Façade: A Billionaire Single Dad Romance Read online

  Façade

  J.J. Bella

  Copyright © 2017 by J.J. Bella

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  About the Author

  Bonus Stories by Alison White

  My Billionaire Next Door

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Dirty Business

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  1

  “Ms. Brimley, he’s doing it again!”

  A shrill, boy’s voice snapped Molly Brimley out of her daydream. Looking up towards the blue waters of the San Francisco Bay, she saw Charlie, one of the three boys she was currently looking after, being sat on by Aiden, one of his older brothers. Aiden was perched on six-year-old Charlie’s chest as he lay on the emerald grass of the Presidio, the Golden Gate bridge stretching out in the distance, the sky overhead a pleasant azure with wisps of white clouds that looked as though they’d been dabbed into the sky with the tip of a paintbrush, the sun beginning its evening descent into the ocean waters to the west.

  “Aiden, cut it out!” yelled Molly from the shade of the acacia tree where she was sat, a book folded over his slim legs.

  But Aiden either didn’t hear her, or did and didn’t care. She watched as he sat on Charlie, the latter boy’s limbs flailing around as his older brother looked away, a smug expression on his face as he pretended that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Hank, the eight-year-old middle child, was watching from a distance, laughing at the display, happy that he wasn’t the subject of his ten-year-old brother’s antagonisms.

  “Aiden, I’m serious!”

  Still, no response.

  Molly shook her head and smiled as she slipped her bookmark between the pages of her book and set it down on the grass. She rose, stretching her willowy, delicate limbs, letting the warmth of the afternoon sun fall upon her face before doing what needed to be done.

  “I’m coming, Aiden!”

  But now Aiden had slipped his phone out of his pocket and was happily swiping away at some game, playing it as though he were sitting on the couch in the expensive, luxury home where the boys and their father lived, and not on his brother’s chest.

  “I’m serious!” said Molly, taking on a tone of faux-seriousness as she walked across the grass.

  Finally, she arrived at the scene. Charlie looked up at her with a pleading expression, Hank still watching and laughing from the sidelines.

  “OK, last warning, then you know what’s gonna happen.”

  This snapped Aiden’s attention away from his phone. But instead of relenting, he decided to double down, turning his attention back to his phone, pretending that he hadn’t seen Molly.

  “Oh, so that’s how you’re gonna play it, little man,” said Molly, placing her hands on her hips. “Then there’s only one thing left to do…”

  With that, she reached for Aiden, touching his sides with her fingers and working them back and forth.

  “No-no-no!” said Aiden, falling over laughing from the tickling, Charlie standing and bolting away from the scene now that he was free.

  “I told you I was gonna do it!” said Molly, stepping towards Aiden and continuing her attack.

  “OK, OK, I give up!” Aiden said as Molly stood over him, tickling him under his arms as he laughed and thrashed.

  Molly relented, stepping back from Aiden, his phone on the grass next to him, displaying the bright colors of the game his was playing.

  “I’m not gonna be ticklish forever, you know,” he said.

  “Yeah, you are!” said Hank. “Whatever you’re like now, that’s how you’re gonna be forever; it’s called ‘genetics’; we’re learning about it in school.”

  “Whatever,” said Aiden, picking up his phone and slipping it into his pocket.

  And as he did, Molly noted that it was the latest iPhone model, and the most expensive version.

  Ah, the life of the rich, she thought, the thinking of her old model phone with cracks on the face that had the shape of a particularly unruly tree branch.

  “I’m hungry,” said Charlie, now unaffected by the teasing from his older brother.

  “Me too,” said Molly, placing her hand on her flat stomach. “You guys ready to get back home and get something to eat?”

  “Yeah!” they said in unison.

  “OK, but stay close. If one of you runs off that means no dessert for anyone, got it?”

  “Got it,” said Aiden, looking over the other boys with a stern expression, warning them not to misbehave.

  “Then let’s go!”

  Molly turned away from the waters of the bay, the majesty of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the verdant green of the Marin Headlands beyond and back towards the city of San Francisco, the buildings of the skyline dominating the view. Together, the four of them strolled across the grass of the Presidio and back towards the boys’ home in Russian Hill, one of the most expensive areas in the city.

  The Gerrard boys were the latest in a long string of babysitting gigs that Molly had picked up since moving to San Francisco. The boys were sweet, but, well, they were boys, and all it took was for her to take her eyes off of them for one moment before they were either fighting, roughhousing, or making some kind of mess that she’d be responsible for cleaning up. But they were good kids, and the money wasn’t bad.

  Things for Molly hadn’t been easy since she moved to San Francisco a little under a year ago after her graduation from the University of Salt Lake City. A bright girl, and one of the top students in her interior design program, Molly was used to things coming a little more easily to her than they seemed to for other people. She aced all of her courses, built a strong portfolio, and was the apple of just about every professor’s eye, with offers for letters of recommendation following her out the college doors. Naturally, she thought that success in San Francisco would be a snap. After all, the weather was beautiful, the people were nice, and the city was the most gorgeous that she’d ever seen- how hard could it be? Before she moved, she found herself daydreaming of the cute apartment she’d own in the Mission District, and the great job that she’d find with ease at one of the many hip design firms in town.

  Then, reality hit her like a truck. Molly was able to find a decent place to live in the Castro with a great (and fabulous) guy named Claude, but this was due to her having a nice enough nest egg from her graduation gifts more than any savvy on her part. Once she got settled in her new neighborhoo
d, she checked over her portfolio one last time before sending it off to dozens of the top interior design firms in the city, and hearing back from exactly two of them.

  Turns out, it’s not so hard to be a big fish at a school like University of Salt Lake City. A place like San Francisco, on the other hand, is a whole other story. She knew she was talented -she had the accolades of her professors and her straight-A average to attest to that- but San Francisco was, like New York, Paris, or London, one of those cities where the cream of the crop head as soon they’re ready to make their mark on the world. She wasn’t just competing against Utah undergrads- she was competing against the best talent the country had to offer. While she was able to find a few gigs babysitting based on her au pair experience, it was only just enough to pay the bills and keep her head somewhat above water.

  And Molly learned at her most recent interview that her talents weren’t the only quality that she was being judged on. Keeping a careful eye on the boys as they walked down Union Street through the Marina District, the sour memory of her interview the previous afternoon came flooding back.

  She had high hopes when she stepped into the hip, modern interior of Branford Hanson Design Studios, an up-and-coming design firm in the Tenderloin. But as soon as she saw the staff of the impossibly stylish and attractive twenty-somethings that buzzed around the sunny interior of the place like bees, she felt like a fish out of water.

  If Molly were to be generous, she’d describe herself as “cute.” She knew her jet-black, lustrous hair was her best feature, and though she received many compliments on her emerald-green eyes from boys here and there, she thought that they were too big, and combined with her small, full lips and tiny, pert nose, she felt that she always seemed to have the expression of a surprised doll. And she wasn’t crazy about her body; she considered herself too skinny, with thin limbs and a too-tall stature.

  But however, she felt about her looks, scanning the staff, she felt like she was a bag lady among supermodels. Molly was blown away by how these kids could be so stylish, attractive, and talented at such a young age; within seconds of stepping into the firm, she had already decided that she wasn’t cut out for the job.

  And as far as Molly was concerned, the less said about the interview itself, the better. She left the debacle fearing that she was doomed to be a babysitter for the rest of her life.

  Chills of embarrassment rushed through Molly’s body as she approached the home of the Gerrard family, the thoughts of the interview still fresh in her mind.

  “I want ice cream!” shouted Hank as he ran towards his home, a massive, expensive two-story that was both trendy and modern, and stately and sophisticated.

  “No ice cream until you eat some actual food!” yelled Molly after him, the other two boys thankfully remaining at her side.

  As she walked up to the home, she noticed the expensive, silver sports car of Clint Gerrard, and realized that boys’ dad was home early. Ready to be done with her draining day, the hands of the two boys in hers, she walked up to the front door of the Gerrard home.

  2

  Molly stepped into the massive, expansive living room of the Gerrard home, the boys running upstairs to play with their expensive collection of video games and various other electronic toys and games. Looking around the living room, Molly couldn’t help but notice that it was about as much of a bachelor home as one could design: the walls and surfaces were clean and white, the kitchen was a mess of stainless steel, and the art on the walls was modern and minimalist. It wasn’t a surprise that Mr. Gerrard had been a single man -an extremely wealthy single man, at that- for years; if there was any home that needed a woman’s touch, it was this one.

  Though Molly felt she was a little shameless in dropping hints about her knowledge of interior decorating, hoping that maybe she could hook a man like Mr. Gerrard -a millionaire tech mogul- into being her first client, he didn’t seem to pick up on it. Or maybe he was just being polite.

  “Molly, that you?” called out the booming voice of Mr. Gerrard from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” he replied, kicking off her black flats.

  Ready to collect her pay for the day and head home, she walked into the kitchen, the light from the setting sun filling the home bright light, the skyline of the city visible through the back window of the home from its vantage point on one of the many hills of San Francisco.

  Molly was flipping through her phone as she walked into the kitchen, and as soon as she looked up, she froze in place fighting off the urge to stumble backward at what she saw.

  With Mr. Gerrard in the kitchen, was one of the most gorgeous men that she’d ever seen in her life.

  “Listen, Clint,” he said, not noticing Molly’s entrance. “I love you, but you have no idea what you’re talking about. You really, really, think that investing in another home-sharing app is where our money needs to go right now?”

  “I’m telling you,” said Mr. Gerrard, leaning his bulk against the stainless steel fridge, a microbrew IPA decorated with a flashy label in his hand. “Airbnb’s on the outs; you can’t even rent out a place for a weekend in New York, and you know we’re next. Then Chicago, then Toronto, then LA. And once they’re done, this new app is gonna sweep in and steal that juicy, juicy market share.”

  “No way,” said the man. “There is no way that Airbnb’s going to stand by and let them just steal their clientele. They’ll put their money into a good legal team and…”

  Molly had heard enough conversations about apps during her time in the city to feel comfortable tuning this one out as she let herself focus on this new man in the room.

  He was tall; that’s what she noticed first. Molly, as a tall girl herself, always felt that she towered over the boys at her college who constantly followed after her like little overeager puppies, so seeing a man like this, who, even from where he stood on the other side of the vast kitchen, she could tell had a good half-foot on her, was something she didn’t encounter very often. The man’s hair was a bright blonde, styled in a fashionable, slicked-back manner. His eyes were a sparkling, bright blue that caught the sun just so, and his face looked like it was carved from marble, with full lips and a strong jaw dusted with a five-o’clock shadow. He was dressed in slim-cut, perfectly tailored business casual clothing that hinted in a tantalizing way at the toned, muscular body that she could tell was underneath. Molly couldn’t stop herself from staring at this perfect specimen of masculinity.

  “Ah, there you are,” said Mr. Gerrard, his doughy, soft body appearing even less attractive next to his guest’s. “Peter, this is Molly Brimley, my part-time babysitter.”

  “Hi, Molly, the part-time babysitter,” said Peter, his gaze connecting with Molly’s, who felt as though she might melt like butter under his eyes.

  “Hi…” said Molly, her words trailing off, her mouth staying slack.

  A moment passed.

  “Uh, Molly, let me get you a beer,” said Mr. Gerrard, pulling open the fridge and removing one of the craft beers he was drinking. “Peter and I are just going over some business strategy.”

  “Oh, ‘strategy’ is what you’re calling this?” said Peter with a laugh, taking a sip of his beer.

  Clint let out a quick bark of a laugh as he ran his hand over his thin, brown hair.

  “Oh, go to hell,” he said with a smile, plopping the beer in front of an open seat at the pristine, white kitchen island, presumably suggesting that Molly have a seat there.

  Molly pulled the chair out in front of the beer and took a seat. She sipped the beer, the harsh, hoppy taste filling her mouth as her eyes stayed fixed on Peter.

  “So, we throw some money at this home-sharing app, what’re you thinking, fifty mil?” said Peter. “Then what, hope that it works out for the best?”

  “No,” said Clint. “We watch as we make more money. Where Airbnb fails, this app will fill in the gaps.”

  Peter appeared to think it over, but his furrowed brow suggested that he remained unconv
inced.

  “And the name of this thing, what is it, Sleep Train?”

  “Sleep Station,” corrected Clint.

  “It’s a bad name.”

  “It’s not a bad name, and even if-“

  Molly found herself staring at Peter one again, watching as his serious, handsome face would break out into a wide, attractive smile, his teeth as bright and beaming as the sun setting over the Pacific.

  She seemed to always find herself witness to these Silicon Valley conversations about apps, startups, pivots, all sorts of subjects that she barely understood, the massive sums of money that always came up the only part of the conversations that she could even somewhat follow. But they always managed to make her feel insignificant.

  “OK, enough of this,” said Peter, swiping his hands as though the topic were something in front of him that he were brushing away. “Molly, right? Tell me about yourself.”

  Molly felt her face turn red, both Peter and Clint’s eyes on her.

  “Uhm, oh, me?” she said, accidentally tapping her beer against the counter of the kitchen island, the glass sending out a shrill ping. “I’m from Salt Lake.”

  “Hmm,” said Peter, appearing to think over the tiny scrap of information that she’d just offered. “Beautiful city; I took Winnie there skiing a few years back.”

  Molly’s heart sank upon hearing the name of a woman that was likely his girlfriend (though not his wife, as Molly noted right away that his ring finger was bare). She knew that she didn’t have a chance with a man like this, but hearing that he was taken was just another kick from reality.