Page 1 of The Billionaire Benefactor

Chapter 1

Roman Bennett checked the time again on the dashboard as he turned down a tree-lined subdivision street. These neighborhoods usually made him feel claustrophobic with their cookie cutter houses right on top of each other. You could practically reach out a window and high-five your neighbor. He knew he was spoiled, growing up in a massive house in West University with mature live oaks, and the protection of a massive brick wall to keep their privacy. His family had money, even before Roman signed the multimillion-dollar contract to play for the Roughnecks, Houston’s new pro-football franchise. His contract was actually laughable compared to his father’s net worth. The number had shocked him when they read the will a few months ago.

Not now. He tried to push away the thought of his mother, crying and tucked under his arm while the lawyer read through the will. It had been six months since his father died of a heart attack and Roman still couldn’t think of it without his chest tightening and his mouth going dry. The last thing he needed right now was to start crying.

He checked the rearview mirror to make sure the black car was still behind him. He wasn’t difficult to follow, but just in case, he’d given the photographer the address. It should be coming up now…last house on the left. Roman pulled up in the driveway behind a silver minivan that had seen better days. The whole house looked a little overgrown and uncared for: tall weeds shooting up in the grass, the stones around the flowerbeds crooked and missing, paint peeling on the trim.

Roman grimaced. He could understand letting things go a little. The woman’s husband had only died three weeks ago. But everything about the house seemed to indicate a more long-term lack of care. The peeling paint and the screen hanging off a front window weren’t new issues.

The black car pulled up to the curb and the photographer got out while Roman pulled the giant cardboard check out of the backseat of his Ram 3500. These stupid fake checks were ridiculous, but otherwise, this wouldn’t really be a photo op. He nodded to the photographer and threw one of his signature grins. With his parents heavily entrenched in Houston’s social elite, Roman grew up knowing which smile looked best in photos. By the time he went pro and had the media following his every move, it was easy.

Roman didn’t like it, but it was the life he knew. He simply accepted it, the good and the bad. The money and the fame helped him to give back, something that his father instilled in him and was equally important to his mother. She served on a number of committees for various charitable organizations and helped run Roman’s Rescue, his own charitable giving foundation. The past year her focus for his foundation had shifted to widows and orphans, based on a verse in James 1. That’s what brought him to the door today. She liked Roman to mix it up: being involved in big charities and events, but also helping individuals wherever possible. This woman was a friend of a friend of a neighbor of a cousin or something. It definitely looked like she could use the money.

He sighed. This shouldn’t take long and then he could get out of the suburban sprawl and back home. It was the off-season, so he didn’t have firm plans. A few of the guys were coming over to watch the baseball game. But first, he had to get through this for his mother.

Pausing on the porch, he wiped his palms on his khaki pants. While he was used to being in the public eye, it was often at a distance, like at a red-carpet event, speaking to trained interviewers. Real, everyday people up close made him nervous. He was used to a variety of reactions from the public: from tears to screaming to women actually grabbing at his body. That was the last thing he expected here—her husband just died, for crying out loud—but he didn’t know how this woman would react. Jenny. Or was it Jennifer? He couldn’t remember now and wished he had paid more attention this morning when his mom was giving him the details.

Sighing, Roman rang the doorbell and then knocked three times.

From inside he heard a large dog barking. There was a shuffling behind the door as the locks were pulled back. The door opened a crack and a woman looked out at him. Her blue eyes widened. Roman smiled and started to speak. She slammed the door in his face.

The dog continued to bark behind the door as Roman stood staring. Did that just happen? Everything in him wanted to drive away. Forget the check, forget charity. He pressed the bell again.

After a moment, the door opened again. The woman looked just as startled, though now a blush colored both cheeks. She had light brown hair pulled up into a messy ponytail and a swipe of paint across one cheek. Despite his annoyance, Roman couldn’t help but think that it suited her. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but she had big eyes and full lips—a natural beauty.

Focus, Roman.He cleared his throat.

Suddenly the door flew open and a giant black dog filled the doorway. The woman held onto the dog’s collar, but just barely. Roman took a step back just as the woman lost her grip on the collar.

Roman dropped the check, holding up his hands to ward off an attack as the dog flung itself at him. Instead of biting, the dog was wiggling around him, licking his hands and face. Roman was 6’3, but this dog could lick his face without jumping. A Great Dane? His pants leg suddenly felt wet. Was it…peeing on him?

The woman clapped her hands and grabbed at the dog. “Oh! No—Tiny, no! Get back inside! Tiny! Bad dog! NO!”

Finally getting a good grip on his collar, she dragged him back into the house. The dog seemed bigger than she was, and it almost knocked her down as she closed the door on it. She leaned against the door, out of breath.

Roman just stared. Was this the widow? She didn’t look the part. He had been picturing his mother as she’d waded through grief this year: tear-streaked face, eyes heavy with sadness, dressed in black. This woman wore a pink T-shirt that hung off one shoulder and black yoga pants. She was barefoot. She didn’t look sad, only embarrassed.

“I am so sorry!” she said, brushing hair back from her face. “Tiny has no manners at all. Are you—oh, no. Did he pee on you?”

“He might have,” Roman said.

Her cheeks reddened again, and she covered her face with her hands. “This has to be the most embarrassing moment of my life.”

Roman brushed himself off and picked up the check from the ground. It now had pawprints across the front of it and a few yellow drops. So much for the photo op. Roman tried to find words to respond. He didn’t want to be irritated, but he was. He hadn’t wanted to be here and now had dog hair and urine on his pants. And, of course, the whole thing was being photographed. He’d forgotten until he heard the sound of the camera behind him. The woman’s eyes shifted to the camera.

“What are you—why are you here? What’s going on?” Her blue eyes were icy now and she crossed both arms across her chest, as though trying to hide herself from the camera.

He pushed aside his irritation and put on his public smile. “I’m Roman Bennett from the Houston Roughnecks. I’m here on behalf of my foundation, Roman’s Rescue, and wanted to present you with a check.” Roman held up the cardboard check, even though it was now dirty and urine-stained. “Are you…Jennifer?”

“Jenny.” She took another step back, eyes narrowed. “I don’t want your check. But thanks.”

Roman looked at it, muddy pawprints and urine dripping down the side. “You don’t actually have to take this one. I mean, it’s just for show. I have a real check—”

“No,” she said, her voice sharp. “Let me be clear: I don’t want your pity money. I’m doing just fine. Goodbye.”

Jenny opened the door, pushing the black dog aside with her body. Before Roman could say another word, she slammed the door. Again.

Roman stood there, staring at the door for a moment before he could collect himself. The photographer had moved into the yard next to the sidewalk, getting Roman’s shocked face and the ruined check. He closed his eyes. This was supposed to be a quick morning—giving money and getting pictures for the local blogs and newspapers and whoever else cared what Roman Bennett was up to in the off-season. Now it was a humiliating disaster. He blew out a breath in frustration, then pulled back on his smile as he turned to the photographer.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to sell me those pictures?”

After writing a check and signing a few jerseys he kept in the back of the Ram, Roman watched the photographer drive off. He still had the giant check, but he didn’t really want a muddy check with dog pee. Jenny’s trash cans were back by the garage even though he could see the neighbors all had theirs by the street.

He bent the cardboard in his hands and stuffed it in the almost-overflowing trash. He dragged the can to the street next to her mailbox so the truck wouldn’t miss it whenever it came. It was a small thing, but it was something. Now he just needed to change his pants and shower off the memories and smells of this wasted morning.

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