Page 10 of My Cruel Billionaire

I took him to the vendor, and bought one of those big soft baked pretzels. I asked for a plain one, with no butter. The ducks probably didn’t want to eat the butter anyway. Or if they did, well too bad they weren’t getting any this time.

We went up to the shores of the lake. Those greedy little waterfowl started quacking like crazy, paddling over to us with their orange webbed feet. I think they recognized us and knew they always got something good off of my son.

“Remember, Damon,” I said as he tore off a huge chunk and tossed it in the water. “Tear it into small enough bits so they don’t choke.”

“I will, Mom,” he said, tearing off a slightly smaller piece. I counted that as a victory and watched as he broke off the pretzel until there wasn’t any of it left.

“All gone,” he said, dusting his hands off and waving at the ducks. “Bye ducks.”

He continued to wave goodbye to the ducks even as we walked away, clinging to my hand and stumbling since he wasn’t watching where he was going.

“We’ve talked about this, Damon. Keep your eyes looking forward while you’re walking or you’re going to fall. You don’t want to skin your knee again, do you?”

“Uh uh,” he said, shaking his head vehemently.

I tried to take him home, but then he saw one of his friends on the slide and begged to go there. I indulged Damon and settled down on a bench while he played. I resisted glancing at my phone, as usual, though I had heard it ding several times. I wasnotgoing to be one of ‘those moms’ who spend all of their time staring at the phone when they took their kid to the park.

Still, even as I watched my son play, my mind wandered back to my encounter at the restaurant. I had already forgotten Jim or Joe or whatever his name had been. Michael had come to my rescue like a dashing knight of yore.

And then he had stared right at me, a woman with whom he’d been intimate, and there was not a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Not one whit.

It didn’t help that Damon looked so much like his father. He had Michael’s nose, and the same heavy brow. He had my eyes, though.

It had taken me a long time—months? Years?—to stop seeing Michael’s face every time I looked at my son. Now that feeling was back and then some. Back with a vengeance, perhaps it was appropriate to say.

Damon bounced off the slide and came trotting over to me. He looked at me, and I guess I had a sour or wistful expression on my face. Maybe both. Sourly wistful, that’s me.

“Mom,” he said, his little voice filled with worry. "Are you all right? Are you sad about something?”

“No, sweetie,” I lied. “I’m not sad about anything at all.”

He nodded, but then he tilted his head to the side like a dog trying to figure out if you’ve thrown the ball or hidden it behind your back.

“Mom,” he said. "Is this about my daddy?”

My jaw dropped open. It had to be a coincidence, and yet it stung like the dickens. I’m not sure what I said in response, if anything.

It had to be a coincidence. It simply HAD to be. And yet, what were the odds? Damon asked why he didn't have a daddy like the other kids he knew from time to time, but I always told him that his daddy had to move far, far away.

On the same day that I met Michael again, Damon just happened to have talked about daddy… and he wasn’t much for talking about such things most of the time.

Before I could respond, my phone rang with one particular tone. The only tone which I would ever consider answering while with my son in the park. I took hold of Damon and put him on my lap so he wouldn’t wander off while I was on the phone.

“Yes, Mr. Jones?” I said as I answered the call.

“Jenna, I need you in the office ASAP. Something’s come up.”

“On my way, sir,” I said.

It looked like our day at the park had come to a close.

Chapter Four

Michael

The trouble with billionaires is that they’re fucking annoying.

I know that I’m a billionaire saying that. But you know the old adage, and how it goes. It takes one to know one. And I’ll admit right out of the door that Evan Jones was an annoying bastard to do business with.

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