My Billionaire Fling by Maci Dillon
SOPHIA
“Marriage, Gabe?” I pace across my living room now we’re free from visitors. It’s early afternoon, and I’m on my second glass of wine. Gabe called down to the front desk earlier to confirm the paparazzi had finally cleared away from the front of the building.
“They put me on the spot, Sophia. I’m not going to apologize for it.”
“I understand you thought you were doing the right thing, but a wedding?”
Anxiety pushes my feet faster around my apartment until the floor coverings are screaming at me to stop. Gabe is busy scrolling the internet, watching broadcasts and scanning the headlines.
“Stop. Please. Sit the fuck down.”
The venom in his voice halts my flurry of steps. I cross my arms and stare at Gabe, challenging him to order me to sit down once more.
“Pacing wildly around the room isn’t helping anyone.”
Nobody said it was but sitting won’t make a world of difference either. Instead of pacing, I march into the kitchen and pour another glass of wine.
“They accosted me as I was returning to your apartment with two coffees in hand. When they accused you of sleeping with a client, I set them straight. I told them I’ve never been a client, and we were in a committed relationship.”
Returning to the table where Gabe has now closed his laptop, I pull up a chair across from him.
“Wishful thinking on my part,” he adds wryly.
And we’re back to labeling our relationship. Engaged is where it’s at now, apparently, but I remain silent and let him continue.
“The questions were flying and to shut it all down, I threw out the ‘m’ word and walked away before the vultures wanted details I couldn’t give.”
Selfishly, I’ve been focused on the repercussions on myself and Incontro, yet Gabe has implicated himself more than he’d have liked to.
“I’m sorry, Gabe. I know this isn’t what you want either.”
With a shake of his head, he laughs. “You think I’m worried about having to pretend we’re getting married? If it were true, I’d be ecstatic. It’s knowing the idea has you doubled over in disgust that pisses me off.”
“That’s not true. I’m not disgusted by the thought. I’m worried about how we move forward from here in the eyes of the media. And I want to know who provided them with the incorrect information about you being a client of mine.”
“Bad intel, a dodgy source, a jealous competitor… it could be any number of things. The most important thing is clearing your name and setting the record straight.”
I nod slowly. “You’re right. What’s done is done, and we’ll rise from this stronger than ever. Stacy is convinced we can turn this into a fairy-tale love affair of sorts.” Internally, I cringe at the idea but refrain from letting Gabe know my true feelings on this.
“I have to fly back to New York tomorrow, and we need a game plan before I leave.”
GABE
“It’s not a question, Sophia. This is happening.”
Her annoyance is evident, but after my public declaration of claiming her as my soon-to-be bride, what choice do I have?
At least that’s what I tell myself.
“Another week and the press will have moved on to something more newsworthy. You moving to London is ridiculous.”
Back in New York a few short days, and I already have the wheels in motion.
Imagining her feisty eyes and playfully pouty lips and the way my body responds to her is all I need to know that this is the right move.
“Despite your take on the situation, Sophia, I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, wife to be,” I add as she huffs into the phone and hangs up.
Next on the agenda is to text Nigel to have him prepare the jet. I send a quick email to Elise to let her know of my plans. As we move closer to the new hotels and rebrand I hired Kassidy for, it makes perfect business sense to remain in London for the foreseeable future.
Whiskey in hand, I retreat to my Manhattan penthouse balcony with a cigar. Something about moving abroad brings back memories of my father. The only time I reach for a cigar is when I’m thinking of him.
Growing up, I’d watch him from a hidden corner in our living room in the evenings as he lit up and drowned his tears in a bottle of Jack. I knew of his pain but was at a loss as to what to do.
After my mother died when I was eight, once her body could no longer endure the stress of the chemotherapy and multiple rounds of radiation, my father worked less and drank like he’d once worked—with one hundred percent dedication and laser focus.
My mother was Italian, and her family all remained in Italy, so we had little in the way of family support. She met my dad while he was on vacation during a semester break at college and moved to the States within months to be with him. Less than a year later, they were married, and a few years later, I was born.
Dad’s family disowned him for his relationship with my mother, a poor Italian woman barely old enough to fly across the country. They always saw my mother as a petty woman looking for a golden ticket to wealth and freedom.
By the age of nine, I became the proverbial parent to a broken-hearted drunk who could no longer pay his bills or put food on the table. They were the hardest years of my life. My mother was my world, and without her, I was lost.
Looking back now, I thank my father for the lessons he cast upon me.
The lack of security and the fear of not knowing where the next dollar for groceries would come from, made me the successful entrepreneur I am today.
During my early teenage years when dad passed out at night, I’d sneak into his study and read every piece of literature he kept hidden in there. I spent hours skimming through his emails, learning his way of doing business, creating relationships, and closing deals.
When we were a happy family of three, my father was a successful realtor. A man I looked up to. Now, I wouldn’t spit on his grave if the devil breathed fire upon it.
That’s why as far as Sophia is aware, I’m an orphan from Connecticut. It was easy to relate, knowing her parents passed when she was in her early twenties.
Almost at rock bottom, I returned home from school one day to find my father almost resembling his old self. He greeted me with a smile and the long-ago familiar spicy cologne wafted throughout the house, replacing the stench of cigar and whiskey.
“Hey, Son, how about we go out for a meal tonight?” I recall my confused expression making him laugh.
That evening, we ate at my favorite burger joint. Sauce dripped from the bottom of the bun all over my favorite Giants shirt, and Dad had laughed at my mortification.
“Soon, we’ll be able to buy all the shirts you want, Son. In fact, we should buy season tickets to the Giant’s home games.”
Even at such a young age, I wasn’t sure how this would be possible. The week before, we’d been collecting pennies from between the cushions on the sofa to buy bread and milk. Eating out was a long way from that, and season tickets, they were for rich people. At that time, we couldn’t have paid for the fuel to take the two-hour trip to New York.
Over the course of our meal together, my father explained a business deal he’d been offered. The details were vague, but he assured me it was the turning point. He was going to clean himself up, execute the deal, and the financial reward would change our lives. It was a happy moment for me when he promised to groom me in the real estate business so we could work together as partners when I was old enough.
He also told me I could choose any college I wanted to go to, and money would never be an issue again.
Later in life, I learned there was a lot of truth to these promises. Our lives changed, and money flooded in until he was torn away from me and locked in a high-security prison. Thankfully, by that stage, the business had been signed over to my father’s attorney until I was of legal age to take charge. Financially, I was safe and secure.
As I learned the events that led to my father’s incarceration, my idolized view of him lessoned to hatred and disgust. The company he’d left me to run alone was nothing more than the constant reminder of the monster my father had become.
My view of the entire world changed, and I no longer wanted to be associated with the Bartholomew name.
Lost in the view of the city lights and distant hum of busy traffic in the streets below, I allow myself a moment to wonder what he might think of me if he were alive today. Would he be proud of my achievements?
Did he regret his decisions that destroyed the only family I had left?
With blood on his hands, he destroyed more in that one shitty business deal than he ever realized.
