Always My Babygirl: A Billionaire Romance

She follows me to the front door. “No, you can’t. You know you can’t work the scanner. Or the shared calendar. And you don’t know how to negotiate like I do.”

“Fair points.” I’d be lost without her and she knows it. I give her a tight squeeze. “Besides, you’re my favorite employee.”

“Really? Cause your sister’s been calling here asking me to sneaky-book her an interview with you. I think she’s trying to take my place as your fave employee.”

My hand freezes on the handle of the front door. “Tell me you told her no.”

“Of course I did. But she sure could bring in a pretty penny. That banging little dancer’s body—”

Steeling my gaze, I give her the look I’ve been given so many times by Gabe. I throw in her full name for good measure. “Samantha.”

She holds up her paper-filled hand in surrender. “Okay, okay.”

“Goodbye.” I walk through the door, and it swings shut behind me. I give her a wave as I climb in the open car door. As we pull away, I can just make out the gesture she’s performing from behind the glass door of Sugar Daddies, A crude dance move, shaking her hips and waving her hand in front of her body in a spanking motion. I roll my eyes.

The driver knows where we’re headed. I busy myself on the ride, e-signing documents as Sam emails them to me. She finishes her last email with, love your fave employee, Sam.

I have to laugh. Sam keeps me on my toes. But Lexi is not working for us. Even if she does have a banging dancer’s body that I’ve often envied.

Contracts done for the moment, I sit back in my seat and take in a deep breath. Gazing out the window, I find we’re no longer anywhere near downtown. The distance between houses grows with each mile we drive. The homes become larger; the lots more spacious. Then, the stone walls and wrought iron gates begin to appear. These aren’t houses.

These are estates.

How could a long term care facility be this far out here? And how long have we been driving? This is the opposite direction from my apartment, too far to take a quick trip to visit mom.

And now, there are no houses.

Funny, now I see green grass. Perfectly manicured lawn stretches over the land—a rarity in our arid climate—and a wall of brown stone comes into view. A massive gate stands at the end of a drive. Only this time, I can’t see the home past the thick greenery that grows behind the gate.

The driver takes a turn, pulling up to the gate.

This place is going to be magnificent. It must be some kind of care home for aging billionaires. I can’t imagine what a day would cost to stay at a place with an entrance this grand, much less years. And we’re a good forty-five minutes from my apartment.

It was kind of Shane to find a place like this, but it won’t work. Should I tell the driver just to take me back, now? Then I remember Gabriel is waiting here for me—I’ll tell him face-to-face.

The gates seem to sense the car’s arrival and open automatically without the driver hitting the call button on the black box beside the gate. As we pull through I scootch up further in the backseat to get a better look out of the front widow.

My breath catches in my throat. We’ve arrived at some kind of Spanish-style private compound. The main house sprawls for ages, tan stucco with a red tile roof, wide balconies with wrought iron bars stretch across the upper floors of the front of the home.

I remember what Gabriel said about his house when we were sitting on the rocking chair at my mother’s. About how much room he had… this, this is not a compound. This… is his house.

As we travel around the semicircle driveway, I take it all in. There’s a guest house that’s a perfect miniature replica of the main house. And a pool. And a pool house. A five car detached garage. And is that a small… golf course?

The driver pulls up to the front door just as it opens. My heart stutters when I see Gabriel. Wearing a white button-down shirt and tan trousers, he looks like he is posing for a shoot as he stands before the massive, dark wood doors.

But he’s not. He’s just a guy, standing on his front porch. My guy. My heart warms, and I know for a fact that even if this man was standing in front of a trailer home right now, I would choose him all over again.

We must be here to pick him up and then we’ll go to the care home Shane found. The driver lets me out and I rush over to wrap my arms around his neck. “Hey, daddy. So this is where you live.” I lean up on tiptoe, kissing his lips.