Page 2 of The Billionaire Babe

“By marrying me off to some rich businessman who doesn’t care about me at all?” I ask, standing with him, throwing my napkin on my plate.

“Oh, Valerie. Stop being so childish. It is unbecoming,” Abigail scolds me, and I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood.

“Yes, Valerie. That is exactly how I am doing it. Abigail has already added you to the charity committee and scheduled your time accordingly. May I suggest you lose a few pounds. I want you to be perfect for your wedding. Lord knows, you have let yourself go these past few months.” My father scoffs, looking me up and down, his lips curling slightly in disgust. I try to blink through the hurt as my eyesight becomes blurry, not wanting him to see any tears fall. It is like I mean nothing to him anymore. I’m nothing but a pawn in his business strategy, it seems.

I remember a time when he used to look at me adoringly. Bounce me on his knee, take me for ice cream on Sundays. It all changed once I was shipped off to boarding school when my mother died. I came home the next summer and Abigail was here. Nothing has been the same since.

“I don’t want to…”

“Dammit, Valerie!” he shouts, slamming his fist on the table so hard the dishes clash together, and out the corner of my eye, I see Abigail grab her wineglass. Heaven forbid she spills a drop.

My body jolts at the violent outburst, and Bordeaux growls again at my feet, ready to bite his ankles if I need protection. I have heard him yell at others, people in the office or on the phone, but he’s never directed that anger toward me. He usually ignores me, or speaks sharply, but never raises his voice like this.

“Just do as you're damn well told!” Without another word or look my way, he stalks out of his formal dining room and down the hall to his office. I watch the back of him and don’t breathe again until I hear his office door slam.

“Well, Dennis, this glass isn’t going to fill itself.” Abigail motions for Dennis, and he fills her glass for a third time in half an hour. I look over at them and meet Dennis’ gaze. He has been here since I was a kid. My mom hired him. And the look in his eyes is murderous. So I give him a small smile. I don’t want him to worry.

Sitting back down slowly, I take a deep breath as despair crawls up my throat.

“The sea bass was lovely tonight, Dennis,” Abigail says as she places her napkin on the table and stands up. “Good to see you, Valerie. Talk soon.” She smiles like my world didn’t just crumble, and she walks out the door with her glass of wine, leaving me sitting alone at the large timber table.

The familiar feeling is nothing new. The large room is ostentatious, renovated by Abigail. There isn’t anything left of my mother here. Actually, there is nothing left in this house that reminds me of my mother at all.

“Are you alright, Miss Valerie?” Dennis asks quietly as he starts to clear the dishes.

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” I say shakily, looking at him. His face is set, deep concern etched into his brow.

“Your mother wouldn’t have wanted this,” he says as his eyes search mine. I don’t see Dennis much these days because I am very rarely in this house anymore. But I grew up with him, and we both miss my mother.

“I need to figure a way out of this. This can’t be happening…” I’m still reeling in disbelief. My heart still races. I need to think, to strategize. I can’t marry a man I don’t love. And I need to be CEO. Dennis is right, my mother would not have wanted this, and neither do I.

“I know you never defy your father, but maybe on this, you need to. Perhaps George can help?” Giving me a look of support, he picks up the dishes and retreats out of the room. I think about his suggestion. George is the VP of Operations at Van Cleef Corp and the only person still in the company that knew my mother just as well as my father did. He has always been a support to me, and Dennis is right. George can help me figure a way out of this mess.

“How about we go home Bordeaux?” I whisper to my little companion at my feet. Bile rises up my throat as the panic inside me continues to swirl, so I grab my bag, deciding to get out of here.

He said I have a few months. I still have time to turn this around.

2

AJ STEELE

As my fists hit the bag, it’s like music to my ears. My rhythm is good, my mind focused.

“That’s it, my boy!” Marcus, my fight promoter, says as he stalks into the gym. I stop punching and look up, watching his shit-eating grin as he walks toward me.

“What are you doing here?” I grit out. Marcus is not good news. Sure, he has connections, puts together fights, but he pits everyone against each other. His mantra in life: As long as my pocket is lined with cash, I have no allegiance.

“I came to see how you’re training. You're the favorite. I’m putting my money on you. So I want the inside knowledge,” he says, not even trying to hide how underhanded he is.

“We were fucking fine before you walked in the door,” my best friend, Brady, calls out as he comes to my side. The two of us have been friends since we could talk and always have each other's backs.

“Well, I didn’t ask you, Brady, did I? I asked AJ.” Marcus’ condescending manner has Brady lifting his shoulders back, and I slap his chest to stop him throwing a punch to Marcus’ face.

“Just book the fights, Marcus, and leave my fitness up to me.” I roll my own shoulders to relieve the tension building. I am too old for this shit. I started boxing when I was thirteen, and now almost two decades later, my body is sore, and I am sick of dealing with piece-of-shit promoters like Marcus.

“Ahhh, you will beat Rago easily. He was half limping when I saw him this morning. You are the most powerful boxer we have in the mix. It will be easy money.” I have no idea if anything he says is the truth. Maybe my opponent, Rago, is sporting an injury, maybe he isn’t. It doesn’t matter. I learned a long time ago not to focus on anyone else. That just leads to problems. Now I just focus on me.

Brady smirks. “Rago is fucking dead and buried before he even enters the fucking ring. He should just give up now.”

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