Page 3 of The Billionaire and the Maid

“I thought we were going to focus on those textiles that I mentioned,” I mutter. I’ve slowly been trying to get my brother to see my vision, but he just keeps aligning himself with our father.

Tate would never admit it, but he’s Dad’s favorite. No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be good enough for our father.

I hear a voice in the background.

“I gotta run. Ciao!” he says with a smirk and the video call goes black.

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. I glance toward my living room and eye a photo of me with my cousin, Laurel. She’s the only one in the family with common sense. Her dad should have taken over our company, but instead, he left it all behind to build boats. It caused a bit of a family rift, so we talk as often as we used to. He currently resides in the south of France.

Laurel lives on a sailboat he built. She normally keeps it docked here in Storyview Falls, but she’s sailed it down to the Caribbean for the winter and is now talking about staying there for a whole year.

I decide to text her.

Me: How is…where are you again?

I’m surprised when the video call pops up on my screen. I accept and see Laurel’s blonde hair blowing in a gentle breeze. An island with palm trees is her backdrop with turquoise water between her and it.

“Why do you look so annoyed?” she questions as she slides into a hammock on the front of her sailboat.

I glare at her. “Because you’re out there leading a life of leisure and I can’t even get Tate to place a simple textile order,” I complain.

She giggles and raises a glass of what looks like rum to her lips. My jaw clenches.

“Oh, stop it. First off, why are you bothering to ask Tate? We all know he’s too busy getting his dick wet in some Italian pussy to even think about something business related. And second, I thought you were doing all of this on your own?” she asks, raising a questioning eyebrow at me.

I hate that she’s right. I hate that she knows us this well. But let’s be honest, I don’t hate her at all. And she makes some valid points.

I scratch my jaw. My two-day-old stubble is starting to get itchy. “I hate that you’re right,” I admit.

She shrugs. “Well?”

I have had this idea for a new shoe line for our family’s company for the last few years. The only one who really knows the entire idea is Laurel. I’ve told Tate little bits and pieces, but he neither cares nor thinks it is worth investigating. He’s drunk Dad’s Kool-Aid. He thinks we should stick to our high-end women’s high heels and high-end men’s leather shoes.

“I have one shot at presenting this idea. The board meets the first week in January. I think they’ll be announcing the next CEO and considering any major company changes for the year. If Dad backs me as CEO, then…” I trail off as I look at Laurel’s face on the screen.

“You’ll get it,” she finishes my thought.

I nod.

“Chaseticles! That’s awesome!” she exclaims, using what started as an annoying nickname when we were kids, but has somehow morphed into her term of endearment for me when we are alone.

“It is, but I need to be able to take the company in a new direction. I don’t want to do this if I can’t make the company what I want it to be. The idea of being shackled to old ideas and Dad’s disapproving looks is more than I can bear,” I admit.

“Chase, it’ll be fine. Just tell Alana to order them,” she says, referencing our VP of materials and design.

“It’s not really her job. At least, not until it becomes an actual approved project,” I add.

“But it will be when the board approves it,” she encourages with a motion of her hand to drive home the point. She pauses and then puts the phone closer to her face. “Do not let Uncle Luca bully you. He has zero legs to stand on here. He’s been as much of a fuckup as Tate. Hell, you only exist because he got your mom knocked up and then your grandfather forced him to propose. He’s played it safe with the business for years. Stop playing safe. Take the company to the next level. You can do it! You have business sense that neither your dad nor brother have. Your dad is only hard on you because he sees you have what it takes, and honestly, I think he’s jealous of you. You’re the man he wished he could be.”

She’s not wrong about any of that, it’s just a bitter pill to swallow. My family puts off this holier-than-now public appearance, but behind closed doors, we are filled with bullshit drama. I know at the heart of it all, we do love each other, but damn, sometimes my family makes it hard to get along.

“You know, you don’t have to be like them. Don’t be like them!” she urges.

I grit my teeth. “I’m not trying to be like them,” I argue.

She rolls her eyes. “I call bullshit, but that’s for you and your therapist to work out.” I hear something off her starboard side.

“Just a minute!” she calls out to someone. She looks back at me. “I gotta go. You should come to visit soon. Sounds like you need a break.”

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