Billionaire's Single Mom

"No, seriously?" I said looking around the table in disbelief. "That bastard stipulated that my assets—the assets I've earned through my own blood, sweat, and tears that I loaned him—will be on hold until his damn business is taken care of?"

"Jack, Pop had hoped that you'd come around and see that the company had a great deal of potential," Lincoln began.

"And you? You had to help him with this fucked up plan, didn't you?" I said, shooting my brother a look that made him avert his eyes. "Why the hell did he pick me? He knew I had no desire whatsoever to run the company."

"Your father believed that you were the one who could best represent the company's interests," Brasher said as he slid a stack of papers across the table. "It's all explained in this document, as are the parameters of the agreement. If you run the company for a year and turn a profit that is within the normal range of what Baby Steps has been doing for the past five years, then your investments in the company will be unfrozen. At that point, you'll be given the option of staying on and running the company or hiring someone to replace you. Either way, at the end of the year, you'll be free."

"So, in other words, I'm being punished for having helped that bastard yet again?" I asked in a tone so venomous that my mother got up and walked away from the table. I knew she was crying.

"I'm not sure I'd say that, Jack," Brasher said. "I'd look at it more as an emergency management strategy that your father hoped he'd never have to use but put in place just in case something like this happened."

"This is so far beyond fucked up," I said shaking my head as I scanned the documents in front of me. I looked at Lincoln and said, "You know that, right?"

"Jack, Pop needed someone in charge who knows how to run a business," he said. "I'm the company's banking resource. I can't do it."

"Why didn't he just vet someone and put them in place to succeed him?" I asked. "Seems like that would have been a hell of a lot easier than roping me into doing a job I don’t want."

"Pop had his reasons," Lincoln shrugged. "He didn't always explain them to me."

"This is such utter bullshit," I said angrily. "But I have no choice, do I?"

"No, Jack, you don't," my mother said from the corner of the room where she stood staring up at a painting of my father that she'd had commissioned several years before his death. In it, he looked like the strong patriarch everyone thought him to be, but all I saw was vengeance and anger.

"He's dead, and he still gets his way," I said, shaking my head as I grabbed the papers and stood up. "I guess tomorrow is as good a time as any to get started. Would you tell Jimmy to bring the car around tomorrow morning at eight sharp? I'll be going into the office."

I marched across the room, yanked open the door, and headed up the stairs to my room. I quickly changed into running clothes and tried to calm myself. If my father had overseen it, then the paperwork was airtight. I wasn't getting any of the money back that I’d loaned him until I'd fulfilled the terms laid out in the will. As angry as I was, I'd been trained not to openly defy the man who'd helped bring me into this world.

I did, however, have the beginnings of an idea how to get out of the deal and get back to my life before a year was up. I was going to have to play the part of the dutiful son and concerned CEO of this ridiculous company until I could work out the specifics of my plan. Tomorrow would be a good day to get started.

I put my earbuds in and headed downstairs to go on a very long run.

*

I tossed and turned all night, trying to find a way out of the will’s stipulations, but I came up with nothing. My father had made sure that I would be locked into the position of CEO for as long as it took to keep Baby Steps running. There was no way out. By the time the sun rose, I had resigned myself to the idea that I was going to have to suck it up long enough to figure some way out. The one saving grace was that I knew I was under no obligation to hide my disdain for the job. I would do it, but I wouldn't do it pleasantly.

After a quick workout, I showered and dressed for the office. My father had been a casual man when it came to dressing for the office, but I didn't think following in his footsteps would be a good way to start my tenure as CEO. I picked the most expensive suit I had and dressed as if I were heading to Wall Street.

"You're overdressed, darling," my mother said as I sat down at the breakfast table. "Your father never would have put on airs with his employees."

"May I remind you that I'm not my father?" I replied as I helped myself to eggs and toast from the sideboard. A maid placed a cup of coffee in front of me as I sat down and, in return, I offered her a quick smile of thanks.

"Don't get fresh with me, Jackson," my mother said. "I want you to do a good job and make your father proud of you."

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" I said as I sipped my coffee before digging into my plate of food.

"Why are you so intent on making this such a miserable experience?" my mother asked with a note of sadness in her voice.

"I don't know, Mother," I said flippantly. "Perhaps it's because I wasn't given a choice in the matter. Now I’m forced to do something I have no desire to do in order to reclaim what's rightfully mine."

"Your father never wanted to force you to do anything, Jackson," my mother said sadly. "He just wanted you to come back to the family and be a part of it again."

"Then perhaps he should have asked me rather than doing what he has always done," I said as I stood up. "Bullies never win, you know."

"Jackson . . ." my mother began. I looked down at her and realized that she'd aged a great deal since my father died. It was almost as if his death had sucked the life out of her as well.

"Have a lovely day, Mother," I said coolly as I walked out the door and headed to the car. I could hear her choked sobs echoing in the empty room as I opened the front door and headed for the car.

Jimmy dropped me off at the Baby Steps building on Jay Street. It was an enormous, red-brick warehouse that occupied most of the block and housed both the merchandise and the executive offices. I sighed as I looked up at the battered brick facade and the dirty windows that lined the top edge of the building next to the roof and wondered what it would take to renovate the facility to make it look more presentable. Compared to the building next door, the Baby Steps warehouse looked like a poor cousin in shabby hand-me-downs.