Billionaire's Single Mom

"Oh goodness no, darling," I said shaking my head. "Gram is sad about a lot of things. I think she is most sad because she misses your mom."

"Is that why she's so mean to you?" the girl asked, quietly looking away.

"I don't know why Gram is mean to me," I said. "I think sometimes people are mean to the ones they love the most because they know that those people will never leave them."

"But that doesn't make any sense, Leah," Riley said. "If you love people, you should be nice to them. You shouldn't be mean to the ones who stay with you even when you're not nice. You should be mad at the ones who leave."

"Are you mad at your mom, Riley?" I asked. We hadn't talked much about Molly's disappearance, but I knew it weighed on all of us.

Molly had gotten pregnant with Riley when she was 17. She'd skipped her senior year of high school and moved in with Danny Donahue, the boy who'd gotten her pregnant. Things turned from bad to worse when Danny was arrested for dealing drugs out of their small apartment and was sentenced to ten years. Two years into his sentence, he was killed in a drug-deal-gone-bad inside the maximum-security prison, leaving Molly to raise their daughter alone.

With no skills and no high school diploma, Molly turn

ed to the only thing she knew how to do. Soon, she was walking the streets at night while Mama or I watched Riley. She'd lied and told us she was working at the plant, but the first time she got arrested for solicitation, the truth came out. She tried to pull herself together for Riley's sake but, before long, she was down on the wrong side of town, shoving a needle in her arm.

When people have no hope, they often do things that rob them of the possibility of ever regaining it.

Then, one night, a few weeks before Riley's ninth birthday, Molly disappeared. She didn't call to tell us she was leaving. She just vanished into thin air. I filed a missing person's report at the local precinct, but the officers assigned to the case knew Molly from the streets. They told me that it was unlikely that she'd been abducted and that finding her was not a high priority. Another missing junkie prostitute didn't warrant an all-out effort. While I tried to investigate, I was working a full-time job and taking care of Riley. I didn't have the energy to launch a search.

"I'm not mad at my mom," Riley said as she pulled my arm up so she could snuggle in next to me. "I just miss her."

"I know, kiddo," I said leaning down to kiss the top of her head. She smelled like apple shampoo, and I smiled, "I miss your mom, too."

"Do you think she's ever coming back, Leah?" Riley asked as she picked a thread from one sleeve.

"I don't know, honey," I said. "I don't know where she went or if she knows how to get back."

"You're not leaving, are you?" she asked as she tipped her head and looked up at me through her bangs.

"No, I'm not leaving you, Riley," I said as I kissed her head again. "I'm staying right here. You don't need to worry about that."

"Okay, good," she nodded as she popped up off the couch and headed toward her bedroom. "If you're going to stay, then I'm going to go do my homework."

"I think that's an excellent choice," I nodded as I watched her long, lanky form move down the hallway. I murmured, "I'll be right here if you need me."

Chapter Three

Jack

I pulled my sunglasses out of the front pocket of my sport coat as I scanned the terminal for the chauffeur who was supposed to take me to my father's funeral. When I didn't immediately see him, I pulled out my phone to dial the car service. On the screen was a message that read, "Car waiting at the end of the International Terminal. Luggage has been sent to the house."

"Well, I'll be damned," I muttered as I put the glasses on and quickly walked toward the end of the terminal. There I found Jimmy, my dad's driver, waiting next to the Lincoln. I called, "Hey, Jimmy!"

The man turned and nodded as he opened the car door. "Mr. Jackson, good to see you."

"How are you holding up, Jimmy?" I asked as I looked at him. Jimmy Branson had been my father's driver for almost 20 years. He'd started driving for my father just after turning 18, and my father had treated him well. Jimmy called all of us by our courtesy titles and our given first names. Everyone, that was, except my father. Jimmy had never called his employer anything but Mr. Yates.

"I'm fine, Mr. Jackson," he nodded. The corners of his mouth and eyes were pulled downward, and the dark shadows under his eyes told me he hadn't slept much since my father died.

"Seriously, are you sure you're okay to drive?" I asked as my mind raced ahead to the funeral home. I was going to have to bolster my courage if I was going to spend the rest of the evening with my mother and brother.

"I'm fine, Mr. Jackson," Jimmy repeated as he held the door open and waited for me to climb inside. I shrugged and slid into the car. Jimmy closed the door quietly. He went around to the driver's side where he slid in and put the car into drive.

As we glided away from the terminal, I poured myself a scotch, sipping it as I looked out the window. I watched as Jimmy skirted Brooklyn and headed into Manhattan, and I tried to imagine the scene I was going to walk into.

My father, Bernard Yates, had been a formidable businessman who'd worked his way up. Starting as a boy who'd opened a small diaper service in Brooklyn, he quickly moved on to owning and running Baby Steps, one of the most successful baby supply companies in the country. He'd built each rung of the business with great care and attention, and as a result, he'd been beloved by his employees and customers.

This funeral was going to be difficult for many reasons, not the least of which was that I had not seen my family for almost a decade. I'd been busy building my business and, once I'd sold it, I took off sailing. As much as I could be, I was on the yachts I'd bought with the money from the selling my company. I spent it before my father could convince me to buy a large portion of stock with the money. I'd been fortunate to enter the market at the beginning of the start-up boom and to have gotten out of it before the market crashed.