The Billionaire's Secret

It was the paparazzi's fault my parents were dead. Or rather it was my fault for being someone the paparazzi hounded.

The first time a flashbulb went off in my face, I was amused. It didn't make any sense. I wasn't a celebrity; not an actor, a model or a musician. I was just a guy who had founded a business that inexplicably became successful. I liked my work, liked it well enough to let it consume me until I was working around the clock.

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But then a strange thing happened. The more the business thrived, the less the magazines and the blogs and the tech sites seemed interested in it. They begin digging around, looking for dirt in my personal life. My high school girlfriend, who had been with me since the beginning of everything, was soon disgusted by her inability to walk to the corner store without having cameras in her face. Her three-AM drunken tirade against me became a favorite for all of the gossip sites and then everything went off the rails. The sharks scented blood in the water and nothing could stop the feeding frenzy. My parents, my sister, my friends all found themselves hounded night and day, questions about me hurled at them like clumps of mud. One by one it drove everyone away...

Until that fateful night two years ago.

My parents wanted to take me out to dinner. A normal thing that normal families do when there is success to be shared. I had sold off the excursions branch of my business to a start-up out of California and the money had been insane. My parents were old-fashioned types who never would dream of taking their son's money. We went to a neighborhood favorite, the place where I had celebrated my tenth birthday.

The first flash went off in our faces somewhere around when the appetizers came out. Someone must have called the tabloids, because soon they were everywhere, crowding the sidewalk and shoving each other to get their shot. My mother's face, pinched with worry, still haunts me to this day.

"Carter honey, your father and I will take your car tonight. Get them out of your hair."

I thanked her quickly, handed over my keys, and ducked into the safety of their Buick. I drove to a hotel on the outskirts of town, reveling in my peace and quiet.

My parents ended up in a fiery wreck, run off the road by the paparazzi that thought they were me.

Those men were in prison now, but the full force of my lawyers couldn't bring my father back to walk Camilla down the aisle. They couldn't bring my mother back to smile and offer to make me a sandwich, no matter the time of day. They couldn't give me respite from the guilt that sent me to live in shame on a glorified sandbar, as far removed from the public eye as I could get.

All of these thoughts assault me as I step out into the smoggy, dirty air of the city. I can practically feel the grip of the panic closing around my throat in a chokehold. I rushed into the building, but it is cold comfort once I am inside.

Two hours, that's all I need, then I can go back to Annika Island and my fragile peace.

The internet connection on Annika is spotty at best. The conference room at Easton Ventures is much more reliable. Still, I can't shake the feeling that I have been dragged to this conference by my board for no real reason. They just need me here, a visible reminder to the investors that I am still the head of this company.

And that I am still sane.

So I play my part. I banter, and smile. I poke holes in the market projections that cause the accountants to scramble. And when all is said and done, I lean back in my chair and think about Sanniyah.

For one brief moment with her, I felt like my old self. Hungry, instead of hollow. Brave instead of paranoid.

I need to get that back.

I need to get her back.

Benson pulls up, and I sprint inside the car. We race back to the airport but it isn't until we are in helicopter, waiting for clearance to take off, that I come to my senses.

I'm pissed off at myself, tired of hiding like a frightened mouse.

I should have fucking kissed her.

"Hold on, Benson," I bark. "Don't take off yet."

The impulsivity I'm known for takes hold of me. I grab my phone and scroll to Sanniyah's number. Then I text her. And I tell her exactly what I am thinking....

Chapter Twelve

Sanniyah

"Go see Dad." Tricia ripped into me pretty badly with only three words. I know I should go see him. But I still can't. Seeing him would make it real.

So instead, I take the easy way out. Fifteen minutes before I have to be at the Ferrara-Dickenson wedding, I call my mother instead.

"Hey there mama!" My voice is so bright and cheerful I want to punch myself.

"Hey there, baby girl."

Mama sounds tired and not at all happy to hear from me. But I soldier on anyway. "I had a few minutes before I have to start working and I just wanted to check in. How are you doing? How's Daddy?"

My mother's long silence is making me squirm. When she finally does speak, she is deliberately ignoring my questions. "I'm out taking a walk. Needed the sunshine. I've been cooped up in that house for too long."

"Who's taking care of Otis?" I ask, and then silently curse myself for calling my stepdad by his first name. A bad habit all three of us hate.

She ignores my misstep for once. ""You remember Mrs. Parker down the block?" she asks.

"The one with the birthmark?"

"You be nice," she admonishes, but I can hear her smile when she continues, "I know, I can't stop looking at it either. But she's a nice lady and she's been helping a lot. Keeping my azaleas pruned and everything."

I try to picture this Mrs. Parker, but all I can conjure is the port wine stain that splotches her cheek. Then I feel horrible.

I feel even worse when my mother inhales deeply. "So we got some news," she says, her voice heavy with meaning.

I'm already dancing in place, a frenzy of nerves. The wedding starts in five minutes. I can't deal with this right now. I try to sidestep. "Ma, you sound tired."

"I'm tired as hell, Yahya," she snaps back. "You know I love him, love him more than I thought it was possible to love anyone except my daughter, but..." she trails off trying to find the words. "He needs me. Constantly. Round the clock. It's like I have a newborn again, except you smelled all sweet when you were a baby and Otis just smells like sickness." I can hear her sniffing through the phone "I can smell it on me. It's in my hair, my clothes..."

"Mama, calm down. It's okay."

"Is it?" she asks wildly. "They want to take his femur, Sanniyah. That's the news. The cancer that was supposed to be in remission spent its time eating away at his bone and now they want to put a metal rod in there like it's going to do something. He can barely walk now, but they want him to keep trying, keep walking, keep putting himself through hell on the off chance they can pull off a miracle."

I am frozen in place. The guests are arriving and sitting in the pews, but I can't even muster the strength to move out of their way. "Oh,” I reply in a small, sad voice.

"What's that?" Mama isn't talking to me. I hear the scrabbling sounds on the other end, then a heavy sigh. "Mrs. Parker has to go pick up her grandbaby at daycare, her daughter just called all frantic. I gotta go, Yahya." She exhales forcefully into the phone. "Love my baby girl," she sighs in her standard goodbye, but there's none of the usual warmth. She hangs up before I can even reply.

I turn on my heel and head right into the bathroom. A dab of cool water soothes my burning cheeks and ten deep breaths calm the tears that sting my eyes. I have to work. I am a professional. I can't bring my personal shit into the mix.

"You can deal with this later when you have a plan," I tell my reflection, then nod in agreement with the woman in the mirror. I straighten my shoulders and head out into the vestibule with a smile on my face that doesn’t reach my eyes.

The first fifteen minutes of the ceremony go off flawlessly and I almost feel like I can get through today without falling apart. That is, until I feel my phone buzz in my hand.

"No fish."

Two little words from the reception site, but they're enough to spell disaster. The bride's seafood order has been mishandled and now a hundred and twelve of the five hundred guests are going to have to go without the flounder they had ordered. My father's cancer is back, but now I have to worry about fish. I could laugh if I didn't want so badly to break down crying.

I duck out the back, right as the bride and groom are lighting the Unity candle, and furiously scroll through my contacts. Gordon has helped me out of a few j

ams before and I know his product is fresh. If I can just get him to deliver on time.

"No can do, Yahya. I've got a full house tonight." My phone vibrates so loudly that several heads turn. "Sorry," I mouth, and push my way into the vestibule, fingers flying.

"Gordon, work with me here," I type. "How can I make this worth your while?"

"Excuse me? Where are the pictures being taken?"

I whip my head up to see the bride's ten-year-old nephew looking up at me, all buck-toothed and earnest with an overpriced DSLR around his neck. Why a kid his age has a camera like that, I couldn't possibly understand, but I nod and smile anyway. "The Roosevelt Room downtown," I tell him as my phone vibrates in quick succession.