Single Dad Billionaire Boss_An Irish Billionaire Romance Read online

  I mean, really, he looks right at me.

  And then, my frazzled, new-to-traveling, out-of-my-comfort-zone nerves get another shock.

  He lifts his arm and waves.

  Chapter 2

  Jason

  My quads are burning from a full day on the slopes. I sit my sore body down on the couch, waiting for the waitress to make her way over to us.

  I’m a bit annoyed. First, the valet forgot that we’d paid for in-house ski tuning each night, and tried to take our skis straight to the storage closet. I had to flag him down and remind him of the package we ordered.

  On top of that, my VP of sales just informed me that the meeting in Florida ended in a stalemate. It seemed that the private party interested in one of our largest commercial real estate offerings was balking at the price tag, and stopping twenty million short of what we were asking.

  If I was there, I’d be able to talk him into the full price. The place is more than worth it, and it’s going to double in value in the next fifty years.

  Why doesn’t our client see the opportunity right in front of his face? More importantly, why can’t my VP of sales make him see the value? I feel my blood pressure rise, just thinking about it.

  I’m hungry too, which never helps my mood.

  Where is that waitress?

  I look up. She’s approaching slowly. Very slowly.

  Come on, come on, I think, waving her forward. Hurry up. I’m starving.

  She reaches us, a look of confusion on her pretty face. Then she just stands there, mute.

  Is this her first day on the job? The waiter that I’ve been ordering from for most of the week was much better—he greeted me by name, knew my drink, and always brought a coloring book over for Charlie, complete with crayons.

  “Is Gustav working?” I ask, recalling the waiter’s name. “If he is, I’d like to see him.”

  “I—um… Gustav?” The woman looks around. She has wavy auburn hair, and it swishes over her shoulders as she looks this way and that. It’s surprising that she’s wearing her hair down, seeing that she’ll be carrying our food later—upscale places usually have a dress code that specifies hair tied back. She’s definitely new.

  “Yes,” I say. “The waiter we had last night. He was very good and I’d like to see him again, if possible. No offense.” I’m way too tired, sore and hungry to deal with an employee in training.

  The waitress looks upset. I sigh, “Oh, fine. Okay. Do you have a notebook or something to write down our order? I know lots of servers try to do that whole super-memory thing, but I’d rather you take notes.”

  She just stares at me.

  “Fine, fine. We’ll test your memory.”

  She still hasn’t made mention of the menu, so I begin rattling off the items that I can remember from our stay so far. “I’ll have a Jack on the rocks, as well as a tall spring water—not tap. Bring a water for my son also, and he’ll have a lemonade with his meal. We’ll take the charcuterie platter to start with, but hold the brie. In its place, just give us a few of those stuffed olives. Also, I’ll take the steak, medium rare, and your seasonal vegetables.”

  Her face looks blank. There’s no way she’s remembering all of this.

  “You’re sure you don’t just want to go get Gustav?” I ask wearily.

  She shakes her head.

  I turn to Charlie.

  “What do you want for dinner?” I sign.

  He places a finger on his cheek, thinking. “Can I color again?” he signs finally, as if that’s his answer.

  “I’ll ask her to bring a coloring book. How about food?”

  “The cheeseburger. And mac and cheese.”

  I shake my head. “You’ve gotta get some vegetables, buddy.”

  Charlie groans audibly. This is our usual tug of war, come meal time.

  The woman clears her throat, causing me to look up at her. She really is pretty. Her black pants hug her hips, accentuating the curves of her lean body. The blouse she’s wearing is slightly dressier than the other staff members’ I’ve seen. It has subtle ruffles on the capped sleeves, and is made with a silky material that flows over her hourglass figure. Maybe she hasn’t gotten issued a standard polo quite yet.

  She has beautiful features, and her layered haircut falls in soft wisps around her face. If it wasn’t for her ineptitude, I’d be more appreciative of her looks. But her inability to perform her job has me on edge, and I can barely enjoy her beauty.

  She opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. It’s as if she’s too scared to speak.

  “What?” I snap.

  “I think you’ve made a mistake,” she says, almost in a whisper. Her cheeks are bright pink with a flush, and her large blue-green eyes burn with embarrassment. “I’m not a waitress. I just got here, from—”

  “Well, if you’re still in training, they shouldn’t have you out walking the floors on your own. You should be shadowing someone else, if you’re that new to the position.” I sigh. “Listen, I hate to do this, but I’m not really in the mood to go through this right now. It’s been a long day, and we haven’t eaten since noon.” I glance over at Charlie. His tongue is sticking out, and he’s trying unsuccessfully to unbuckle his ski boots.

  “My son will have a cheeseburger, well done, as well as a small salad,” I say.

  “Oh my goodness—really? This is unbelievable,” she says quietly.

  She’s being utterly unprofessional, but I push forward, for Charlie’s sake. “And last night, Gustav brought him a coloring book, and he’s asking for it again. If that’s not too much trouble.”

  She shakes her head. Her cheeks are on fire.

  “You know what?” I say, doubting her abilities more and more with each passing second. “I’d like to see your manager, please.”

  Really, this is out of hand. When I go on vacation, I don’t expect to deal with untrained staff. I expect to get things the way I want them. It’s not the ideal time to launch into a complaint with the manager—I’d rather be sipping a drink and eating stuffed olives while Charlie colors contentedly—but the woman is leaving me with no choice.

  She huffs out a sigh one more time and then spins on her heel.

  I turn back to Charlie instead of watching her storm off. “You’re getting a salad,” I sign, as I listen to the woman’s clicking heels get softer and softer. “And if you eat it all, we can get the s'mores again for dessert.”

  At this, he perks up. It’s so good to see him smile. I smile too, thinking of how much fun it was to roast marshmallows over the little fire pit in the middle of the table the night before.

  “Would you like that?” I ask, reaching over to ruffle his hair.

  He nods enthusiastically, his small head moving up and down under my palm. I marvel for a moment at how fast he’s grown, but then my attention is diverted by a welcome sight.

  “Gustav!” I call to the waiter zipping past.

  He veers in our direction. “Mr. Raynes! Charlie, my man! How were the slopes today?”

  “Good, good. We worked up an appetite!”

  He points his index finger at me, and fires off his next words as if they’re bullets from a gun. “Jack on the rocks, two bottled waters, and a lemonade for little Charlie? Charcuterie, no brie, stuffed olives?”

  I nod and grin. “You got it. Hey, I tried to order from the new girl, but she wasn’t quite up to the task. I asked to speak to the manager, but I take it back. Now that I’ve got you, I don’t need to issue a complaint.”

  He looks confused for a brief moment, but then his smile returns. “Excellent, Mr. Raynes. I’ll have your drinks and appetizers out to you in just a moment. Oh, and I’ll bring out coloring books for Charlie.”

  “Thanks, Gustav,” I say, before he bustles away.

  The fire is warm, and I feel much more relaxed knowing that our food is on the way. Charlie’s managed to pull off one of his boots, and he’s working on the next one.

  “Nice job, champ,” I sign. “Want some help?”

  He nods.

  I slide off of the couch, and perch on the floor in front of him on one knee, grateful for the padding that the fur rug provides. My passion for running and skiing have given me knees that feel more worn than my thirty-two-year-old body ought to. After yanking Charlie’s boot off, I shift my body back up to the couch and settle into it.

  Gustav returns within moments with a coloring book, and Charlie starts to work on a picture right away. I watch him color, noting the intense, determined look on his face as he begins to color the sky blue, one little stoke of the crayon at a time. There’s his tongue sticking out again, too.

  I laugh a little, and my heart swells with pride. Watching him reminds me so much of myself. I’m sure I used to get that look when I was really involved with a project, as a kid. I bet I still get it, when I’m determined to close a business deal, no matter what obstacles seem to be in my way.

  I shift my gaze to the fire, and my mind wanders to my business. The way I left things on the phone with my VP wasn’t ideal, and now that I’m feeling more relaxed, I dial his number.

  As soon as he answers, I bring up my idea.

  As the CEO of a steel manufacturing and construction company, it’s my job to solve problems. That’s all I do, all day long. I haven’t earned billions by sitting back and letting things fall through the cracks. I pride myself on being hands on.

  “I’m coming home early,” I say matter-of-factly.

  “You don’t have to do that,” my VP says.

  “Well, yeah, actually, I do. I need to sit down with our client. I’ll be able to close the deal, Pete.”

  He sighs heavily. “Jason, I’m telling you, you don’t have to end your vacation just to—”

  “I’m coming ho
me.”

  “I can meet with him. Let me try to—”

  “Don’t,” I say. “Just don’t. That will make us look desperate, and will scare him off. Let me handle it. Call him, and schedule something for two days’ time. I’ll head home tomorrow and be back in the office by eight a.m. on Friday.”

  “Jason, I don’t think that’s—”

  “I gotta run, Pete,” I say.

  The truth is, I can feel him squirming uncomfortably on the other end of the line, and it’s slightly stressing me. Yeah, it sucks for him that I’m going to end my vacation just because he can’t perform his job at the high level that I need right now. But I’m not angry at him. It’s not personal. I just know that if I want to wrap this deal up, I’ll have to do it myself.

  “Bye,” I throw in, before hanging up.

  I check in on Charlie, who’s coloring in a picture of a family snowboarding on mountains not dissimilar to those we were surrounded by earlier in the day.

  Charlie impressed me with his capabilities. I’ve had him on skis since he was two, and all of that early work and painstakingly slow training is now paying off. The little ripper can now go all over the mountain, including steep expert terrain that delivers that thrill of exertion and breathtaking views.

  We’ve had a good week, I think, turning back to my phone.

  I pull up my assistant’s number, and begin to message her about changing our tickets for an earlier departure. Charlie might be disappointed that I’m cutting our trip short, but I’ll soften the blow with some good news: we’ll ski again. Soon. I’m already thinking ahead to a trip to Aspen, Colorado. Charlie loves Aspen, and I’m a big fan too.

  My assistant wastes no time in getting back to me—she knows that I like prompt replies. She promises to get us on a flight the following evening, and I ask her to send me the itinerary once she books the tickets, so that I can plan accordingly.

  Our food arrives and I place my phone on the table, within eyesight. Before biting into my steak, I pull up a profile of the client I’ll be meeting with in Florida. I need to know everything about him if I’m going to nail this deal: his educational background, his work history, his likes and dislikes. I’m about to start reading, when I notice that Gustav is still standing by.

  “What do you read?” he asks. “If you like, I can bring you a book from the guest library. The print will be much larger. This must hurt your eyes.”

  “Oh, this?” I gesture to my phone. “No, I read on it all the time. I’m used to it. Besides, I’m not reading for pleasure, Gustav.” I chuckle at the thought of reading a novel. I haven’t done that in years. “No, this is work.”

  “Work?!” Gustav seems shocked. “But Mr. Raynes, you’re on vacation. You’ve left your work behind, yes?”

  “Ha. I’m a business owner, Gustav. The truth is, I never leave work behind.”

  He laughs politely. “Okay! I won’t get you a book from the library then. You have work to do.”

  His comment makes me feel slightly guilty about staring at my phone during dinner, so I push the device away a few inches and look at my son instead. He’s eating his salad first—getting it out of the way, I’m guessing.

  Looks like we’ll be having s'mores tonight, I think, watching him polish off the last of his greens. That’s good. I want tonight to be perfect because tomorrow, we’ll be heading home.

  Chapter 3

  Harper

  “Yes, Harper Kelly. That’s me!” I say happily, opening the door wider. The room service attendant rolls a little white table into my room. On the top of it is a plate with a cover over it, a little silver pot of coffee, a dainty tea cup, cream and sugar and a vase filled with flowers.

  Seriously. Flowers! I thought room service only looked like this in the movies.

  The server gives me a little bow—really!—and then presents me with a little black leather billfold. I open it up, check out the numbers and insert a note. The foreign currency seems almost fake to me, and it feels fun to spend it. I hand the billfold back to the server.

  “Thank you,” I say. “This looks fabulous. Keep the change.”

  Really, I’m not quite sure how much I’ve tipped him, but I think it was generous. He bows a second time, thanks me, and then leaves me to enjoy my breakfast.

  I’m wearing a thick white terrycloth robe and puffy white slippers. I had an amazing night’s sleep and woke feeling refreshed. One steamy shower later, and I’d almost completely forgotten about the shaky start to my vacation. I still can’t believe I was mistaken for a waitress within my first few minutes of being a guest here! How degrading!

  Splurging on room service seemed to be the final act to push me past my embarrassment.

  I’ve never ordered room service before. It feels so luxurious to sit down to eat while wearing a bathrobe, and lift the lid off of my breakfast. Perfect strips of bacon, two eggs, and a handful of greens great me with a welcoming burst of fragrant steam.

  Mmm… It smells delicious!

  I enjoy the meal, along with a cup of the best coffee I’ve ever tasted, and then dress for a day on the mountain.

  This time, I will be sure not to dress in anything that looks remotely staff-like. I doubt that I’d be able to buy back my pride with an expensive breakfast if I got mistaken for staff a second time.

  I put on heather-grey leggings and a bright red thermal top. On top, I layer on my ski pants and jacket and step into my shoes. Then, I grab my helmet, goggles, and mittens and head for the door.

  Thankfully, I cross the lobby without being cornered and spoken down to by any of the guests. It’s actually very easy, because the lobby is completely empty. Where are all the guests? That’s when I realize that it’s only six o’clock in the morning. I must have woken up at four or five! I’m still getting used to the time difference, and I had no idea.

  The front desk attendant informs me that the lifts won’t open till eight, but since I’m already dressed in my ski gear, I decide to head toward the ski area anyways, even if I’m early. I take a cup of coffee to go, and spend the next hour or so getting way too caffeinated while poring over maps of the ski area. Soon I’m sitting on the first chair of the day in my brand new rental skis, map in my pocket, heading up a lift.

  As the chair takes me higher and higher into the mountains, I feel a burst of energy. This is incredible!

  The views only get better as I ride. I crane my neck around to look down at the village at the base of the mountain that’s getting smaller and smaller as I ascend.

  There is a thick wall of clouds building up to the west, and I wonder briefly if we’ll be getting snow. As I look backwards, a flash of bright red catches my eye. It’s the tourist from the hotel, the one who thought I was a waitress! I think he might be Irish—when he spoke to me last night, rattling off that long order of food, I couldn’t help but notice his accent. He’s riding the lift with the young boy. Other than the two of them, a few chairs back, the lift is entirely empty. We seem to be the few skiers enthusiastic enough to hit the slopes this early in the day.

  Wow, this place really is quiet. Ah, well, more room to carve! I’m so excited to test out European snow (plus, I don’t want to hang around and be yelled at by the man in red again, no matter how handsome he is) that I zip off of the lift and charge right into a fast run down the first trail I see.

  The snow is perfect, the fresh air feels so good in my lungs, and I drink in the amazing views as I descend. I fly into the lift line and eagerly load onto a chair again. My heart is pumping fast, and the exhilaration of speed has me panting for more. At the top of the lift, I take a short run that leads me to another chair. Again, I’m the only one in line. I love not having to wait! The chairlift takes me up even higher on the mountain, into a back bowl.

  The runs up here haven’t been groomed, and I give a whoop of joy as I realize the powder is waist deep—the area must have gotten pounded by storms recently. I feel like I’m surfing as I float through the snow. The building clouds that I noticed earlier in the morning now gather overhead, and when I reach the bottom of the bowl, fat flakes start to land on my nose and cheeks.

  The lift is totally high tech, and it’s strange to me that there isn’t a lift operator present. Everything seems to be automatic. It’s all so different than the skiing I’m used to in the States. It’s a bit eerie to be out so high up in this back bowl of the Swiss Alps, with no one around, but I’m so caught up with the joy of skiing powder that I don’t dwell on it.