Page 4 of The Billionaire and the Runaway

I shrug. “I mean, he’s not wrong. I don’t know the first thing about social media. And if we’re gonna expand to have people coming to pick their own berries or apples and pet the farm animals, we need some better marketing. I just…I don’t know. I could buy a lot of advertisements instead of hiring someone.”

“Kingsley is right. Social media is the new marketing if you can do it right. My granddaughter is an influencer and makes more than my daughter and son-in-law combined,” she states with a pointed look.

I feel my eyebrows shoot up at her statement. “Is that…normal?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Eric, what’snormalthese days?”

Sighing, I nod. “Valid point.”

“At least interview a few people, maybe you’ll find someone good,” Joy urges as she sits back down at her computer.

“I’m not sure how much I can pay a new employee. If social media influencers are making six figures, that’s not exactly economical, unless you know something I don’t about our profit margin from last month,” I state dryly.

“Just look at a few of the résumés,” she urges.

I sit down at the desk in the corner and open my laptop, begrudgingly. I’d rather be doing anything other than this. It’s like going to the dentist.

“Eric, you aren’t hiring an assassin. The stakes aren’t that high. Remember your plan. You’ll hire someone on a short-term basis at first and see how it goes,” she reminds me as I doomscroll through news online before logging in to the portal for the job posting.

There are three applications. One from a college kid who hasn’t graduated yet but has a following of ten thousand people on some social media app. One from someone with a graduate degree. I look at the résumé, intrigued. He’s had six jobs in two years. Nope, I think to myself. Red flag. The third one is from a recent college graduate. I click through her social media. It’s very artsy. Artistically taken photos of bags, shoes, cityscapes, park benches, and leather chairs. It’s all at unique angles, and the photos are framed to only show you a small part of the object or scenery. She has…five hundred thousand followers! That can’t be right. I click again. God, I wish I was better at this spy thing. Her profile photo of herself is even cropped. All I can see is part of a facial profile and massive amounts of red wavy hair.

Sighing again, I close the program and turn to Joy. “I don’t know. I was hoping we’d have at least like five candidates that looked good. There’s maybe one in there. I’ll give it a few more days,” I state as I get up and walk to the door.

“Come on, Barkley,” I add as I pat my thigh, waiting for the hound under Joy’s desk to emerge. Barkley has lived with me on the farm since I found him as a puppy dropped off with siblings in a box by the main road. I found homes for all of them but him and he’s been here ever since. He’s older now, and slower, but he’s still our office mascot.

“He’s keeping my feet warm,” Joy complains as I watch Barkley stir and pop his head up to look at me.

“Fine, you traitor. But don’t forget who pays for your food and your vet bills,” I say with a pointed look. Barkley drops his head back on the ground.

Shaking my head, I walk out to the barn to feed the animals. But somewhere in the recesses of my mind, the image of the mysterious redhead nags at me. My fingers itch to touch that hair. It’s a fleeting thought. And I push it aside. I’ve closed the door on anything more than an occasional fling. And even that is at the prompting of my friends. I should face the facts. I’m never going to love another woman. And besides, it’s not like beautiful women just fall into my lap out here on the farm.

CHAPTERTHREE

Ariana

“In four hundred feet, turn right on Shipwreck Drive,” my phone’s navigation app says. I’ve named him Norris, and right now, we are heading for divorce.

“There’s no road there, Norris!” I yell angrily as I motion to the lack of a place to turn.

“Make a U-turn in three hundred feet,” he replies.

I want to cry. This drive should have been short. Katia said it would take less than two hours to get here. It’s been three. Three hours of turning around, making U-turns, and recalculating.

I turn around. I ignore Norris, deciding to read a road sign instead.

“Storyview Falls – 2 miles”

OK, so I can’t be that lost. I continue straight, and in exactly two miles, I’m greeted by a cute little wooden sign that indeed says, Storyview Falls.

“Finally!” I squeal. Up ahead, I see the old houses getting closer together and then they give way to a main street with little shops. They seem vaguely familiar but still no memories come to mind. I had secretly checked Dad’s files for his property here. He still owns it. A penthouse condo on some beach nearby. Aside from a cleaning and management company charge, it didn’t appear Dad had been out here in a while. I know several other billionaire families that have property here, but I’ve only seen them at social gatherings in the city.

“Holy crap! This does look just like a movie set,” I say to myself as I slow down and park along a cute little park that has an actual gazebo. “Katia is going to shit her pants.”

I get out and walk up to the first store I find. It’s a pharmacy. But not a chain one, like a little one from television. I read the name as I walk inside. “Clyde’s Pharmacy.”

There’s a small checkout counter that also appears to be the pharmacy counter.

“Hello?” I say as I look for any sign of humans.

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