Billionaire's Single Mom

“Well dear, I have kept you long enough, you should be getting some rest and thinking what to put on your list and what you are going to say to him,” she said.

“Yes, you’re right, I have had a rough and long day, I’m a bit tired, I should be getting to bed soon,” I replied.

“Okay dear, I’m going now, as soon as you do the deed, let me know how you get on alright?" She was so supportive of me.

“No problem Mom, thanks for calling, good night," I said sleepily.

“Good night dear, speak to you soon,” she said before she hung up the phone.

It was late, and I had a thick head from all the conversations about having a new job. How would I do it? And what would I say the reason was?

Bo was already waiting for me, and he was laid on his back with his belly faced to the ceiling. I smiled as I rubbed his belly and asked him his thoughts on the matter.

“Well Bo, mummy may be without a job soon, what will we do then hey?” I said.

“He opened one eye and rolled onto his side. He had a sad look in his eyes and wanted me to tickle him some more. It was funny how some things like a tickled belly can make everything seem right.

My mind fell into both slumber and thought. I had two areas in that I wanted to confront Elijah on. Firstly, I wanted to tell him he was a good-for-nothing piece of shit and secondly, that all his wealth means nothing because it’s unable to help him find a decent woman or life with meaning. I cuddled close to Bo and slowly drifted into slumber. Another exhausting day.

Chapter Seven

Elijah

I put the phone down and looked out from my office window. Fuck it. I’d had enough. My trades are doing well, and I can't fucking be here a minute longer. My eyes are blurry from the screen of my computer.

I grabbed my jacket as I headed out from the office. I stared at the main door and just walked, with my gaze fixed on the exit sign. I was in no mood for “Are you coming back today?” or “Can we reach you if needed? Mr. Hanson?”

I headed home. I just needed some down time to myself. The business had become boring to me lately. I was bored by it all, and I couldn't explain my feeling of melancholy.

When I got home I poured myself a double bourbon and slumped on the couch, I laid there with my feet up and didn't move. I looked at all the items in my huge living area and my latest purchase the LED flat screen with the smart home technology lights that can be controlled from my cell. The furniture was covered with natural bison leather, everything had cost a fortune, and I sat all alone in my expensive and lonely house.

I poured myself another bourbon and took a big swig, even this was expensive, and it was the one thing that did leave me feeling satisfied. I filled my glass and walked from room to room; I looked at all the things I had bought and thought about what they did for me. I had a love affair with things.

I found myself in the garage, the one place I did feel at home. I loved my vehicles, and none more than my bike, my pride, and my joy. My beloved Triumph Thruxton R. A modern-day take on a classic British café racer, retro styled and as mean as they come, in a silver ice color finished with chrome. This beauty was all steel and muscle. It was like sex on the road. The fast and furious kind.

I sat on my tool box an

d stared at her. She was a thing of beauty. I felt free as the wind when I rode her, with no one to answer to but me and the winding road. I looked at the lines of the bike, and I decided to take her for a spin.

I picked from my jacket collection. I ignored the Givenchy Star Patch jacket and went for my trusty bad boy look. I looked like a real bad ass. I was sexy as fuck when I rode. The perfect chick magnet and conversation starter.

I hopped on, and I started the 1200-cc engine, and instantly I felt the vibrations between my legs. I wheeled her out of the garage and headed down the driveway then I opened up the throttle and let her rip. It was perfect. The wind cleared the fuzziness that the bourbon had started to wash over me. I was glad I had left work.

I headed down the highway, the hill beckoned for some real riding, but for now, I wanted to see if I could reach top speed. I pulled back on the throttle, and the engine lurched forward with an almighty roar... 40, 50, 70 and still she climbed… 100, 130. Yes! The trees blurred into a mat of green, the engine whined as she was close to her limits. I glanced at the gauge and could see I needed gas, so I slowed to a more sedate speed until a garage appeared in the distance before me.

I filled the bike with gas as the sound of music caught my attention. I looked up and could see an open bar across the street. I decided to relax for a while before I headed out further into the hills.

I entered the bar, the stench of beer and bourbon filled the air as the jukebox blasted out the sounds of some fucking asshole singing a sad country tune. I headed toward the bar. Stuffed animals adorned the walls, their glass eyes followed my every step. It was like I was in red-neck heaven.

“Beer,” I said to the fat woman behind the bar.

“Comin' right up,” she replied with a country tone.

I glanced around. It was full of days gone by cowboys and rodeo riders, with denim and Stetsons everywhere. The alcohol went down well. I needed it more than I knew.

I turned back to the bar and glanced to the side of me, and there was an old man sat alone with his beer. I could see he was dressed differently to the others; he must be a stranger in these parts like me I imagined.

“That bike sure is pretty Mr.,” he said as he raised his bottle to his lips.