Billionaire Baby Daddy

So, what did that mean? It meant that my feelings for Lilah weren’t based solely on her being a challenge. It meant this was unfamiliar territory for me. It meant more. One word kept sneaking back into my head—a word I didn’t want to consider: love.

The word scared me because I couldn't say for sure if I even believed in it. I'd had many things growing up, many things that other kids only dreamed of. I'd been a billionaire by the age of 20, but I'd never had love. I'd only had flings, affairs, and casual encounters—things that money, power, and prestige could buy.

I couldn't buy love though, that had turned out to be true.

So there I was, sitting in a pizza parlor with a slice of pizza dangling from my hand that I hadn’t even taken a bite of. I could have been sitting there for ten seconds or maybe ten minutes. Time seemed to have ceased its march leaving me spinning in the strange, surreal moment.

I put the pizza down on my plate and called a waiter over.

“Hey, buddy,” I said to the teenager, “do you think I could get this wrapped up, to go? I'm not really in the mood for it right now.”

“Uh, sure,” he said as he took the plate away.

He came back a few minutes later with the pizza slice packed neatly into a box. I smiled, left him a big tip, and then walked back to the office, wondering if I was in a trance. I paused as I got to the Sinclair Building and looked up at it, rising majestically up into the sky.

“I own this,” I said to myself. “I own this building and most everything in it. It's got my name on it. Yet . . .” I trailed off and shook my head.

This was a first. I'd had moments where I'd felt like I was losing my edge, losing my focus, but never like this. In fact, I'd always prided myself in how utterly focused, and often ruthless and calculating, I could be. I had always remained razor sharp like the Japanese katana that Colonel Tanaka had given me.

Yet, at the moment, I felt blunted and dulled. I couldn’t go on like this—something had to give.

I strode into the building—my building—with purpose. When the elevator reached my floor, I went straight to my office and told my PA to hold any incoming calls for the afternoon. I had a plan to regain my edge and that began with shifting into overdrive and powering through everything I needed to get done. In fact, I was going to stay here late—until midnight if needed—and then do it again tomorrow. I was going to need to take Friday and the following Monday off to make it a four-day weekend, so I needed to get everything done by the end of Thursday. It would be hard but, for a workaholic like me, it was doable.

Before I jumped in, I needed to make a call—just to make sure what I was planning was actually possible.

I took out my phone and dialed a number. It took a while to connect, but eventually I heard the sound of the other party's phone ringing. After a while, a familiar voice answered: an old, hoarse voice. The voice of a man who was now nearly 90 years old. I spoke in Japanese to communicate with him.

“Colonel Tanaka, my most revered teacher. It is I, Asher Sinclair.”

“Sinclair-san! It is wonderful to hear your voice again.”

“I need your help, Colonel.”

“You are like a son to me, Sinclair-san. I will do anything in my power to assist you in this matter that is troubling you.”

“May I come to see you and stay at your estate?”

“You are always welcome here, Sinclair-san. When do you propose to come?”

“Soon. Friday, if that's possible.”

“I will have my servants prepare a room for you.”

“Excellent. I'll drive straight there as soon as my jet touches down.”

“I look forward to seeing you, Sinclair-san.”

“And I you, Colonel.”

Without further ado I put my phone away and started on my work. There was a lot to get through by Thursday evening, and I needed my mind to be clear by the time my plane touched down in Japan on Friday morning. I needed it crystal-clear.

***

I howled with pain and dropped my practice sword as the old master cut through my defenses and struck me a savage blow on my forearm. He was 89 years old, but age hadn't put much of a damper on his focus as a swordsman. Of course, he tired far quicker than a younger man did, and wasn't nearly as agile any more. But he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

“Pick it up,” he said, pointing at the sword. “We are not finished yet.”

“Yes, master,” I said, groaning with pain as I picked up the sword and prepared to fight.