The Boss (A Billionaire Romance) (6 page)

Sitting in a sushi restaurant with her date, who arrived early by the way, Clara wanted to start as she meant to go on.

Honesty was always the best policy.

"You know the families where everyone's a little crazy but they're your family so you love them anyway?"

"Yeah," said Fredrick, looking all too edible in a crisp white shirt. "Yours like that?"

"No, not really." Clara scoffed, "Mine is more like marble--cold but hardwearing and incredibly stylish. Well, apart from my dad, who I loved in spite of him being a gambling addict."

"Ouch, bet he presented a few problems for your family. Addiction doesn't bring the best out in people."

"Yeah. Dad told an unending succession of lies and always let me down, but underneath it all, he had a soul. Something lacking in the rest of my family."

"I hear you, soul is more than my dad ever had."

Claire thought of something, "When I was a kid, Dad used to read me Shakespeare's stories and I loved Romeo and Juliet."

"You romantic, you," said Fredrick, head tilting slightly.

"It's easy to be when you're a kid. The whole world seems endless, like possibilities sit on every snowflake or something." Snorting, she added, "Get let down a few times and well . . . "

"Ah, a correction if I may: Former romantic, now skeptic?"

The blush burned her cheeks and she wanted to change the subject.

This was like talking to Lisa.

She always told her to be less cynical about love, life and relationships.

If only Clara could trust a man the way she trusted Lisa.

Or Anon.

"My best friend would say skeptic sounds about right." She searched his eyes and squirmed a little beneath the intensity of his gaze. "Anyway, where was I?"

He learned closer, "You were saying how you loved Romeo and Juliet before life gave you lemons."

"Yes, correct. Those damned lemons," she sniggered. "Thanks for the recap."

He's listening to me. Good start.

"Once, when he couldn't afford a birthday gift for me and never came to my party--most likely because he was spending his pay check in a casino--he came by a few days later with a card he'd made himself out of a piece of A4 paper. He wrote inside: 'Great love, you believe, carries the seeds of great sorrow.' I asked why he put such a sad thing in my birthday card.”

“And what was his reply?”

“He told me, 'Valuable advice was the only gift he could give me at the time, but it would serve me far longer than another Barbie doll.' I never understood what the quote meant at the time. Now, I get it."

Fredrick cleared his throat. "Pretty deep for a kid. Did he mean to prepare you saying love leads to sorrow? Was that his warning, do you think?"

"I think he was warning me that loving him, and possibly others like him, would ultimately lead to sorrow. In his case, he was certainly right. Layers of hurt followed forgiveness, followed hurt."

"Family huh, who needs one?" Fredrick responded.

"Me." She'd somehow steered their conversation to a dark place and as this was their first real date and second attempt at getting it right, she needed to take it back into the light. "Don't get me wrong, he wasn't all bad. Far from it. I learned more from him than anyone."

"Oh?"

"Oh yeah. From loving him, I learned not everything is black and white. The murky grey area is where most of us imperfect souls reside, and there's nothing wrong with grey. Owning your imperfections is the key, and to try to be the best person you can be. Not as easy as it sounds, unfortunately."

Fredrick took her hand in his, "You're a strong woman, Clara. I'm sure you manage. I've admired that about you from the beginning."

Admired me, even though I acted like a judgmental cow?

He's a better person than me.

"Thanks, although I have my moments, and my friend would argue I'm a coward in some things. But I grew up to learn life can be testing. Saying that, on the whole, it's pretty good to me these days."

"These days? Meaning it hasn't always been, or because nearly dying in a fire made you smell the roses? I hear that a lot."

"Well," dammit, she didn't want to go dark again. Was he a fire fighter or psychiatrist? "I just mean growing up was often hard and adulthood is much easier in comparison. I'm in control now and have no one to worry about but myself. I'm also in control of who I let into my world. Who I'm exposed to, that sort of thing."

He frowned before saying, "Thanks for exposing yourself to me then. I'm privileged."

Clara winced, would he see through her now?

She wasn't strong when it came to relationships, but she hated to appear weak.

Especially when he admired strength.

"No problem. Thanks for giving me another chance to prove I'm not a complete bitch . . . I hope."

He winked, "Second chances are a good thing all round, I'd say." Clara loved his understanding smile and how he stroked the back of her hand. "So," he leaned back in his seat and grabbed his drink for a gulp of Sake. "What about your mother, and are there any siblings?"

"Ah," Clara loathed talking about a family who turned their back on her father. But she started the conversation. "Are you sure you want to hear all this?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," said Fredrick.

"Okay." Deep breath, it will be worth it if he shares too. "I'll hold you to that. Okay, my mother was the cold element to my family, and most of her side of the family is so shut off from emotion you'd need an icepick to get through. They refused to see that my father was actually ill and not just some evil selfish man. So anyway, I gave up trying with them after my father died, and as soon as I could leave home, I did so, at seventeen. Nope, no siblings. Not exposing more children to her and her family was perhaps the kindest thing my mother every did."

"Oops," Fredrick leaned his jaw in his hand, elbow on the table. Her mother would not approve, but to Clara, it showed his keen interest and made her feel special. "So you had his lies on the one hand and her icy nature on the other. Must have been lonely growing up?"

"Yeah, but Lisa and I grew up together. She's always been a kind of sister to me. Her family are the complete opposite of mine. They're so warm and loving, going to one of their family gatherings is like stepping outside into a sunny day, any day of the year."

"Friendship is so important, but I think when your family is like ours, it's crucial."

"Exactly, and now it has to be your turn."

Fredrick sat up straight and looked at his shoes, "Let's just say my father was a capitalist through and through and his family were there to offer something to his persona, to his image, but for little else. My father and I couldn't be more different."

"Oops," Clara said, sipping at her Sake, enjoying the warm burn in her chest as it made its way down. "Sorry." She wanted to offer Fredrick her warmth, "What about your mother? Couldn't she offer an alternative experience?"

"She may have done at some point, but she died when I was young. I can't remember her now."

She died?

"How awful, Fredrick. How did she die, if you don't mind me asking?"

"In a house fire, hence the job."

He smiled weakly, and she could tell it was more for her than anything.

Clara set her glass on the table and moved her chair closer to his.

Fredrick looked at how close their knees were as she shuffled towards him, "I was three. She left me upstairs sleeping in my bed while she went for her usual evening soak. She fell asleep in the tub. Nothing too wrong with that picture you might think, until you learn she dropped her lit cigarette on the magazine she'd been reading and left on the floor."

Clara gasped at the horrifying image conjured in her mind, "Terrifying to think you can die from fire while enjoying a snooze in the bath? You'd think you'd be safe in water?"

"Yeah, I get that. I thought the same once. But most people don't die from the flames. They die from the noxious smoke they inhale. You were close to that yourself. There were lots of perfumes and medicines in her bathroom, like most bathrooms, which didn't help. That's probably what did it."

"Poor you."

He shrugged, "Having no mother might have been better than having your mother, by the sounds of her."

"Maybe." She rested her hand on his. "And your father? Is he still around?"

"No, he died around five years ago." He seemed upset. "Heart attack." A dark cloud lowered over his face and the shine dulled in his eyes. "As though his gluttony squeezed his organs to death."

She lowered her gaze, feeling she had intruded upon his grief.

Fredrick's history matched her own--lonely and tragic, and she wanted to hold him in her arms and squeeze all the hurt right out of him.

When her gaze met his again, he stroked the hair from her face and smoothed it over her ear, "We can both paint a dark picture of our childhoods. Seems we have a lot in common, Clara."

"Seems we do."

Chapter 13

Fredrick wanted her more than he ever wanted anyone, and her eyes told him how much she wanted the same thing. "Shit helps the roses grow. Isn't that what they say?"

Clara laughed, "Err, something like that."

"You certainly bloomed."

And she had.

She was the epitome of beauty, inside and out.

"Be careful," Clara blushed. "That was almost a compliment."

"No, it was most definitely one. Can you take them?"

They shared a smile and he wanted to hold her, to take her back to his place and ravish the sadness out of her.

"I'll try," she bit her lip and peered up at him through thick eyelashes.

As their date continued, they ate expensive sushi half-heartedly, pushing their fishy bites around their plates more than anything, while their focus remained on one another.

Fredrick became hyper aware of her every movement: the way her mouth moved and chewed asparagus, and how her lips embraced the glass as she sipped her Sake.

He had to possess her, but wouldn't she hate him when she learned about his father?

The billionaire casino owner she petitioned against wouldn't make many good women wet, but her even less.

What happens when she finds out about how he inherited the casinos she wished would close down already?

Even if he told her he donated most of the profits to charities, when she discovered he had yet to sell those casinos, her blood would boil.

What was his father thinking, making him wait ten years till he could sell them?

Did he enjoy seeing his son suffer, even from the grave?

Damn him.

"So," he cleared his throat and tried to change his stream of thought. "You started the anti-gambling foundation in honor of your father. Commendable."

"Not commendable--sensible. To me, he taught me how fragile we human's are. How manipulated by needs, quite out of our control, we can be. He also showed me the other side of addiction. People focus of the bad side--the lying, the stealing, the selfish choices--but they fail to acknowledge how these people suffer. They don't want to lie to people they love, but they can't always help themselves."

"You're a forgiving soul, huh? I imagine he let you down every day and yet you are able to see beyond his behavior. Who taught you that skill?"

Perhaps if I forgave mine, I'd feel less rage when I think of the burden my father saddled me with.

"Thing is, I can't forgive. You're a stronger person than me, that's for sure."

"I doubt it. He hurt me, like I said. I mean the lies he told," Clara shook her head, and fake laughed, but he observed the sadness behind her eyes, evoked by his words. He could have kicked himself. "Wow, they were whoppers, but he was sick, not cruel. He hated himself most of the time--who can live like that? Perhaps your father's addiction was money?"

"I guess you got to love an addict to see things your way, especially as a child. Not sure I'd be able to. Mine wasn't an addict though. He was just a selfish bastard. I can't forgive mine for . . . "

Stop!

Fredrick nearly told her; she was so easy to talk to.

"For what?"

"For being a lousy, selfish, good for nothing but making money . . . "

She raised her hand, "Shall we call him a bad father and be done with it?"

Clara must have seen how upset he was getting.

Talking about his father always set him off, especially when his connection to him might threaten his relationship with her.

"An accurate summary."

She was right, he loathed how little his father gave a shit about his own child.

Who knows, if he'd been a better Dad, if he'd cared about him at all, Fredrick might judge his father's business dealings more sympathetically.

"Even if we hate them, seems we love our parents and we want them to love us back. It's human nature, but for some, it's asking way too much."

"That's so right," she shook her head and frowned at the same time. "My sixteenth birthday party, everyone was there. My school friends, my boyfriend, my mother, and even one of my teachers showed up. We waited for him so long to show up, as he'd promised, for two hours. I refused to cut the cake or light the candles. My boyfriend and I argued over how he wanted to teach him a lesson, so he left. It wasn't until the following day when Dad finally turned up with a homemade card with the wise quote. I never made up with my boyfriend after that. Figured, what's the point?"

"You still feel that way?"

"What way?"

"Like what's the point?"

Clara shrugged, "Sometimes, if I'm being brutally honest. Um, not the best thing to admit on a first date, ha?"

"No. But this is our second date,” he smiled. “And I understand. I just hope you'll give us time, that's all. You might even be surprised."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Clara smirked as she sipped more Sake. "Besides, I try to remind myself it wasn't my father I had the biggest issue with. The casino owners however--they're money grabbing, soulless creatures. I'd like to outlaw all forms of gambling, or at least offer onsite addiction services to add some balance to it all. We should also be able to take at least half of all revenue earned in casinos and other gambling resources, and plough them back into supporting the victims. That would turn a great many people away from opening casinos in the first place, but it would also give underfunded institutions and charities the funds to actually help addicts fight back."

Her passion was always clear and intoxicating, and he loved how the more passionate she got the more the crease between her eyes deepened.

"All good ideas. All ideas I would rush to endorse."

She blushed again, and bit her lips like a bashful schoolgirl, "Why, thank you. Drop your money envelope in my purse before you leave." A soft snort left her mouth and her radiance made him lick his lips.

"How did you get the foundation started?"

"Fortunately, my father was heavily insured so when he died, I used most of the pay-out to begin the foundation . . . and well, it grew from there."

"He paid insurance premiums?"

"I know. Whenever he won big, he'd pile cash into it. The policy could only be paid out on his death. Crucially, he couldn't get his hands on the money."

"Good for him. Shows he was always thinking about you, even when he perhaps couldn't put you first."

"I thought so too, so thanks for saying so."

Her face beamed.

This one last act of her father's was how she could forgive him.

He understood, now.

He asked, because not to would seem strange. "What's the name of your foundation?"

"The Benjamin James Against Gambling Foundation, named after my father, naturally." She tried not to smile. "It's pretty big."

"Wow."

Fredrick donated to her charity annually, for years, because he admired how they supported the same people his father, and now he, damaged for profit.

Call it a guilt cleanser, but the donations went some way to helping him sleep at night, to rebalancing his karma.

"It's a huge charity, I am impressed."

"Thanks," Clara grinned and moved higher in her seat. "I'm proud of the reputation it has, of all the charity offers to gambling addicts. Whether I built the charity or not, it's the volunteers who do the hardest work. You know, the hands-on work. They're the one's who turn lives around."

He remembered how she once wrote about helping someone with such compassion, that he wept.

"If you say so, but you look like the type to get her hands dirty." Fredrick held her gaze. She held his, and her breath. He wanted to tell her who he was, about his father, but she might never see him again. "Let's be honest here. Without you, the foundation wouldn't even be around for the volunteers or the gamblers. You could have done anything with his money, but you chose to give instead of take. It's incredibly . . . humbling."

"Me, humbling?" The question mark hung above her head like a huge sign. "When you save lives for a living? When you saved my life?"

"This isn't a competition, remember?" If she realized his post at the fire station was voluntary, she'd soon take back that statement, and any affection developing for him.

"Fine. But without donors, my foundation wouldn't be going strong. My financial input only lasted so long. Donors keep us going, not me."

"Oh yeah?" He couldn't help himself. "So, are there any regular donors or do you need to keep knocking on doors?"

Clara blushed, "Doors continue to be knocked, believe me, but I'm proud to say there is one regular donor who is incredibly generous." She picked up her phone, checked the screen and set it down on the table. Fredrick guessed she was looking for Anon to get in touch, unconsciously. "In fact, I'm in regular contact with him too but he wishes to remain anonymous – even to me. I mean, who does that, right?"

"Does what?"

"Who gives literally millions every year to charity but doesn't want a soul to know about it. Now that's selfless compassion right there, don't you think?"

Part of him was aroused by her opinion of him, but another part was strangely jealous.

Would he ever be able to reveal himself to be Anon and soak up the admiration she clearly felt about him?

"Ah, huh."

"His donations make such a massive difference to what we can and can't do for the service users. I'm not sure how we would have managed all these years without his generosity. Or her generosity, as Lisa keeps telling me."

He saw something in her eyes, "You want it to be a he, don't you? Do you secretly wish to meet him, to know the man behind the donations?"

He heard respect in the way she spoke of him. She might even think about him in bed at night, as he imagined her.

How long must he keep up this charade?

If only he could come clean.

She fiddled with her cell. "As long as the donations continue, who cares about the donor's gender?"

He had his answer and wanted to divert the conversation away from Anon and back to him.