Page 4 of The Billionaire and the Maid

“Thanks, but I’m kind of busy at the moment. Maybe after the holidays,” I add as we disconnect.

I look out my window at the cottage in the distance. My grandfather chose to move out there. He has a property on the edge of town where he raises horses, but after my grandmother passed away, he said the house was too lonely, so he had a small villa built about a half mile from our home. It’s up on a hill and has views of the ocean. He goes over to his stables almost every day, but he mostly keeps to himself. His health has declined in recent years, and I know my days with him are numbered.

I decide to go visit him when I see smoke coming from his chimney. I push back from my desk and grab my winter coat as I take the elevator down to the main floor.

The doors open and I’m greeted by my mom.

“Oh, hey, Mom,” I say.

“Hello, Chase, dear,” she says as she leans up and kisses my cheek. “Dad wants to talk to you. I’m on my way out, so I said I’d pop by and let you know.”

I frown, wondering why he wouldn’t just call or text.

“OK,” I reply tentatively.

“He’s in the study,” she mentions as she saunters off toward the garage. She’s wearing her tennis clothes, so I have one guess as to where she is heading. I love my mother, but her way of coping with my dad and his many affairs is to escape to the comfort of her friends, and right now, her friends are into tennis. I shake my head sadly. And this is one of many reasons why I don’t date seriously.

I walk toward the main house and find my father in his study on a phone call. He motions for me to sit in one of the two wingback chairs in front of his oversized mahogany desk.

I sit and wait, tapping my finger on the smooth wood of the chair’s arm.

He hangs up and looks over at me. “The board meets in less than five weeks,” he states as if I wouldn’t know that.

I don’t fall for the bait, instead, I remain silent, waiting for him to get to the point.

“You still want to do this?” he asks as he motions around his office.

“Of course,” I reply.

“Why?” he asks.

I raise an eyebrow. What the hell is he playing at? Everything my father does is calculated, but right now, I don’t understand his endgame.

“You know why,” I respond.

He clasps his hands in front of him and gives me a pointed look.

I want to groan. This man is a pain in my ass.

“Because it’s my birthright. Because it’s all I know. Because I’ve been working for this since I was a teenager,” I state.

He nods as if those answers are acceptable.

“You know, there’s more to it than just that. Being the head of the Marino Shoe Company means being a figurehead for a multi-billion-dollar corporation,” he points out, again, as if I’m an ignoramus.

“What’s your point?” I question, prodding him to finish his thought.

“You need my support to get the position,” he states and suddenly I’m dreading what he’s brought me in here for. He pauses. “You need to get a girlfriend. No more of this playing-the-field thing. You need to change your reputation as a rich playboy. The company needs you to be taken seriously. I want a woman by your side at the ball. And not one of your bimbos,” he adds.

I glare at him. “I don’t have anybimbos,” I growl. I want to add, unlike you, but I won’t stoop to his level.

“Fine, one-night stands, friends with benefits, whatever the hell you boys call these ladies that I see you with at events. I want you to have a real girlfriend with you. Or at least a real date, someone you are actually interested in. Hell, someone you might want to marry,” he says.

“Dad,” I start, but he holds up his hand.

“It’s non-negotiable,” he says.

“How the hell am I supposed to fall in love with someone in less than four weeks?” I ask because I’m pretty sure this man is delusional.

---