she had been talking into her phone for an hour and that its battery had been long dead.

  “H’llo,” she mumbled groggily.

  “Girl, you rang?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

  “Who—?” she forced herself to sit up from her uncomfortable bed.

  “It’s Tyrone,” the voice on the other line said with a laugh.

  “Tyrone,” Sierra cleared her throat. “Dang, what time is it?”

  “It’s time to get yo butt off of that bed and start workin’,” Tyrone told her.

  Sierra sighed. “Ty, I lost my chance.”

  “Lost your what?”

  “The agency that was supposed to hire me closed three days ago.”

  There was silence on his end for a few seconds. “Oh, so you came to the Big Apple for nothing?”

  Sierra shook her head. “Damn it, Tyrone. Couldn’t you at least have given some words of comfort? I’m alone, I’m almost broke—”

  “I’m sorry sweetie, but I kinda assumed you’d go places.”

  “I did. About fifteen blocks,” Sierra said glumly.

  Tyrone laughed aloud then immediately quieted. “Well, you’re a pretty face. You’ll find a job.”

  “I could go back to Rushport. I still have enough money for a one-way ticket—”

  “And face failure? Honey, I left Rushport to be someone big. I haven’t gone back even if I haven’t been big. I’m still busting my boo-tay to be someone, and it’s been five years since I left. Let your pride talk to you for once. You’re here for a reason.”

  “I was selfish; I only thought about myself,” Sierra told him.

  “Isn’t that a good thing? You know what you want.”

  “Maybe Mom and Dad were right.”

  “About what? That it wasn’t a good idea for you to move away and try to make a difference in your life? You told me before that you were going to start your master’s here. Use that smart brain of yours to do what you want.”

  “I’m alone here.”

  “And you’re afraid of that? Make friends, dammit.”

  “You’re my friend.”

  “Honey, I can’t be with you all the time,” Tyrone sassed her. “So you better get your boo-tay up and about to look for work.”

  “I need your help,” Sierra found herself saying, even if she didn’t want to. The things that people did when they were desperate…

  “Of course I’ll help you. Imma need some sleep first. My shift ended at five today,” Tyrone said with a yawn. “I’ll get back to you in a few. In the meantime, you get yourself outta bed and try to find a job, all right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ll call you later.”

  Tyrone ended the call quickly. In her worry about her current jobless state, she had forgotten Tyrone worked two jobs. One was as a hairdresser and the other, on the weekend, was as a server in a yuppies bar. She remembered Tyrone as a middle schooler; he had been out of the closet and was proud of his sexuality. It was a rare occurrence in a town such as theirs. Tyrone was loud and dressed louder.

  He had dated an older black man, and that was the last straw for his father, who had died of a heart attack the moment he’d found out. Tyrone had attended the funeral and set off for New York an hour after the senior Mitchell had been buried, changing from a plain black suit to flashy tights and a tank top with military boots.

  She liked Tyrone because he was honest and a rare gem. True, they had a strange friendship, but Sierra and Tyrone had hung out as often as they could when he’d still lived in Rushport; they were neighbors, after all. Tyrone had booked the apartment she was staying in. She had asked him to find the cheapest place he could, and Tyrone did not disappoint. Everything screamed cheap and almost contagious.

  This was a far cry from the little comforts she’d had back in Rushport. They weren’t a rich family, but her father did his best to provide for them. Asking her parents to support her was something she could never imagine doing, even if she was lying in a gutter, sleeping on newspapers.

  She finally got up, remembering she had day-old bread to eat for this morning and some marmalade from yesterday as well. She ate it quickly and drank water to force the stale bread down her gullet.

  This isn’t so bad, she told herself, nothing I can’t handle.

  She planned to buy groceries that night, noticing a discount for some food products when it was nearing closing time. She still had money to spare for food and rent for another few days. That wasn’t too bad. She remembered she had printed out her resume, a few copies of it, aside from her photo portfolio. She had splurged a bit on that, and she winced, remembering the price. It was something she slightly regretted.

  Sierra held on to Ms. Chesterton’s appraisal. She had thought she was beautiful, but Sierra knew there was something more to being a model than just being beautiful. So Sierra worked on her brain. The opportunity of a short-cut to her goals came with Vanessa’s proposal. She had taken the positive judgement blindly. She had truly believed she was beautiful enough to model.

  There’s the ego for you, she told herself sardonically as she dried her hair with a thin towel. Fall had begun, and while she was used to cold temperatures, having a busted heater wouldn’t help with her survival in New York.

  Thirty minutes later, with a carefully made face that looked au naturale, Sierra set off to find a job. Five hours later, she realized it was no walk in Central Park. Some had said she was over-qualified, some asked her why she didn’t become a model instead, and others laughed and said she could apply as a mannequin for the high-end retailers.

  She had graduated with a degree in Human Resource Management, and yet, here she was, unable to get a job of her own. She had
walked in flats, which was a good thing, or she would have never survived the job hunt. She ate a bagel for lunch, which was filling. At that moment, Sierra didn’t care about her weight or the cellulite on her thighs. She was starving but had to keep her budget in check.

  Why did it take so long for the clock to strike eight-thirty? Then she could march into the grocery store and hoard some food. Tyrone was probably still asleep, and she had been checking her phone constantly to hear from him, a product of her renewed anxiety with joblessness. Was she beginning to doubt herself? She thought about applying at a modeling agency the following day, and that meant walking around wearing heels and with a fresh face. She needed rest tonight so she could look nice tomorrow.

  Sierra had gotten home at a quarter past nine in the evening, with a paper bag full of food. She plopped down on the bed and closed her eyes. She was about to drift off to sleep when she realized she hadn’t taken her makeup off. With a groan, she stood up and reached for a makeup cleanser towelette. She slowly took off the makeup, determined to look pretty tomorrow without so much as powder on her face.

  A few minutes after cleaning herself up, she crawled for her bed and pulled the threadbare covers around her body. She fell asleep in a heartbeat.

  ***

  The following day, Sierra woke up at six in the morning, determined to track down modeling agencies that were hiring. She hoped these were legit agencies, as she listed the ones that were closest to her apartment first. She looked at the exclusive modeling agencies addresses longingly, wondering if she could just march in get and get hired in an instant. She could try, she told herself. She had the confidence. She probably didn’t have the Victoria’s Secret appeal, but there were millions of other fashion brands that would most likely hire her.

  She hoped her head wasn’t too high up the clouds. She was only out to help herself survive. She couldn’t count on anyone but herself anyway. She had limited choices and would make the best out of it.