Hello Billionaire

Hello Billionaire

Chapter 1

Farrah

I’m on my way to my seventh job interview this week, and I just realized there’s a sucker stuck to my pencil skirt.

Things were going great.

And by that, I meant, I needed to take three antacids just to keep my lunch down before I had a complete meltdown. Kind of like the tantrum my five-year-old had this morning because I couldn’t find her sparkle dress so she could wear it for the fifteeth day in a row.

I pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine, then licked my thumb to try and get rid of the sugar spot on my black skirt. Now it was wet and shiny, but hopefully the interviewer wouldn’t notice.

Getting out my phone, I dialed my best friend Mia’s number. After a couple of rings, she answered, and I could hear the echo of the bathroom she always answered my calls from during the workday.

“This was a terrible idea,” I said. “I appreciate you getting me the interview, but maybe I should back out. I don’t want to embarrass you. I’m not even sure I’m qualified for this. I’ve had like three part-time interior design jobs in the last ten years, and I’m not even sure—”

“Farrah,” Mia whispered, cutting me off. “I wouldn’t have recommended you to my boss if I didn’t think you could do it. I love you, but I’d kind of like to keep my job.”

The sound that came past my lips was somewhere near an anxious laugh.

“You did an amazing job on my parents’ new house. It helped their downsizing so much. This is on a different scale, but I know you can do it. You just have to come in and be your fabulous self.”

I tried to listen to her words instead of hyperventilating. “Right. Right.” I still wasn’t convinced.

“Tell me you’re here,” Mia said. “He hates when people are late.”

“I just pulled up,” I said. “Wait. He? As in the interviewer?”

“As in my boss.”

My jaw dropped. “Gage Griffen is interviewing me? Doesn’t he have billionaire things to do?”

Mia giggled. “Technically, he’s always doing billionaire things. And after the last three bad candidates HR sent through, he decided to handle the process himself.”

Gage Griffen. Owner of Griffen Industries. The youngest billionaire in Texas. The only self-made billionaire in the country. Mia’s demanding boss with expectations higher than the Rocky Mountains. “Okay, now I’m really panicking.”

“You’ll be great,” she said. “And your parents are watching the munchkins, right? You can let go of your worries and just focus in on this.”

“Levi’s watching them.” I cringed. My oldest may have been fourteen, but sometimes I thought his eight-year-old brother was more mature. “Dad had a doctor’s appointment and Mom had to cover at their coffee shop, so I was on my own today. But Levi can handle it... I hope.”

Mia was quiet for a moment, and we’d been friends long enough for me to know she was not saying was she was thinking. “Farrah, I know you. You can figure out anything for your family,” she finally said. “You can do this. Take a few deep breaths and come in. I gotta get back to the desk.”

She hung up, leaving me alone in my minivan. I glanced around the car, wishing I felt less like a soccer mom and more like a professional. It would help if the car didn’t smell like Levi’s sweaty gym bag.

I took a few deep breaths anyway, like Mia suggested, and got out of the car, determined to make the most of this.

Then I heard metal on metal.

My heart sank and I cringed, realizing I’d just door-dinged one of the fancy cars in the parking lot. A Tesla.

“Shit. Shit shit shit,” I muttered to myself as I licked my thumb and tried to rub off the streak of white paint. It wasn’t budging.

I couldn’t afford to fix this kind of car.

But I couldn’t leave it either. That wouldn’t be right.

I reached into my van, finding a scrap piece of paper from the sketchbook Andrew, my middle child, kept in the car and scribbled down a quick apology with my phone number. Hopefully the owner would just let it go. But judging by the swath of white paint on their otherwise flawless and perfectly clean black door, I highly doubted it.

Let it go, I sang to myself quietly, still unable to get that song out of my head. I needed to be my most poised and polished self for this meeting. Even if there was still a sucker stain on my skirt.

My phone rang and I pulled it out of my bag, seeing a number from the last company where I applied. Tires and More needed a receptionist, and even though it wasn’t interior design work, it was a paycheck. Something I was struggling to find, even after a month of job hunting.

“Hi there,” I answered with a smile. “This is Farrah.”

“Farrah,” Mike said, the guy I’d interviewed with. “Thanks for coming in, but we decided to give the position to someone else.”

My heart sank, and I stopped outside of the high-rise building, blinking quickly. “Do you mind giving me feedback on my interview so I can do better next time?”

He cleared his throat, already sounding uncomfortable. “You did great, kid. Just weren’t the right fit.”

“Mike, it would really mean a lot. I need to get a job.”

Letting out a sigh, he said, “You have a lot on your plate, Farrah, and we really need someone more focused on the job. We don’t have anyone to sub if you can’t show up.”

My voice was small as I said, “Thanks”—and ended the call.

He said it without saying it. A single mom with three kids and plenty of responsibilities wasn’t exactly the kind of person who could show up every day without interruption. And yeah, I could probably sue him for saying it, but he’d been honest.

I put my phone on do not disturb and slipped it in my purse. The only call that would come through was Levi’s number, and he knew not to reach out unless there was an emergency.

The big building loomed in front of me, its mirrored doors seeming to mock the only new clothing I’d bought for myself in quite some time. As a stay-at-home mom, I lived in leggings and T-shirts, but these interviews called for a suit. And it was hard to find one that fit me just right in the plus-size section. I ended up spending way too much on my credit card for this outfit, and I tried not to worry about the sucker spot.

At least my dark curly hair was staying put in the low bun I’d wrestled it into.

A receptionist at the building’s front desk gave me a badge and told me to go up to the thirty-fourth floor. I rode the elevator up, looking through the glass wall at the city where I grew up. Part of me was happy to be closer to my parents now that I’d moved back with my kids—Austin had always felt just a little too far away. We were just a little too close, living with them until I could get a job and a place to live.

People came on and off the elevator as I rode up, but eventually the doors opened to a fancy office space. In the back of my mind, I wondered who designed this space and why they weren’t working on this new project. There was glittering white tile, walls of windows, stunning art, and a great desk up front where my best friend stood, looking super sophisticated in a tailored black dress.

As I stepped out of the elevator, Mia looked my way, smiling wide. She was so beautiful with her bright smile framed by straight, sandy-blond hair that fell to her shoulders.

“Ms. Elkins?” she said, a coy smile on her lips.

“Yes, Ms. Baird?”

She nodded from behind her desk as I approached, my sensible heels loud against the tile. “Would you like a water or a coffee?”

I shook my head, doubting I could keep even a seltzer water down. “No, thank you.”

Giving me an encouraging smile, she said, “Mr. Griffen will be out to get you shortly. You can take a seat.”

“No need,” a masculine voice said.

I glanced in the direction the voice came from, and it took all my strength to keep standing straight. No amount of Googling could have prepared me for the man walking my way.

Gage Griffen had short hair somewhere between dark blond and light brown. His jaw was strong, like Michelangelo himself carved Gage from stone. He had to be over six feet, but his perfectly fitted black suit made him seem that much more imposing, turning the expansive reception area into a small space that barely contained this giant man.

His dark blue eyes were discerning, piercing, as they landed on me, and he extended his hand, all business. “Gage Griffen, CEO.”

He didn’t need to introduce himself, but I did. I felt like a nobody in his commanding presence.

“Farrah Elkins, hopeful interior designer,” I replied with a nervous laugh.

He didn’t smile.

My hand nearly disappeared in his as we shook. I kept my grip firm, like Dad taught me way back in high school, and made eye contact, even though those blue eyes were doing strange things to my heart rate. I should have asked Mia for an empty cup to throw up in.

“Come with me,” he said, turning in the direction he’d come from.

I sent Mia an anxious glance over my shoulder, and she gave me a subtle thumbs-up.

I wish I believed in myself as much as she did. Especially considering I was about to ditch the heels and run out of here.

But then I remembered why I was doing this. I could do anything for my kids. Even interview with a man who intimidated me with only three words.

Gage led me into an office with floor-to-ceiling windows showing the most incredible view. A gorgeous minimalistic desk faced away from the windows, toward a wall of bookshelves packed with every title, leaving no room for decorations or pictures or trinkets.

In fact, there were no photos on his desk, nothing on the walls to show he had a life outside of this office.

Interesting.

Off to the side was a glass table with modern black chairs. He gestured to one of the open chairs, and I took it, saying, “Thank you so much for having me in, Mr. Griffen.”

“You came highly recommended,” he said, reaching for a manila envelope.

“From Mia.” I nodded. “We’ve known each other almost fifteen years now.”

He shook his head as he flipped through the pages in the file. “From your advising professor at Upton University.”

I raised my eyebrows. I had been out of college for over ten years, and even though I kept in touch with Professor Walsh online or with the occasional text message, I hadn’t listed her on my resume.

He held the paper away so he could read the text. “In the past three decades of my career, both as an interior designer and as a professor working with some of the brightest scholars in academia, Farrah Elkins has been, by far, my most talented and hardworking student. She understands client needs in a way most people don’t. She can turn a space from uninspired to beautiful and functional as quick as a whip.” He glanced up from the paper. “Sound like you?”

My mouth opened and closed, stunned at the praise. Stunned by his direct question. “Absolutely,” I said, nodding. “I—”

“Sweet Caroline” began playing from my phone, and I closed my eyes. Please, please no. Not right now.

He raised his eyebrows.

“I need to take this,” I breathed.

Gage nodded, not seeming phased at all. If he wasn’t clearly in real estate, I’d believe he’d earned his fortunes playing poker.

I stepped away from the desk and held my phone to my ear, whispering, “Levi, what’s wrong?”

Screaming came through the line, his younger siblings clearly fighting with each other.

Over the racket, Levi yelled, “There’s only enough peanut butter left for one sandwich, and Cora and Drew are having a fit over it.”

“Did someone get stabbed with a butter knife?” I asked, trying not to turn into the momster I felt like becoming in front of my potential boss.

“No,” Levi mumbled.

“Fridge didn’t suddenly empty of all that food Grandma made?”

“No.”

“Then handle it,” I hissed, turning off my phone. “Sorry about that, my babysitter—”

“No need,” Gage said, cutting me off.

The response took me as much off guard as the man himself. But he waved at the chair as if I should return and began speaking. “The Retreat has completed construction, but we lost our initial interior designer, and we’ve struggled to find a competent replacement who understands our needs. Your portfolio?”

I’d almost forgotten the leather binder in my bag, but I retrieved it and extended it to him. “I prepared several spreads based on the comps I received from Mi—Ms. Baird.”

He waved his hand, silencing me. If I didn’t need this job so badly, I’d be more annoyed at his lack of warmth. Was he always this cold? How had Mia dealt with it for three years?

He flipped through the pages, his hands seeming so large on the book. I sat on the edge of my chair, my heart hammering with anticipation. If only his face would give something away, I’d know if he hated it. If I should just leave now and give up completely. Maybe beg Tires and More for another chance.

“This one.” He tapped at the second inspiration board I’d laid out. “This is closer to what I wanted. But it needs to be more family friendly, less breakable items.”

Family friendly? I could do that. “Do you expect a lot of families to stay at your luxury hotel?” I asked.

He nodded. “There are already plenty of options for luxury business travel. This will be the primary destination for families to travel in style in the Dallas area.”

Interesting. This growly bear of a man thinking about the needs of parents and children.

He stood from his desk. “We’ll meet at The Retreat tomorrow so I can give you a tour and you can get a feel for the space you’ll be working with.”

“I have the job?” I stammered, standing across from him. “Just like that?”

For once, a small smile formed on his lips. “Just like that.” But the smile was gone almost as soon as it appeared. “As long as you perform, you will keep it.” He walked toward his office door. “You’ll find our compensation package and benefits to be quite competitive. But as an added bonus, I encourage you to take an extra jar of natural peanut butter from the employee lounge. Wouldn’t want any butter knife stabbings.”