Bossy Romance: Single Dad BWWM (Billionaire Dads)

NOVA

“You don’t have to keep coming here.”

I set the fruit basket on the desk next to Alexa’s hospital cot and give her a strained smile. “It’s my last time.”

“Well that sounds ominous.”

I glance around, avoiding eye contact. “Where’s Rowan?”

“He’s watching TV outside. This one,” Alexa juts her chin at the flat screen on the wall, “only has documentaries and news channels, so he gets bored quickly. The nurses here spoil him and let him change the channels for the TV in the waiting room.”

He’s a cute kid and his mother is in hospice care. It’s totally believable that he’d have an entire hospital under his thumb.

“How are you feeling?” I ask Alexa.

“Like a million bucks.” She tries to pose, but her hands are so weak she can barely lift them. “Can’t you tell?”

My eyes skim her pale skin that’s nearly translucent. Her eyes are sunken in and her lips are chapped. It’s frightening how much older she looks now. It’s like someone’s pressing fast-forward on her life and has no intention of taking their hands off the button.

“You look nice,” I say politely.

She snorts. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve got one foot in the grave and the other is barely holding on. I look like death warmed over.”

I clear my throat. Alexa’s frankness keeps taking me by surprise.

She smiles and nods at me. “You’re the one who looks nice.”

I glance down at my green blouse and wrap-around pencil skirt.

“I really like your hair.” She eyes my curls. “Every time I see it, I just want to…” She makes a scrunching gesture.

My lips curl up. I haven’t allowed anyone but Adam and Island to touch my hair, but for a split-second, I consider letting Alexa have the honor.

Fortunately, that impulse passes when she asks, “Is Adam with you?” Her grey eyes slide past my shoulder to the door.

I shake my head. “No.”

Disappointment etches across her face. “He must be really busy.”

I try to smooth it over. “He’s working on a new invention. He can easily go three or four days without coming up for air when he’s tinkering.”

She looks thoughtful. “That’s natural for you, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Defending him.” She laughs softly. “You’re good at it. I think that impulse of yours would be dangerous if he wasn’t such a good man. Defending a jerk is, well, sad. Thankfully, Adam doesn’t fall into that category.”

I feel myself getting defensive. “It’s my job.”

“Exactly. People tend to badmouth their bosses when they’re not around. You do the opposite.”

Heat burns my cheeks.

Just then, Alexa’s personal nurse enters the hospital room. She gives me a nod, shuffles to Alexa and checks her vitals.

“Look at that,” the nurse says, smiling at the results. “Talking to a friend does your body good.”

Alexa’s eyes sparkle a bit. “See, Nova? Your visits are good for me. You can’t stop now.”

I glance down. It hurts to swallow and I set a hand over my throat.

“I’ll be back later,” the nurse says. “I’ll let you two chat.”

“Thank you, Greta.” Alexa beams. When the nurse leaves, she pins me with a frightened look. “Where did Adam get her?”

“Why? Is she not treating you well?”

“No, she’s awesome. Better than awesome.” Alexa struggles to sit up. “She knows everything and is good at everything. I get the feeling she’s expensive and that makes me mildly uncomfortable.”

“Adam can afford it.” If he wanted to, he could buy ten Gretas.

“Do you think he’s treating me so well because he feels guilty?”

My heart pangs. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t buy that. You know him best.” Alexa isn’t able to push herself up.

“Let me help you.” I set my purse aside. Together, we manage to get her into a ninety-degree angle.

“You know,” Alexa says, while I’m fluffing her pillows, “you’re really good at not answering my questions.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“There you go. Doing it again. Evading.”

I let loose a small, guilty smile.

She shakes her head. “You’re sharp, Nova. You just pretend not to be when it suits you.”

“I, uh, I’m not good at making small talk.”

“That’s fine. I don’t have time for small talk anyway. Every second counts here.” Her lips curve up mischievously. “I’ve been curious about something. How did you and Adam meet?”

“The way all bosses and employees meet. I was looking for a job and he hired me.”

Alexa groans. “Come on. I need more detail than that.” When she pouts, it reminds me of Rowan. “Were you always this uber professional woman with a great sense of style? Did he see that and immediately go, ‘I need her’? Or was it more like an enemies to lovers thing? Like, he couldn’t stand you at first sight and then you proved your worth?” When I look slightly overwhelmed, Alexa explains, “I’ve been reading a lot of romance novels lately. They take me away from… well… everything.”

“Uh, no. We weren’t enemies to—we didn’t have that exciting of a start.”

“Bummer.” She edges forward. “So what happened?”

“I…”

It’s hard for me to talk about myself most of the time, but ending things with Adam left a fresh wound. Digging up our old memories makes my mask of indifference falter.

I clutch my purse tightly, fighting to keep my expression intact.

Alexa looks eagerly at me.

Although it’s uncomfortable, I share, “My sister had gotten into some trouble and I’d been let go from my job.”

Alexa doesn’t need to know that those two things are connected. If Lyra hadn’t come to my job, acting crazy and making a scene, I would still be there.

“I needed money, quick, but no one was hiring. The only options available were retail or fast food jobs, but then I wouldn’t make enough to help my family.”

Alexa makes a humming sound and I get the feeling that she’s been there.

“I was getting more and more desperate to find something suitable, but nothing was working out. By chance, I heard that an inventor was looking for a personal assistant.”

“How did you find out? Did Adam put out an ad?” Alexa’s eyes widen.

“I overheard some girls when I was going through the newspaper classifieds at a café. They were talking about an inventor who’d sold his first invention for a million dollars. He’d been recruiting a PA from the tech college, but according to the girls, he kept rejecting everyone who showed up for the job.”

“So you just overheard a conversation? It was, like, fate?” Her eyes are shining even more.

“Coincidence.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh no. You’re one of those.”

That gets a laugh out of me. “One of what?”

“The jaded ones.” She makes a circular motion with her hands. “But I won’t hold it against you. Keep going.”

“Even though I had no background in tech and didn’t think I stood a good chance, I was determined to get him to hire me.”

“What happened next?” Alexa seems far too excited about a story where she already knows the ending.

“I walked inside—Adam’s lab was in an old warehouse at the time—and I overheard him on the phone, arguing with someone about how his invention was about helping humanity and he didn’t want the selling price so high. I kind of lingered in the background and, when I’d heard enough, I held my hand out for the phone.”

“You didn’t.” Alexa wheezes.

“After looking at me like I was insane, Adam gave me the phone.”

“That’s even more insane.”

“I negotiated with the buyer.”

“And did you get him to lower the price?”

“No.” I flinch. “I ended up losing that buyer for Adam.”

“Oh no.”

“I thought he’d be angry. I expected him to shout at me and throw me out.” My heart turns heavy even though the memory is sweet. “But he didn’t. He told me he wanted someone like me, someone bold and assertive by his side. He hired me on the spot and taught me everything he knew. Then, when he couldn’t teach me any further, he paid for courses and sent me on seminars to learn how to run the business better. He invested in me. He believed in me. It made me who I am today.”

“Wow.”

My throat tightens. Normally, I don’t skip down memory lane and even if I did, I wouldn’t get so teary-eyed at the view.

But after what I said to Adam yesterday…

I inhale deeply and cut the story short. “That’s how we started working together.”

“I love it.”

“I’m sure you have a story with Adam too,” I say gently.

She laughs. “We do have a story. But I guarantee you the thing Adam was admiring wasn’t my intelligence.”

I dig my fingers deeper into my skirt, not sure what to say.

The door slides open.

Rowan rushes in and grins when he sees me. “Nova.”

“Hey.” I jolt in surprise when he gives me a big hug.

He leans away. “Is Adam here?”

“Just me today.”

“Oh.” A flicker of disappointment passes over his face. Then he brightens and shows me a notebook. “Look. We already scratched a lot of things off the list.”

Alexa grins weakly. “Rowan sure has a big imagination.”

“Which one of these has been your favorite so far?” I nod to the notebook of wishes.

Alexa thinks about it. “The spa day. I never thought I’d get a spa treatment in the hospital. I have no idea how Adam made it happen.”

“It was a group effort,” I admit.

Money makes the world go ‘round—I fiercely believe that—but people tend to become more accommodating when they can make money and help someone else. Alexa’s plight softened a lot of hearts and allowed the hospital to bend many rules.

Well, all except one.

My heart burns and I rise steadily to my feet. “I’m glad. For both of you.”

Rowan blinks up at me with his big brown eyes. “Are you leaving already?”

“Yeah.” I caress his head. The tears are pricking at me and I don’t think I can hold my composure any longer. Not with Rowan here, reminding me that I’m losing more than just Adam.

I try to memorize his sweet smile and intelligent gaze.

I’m going to miss this kid so much.

“I’ll see you at home later,” Rowan says flippantly.

“At home?” Alexa arches an eyebrow.

“Nova sleeps over all the time.”

I pull my lips into my mouth, horrified.

Alexa laughs. “I see.”

“I should go.” I fling my purse over my shoulder.

“Running away, are we?” Alexa teases. Despite her brave face, I can tell that the conversation took a lot out of her. She’s slouching in her pillow and her breath is shallow.

Looking down, I say, “I truly wish you the best, Alexa.”

“Thanks.” She touches Rowan’s head and gives him a loving smile. “It means the world to me that you’ll be there for Rowan when I’m gone.”

No, I won’t be. Not after the way I tore Adam’s heart out. He won’t want anything to do with me.

But I don’t tell her that.

Mustering another smile with the last of my strength, I leave the hospital room.

Alexa’s doctor is walking past when I get to the lobby. He recognizes me on sight. “Miss Delaney.”

“Doctor.” I stop him with a hand on his sleeve. “Has Adam gotten back to you about Alexa’s outpatient care? Will he…” My breath hitches. “Will he do what needs to be done to get her out of here?”

He gives me a solemn smile. “Miss Delaney, I can’t discuss patient information with non-family members. That’s confidential.”

“Can you at least tell me if you’ve spoken to Adam about it?”

“I have,” he says simply.

Lightning strikes my heart.

So it’s begun.

The doctor looks intently at me. “Alexa mentioned that you and Adam were involved…” His words drift off to nothing, but the question in his eyes lingers.

“Doctor, I can’t discuss my personal life with you. That’s confidential.”

He laughs sheepishly. “I guess I deserve that.”

I mumble out a goodbye and shuffle past him.

Steve is in the parking lot, waiting for me.

“Miss Delaney,” he calls softly, his expression one of unmistakable concern.

“I’m fine,” I croak. Then I stumble.

Steve helps me up. “Miss Delaney, perhaps you should go back inside and find someone to check you.”

I shake my head.

Steve begrudgingly helps me into the car.

I press my face against the cool glass and curl my fingers into fists. I’m Adam’s executive assistant. I shield him from problems and the problems I can’t prevent, I fix.

He made a promise to his son and, to fulfil it, I have to be out of the way.

There’s no other option.

I’m at home, my feet tucked under me and my eyes on my laptop when I get a call from Adam.

“Can I see you?”

“Adam…”

“Please.”

I press the cell phone closer to my cheek, my heart aching. “Okay.”

There’s a knock on my door.

I glance up in shock. “Are you outside right now?”

“I am.”

My feet hit the floor and I barrel across the room. My heart is torn. I want to see Adam, and yet each step feels like I’m marching straight to the gallows.

No matter what Adam says, it won’t change my mind.

It won’t stop the inevitable.

The end of us.

I throw the door open. Adam’s standing on the other side, looking painfully handsome even with his hair mussed, his jaw tight, and his coffee-brown eyes full of anguish.

Knots tighten in my stomach.

“Come in,” I say hoarsely.

“I can’t do that.” His eyes burn into me.

“Why not?”

He frowns.

“Adam, we can’t have this conversation in the hallway. My neighbors—”

“If I take one step toward you, Nova, I’ll keep going and I’ll never stop.”

My heart squeezes like it’s caught in a vise.

His eyes drill into mine. “Is that what you want?”

I dig my fingers into the knob.

Adam smiles bitterly. “Thought so.”

I chew on my bottom lip. “Why are you here, Adam?”

“Do you remember the day we first met? The day you tried to negotiate with the buyers and failed?”

I nod.

“That day, I was just about to give up on finding anyone I could trust with my vision. You stepped in and I just… I knew. You were perfect for me and for Vision Tech in every way. I have never regretted putting my work, my life, in your hands.”

I suck in a sharp breath and avert my gaze. It hurts too much to look at him.

“Nova.”

I turn slightly, unable to hide the tears.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to smother you.”

You didn’t.

“I didn’t mean to suffocate you.”

Oh, Adam, you didn’t.

“My whole life, I looked at problems and I solved them.” He scrubs the heel of his hand against his scruff.

He hasn’t shaved for days. It doesn’t matter. He’s still gorgeous. He’s still everything I could want and can’t have.

“It didn’t matter how impossible it seemed. I kept going after whatever was in my way until I solved it. That’s how I created my first invention. That’s what built Vision Tech—my inability to let something go.”

My chest rises and falls.

He stops and seems to gather himself. In a steadier, deeper voice, he says, “I’ll be different this time.” His eyes meet mine. “I won’t hold you back.”

I blink rapidly.

He decided to marry her.

I can see the resolve all over his face because I know him. I know him better than anyone.

Sharp prickles of sorrow and loss snap against my skin. Rubber bands pulled back to their limits, now allowed to snap free. The pain builds and builds into a tsunami that threatens to rip the floor from under me.

It doesn’t matter that I’m the one who set this plan into motion. It’s still agony.

“My only request is that you be happy.” His throat bobs. “You deserve that, Nova.”

I tuck my chin against my chest, my hands folded and my eyes swelling with tears. Holding them back is near impossible.

Adam straightens his shoulders. “That’s what I came to say.”

When he moves down the hallway, I find myself sprinting toward him. I have no recollection of giving my body that command, but I move fast. Faster. And then I’m behind Adam.

He senses my presence and faces me.

I tilt my head up. “Please take good care of A—” I stop. “Of yourself and Vision Tech and Rowan.”

Adam’s eyes dart between my own.

I curl into myself, wishing I could touch him. I just want to feel his skin on mine and smell his metal and sandalwood scent. I want to bury my head in his chest and tell him the truth. That I love him. That I want to stay by his side.

But I don’t.

“Nova,” Adam whispers my name with such emotion that it makes me groan. His hand comes up to my face.

I lift my chin, gravitating toward him. Something about this being the last time I’ll see him as a single man, the last time it’ll be okay to touch him and want him and long for him, makes it feel okay to cross the line.

At least once.

But Adam doesn’t touch me. He stops his hand an inch away from my cheek and then backs off.

“Go back inside,” he says firmly. “Close the door. Lock it. And don’t open it. Not even if I come back. Not even if I bang on your door and beg to see you. Don’t open up for me.”

My bottom lip trembles.

With a determined look, Adam whirls around and leaves me standing alone in the hallway.

I reach for him, but my fingers rake through air and then fall limply at my side.

It’s over.

Adam and I are done.

I wake up to eyelids caked together and a pounding headache.

Turns out, ‘crying yourself to sleep’ is a lot more painful than it sounds. Especially when you wake up the next morning to blaring sunlight and burning eyeballs.

I move through my morning routine like a ghost.

Brush my teeth.

Shower.

Comb my hair.

“It doesn’t look right,” I growl into the mirror after emptying two tubs of product and gel. My arms are aching and I hate everything my curls are doing.

In a fit of frustration, I grab the scissors.

Maybe I should cut it all off. Who cares if I have hair anyway? Wouldn’t it be easier if I didn’t have to worry about these stubborn, rebellious curls growing out of my head?

My phone rings at that moment.

It’s Dejonae.

I replace the scissors with my cell and lean my hip against the sink.

“Hi, Nova,” Dejonae says. “Sunny’s hosting a cooking class at the farmhouse tonight. We’re making tortillas—Mayan style. You interested?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Dejonae pauses. “But… I thought you loved tortillas?”

I’m not in the mood to socialize, no matter how much I adore Sunny and Mama Moira’s traditional dish. “I’m sorry, Dejonae, I’m a little busy right now. If that’s all, then I’ll hang up first.”

“Wait!”

“What?” I tilt my head.

“Um… ah…”

“Dejonae, I really don’t have time—”

“Kenya wants to invest in Vision Tech,” Dejonae blurts.

“Kenya Alistair?” I perk up.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there.”

If I’m going to leave Adam behind, I might as well leave him holding Kenya Alistair’s purse. The kinetic batteries aren’t cheap to produce. He’s going to need all the support he can get.

Dejonae mumbles something that sounds like ‘wow that was easy’.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” she sings. “I’ll see you tonight.”

I hang up and then look at my hair. Touching one of the limp curls, I sigh. If I continue like this, I’ll end up making a permanent decision based on temporary feelings.

Better to call for help.

Knowing it’s a long shot, I reach out to Island to see if she has any spots free.

“Girl, it’s a weekday. Shouldn’t you be chained to your desk like the workaholic you are?”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Touchy. Touchy.” She pauses and I hear a phone ringing in the distance. “Come on down.”

Feeling like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, I scoop my hair into a bun, grab my purse and drive to the salon.

Island looks different today. She traded her long, silver wig for a blow-out style. Her voluminous black hair is held back by a bandana made of daisies. Her lipstick is a dark brown and there are yellow highlights on her eyelids that match the daisies.

She looks stunned to see me. “I didn’t think you’d actually show.”

“I didn’t think you’d have a space available.”

“Lucky for you, my client just called and cancelled.” She throws an apron around me and ties it at my neck. “You liking your natural hair?”

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “I came to braid it again.”

“It hasn’t been that long since you let your hair down.”

I purse my lips. Why is that any of your business? “If you can’t do it today, I can come back when you have time.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She blinks. “Didn’t you say you’d always wanted to wear your natural hair out? You waited seven years for this.”

“I thought that was what I wanted.” I stare forlornly at the coils. “But natural hair takes longer to maintain. It frizzes all the time, and every wash-and-go comes out differently.”

“That’s life, baby.”

I eye Island hard for calling me ‘baby’ when I’m pretty sure she’s younger than me.

“When you let your hair out, you gotta be prepared for it to knot and tangle. You gotta accept that it’s going to do its own thing. That’s the beauty of letting something free.”

“I don’t want it to be free.” I jut my chin down sharply. “Braid it. I want it neat and contained again. I want every piece in its place.”

“You’re the boss.”

She starts clearing out my hair with conditioner and a big-toothed comb. “Have you resigned from Vision Tech yet?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. This is the absolute last thing I want to talk about.

“That looks like a yes,” Island mutters.

Pulling out my phone, I pretend to scroll through social media just so Island will get the hint.

But she doesn’t.

“How’s Adam holding up?”

I clamp my mouth shut.

“Well, how are you holding up then? Seven years is a long time. Some marriages don’t last that long.”

I sigh heavily. She won’t stop if I don’t answer. “I’m fine.”

“Is that why you suddenly want to braid your hair? Because you’re fine?”

My lips tighten. Before I can tell her to leave me alone, the bells above the door jangle.

A woman with pale skin, dark hair and a sturdy build roughly drags a little girl inside the salon. The child catches my eye. She’s small, not more than six years old. Her skin is cocoa-brown and her eyes are teary.

“Fine. Don’t tell me,” Island is saying, pushing up my chair by the foot handle. “I’ll just come to my own conclusions.”

My eyes follow the woman and the child as they march across the salon. Where have I seen this kid before? Something about her looks familiar, but for the life of me I can’t place it.

“I have an appointment under ‘Gardener’,” the woman says brusquely. She has a slight accent on the end of her words. It sounds Eastern European. Russian, maybe?

“Right this way.” One of the stylists points to a chair.

Island ties up half of my hair and starts working on the other half. “By the way, I saw Adam’s name trending last night. He won something. It was Inventor of the Year, I think? I clicked on the link, but I didn’t see a single picture of him in the articles.”

“Hm.” My eyes are still locked on the little girl. Her skin is as smooth as dark marble and her features are cute and dainty. She’d look like a little model if not for that strange hairstyle. It looks like her mom didn’t use any water when she tried to brush her hair.

The little girl glances up. A stronger sense of familiarity washes over me. I’m great with faces and it bothers me that I can’t figure out where I’ve seen her.

“That man is foine,” Island is saying in the background. “I don’t give a crap about technology, but I’d buy a copy of that boring engineering magazine just to look at his face.” Island smirks at me in the mirror. “Tell Adam to stop running from the camera. He should embrace his genetic gift and offer himself as eye candy. Tell him it’s for the good of mankind. Or womankind.”

“I’ll pass that along,” I mumble.

Island arches an eyebrow when she sees my distractedness. Glancing around, she mumbles, “What are you looking at?”

I say nothing.

The stylist across the room smiles kindly at the little girl. “Get in the chair, sweetie.”

It’s a high jump for the tiny toddler. She struggles to balance on the bottom rung in order to climb on. After a few failed attempts, the woman grabs the kid and sets her roughly into the chair.

I gasp.

Island stiffens.

The stylist looks mildly uncomfortable.

It’s not as if the mother threw the kid like a baseball or held her to the point of leaving bruises, but it’s obvious that she’s handling the child out of frustration rather than patience.

Maybe it rubs me the wrong way because the mother and child are two different races. Or maybe I’m thinking too much. Either way, I can’t take my eyes off them and now, neither can Island.

The little girl, oblivious to her audience of two, sits straight up in the chair. I notice that despite her questionable hairstyle, she’s dripping in designer brands. Everything, from her shoes to her dress to her little necklace are recognizable as miniature versions of huge fashion lines.

“What did you want me to do with her hair?” the stylist asks, freeing the little girl’s locks from a ponytail holder. Her dry brown hair springs right out, expanding swiftly, inch by inch, until it’s fanning out on every side of her head.

“I don’t know. Something.” The mother throws her hands up. A line of frustration carves into her pale forehead. She slants a frigid look at the child’s hair. “I can’t do anything with it.”

“Okay…” The stylist looks unsure. She glances at Island as if seeking some kind of guidance.

Island sets the comb down on the counter. It thuds against the marble. Slapping a hand on her hip, she cocks her head in frustration. Her hair skids over one shoulder, making one side look more voluminous than the other.

I lean forward in my chair. My heart is beating fast as if I sense danger.

And I’m not the only one having a reaction.

Everyone—from the woman under the hair dryer to the one with her head stuck in the sink, turns tense. And though no one can probably name why they feel uncomfortable, there’s a shared sense of defensiveness mounting in the air.

The stylist, seeing that Island won’t bail her out of this, tries to calm the mother down. “Ma’am, if you tell me what style you’d like, I can do it for you. I just need to know what you’re thinking. Is it braids? Chunky twists? Cornrows?”

“Just make it less crazy.” The woman waves her hands at the girl as if she’s trying to shoo away a mosquito. “Because it’s so tough and unmanageable, I can’t even comb it.”

The stylist looks shocked. “Have you bought the right hair products?”

“I bought a brush and a comb like everyone does,” the woman hisses. “But her hair is so nappy and course that she keeps breaking every brush.” The mother glares at her child as if she’s personally responsible for every broken tool. “And this one cries if I so much as touch her head.”

My fingers tighten on the chair handle. I know what a mother at the end of her rope sounds like because my mother used to complain about how thick or coarse our hair was. But this is different. Lingering just beneath the mother’s frustration is an unmistakable distaste for the little girl’s hair texture. It causes something inside me to burn.

“Aw, hell no,” Island mutters under her breath. I see a blur and, when I glance up, Island is storming across the room. “Excuse me, who the hell are you to talk that way about her hair?”

The mother’s eyes get wide.

The child looks up, trembling and frightened.

Island notices the kid’s response and immediately switches tones. She crouches in front of the little girl’s chair. “Hi, baby. My friend here—” she nods at the other stylist—“is going to do your hair really pretty. In the meantime, I’m going to talk to your mom. Outside.”

“She’s not my mom,” the little girl says.

Island flinches.

“My mommy is in heaven.”

At her words, my mind snaps into focus and a light bulb goes off.

The picture in Clay Bolton’s office.

I stare at the kid with new eyes.

She’s Clay Bolton’s daughter.