Page 16 of Faking It with my Small Town Billionaire

He cocked an eyebrow, pouring cream into his coffee. “I hardly think the great Orson Donovan needs my advice.”

“Oh, well, then you’re going to love what I have to tell you,” I said conspiratorially.

I wish I had videoed his face because he must have used every expression known to man as I told him what I was doing. There was shock, amazement, confusion—but more than all the other emotions, disbelief was the one he expressed the most.

When I finished, he heaved a sigh. “Maybe I can arrange for your grandfather to have a little accident,” he joked. Being Italian, Jake always fantasized about his family having some connections to the mafia.

I smiled and shook my head. “Knowing the old goat, he’d survive just to spite me.”

Jake burst into laughter, and I joined him.

He took a sip of his coffee and looked at me over the rim of his cup. “So, you’re going through with it. You’re going to speak to the whole town?”

“I am,” I said, not feeling quite as confident as I sounded.

“Good.”

I was surprised by his reply and showed it.

“I think it will be cathartic for you, Orson. You never had anything to prove back then, just like you don’t now. But maybe your grandfather has a point.”

“You think I’m a coward, too?” I blurted.

He shook his head. “Not at all. I do think you have unfinished business, though. That town gave your family a really hard time, and if I’m honest, I’m surprised you’re as put together as you are.”

“It’s all a mask,” I joked.

Jake didn’t laugh. In fact, he looked at me like I’d just hit a nail on the head with a hammer I didn’t even realize I was wielding.

“You think I’m faking it?” I gasped.

“We’re all faking it, Orson. Look around you.” Jake made a wide gesture. “No one has it all together. No one. Not me, not you, not even Lily Harper. What’s she like now, by the way?”

I struggled to come up with an answer right away, and then Jake grinned at me. “That cute, huh? Well, she always was a pretty girl.”

“She’s one of my clients,” I said, defending an argument that had not yet been made.

“No. Willow Creek is your client,” Jake countered, that knowing smile dancing at the side of his mouth.

“We’re going off the subject. What do you mean, cathartic?”

When we finished our coffee, I was a little wiser than when we started. Jake talked about the psychological effect of what we’d both experienced and how that presented in our lives. For us, it drove us forward to succeed. Other people who had suffered the same were not so lucky.

Then he hit me with forgiveness. Something I balked at immediately.

“It’s not for them, Orson. It’s for you,” he had said. “Carrying this anger around at people who’ve done you harm is like drinking poison and thinking the other person will die. You’re only hurting yourself.”

I know he had a point, but I don’t know how ready I am for that yet. He did say it wasn’t easy. Now there’s a shock.

When I walked into the gym at my old school where ghosts of my past still lingered, I was armed with a little more knowledge than before, and undoubtedly, it helped. I’m not a man who lacks confidence; I couldn’t have gotten this far without it. But Jake was right. We all wear masks.

Lily watched me warily from the back of the gym. I smiled at her once or twice. She worries too much. If she isn’t careful, she’s going to get premature wrinkles on that pretty forehead of hers.

Two days later, I’m sitting in my office, going through the numbers, when my phone rings. I look at the caller ID and roll my eyes. I could ignore it, but he’ll just keep calling. Begrudgingly, I press the green icon.

“Hello, Pops.”

“Orson,” he replies. “I need to see you at the house.”

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