The Billionaire's Girlfriend

Douglas
Heights was an unassuming subdivision, lined with modest homes and tailored yards. Since most of the residents were retirees or single families, the most excitement one would find was a cookout or two, a kid’s birthday party or a nail biting game of bridge. As soon as Jacob’s jet landed and I went from the back of a chauffeured Town Car to the worn driver’s seat in my rusty Volvo, normal had never been so appealing; after the whirlwind month I’d had, normal was just what the doctor ordered.

If you would have told me four weeks ago that I'd land a job at Whitmore and Creighton
and
end up falling in love with the billionaire CEO Jacob Whitmore, I probably would have laughed right in your face. Well, maybe part two would have been believable. With his broad shoulders, bronzed skin, piercing blue eyes and a body that made the rounds in every red-blooded woman’s fantasy, falling for Jacob was a mathematical certainty. But getting to know the man behind the handsome and controlled facade and him falling for
me
? Impossible.

But Jacob had spent the past month showing me that anything could happen and my wildest dreams could come true. From museums that took my breath away and foods that brought my palette to life to the lush Italian countryside and sultry Venice nights, I didn't want for anything. And in the bedroom, submission had transformed from a foreign thing I'd only read
about into something I was born to do and be.

But being Jacob Whitmore's girlfriend wasn't all midnight strolls, private jets, and kinky activities behind closed doors. Because of his high profile business, publicity and public relations for celebrities, he'd become a celebrity in his own right--which meant his personal life wasn't quite so personal. And since I was the mysterious new squeeze, neither was mine.
I needed Douglas Heights. I needed the ease and comfort of it; a predictable reality without cameras shoved in my face.

I frowned as I spotted cars pepperi
ng the road leading up to the subdivision. They were parked every which way, obviously not caring who they were inconveniencing. I slowly tugged my old sedan between two non-descript vans, cursing under my breath. What the hell was going on at 11 a.m. on a Thursday morning? And why did none of them know the basics of parking a vehicle?

And then I saw them. Men in button down shirts, skittering across the pavement in tennis shoes. Tennis shoes were a must. How else would they dart around to get that perfect, embarrassing shot?

My heart shot to my throat as I slammed on the brakes. I follow the breadcrumbs with my eyes to a familiar white and green shuttered house. A house where the yard was always kept trimmed and leaves never stood a chance. A house where an ancient F 150 was parked dutifully at the curb and an Accord was tucked in the driveway. A house where the paparazzi were huddled like flies on shit.

My parent's house.

I didn't even bother trying to find a space; it would have been pointless since they were practically bumper to bumper. I just put the car in park and hopped out, following a few stragglers to the crowd gathered near the mailbox. Questions and fragments of conversation swirled around me and the beating thing in my throat shot past the heart shaped hole in my chest right down to the cement.

"The
kid’s mother said she was coming home today."

"Did you hear her talking about Jacob popping the question?"

I was suddenly grateful I took a page from America's sweetheart and my personal nightmare, Rachel Laraby, and opted for a beanie that mostly contained my wild corkscrews and an oversized gray T shirt and jeggings--not just because the phototogs were clearly camped out for me, but because I refused to believe my mom had sold me out. The only way I’d find out the truth would be if I faded into the crowd.

I froz
e in the shuffle when I saw my mother’s familiar brown eyes, made up to high heaven. There was so much foundation and blush caking her features that I wanted to scrub my own face just looking at her. I glanced past her, spying my dad who was eyeballing all of them with disdain, making sure no one stepped onto his property.

A heavy set man with a thick accent shoved forward his face tight with impatience. “Where’s the kid? You said she’d be here an hour ago!”

My mouth fell open as shock and hurt swallowed me whole. It was true. She tipped them off.

“
Leila texted me a little bit ago and said she’d be here any minute.” Mom’s toothy grin spread a few inches wider. “But if you have any more questions about her and Jacob-”

“How long did your daughter work for Jacob befor
e they became an item?” Someone blurted out, not wasting any time.

“Oh not long at all,” Mom replied with a chuckle. “He was just so taken with my Leila he just couldn’t help himself.”

My eyes nearly bulged from my head as a few of them laughed at the admission and Mom coaxed them on with a wink. “Y’all know what I’m talking about.”

“Did Leila give you the scoop on Jacob in bed?”

“Absolutely not!” I hollered, completely forgetting that I was trying to lay low. I didn’t even notice when all eyes turned to me and the bulbs started flashing. It was total tunnel vision, everything else fading to nothing. It was just me locked on my mother’s surprised face that quickly reddened. It was one of the few things she and I had in common--there was no hiding our embarrassment.

“L
-Leila!” she yelled over the clamor. “I’m so glad you’re home!”

“I bet,” I seethed, biting back what I really wanted to say. They’d eat up our family drama and it would be plastered all over the rags next week. She quickly pulled my father up beside her, gripping him tight.

“All these lovely photographers just wanted to-”

“I’m going in the house,
” I said, marching right past her.

Did she forget that I studied PR
? That I’d lived it for the past month? I knew exactly why the photographers were there. It was no secret that the most unscrupulous in my field would tip off paps about their client’s location for publicity. Well, the only publicity or pictures they were getting today would be a shot of my back walking in the opposite direction.

I clenched and unclench
ed my fists as I stepped inside the house. The warmth of my mother’s favorite Airwick fragrance, apple cinnamon, flooded my nostrils. It should have relaxed me, like it did every time I came home. When I sunk into the familiar grooves of the couch, all of my worries should have been soothed away. But I got no relief, no relaxation at all. Every nerve ending in me was on edge.

The screen door creaked open and I knew it was my dad, his woodsy cologne and the scuff of his boots gave him away. I peered up at him, tears of frustration blurring my view, ruining what was supposed to be a happy reunion.

“How long has she had them on speed dial?”

He ran his hand over his thinning brown hair, his bright green eyes weary. “One of ‘em called about two weeks ago and the phone hasn’t stopped ringing since.”

I shut my eyes with a groan. Right around the time Jacob and I announced to the world that we were dating.

Dad trudged to his armchair and let out a groan of his own as he sat down. “If I would have known she was goi
ng to have them waiting for you…”

I flashed a weak smile. There was no need for him to explain. We both knew that Mom was a force of nature and when she put her mind to something, even he couldn’t slow her down. It was as close to an apology as I was going to get from him. When the door swung open a second time, I didn’t even bother waiting for one from the
real culprit.

“Are you insane
, Mom? You had no right calling them here!”

She brought a hand to her chest, feigning shock. “Leila, I had no idea-”

“Oh God,” I said disgustedly. “Please don’t insult my intelligence on top of everything else.”

She slowly lowered her hand, eyeballing my dad. “What did you say, Earl?”

“Dad didn’t say anything,” I fumed. “It doesn’t take world-class espionage to figure it out—especially when your new bffs aren’t known for their discretion.”

Her shoulders slumped a little, her face falling as she realized she was caught. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just been like a real life movie over the past few weeks!” She let out a rueful sigh, like she was recounting something majestic but from the look on Dad’s face I had a feeling it was closer to a nightmare.

She stepped around me, eyes on the old coffee table. Pictures were scattered all over the glass top, creating a virtual timeline of my life. It started with wide eyed baby photos, trailing through the awkward adolescent years, and leading up to snapshots from my college graduation.

Mom swiped a couple, holding them up like they were a prize. “Some were offering money for copies. They said they’d be worth a pretty penny once you become Mrs. Whitmore!”

I looked at her like she’d just grown an extra limb before my very eyes. “Mrs. Whitmore? We’ve barely been a couple for a month and you’re already planning our wedding?”

She let
out a dismissive chortle. “People have gotten married with a lot less time under their belt than that.” She kicked off her heels and fell back into the loveseat. “Don’t try to play coy with me Leila Rae. I’ve seen the pictures of you and that boy gallivanting all over the world, looking positively
cozy
.”

The emphasis she put on cozy
made my cheeks darken but I reined the embarrassment back in. I wasn’t a child anymore. Her meddling had real consequences now. I wouldn’t allow my mother’s desire to create a gossip sensation dictate my love life.

“I thought I made myself crystal clear on the phone,” I began, “But just in case, I’ll say it again.
I don’t want you talking about me or Jacob to the press, paparazzi, your book club, the bingo girls, anyone.”

She pouted
, blinking up at me through spider like eyelashes. “I really don’t see the harm.”

“We both know that’s not true.” She opened
her mouth to plead her case, but I didn’t even take a breath. “I don’t want you talking to them. I’m begging you, Mom. For me.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, her brown eyes conciliatory as she gave me a slight nod. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” I relaxed a little, even though I knew that she’d probably conveniently forget about our agreement in a few days. A week, tops.

“
So tell us all about your trip,” she said, changing the subject like a pro.

I gave her a small smile. “Italy was amazing. The architecture, the smells, the food, the art
…”

Jacob made sure
we did everything under the sun, but I still felt like there were countless things to unearth and discover. Her eyes widened as I told her about the hotels and dresses and the jets and cars. I left out the bits about Rachel, she still was a client and now that my mother was buddies with people dying for a juicy story, the last thing I needed to do was serve Rachel up on a platter.

“So wh
en do we get to meet Jacob?” Mom was practically salivating, rubbing her hands together with anticipation. I didn’t dare tell her that he wanted to come home with me today, but I wasn’t quite ready for the ‘meet the folks’ stage.