Surly Romance (Billionaire Dads)

There’s only one cure for grief, heartbreak or abnormally missing two adorable kids who’ll attend their grandmother’s funeral today, and it’s trying to complete a massive design and construction job in twenty-four hours.

Probably shouldn’t be pushing myself this hard, considering that the moment I’m finished with this project, Darrel Hastings will stake a cardboard cut-out of me on his front lawn that says ‘Sunny Quetzal, not allowed. Shoot on sight’.

It’s not a secret that he doesn’t want me around Micheal and Bailey. Because he thinks I’ll be a bad influence or because he doesn’t have a heart? You decide.

The sexy grouch hates me for reasons that still haven’t been made clear. What is clear is that he doesn’t respect my opinions. At all. He refused to take my advice about giving Micheal time to cool off yesterday and barged into a grieving kid’s room like an emotionless robot. Who knows what would have happened if I wasn’t there to calm Micheal down?

Darrel freaking Hastings.

People like him—the kind who believe they know everything just because they spent a couple years drowning in science mumbo-jumbo—are the worst.

His hum-drum ‘I know what you need better than you do’ shtick is annoying.

His green eyes that get all soft and caring when one of the boys is crying is annoying.

His giant hands on the back of my thighs as he throws me out of his house is annoying.

I curl my fingers into fists. Just thinking about Darrel makes me want to stick up a picture of his gorgeous face and throw darts at it. But before I can ruin my walls and dart myself out of a security deposit, my phone rings.

It’s mom.

The last person I want to talk to today.

Scratch that.

The second last person I want to talk to today. Darrel is definitely first on the ‘avoid at all costs’ list.

“Hello,” I answer grumpily.

“I found him! He’s perfect for you! Oh, Sunita, he’s everything.” Mom’s exuberant words are not fitting my current vibe. I’m more in an ‘all men can suck it’ mood and mom is… well, she’s the opposite of that.

“Found who?”

“His name is Gabor Cituk. He has no plans to live in America, but he’s here studying agriculture…”

Oh wow. A farmer. He’s mom’s dream guy.

“… And his family lives in Mexico, which isn’t too far from Belize, but there’s enough distance that he’s probably not related to us!”

It’s a legitimate cause for celebration. The Mayan community is relatively small. Picking from a tiny pool like that, and accidentally dating a cousin is bound to happen.

“He’s busy with his finals, but I convinced him to take you out for a nice meal. You have time tonight, right?”

“I—”

“Even if you don’t, make time. This is the one, Sunita. I can feel it.”

“Mom,” I choke out her name because this is the absolute worst time for a blind date, “I have to work.”

“Work? What work?”

I restrain the eye roll because, somehow, my mother can sense when I’m giving her attitude, even if she’s thousands of miles away.

Keeping my voice calm, I inform her. “Work-work. That thing I do with curtains and bedsheets that pays the bills.”

“Sunita, you can miss one day of housekeeping, can’t you?”

I flick my gaze upward. “Mom, you know good and well that I don’t clean houses. I decorate them.”

“Sunita, you know good and well that a man like Gabor won’t be on the market for long. Frankly, I’m surprised he’s unattached. This is a sign. The gods have blessed us with a chance. We can’t let this opportunity pass us by.”

“I can’t tonight, mom.”

“Then tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.” Giving mom a flat-out no will only make this conversation longer and I don’t have time to be lectured on why good Mayan women should marry good Mayan men.

“Don’t worry about the details. I’ll arrange everything. Everything!”

“Mom…”

“You said you have work, noh? Go ahead and clean those houses.”

The dial tone sings in my ear.

I throw my head back and groan at the ceiling. This is not a good start to my day. Letting mom loose on my love life is like a bull shopping in a china shop. Everything is bound to break. The ‘everything’ being my sanity.

I suck in a short breath and let it out slowly through my mouth. Freaking out about mom and her determination to film her own The Mayan Bachelorette show is not high on my list of priorities today.

With a groan, I grab my car keys and bag and head out to meet the contractor. The team has already been briefed on the design and the timeframe. It’ll be a mad dash all around, so I’m relieved Shanya found someone to take on the job. That probably has more to do with her influence in this business than anything else.

The one good thing about working for a well-established company is I have no financial risks. The contractors I’m meeting today have been doing business with Shanya for years and they’ll be paid by her. If anything goes wrong, Shanya will handle it.

Although I love being an entrepreneur, I’m still shaky on dealing with the curveballs that owning a business can throw. It was a struggle to build up credibility with the contractors and furniture stores. Which is why losing all that momentum after the Stinton Incident is so damaging. I didn’t just struggle to pay my bills. I lost trust with the folks I need to keep my business afloat.

My phone rings.

Maybe it’s the contractor asking where I am?

I grab my earbuds, stick them in and tap the side twice. “Hello, this is Sunny Quetzal.”

“Miss Quetzal,” a deep, unfamiliar voice rasps in my ear, “this is Max Stinton.”

“Stinton?” The name registers and, with it, comes a flood of negative emotions. I’m talking Pompei-levels of lava flooding my soul and tingling in my fingers and toes.

I flick the indicator and jerk the car to the side of the road. This tongue-lashing needs my full attention, and I can’t risk ramming into another car when I’m on such shaky financial footing.

Snatching the phone from the passenger seat, I slap it to my ear. “You have a lot of nerve calling me after running away with my money, you lying, thieving rat face.”

“The rat-face you’re referring to is my brother. Trevor Stinton.”

I pause and my anger clears long enough for his words to resonate with me. That’s right. The name I saw in all the newspapers wasn’t Max, it was Trevor.

Still suspicious, I narrow my eyes at the highway. “How do I know you’re not Trevor Stinton posing as someone else?”

“Because, Ms. Quetzal, my brother wouldn’t call and apologize to anyone.”

I freeze. “This is… an apology?”

“On behalf of the Stinton Group, I want to extend my sincerest apologies. We combed through the accounts, saw your missing payments and we’ll send your money in full.”

My jaw drops. “You will?”

“Yes.”

I blink rapidly. All the anger is backed up in my throat. I was supposed to be spewing cuss words like a sailor and threatening to sue but, now that I’m being paid, I’m not sure what to do with all the fury locked inside me.

“If that’s all—”

“Wait.”

He does.

“Why are you apologizing to me? You weren’t the one who ran off.”

“I should have done a better job overseeing the Stinton Group’s affairs. I hope you can accept my apology in my brother’s stead.”

His words make my heart hurt. That hardly seems fair. Why should Max Stinton have to go around apologizing and recompensing people for a wrong he didn’t commit?

His voice sounds weary. If he’s the head of a huge international business like Stinton Group, it means he worked his butt off and probably devoted his life to that company. People who put in the work should be compensated for the things they’ve done. Why is he forced to act as a martyr for his jerkwad brother?

“Thank you, Mr. Stinton.” I clear my throat and relax my hands off the wheel. “I hope you can find your brother and sort everything out.”

“Thank you, Miss Quetzal.” His words are brusque. Almost like he’s already moved on. I guess rich and powerful men are like that. Always distracted. Busy. Ready to jump to the next money-making venture.

The dial tone rings.

He’s gone.

My eyebrows pinch together as I try to make sense of what just happened. Something about that entire phone call feels… unnatural.

Not the apology. I believe Max Stinton meant what he said. And one glance at my bank account shows that a deposit was made to my account.

What strikes me as odd is that the owner of a billion-dollar corporation would call me.

Me.

Regular old Sunny Quetzal.

Not a billionaire.

Not married to a billionaire.

Not even an influencer or actress who could become rich overnight.

Getting a call from the owner of Stinton Group hardly seems likely. Not without an external push. I know only one person who’d care enough to fight an entire corporation on my behalf.

So I call Kenya.

“I was just about to call you.” My best friend gasps. “Do we have some kind of soulmate connection?”

“Yes, we do. And I need to go first.”

“So do I.”

“Rock paper scissors?”

She scoffs. “What are we? Eleven?”

“Twelve. Duh.”

She laughs.

I don’t. “Did you and Alistair blackmail Max Stinton into apologizing and giving me my money back?”

“What? No.”

“Really?” My eyes widen.

“Did you know Darrel was hiding two little kids at his farmhouse?”

“Uh…”

“Sunny!”

I gulp. “Are you sure Alistair didn’t call Stinton? It doesn’t make sense that a gazillionaire would call me personally just to apologize, Kenya. It was so weird.”

“We’re still trying to track down Trevor Stinton, and don’t change the subject. We were talking about my best friend keeping a ginormous secret from me.”

“I wasn’t allowed to say anything. Darrel would have killed me.” The farmhouse rises in view and I pull my car behind the contractor’s vehicle.

“And you didn’t think I’d kill you for keeping secrets?”

“I hated lying to you, but I thought he was doing it for the good of the kids.” I pull my keys from the ignition. “Wasn’t he?”

“I don’t know. Both Alistair and I are totally stumped. Darrel isn’t exactly the father-figure type.”

“What does that mean?” He might be emotionless, but his actions speak for themselves. He really does care about Micheal and Bailey.

The contractor waves from the porch.

As much as I want to continue the conversation, I can’t. “Kenya, I have to go. I’m working on Darrel’s farmhouse today.”

“Wait,” my best friend stutters, “back up. Did you say that Max Stinton called you personally?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s crazy.”

My curiosity keeps me in the car. “Why is that crazy?”

“Alistair said Max is a major douchebag. Different from his brother, but not in a good way.”

Strange. The man who apologized sincerely to me didn’t feel like a douche.

“He’s cut-throat in business. Total ice king. You know how Alistair is all grumpy but he’s secretly sweet inside and takes care of his people? Max Stinton is cold all the time. He’s like… the male-version of Medusa.”

Her words run circles through my head. Did my intuition let me down? Did gratitude for getting my money back break my jerk-radar?

The contractor is staring into my car like he’s got laser vision. I’m reminded of the ticking clock and it’s like a poke in the butt. Dillydallying can seriously jeopardize this project.

As much as it kills me, I blurt out a hurried goodbye to Kenya, shove Max Stinton to the back of my head, and scurry into the house.

Dina is inside the living room. I’m shocked to see her and it must show on my face because she laughs that sweet, grandmotherly laugh.

“Darrel asked me to stick around and see if you needed any help.” Her smile is bright and friendly.

Mine shrinks to nothing. “You mean he wants you to babysit me.”

“What?” Her eyelashes bounce.

“Unbelievable.” I pull my hair up into a ponytail because I’m suddenly too hot. Darrel must really think I’ll sneak into his restricted bedroom and stumble over his horrible secret.

Or maybe he really does think I’m a thief.

Or maybe he wants Dina to report my every move so he can find one more thing to growl at me about.

Dina’s expression is slightly panicked. “Dear, I think you’re getting the wrong idea. I’m really here to just… be of help.”

“I know, Dina. It’s not your fault.” My eyes narrow. “It’s your deranged boss.”

Her jaw drops.

I don’t care. Dina works with insane people every day. She’s probably used to this.

“Uh… how about some coffee?” She runs to the kitchen so fast all I see is a plume of smoke in her wake.

Irritation makes my heart beat faster. I’m so done with Darrel Hastings, and now I’m even more determined to get these rooms finished in time. He’ll probably never let me live it down if I fail.

“Jenkins!” I call the contractor’s name, marching out to meet him. We discuss taking down the bathroom wall and, thankfully, there won’t be any complications with making an extra entrance.

All we need now is time.

“It has to be done today,” I tell Jenkins, rubbing my forehead. “The boys need their rooms ASAP.”

“No problem.” He rubs his nose.

“No problem?” It’s a huge problem. A near-impossible-to-accomplish problem. He should be a little more on edge.

“We got help.” He juts his chin at the door.

Through the entrance, I see two more pickups winding toward the farmhouse. The back of the trucks are nearly skating on the ground because there are so many workers piled in. I start counting and nearly faint. That crew is large enough to rebuild an entire house.

“Why is your crew so big?” I rub my eyes to make sure I’m not dreaming.

“Shanya called. Said to hire more men for this job. As many as I needed to get this thing done for you today.”

“Shanya did that?”

He nods and walks past me. “I’ll get started on the demolition. You might want to clear out.”

“I’ll be out shopping anyway,” I croak.

Dina appears behind me with a tray full of coffees. When she sees all the workmen pouring in, her eyes double in size. “Oh, I guess I’ll need to make more coffee.”

I give her a distracted smile and hurry to a quiet corner so I can call Shanya.

She answers immediately. “I’m assuming you saw my gift.”

“Thank you.” I honestly didn’t expect her to be so generous. “Is the client okay with this?”

“The client’s the one who made the request.”

I almost choke. “He did?”

“Yes.” Papers shuffle in the background. Shanya’s always in the center of activity. “Billionaires really are a different breed, darling. They don’t care about money. Only results. You know why you’re getting all this help, don’t you? We want the client to be happy. And he wants you out of his hair as soon as possible, understand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.” She hangs up.

My hand falls limply away from my face. I stare at the workmen who are wearing hardhats and carrying sledgehammers. A few are sectioning off to prepare the sheetrock for the new wall. My original design called for plaster, but it would take fourteen to twenty-one days for the plaster to dry. I didn’t want my design to be the reason Darrel was denied custody, so I changed my materials. With the special, more expensive sheetrock, we can erect the wall and get paint on it within a couple hours, and the contractor won’t waste as much time waiting for plaster to dry.

The client wants you out of his hair. Shanya’s words cling to me like chewing gum in my hair. I stumble through the door and go on a shopping spree. Normally, the joy of buying furniture, sheets, lamps and knickknacks would send a buzz through my veins, but I’m too enraged to enjoy myself.

Darrel sent Dina to spy on me.

Darrel told Shanya he wanted me out of his house. Which obviously means he wants me out of his life.

It shouldn’t bother me that Darrel’s taking his hatred to the next level. I’ve known for a long time that he doesn’t like me and considers the very air I breathe to be toxic. Besides I don’t care about him either. He’s a cold and self-righteous jerk who only knows how to glare and snarl with those full pink lips.

So what if he doesn’t want me around?

I…

I care. For some strange reason, the fact that Darrel Hastings detests me is really starting to tick me off.

I purchase all the furniture I need in record time. They’ll start arriving at the farmhouse within a couple hours.

Shanya was right. Money really does talk, and many of the services were happy to accommodate a rush order. I have to wait for the walls to dry before I can decorate Bailey’s room, but I get started on Micheal’s room right away.

It’s late when I check my watch, and I don’t have time to go home and shower like I want to. Instead, I stop in at a gas station, slide into a black dress and heels and leave under the lust-filled eyes of the gas station attendant.

The church where the funeral is being held is packed. I drive around the block twice to find parking.

I’m stunned when I see the crowd spilling out of the church. Since Micheal and Bailey had to be taken in by a stranger, I assumed their family wasn’t well known.

Turns out, I’m dead wrong.

Wait, wrong pun.

I’m totally wrong.

I stand in the crowd outside, grateful for my height which allows me to see into the church if I stand on the tips of my toes.

Micheal and Bailey are in the front row. I know by the backs of their curly heads. They’re wearing pressed black suits and their shoulders are stiff.

Darrel is beside them. I’d recognize that stately neck and thick hair anywhere. As usual, his shoulders are rigid and his back is ramrod straight, like he expects a bomb threat any minute.

The priest says a few words and then Darrel gets up to speak. It’s hard to hear what he’s saying as the church didn’t set up any speakers outside.

“Isn’t that Professor Stein’s prized student?” the man in front of me whispers.

His friend nods. “The Hastings guy, right? I remember he and Stein had this weird relationship.”

“You think they were…”

The other guy elbows him. “Don’t talk ill of the dead. Stein wouldn’t cheat on his wife. I meant weird like he treated the guy like a son. They even included him in family pictures.”

“That is weird.”

“I remember it because Hastings was so much older than everyone else in class. He used to work in finance, you know? His family’s loaded. No one could figure out why he was studying so hard when he’s basically set for life.”

“I heard he promised Stein he’d watch over the kids if the professor ever died.”

“Maybe Stein knew he’d kick the bucket early and figured a rich guy would set his kids up for life.”

Darrel finishes his speech and lines up with the coffin bearers to wheel Micheal and Bailey’s grandmother out of the church. The gossipers clamp their mouths shut and make way for the procession.

I grip my skirt tight, bite my bottom lip, and step back with the rest of the crowd. My mind is reeling. Did Darrel take in Micheal and Bailey because of his beloved professor? Why? I’ve had tons of great teachers in my life, but I wouldn’t adopt their kids.

“Sunny!” A thin voice breaks me from my thoughts.

When I glance up, I notice the pallbearers are passing in front of me. Micheal and Bailey are frozen behind them.

“Sunny!” Bailey motions for me to come to him.

Everyone turns and stares at my face. I squirm from all the attention. Is joining Micheal and Bailey appropriate? People are already gossiping about Darrel. What will they say if I join the procession?

When I still don’t move, Bailey tugs his hand away from his brother and runs toward me.

“Bailey.” Micheal tries to grab him back.

The little boy dodges his brother and flies into the crowd. He stops in front of me, his chest pumping furiously. Bright blue eyes stare up in pleading. I feel the moment my heart phases out of my ribs and nuzzles close to him. How can anyone say no to a face like that?

“Okay.” I curl my fingers around his palm and hold on tight. He gives me a bright smile that I can’t help but return.

As I leave the crowd to join the family behind the coffin, I hear the gossipers from earlier.

“Who is she?”

“Maybe she’s their teacher?”

“Their nanny?”

“Hastings’ girlfriend?”

The wave of whispers rolls and swells with each step I take. I’m not a stranger to being stared at. Whether it’s because of my exotic looks, my height or my presence, I’ve learned that I will never blend in. Ever.

And that’s okay. I learned in high school that the key to confidence is faking it.

Don’t let them see you sweat.

I hold my head up high, ignoring the speculation. This is not about me or the crowd or even Darrel.

It’s about these precious little boys.

If they feel safer with me by their side, if that’s enough to make the pain of loss and grief a little easier to bear, then hell, I’ll walk with them all the way to Belize.

Micheal slants me with a relieved smile as if he wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask me to join them, but he’s happy I’m here.

I take his hand too because why not?

These are my boys. I’m not going to leave them hanging.

A fierce gaze from up ahead sends a shiver down my spine. I notice Darrel at the front of the coffin. He’s looking back at me and the boys, eyes narrowed in the sunlight.

I can’t interpret that expression.

Is he angry that I’m here?

Well, screw you too!

I’d scowl at him, but this is a funeral and I’m choosing to be respectful. We can call a truce until the boys have buried their grandmother peacefully.

The procession continues and both Micheal and Bailey hold my hand until their grandmother is buried.

After, they’re bombarded with well-wishers. Bailey shirks against my leg, overwhelmed by all the strangers. Micheal keeps tugging at the collar of his tux.

I want to whisk them away from this place, but I know I don’t have the authority to do that. Darrel’s the only one who can help, but I’ve lost track of him. He was somewhere in the distance, getting attacked by another crowd of mourners.

“Hey.”

I spin and fall into a pair of steely eyes. They’re still green, but more like storm clouds rolling over the Caribbean Sea green than the emerald glass I’m used to.

“You guys look tired,” Darrel says. He scoops Bailey into his arms and the little boy immediately places his head in the crook of Darrel’s neck.

“I don’t know any of these people,” Bailey whisper-shouts.

“Me either, bud.” Darrel adjusts the seven-year-old in his grip. For the first time, I notice the lines etched into his forehead and the wrinkles beneath his eyes.

“You look tired too,” I point out.

His eyes drift to me and my stomach flip-flops.

“I’m hungry,” Bailey whines.

“Oh, I have Oreos in my purse.”

Darrel arches an eyebrow. “You keep snacks on your person?”

“Mom said a lady should always be prepared.”

His lips twitch.

Wow. He must be really exhausted if he thinks I’m funny.

Don’t forget this is the guy who’s trying to get you out of his life, Sunny.

My shoulders get rigid again. “Here you go, Bailey.”

“Bailey, what do you say?” Darrel coaches.

“Thank you.” The little boy throws the words at me while ripping into the package.

“I have one for you too, Micheal.” I hand him a packet and then step back. “I should go check on the progress at the farmhouse.”

Darrel blinks. “You’re not staying for the…” He pauses and seems to stumble over the word, “party afterwards?”

“Party?”

“Grandma wanted a party,” Bailey says, pushing up his glasses.

“She wanted us to dance.” The wind gently blows through Micheal’s hair and sends his curls bouncing in the air. He looks much older than his eleven years with his tux and those somber brown eyes. “She wanted everyone to celebrate her life.”

“It was Ms. Jean’s wish,” Darrel agrees with the kids.

My mouth forms a round ‘o’.

Before I can respond, my phone rings with a call from the contractor.

“I’m sorry, guys. As it stands, I’ve been gone from the project long enough.”

Bailey pushes out his bottom lip.

Micheal’s eyes hit the tombstone just beyond me.

An ache rattles my chest and I blurt, “But I’ll have a surprise for you when you get home.”

“What surprise?” Bailey shrieks.

“The rooms can’t possibly be done by the time we get home,” Darrel mutters with a dark frown. “You’ll need at least two weeks minimum, even with all the extra help.”

No, we don’t. But I’m not telling him that. He’s already rushing Shanya to get me out of his hair. He’ll be doing heel kicks when I’m through with the rooms faster than he expected.

“I’m not talking about your rooms. I’m talking about another surprise. But you’re going to have to be good and attend your grandma’s party without complaint.”

“But—”

“Not a single one.” I lift a finger the way I’ve seen my mom do a hundred times.

Bailey bobs his head.

Micheal glances away. “It better be worth it.”

Darrel meets my eyes and does a subtle chin jut do you have anything planned?

I hate that I can interpret him that well. And I also hate the nervous flurries that fill my stomach when I realize I have no clue what I’m going to do. At all. Getting everything done for their rooms will take every inch of me. I don’t have anything more to give. But it’s not like I’m going to let Darrel Hastings of all people see me break down.

I smile. “Just wait and see. It’ll be amazing.”

On the way back to my car, I call Kenya and whine, “I need a surprise that’ll cheer up two little boys and it needs to be amazing! Help me!”

“Whoa. Start from the top.”

I tell her about the funeral, Bailey and Micheal’s reluctance to attend their grandmother’s party and the promise I made to have something waiting when they get home.

“Okay. Okay. They’re boys, right? And they’re older than Belle so… let me think?” She taps her chin. “What about camping?”

“Camping?”

“Yeah. S’mores, campfires, tents. Darrel’s got plenty of land behind his farmhouse. They don’t even have to go far.”

“I love it. They can have a new experience tonight. Make happy memories to replace the sad ones.”

“You’re oddly excited about this.”

“Kenya, I adore you. Bailey’s going to love it. And I think Micheal will too.” I chew on my bottom lip as I pull up in front of the farmhouse. There are several trucks from the furniture company parked out front. The sound of metalwork echoes in the air. “But I don’t have time to organize all that right now.”

“Leave it to me.”

“Really?”

“I’ll take Belle with me. She’s full of ideas.”

“If Alistair won’t marry you, I will.”

She laughs. “Not interested. You don’t come with a Belle.”

“True.” I grin hard.

“I’ll get all the stuff you need and drop them off soon.”

I make a kissy sound into the phone.

She laughs and hangs up.

“Quetzal.” The contractor waves me down when I enter the farmhouse. His expression is somber.

My heart jumps to my throat. The word ‘bad news’ is stomped all over his bearded face. There’s always bad news during a reno, especially when we’re against the clock like this.

“What happened?”

“The mud wall is going to take a lot longer to dry.” He gestures to the wall in Bailey’s room.

“Did you use the heating method I told you to?”

“Yes. And it did knock off a good set of hours, but we needed to reapply another layer and that’ll add more time.”

“How much more time?”

He rubs his head. “Three hours.”

I buck like someone stabbed me in the stomach with my grandma’s macuahuitl—a wooden club that she swore was used by a real-life Mayan chief.

“Some of the guys volunteered to work overtime. We will get this wall up and painted in the time you need.”

Yes, but if the wall isn’t ready then every other task on my to-do list will get pushed back as well.

I suck in a deep breath. “We’ll make it work.”

He gives me a dubious look. “You want to keep going?”

“Do we have any other choice?”

“Yeah, you tell the client he’s crazy to try and get this all done in one day.”

“The client is paying a whole lot of money so we’ll be out of his house and out of his hair quickly.”

“Money can’t buy us time.”

“He’s not buying time.” I tap my head. “He’s buying our knowledge.”

The contractor purses his lips.

“So we don’t have enough time? Okay. Fine. We can use our brains to think of ideas that will make the most of the time we’ve got. Understand?”

He nods.

“Good.” I slap my hands together. “Then let’s get to work.”