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  AN ALPHA BILLIONAIRE ETERNAL ROMANCE

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  ANNA COLLINS

  Copyright © 2016 by Anna Collins

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  Chapter 1

  “I know this can’t be easy on you, but the bank has already given you more than enough notice. I believe everything will turn out perfectly fine for you, Willa. At 22 years old, you are what I call a survivor and someone who will do practically anything to keep your shop afloat. Surely, there’s a family member or friend who can lend you the money you need to keep going for the holiday season. Perhaps, you could go in the market for investors who might be able to pull you out of this swamp you have fallen into,” Timothy said as he looked at the numbers I had given him. I could tell his hands were tied. It didn’t help to see he was using a Visconti HRH limited edition Forbidden City Fountain pen. It had gold and diamonds in the nib and body. It was mocking me and made him look petty for denying my loan.

  “I knew coming here was a mistake. I thought that with the holiday season there might be some charity involved. I don’t hold this against you, you’re just doing your job after all. Everybody has to take their marching orders from somebody above them, and you’re no different. I used to be a puppet just like you, but I managed to cut those strings and go my own way,” I said not really knowing why I was telling him any of this. I just needed to talk.

  “I would really love to help you Willa. On a personal note, we have been friends for quite some time. I would see it as a favor if you allowed me to throw in some money in exchange for a percentage of the profits,” Timothy said.

  “I know your heart is in the right place, Timothy, but I’m really not ready to give up. This is my baby, and maybe I should be treating it as a business, but I can’t at the moment. I’ll find a way, but the one thing I won’t do is ask my father for help. This whole thing could have been avoided had I been willing to sacrifice my principles. I saw going to work for my dad in the restaurant as a never ending hell that would only end with me lying face down in a pile of mashed potatoes,” I said as I felt the incoming wave of a migraine striking me right between the eyes like a hammer.

  I had been getting them off and on through childhood, but they had already lessened considerably when I got into adolescence. Now I was 23, and I was beginning to see they were coming back. I chalked it up to nothing but stress. I had enough of it weighing heavily on my shoulders each and every day. I had no partner, and I was working my fingers to the bone 16 hours every day just to keep my shop from going under.

  “The offer stands whenever you feel you are at the end of your rope. I admire you more than you can ever know for going out on your own, although your father would have my head for telling you that. What you did was the right thing for you. Don’t let anybody deter you from your dream. This is just a difficult phase. It’s going to pick up. Your designs are amazing and the jewelry you’re making put a smile on people’s faces. They will come to you, I’m sure. On my part, I’ll do my best to guide them to you, offering a helping hand. There’s always room for some word of mouth,” Timothy said as a way to bolster my spirits and make me see there was still hope.

  I got up wearing my heart on my sleeve, and I could feel the room spinning around me. My legs buckled and I had to hold onto the desk with my hands slapping heavily against the wood grain. I had come here looking for monetary assistance, but I did not feel it was necessary to dress up like some sort of monkey. Being a woman in business was bad enough, but bowing to the likes of the bank was not going to happen.

  My vision was blurry, and I could barely see the hand in front of my face. I felt somebody touching my shoulder and heard a meek and mild voice talking to me as if it was coming through a tunnel. The hand on my shoulder was hot and clammy, and I could feel it through the thin layer of my Gucci blouse. Just because I didn’t want to dress up, it didn’t mean I didn’t want to make a good first impression. Sex sold, and a little skin went a long way to get men to bend to my will.

  “Willa, you don’t look very well, you might be coming down with the flu going around lately. I know you can’t afford to take a day off, but it is almost closing time. Go home, get plenty of liquids and rest. My wife suffered from it for about a week and then she bounced back,” he said as he led me to the front door of the bank most likely trying to get rid of me, so I wasn’t going to make a scene or people uncomfortable. I could see his wealth; his pen and the watch he was wearing were made for those who had money to burn.

  Once I got outside, I felt the cool breeze and looked at the layer of snow covering the city. I was taken back to my childhood; the smell of gingerbread cookies and muffins made fresh right from the oven, hit me like a ton of bricks. I looked around to find the source; the small bakery which had been open for as long as I could remember was still flourishing. They could never match the big box stores for the prices, but the quality resembled my jewelry.

  I saw my reflection in the window of the bank, and I was pale as a ghost, looking as if I was on my last legs. My throat and mouth were dry. I needed something to drink, and my small condo was not more than a 10-minute walk away from where I was currently standing.

  I turned towards Timothy, and I gave him a small smile to give him the indication I was going to be perfectly fine. “I appreciate the concern, Timothy, but I had my flu shot. Even if I do come down with it, it shouldn’t be for any length of time to keep me from opening up my doors tomorrow,” I said as he gave me a nod and then went back in to finish up the business of the day.

  I walked a bit unsteadily with a piercing rhythmic headache; it felt like a heartbeat in my head. I decided to stop at the bakery. The smell was so intoxicating it was hard for me to resist; the cinnamon aroma made me remember how my mother would always bake on Christmas morning. Two weeks away from the big day, and I was still not even half-finished shopping. I tried to call my father the other night, but all I got was the answering machine.

  I cursed myself repeatedly for buying that infernal machine for him. I thought he needed some way to screen his calls and avoid the unnecessary telemarketers. He was always screaming at them at supper time, telling them he would go down to their office and interrupt them when they had their lunch. That machine was only meant to keep them off his back; not keep his daughter from reaching out and trying to mend broken fences.

  I was strong, but looking at me y
ou would think I was weak. I was no more than 5’3, 145 pounds with long ringlets of blond hair cascading down my back like a waterfall. My best feature was my breasts, and developing early at the age of 15 really did make me a popular girl. Unlike most girls experimenting at that age, I found an easy outlet using my own hands to manipulate my flesh into ecstasy.

  I crossed the street, my vision a bit better, but still slightly askew; that was with the glasses I was wearing. I had gone to the doctor the previous week, and I was waiting for my blood test and sample results I had left given them that day. I was kinda curious why it was taking so long. I had this feeling I should call them and find out immediately.

  I was standing in line, feeling a little bit better as the Christmas decorations had really put me in a festive mood. It had only lasted for a short while though when the somber sense of being alone for Christmas drove into me like a knife through my heart. My father was no more than a few miles away at the family restaurant, and yet it felt as if he was in a different country. I casually walked by every so often just to get a glimpse of him in the kitchen without him seeing me of course.

  “Willa, you don’t look like yourself. Look, it’s not on the menu, but I have some homemade chicken noodle soup. It might be what you need to cure what ails you. Your mother was a saint, and I know your father isn’t taking her loss well. You have an open invitation to come for Christmas dinner at my house. George and I will be alone, since our kids have decided to go to their respective in-laws for the holidays. It would be nice to have somebody there to cook for,” Margaret said. She was an older woman who had treated my family with respect and had made sure we were in no need for anything.

  “My father betrayed you by opening up his own restaurant. Any kind of hurt feelings you might have towards him have diminished over the years. Being an only child puts me in a unique position to guilt my father into having a Christmas dinner with me. I’m just not sure I’m the type of girl who would go that far to get him to open up his home to me again. It’s nice of you to offer dinner, and I will certainly take your homemade chicken noodle soup. I can’t remember a cold or flu being able to withstand whatever spices you put in that concoction,” I said with my hands in my blue jeans, tapping my cowboy boots against the floor made of pine. It looked pristine and new as if this place had just been built.

  “Timothy called before you came over here almost like he had a premonition you were going to stop by. The boy is really wasting his talents at the bank. I’ve seen some of his artwork, and he has a real creative flair he’s wasting away on a 9 to 5 job just for “security’s sake.” I think you and I are two built the same way. Independence is in our blood, and we don’t want anybody holding us down or telling us what to do. I want you to be around for much longer. I know you’ve been having problems with your business, but I think they will turn around before you know it,” Margaret said with a wisp of gray hair in her eyes which she blew away.

  “There are days I want to shake Timothy and tell him he needs to cut the cord. Getting his wife pregnant right after high school pretty much sealed his fate. He was never the athletic type, and an artist’s life is a struggling and starving one. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very rewarding. Seeing something completed by your own hand is even better than sex,” I said not realizing a few patrons had started to snicker at my comment.

  “Let’s face it, sex can be rewarding in itself, but only when it’s with a guy who knows what he’s doing. I think I got the cream of the crop. George really does know how to rock my boat. I don’t mean to brag, but when you have it this good, you want everybody to know it. I’ve been trying to match you up with someone for the past couple of years but with no results. I have this cousin of mine. I know you’re going to object, but I thought I could mention he is single and good-looking. Before you say anything, just look at his photo on my Facebook page. God! I can’t believe I’m actually 75 years old, and I’m using Facebook and the Internet. Though, I do have to thank you for turning me onto social media to advertise without wasting a single dollar putting ads on the radio or the antiquated newspaper,” she handed me a brown paper bag with the chicken noodle soup and a couple of cinnamon Danishes.

  I started to reach for my purse, which was a masterpiece made by an “artist”; it did not have the accolades of some big brand name, and I loved it. I always liked to give the little guy a chance. I could have spent thousands on something gaudy, but that wasn’t like me at all.

  “I think you should know by now your money is no good here. For what matters, let me tell you I’m sure you will soon get back on your feet. We all market this small town around as a winter escape. I’ve seen several young families come through on their way to a skiing vacation or just to play in the snow. These next two weeks should have you quite busy,” Margaret said as she turned her attention towards another customer.

  I had lived in this small town in Maine all of my life. I was never very sociable, except when it came to giving guys a hand. I was not about to get lost in the shuffle getting pregnant and losing my future in one fell swoop. I could avoid it using a five-finger salute to give those guys something they could talk about. My reputation got around, and I was quite busy on Saturday nights, going beyond the casual necking and getting hickeys.

  I suddenly felt a vibration against my fingers. My phone was literally calling to me from within my purse. I rummaged through it trying to find where it was and then I grabbed it before the person on the other end gave up. All I had to do was just press a button. I didn’t need an Internet connection; I had a Dell computer at home and one at the shop. I just needed a phone to keep in touch and for business related purposes.

  “I thought I was going to miss you. I need to see you in my office as soon as you can get here. I have your test results, but there’s no way I’m going to talk about them over the phone. I’m going on vacation with my family at the end of the day, so you better hurry,” Dr. Jessica Wallace said with a very strange and clinical approach which almost seemed staid.

  “I’m not that far away from your office. I’ll stop by on the way home. Is there anything you can tell me to give me a hint of what this is about?” I asked with an awkward silence hanging in the air like an albatross around my neck.

  “The only thing I can tell you is that you need to come in immediately. I’ve been a family physician for most of my life, and I’ve never seen anything quite like this. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but you need to know this is serious Willa,” Jessica, again with a cold and detached voice.

  I looked down at the phone and a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach was now churning. I wanted to believe she was overreacting. This was the kind of doctor who shot from the hip and gave you the diagnosis without any sort of bedside manner. I had heard several people complain about how easily she could break the bad news to somebody and then go on with the rest of her day.

  I walked down the sidewalk, seeing people window shopping, talking in hushed tones about the Christmas presents which were going to be nestled under the tree. Cars driving by with kids looking ready for their school holiday break in a few days. I always thought I would make a good teacher. It didn’t hurt to have holidays and summers off.

  I think I probably would’ve stayed with my father’s restaurant for the rest of my life if my mother hadn’t died. It was then that things changed and I started to see I wasn’t living my life for myself. Family was very important, but my own well-being and sanity were more so. I couldn’t sit around waiting for that legacy to fall into my hands in good conscience.

  Chapter 2

  I hated the doctor’s office, and I wanted to scream every time I came in here. Jessica really needed to change it a bit. Being a pediatrician for most of the town had turned her little haven into a child wonderland. Farm animals were depicted on the wall, bringing me back to a simpler time when I was again suffering from those migraines. They weren’t even near as bad as they were these days; two weeks of needlessly suffering had made me finall
y break down and come to Jessica for her unbiased opinion.

  Her long gray and black hair was the only thing I could see as she shuffled papers and mumbled underneath her breath. “I have to tell you, seeing these results has been really distressing. I’m not sure how I can break this to you gently. I know you have been waiting patiently for the results, but I had to make sure they were correct. I had the lab run the test three times, and they have been really conclusive. Your body is shutting down. There’s a toxin in your blood causing this. If we don’t find a cure for this, you will be dead within six months from now. I hate to be blunt, but I wanted you to know so you could make peace with it and maybe get your affairs in order,” Jessica said. I was stunned. I was sitting there with my hands firmly on my knees.

  “That was some mouthful you just blurted out without even taking a breath in between sentences. I’m trying to catch my breath here. It’s a good thing I’m not standing. I feel like I’m 1,000,000 miles away and this is some sort of nightmare I’m going to wake up from at any moment now. I know you wouldn’t have told me this unless it was true. But is there really no hope? I don’t believe that. There has to be something I can do, somebody I can turn to. I’m not going to give up easily. I think you know that about me better than anybody,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster considering the circumstances.