Bet You're Mine: A Lesbian Billionaire Fake Girlfriend Romance(5)

“That’s completely unnecessary. Trust me I can handle the job, it’s just the other problems that are causing me stress.” My voice gets louder and I groan when Emma begins to stir in her room.

“Honey it’s not a suggestion.” I hear Sara calling for her assistance, and Rachel promises to come to her rescue soon. “Look, just the time off, and contact me when you’re ready to commit to coming in on time.”

I’m so overwhelmed that I hang up without thinking. Regret pulses through my veins and I don’t know why I didn’t fight harder. There’s no way I’m going to be able to pay my bills now.

As I’m wallowing in my own self pity, my baby begins to cry. Her soft sobs drift down the hallway and into the kitchen, and I soon find myself crying as well. When she was born I promised her I’d always provide for her, but it looks like I just broke that vow.

“Mommy!” Emma begins to wail like she always does when she’s cranky, and I rest my face in my hands. I can’t do this alone.

I debate calling Rachel back and begging her to reconsider. She and I are good friends, and one little fight shouldn’t derail everything we’ve worked for at the book store. After all, there’s no way I’ll be able to find a temp job while trying to care for Emma at the same time.

In a fit of desperation, I pick the phone back up and dial the only person that may be able to help.

“Rafaela speaking.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, the hot tears streaming down my cheeks as I try to sound as calm as possible. “Hey, it’s Heather Cook from the Cozy Nook.” I hope this call doesn’t end in another disaster, but Rafaela is my only hope.

She seems rather pleased to hear from me, which is a huge relief. “Of course I remember you. The girl with the adorable laugh.”

I blush at that, clearing my throat while trying to remain professional. “You and I had a conversation last night regarding a certain transaction. Do you remember?”

Rafaela chuckles, and it makes me smile despite not knowing why. “Of course I remember. Have you changed your mind about my offer?”

I take only a second to make sure I truly want this, and when Emma calls for me again, my mind is made up. I would do anything, no matter how crazy, to provide for my child. “I called to ask if that offer is still on the table.”

“Of course it is.” I can imagine her dark eyes glistening as she realizes she’s won. “I’ll drop by to pick you and Emma up right away so we can discuss this in person.”

“Sounds good. I’ll text you the address.” We exchange goodbyes, and I hang up with a feeling of uncertainty in the pit of my stomach. Hopefully, Rafaela's help will be just what I need.





Eight





Rafaela





I’ve never been much of a kid person. Whether that’s because of the life I live or by conscious choice, I’m not completely positive. My father’s business doesn’t exactly create a conducive environment for children to be around.

There’s something about little Emma, though, that pulls at my heartstrings. She’s absolutely adorable with her auburn waves and freckles. The term that comes to mind is, cute as a button, and I’m not usually that sappy.

I never would have imagined that spending the morning with a preschooler would be a productive use of my time, but I can’t think of anything better right at the moment. It’s worth it to see Heather in this light. She gazes at Emma with so much admiration that her eyes light up and her face literally beams with motherly pride.

Emma is the perfect mini me of Heather and watching the two of them together creates all kinds of feelings stirring in me that I’m not sure how to put words to. Contentment. Satisfaction. Longing. This whole situation started as a bet with my cousins, but I’m having trouble remembering that.

We end up at a kid friendly restaurant. Emma hops up in the booth excitedly, and Heather slides in next to her. While I would rather be seated pressed up against Heather, I slide in across from the two of them, enjoying the unobstructed view.

“Order whatever you’d like,” I instruct.

“Oh, mama, can I have cakes?” Emma squeals, picking up the crayons that the hostess set in front of her. She starts scribbling on the paper menu.

“Pancakes.” Heather clarifies, looking my direction. “They’re her favorite.”

“Pancakes sound amazing,” I say to Emma, and she grins brightly.

“Cakes, cakes, in a pan. I like to eat them with my hands.” Emma starts to sing.

I give Heather a quizzical look. “Don’t you know? Everything can be turned into a song,” she says.

I’m completely floored by the sheer amount of happiness and exuberance emanating from the small body across the booth. “Can I help you color, Emma?”

“Yes,” she says in her sing song voice.

I pick up the green crayon and make a few lines under the array of scribbles that Emma has drawn. The waitress walks up to the table, and we order pancakes for everyone. This elicits another round of giggles and song from Emma.

Her happiness is so innocent, so pure, so contagious. I don’t try to stifle the laughter that bubbles up my throat. I can’t remember a time that I ever felt so carefree.

“I’m glad you called,” I tell Heather sincerely.

“Me, too,” she says, with a small smile.

“I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to offend you by making it sound like a…a proposition. I would like very much to date you, and I always help out the people I date. It’s just who I am.”

Heather seems to relax a bit from my words and we fall into an easy conversation. As we enjoy our breakfast, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I ask her about Emma’s father before I can stop the words spilling from my mouth.

She doesn’t seem affronted by my bluntness. The story she shares of how the only time she ever had sex and the boyfriend, who was less than honest about using protection, nearly breaks my heart.

I’d like to find the son of a bitch and cut off a vital body part, but I tamper down my anger as I reach across the table and place my hand over hers.

“It left me disillusioned and pregnant,” she says, wistfully, looking over at Emma whose shoving humongous bites of pancake into her mouth. Syrup drips from her chin. “But, I wouldn’t give up my baby girl for a thousand second chances.”

Moving to a happier note, she regales me with the story of how she got involved with the bookstore. I can’t help but crack up as she explains how she tripped over a display and sent books careening across every inch of the floor.

“Rachel was impressed by how well I restacked everything. She hired me on the spot.”

We’re both laughing when the little bells on the door jingle a chaotic tune, and my focus shifts that direction. A group of men fills the tiny alcove. It’s my father and several of his capos.

He stands for a moment, surveying the scene. When he’s satisfied with what he sees, he strides my direction. My heart sinks just a little, and I have the strongest urge to throw myself in between him and the two people that sit across from me.

There’s an heir of authority that surrounds my father, along with a don’t mess with me unless you’re trying to die, type of attitude. It’s a bit disconcerting, to say the least, and my eyes move back to Heather and Emma, knowing full well that I haven’t prepared them to meet him just yet.

I bristle as I realize that my brother has to be behind this. He must have told my father that I was serious about a girl. There’s no other reason for him to step foot in this restaurant.

My suspicions are confirmed the second he opens his mouth. “Who are you to be having a meal with my daughter?” He demands, staring down at Heather. She seems to grow smaller in her seat.

“Father, this is Heather and her daughter, Emma. Heather, this is my father, Salvatore Giovani,” I say, making sure he can tell by the tone in my voice that I’m not going to put up with any of his games.

He slides into the booth next to me, and I’m even more convinced that I’m right when he lets loose the third degree on Heather. Firing question after question at her, it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room.

Heather’s uncertain gaze bounces between my father and myself, but she holds steady under his inquisition, answering every question honestly and confidently. Everything from her parents, to Emma, to her finances, to what she wants to do with life. Nothing is left untouched.

“You ask more questions than I do,” Emma’s tiny voice breaks through the onslaught.

My father halts mid-sentence and narrows his steely gaze on her. Then, he laughs. It’s loud and jovial, echoing through the room. My heart misses a beat. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my father laugh before.

“You will bring these two to Sunday dinner in two weeks.” It’s not a suggestion. Then, he gets up from the booth and leaves that restaurant, his slew of capos trailing behind him.

It takes a minute for my mind to completely process what just happened. I stare at the door in stunned silence, before Heather’s nervous giggle cuts through my shock. She passed. Holy shit! She passed, and with flying colors, too.





Nine





Heather





Wow! Just…wow! Rafaela’s dad must be super successful. He came in here with an entire entourage, for crying out loud. I don’t think he’s famous, or at least he’s not someone I’ve ever heard of before, but he’s obviously a pretty important guy.