Billion Dollar Mistake: An opposites attract billionaire romance: (The Lincolns Book 1)

Chapter 1

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be on a Saturday Night?”

I stiffen before returning to the soup I’ve prepared on the stove. “No. I like hanging out with you guys.”

Mom side-eyes me.

“What?” I ask.

“I didn’t say anything,” she says, walking away from me to open the fridge.

“No, but you want to,” I reply, before tasting the soup. The minestrone is cooked to perfection if I do say so myself. I won’t be able to come over to their house much this week since I need to prepare for my upcoming job interviews. Which means I need to make sure they have leftovers.

“I worry about you. You’re turning twenty-five this year and all you do is hang around with us on the weekends.”

I look away from her accusing gaze and focus on the stacked white bowls she’s bringing over to me.

“Thanks,” I mumble, grabbing the bowls one at a time and filling each with soup. Because I can’t afford to waste any of it, I concentrate so I don’t spill a drop.

“I don’t want to go out. I’m too tired,” I lie.

Lying is not something I like to do. And I refuse to tell her I can’t afford to go out. The moment she learns I’m giving her and Dad all my money, they’ll stop taking it. And I don’t want that. Since Dad’s colon cancer diagnosis, he hasn’t been able to work, and Mom’s department store wage isn’t enough for them to survive on. I want to be able to contribute and since I’ve finally finished college, I’ve been applying for full-time accounting jobs, and with some luck, I’ll get a job this week.

“But don’t you want to spend more time with friends or find a special friend.” Her voice hitches with hope.

We carry the bowls to the table and set them in front of our seats, the ones we’ve sat in since I was little.

“I spend plenty of time with my friends. I live with them,” I say, as I move to the cupboard to grab crusty bread and then to the fridge for the butter.

“It’s not enough. And you”re avoiding the topic. What about a man?”

I groan as I walk back over to join them at the table. Most people are not this close to their parents. But I am. “Mom, I only connect with guys on a surface level. You know there’s only one thing they want. And I don’t feel like being used when all I want is to focus on my career.”

I know she worries about me being alone, but I know it won’t be forever. I can’t tell her that I’m trying to enjoy every moment I can get with Dad, because I don’t know how to take time for myself without feeling guilty. I worry if I miss a moment with him and he passes then I’ll live with regret. So, that’s why I give my every waking moment to them. I can worry about myself later.

“That’s a shame. You’re beautiful.”

“You have to say that, I’m your daughter,” I tease.

She reaches across the table to touch my face in a soft stroke. “My very beautiful and very single daughter.”

“Alright I get it,” I say, pulling my head away from her hand with a giggle.

Before I pour myself soup, I remember something. “I brought a new book for you to read. I just finished it and I need you to read it so we can discuss it,” I say, feeling relief now that we put the relationship talk behind us.

Loving fictional men is all I can handle right now.

Mom and I have always shared a love of reading. When I was fourteen, I read my first fantasy novel, and I haven’t been able to stop since then. Now we share books and discuss our thoughts when we finish them. It’s a good distraction. It slows down the chaos of life, giving us a reprieve, even if for just a moment in time, and helps us not dwell too much on Dad’s health.

“Oh good. I finished book one already and I need to know what happens after that cliffhanger,” she replies as she sits down.

“Hey kiddo,” Dad says, wandering out of his room after his nap. He usually naps in the afternoon and wakes at dinnertime. Coming close to me, he lays a kiss on my cheek before moving to pull out his chair at the table.

“Hey, Dad. How are you feeling?” I ask.

We’ve always been close. Growing up, he taught me how to ride my bike, watched every swimming lesson, and signed me up for my first boxing class. He quizzed me for my first spelling exam all the way through my accounting exams in college. Even when he told me he had colon cancer, he did so with a grin, making sure to emphasize how it wouldn’t bring this old man down, because he had too much to do. He”s always been a happy and positive man; I can’t recall ever hearing him complain. I’d like to think I got my patience and understanding from him.

“Strong as a horse,” he says, taking a large slurp of his soup.

I eye him critically. He’s an adult. There’s nothing I can do to get a different answer out of him. If he’s doing ok, I usually believe him. Even though I shouldn’t.

I bring a spoonful of soup to my mouth, enjoying the salty taste.

“Are you ready for your job interviews this week?” Dad asks.

The way he looks at me, as if he wants to help, has me saying, “I think so. But would you help me prepare?”

He lowers his spoon and sits up straighter in his chair. These days the roles have reversed. Dad used to be the man of the house, always caring for the two of us, and now he feels like a burden. I know he does.

He’s worked in a few different warehouses over his working years. One being at the department store where he met my mom. He was meant to be working on the floor, but on his lunch break, he saw Mom struggling to move shoe boxes, so he offered to give her a hand. They got to chatting, and because he is good at convincing people of just about anything, he asked her on a date and she agreed. And like they say, the rest is history.

“Alright. Hit me,” I say eagerly.

I eat another spoonful of dinner before he asks, “Why do you want the job?”

“Jeez. Hitting me with the hard questions fast.” I laugh.

But, in my mind the words I need this job scream out loud.

I don’t know how I’m going to afford the gas bill. But I keep my lips firmly together. Those words won’t leave my lips. They’re my problem to solve, and right now, getting a job will fix it.

“I have to. You need to be able to answer these easily,” he replies.

“I have gathered invaluable skills during my studies and my good marks are proof of how valuable I could be as a new hire. I am a fast learner, and I am ready to face new challenges,” I answer, hoping he likes my prepared reply.

He nods as he takes another mouthful of dinner and so do I.

“Are you a hunter or a gatherer?”

My brows pull together.

“Just answer it,” Dad counters, obviously reading my confused face.

“Gatherer. I think,” I say, watching him to see if I’m correct.

“Yeah, you are. You’re good at collecting data.”

I exhale. “Give me an easy one now.”

“They’ve all been easy. But okay. What motivates you?”

Money. Financial freedom. Happiness. But I don’t say those. Instead, I think for a minute, watching my dad finish the soup. He’s always loved my cooking, so seeing him finish it makes me happy.

“I enjoy working with numbers and my attention to detail is my greatest strength. I am excited about the opportunity of being here and learning more about your company.”

Mom claps from her seat. “Good answer.”

“Calm down, Lydia,” Dad responds. But his soft smile and longing look make my gut twist.

I worry about Mom. If I am scared out of my mind right now, I wonder what she’s feeling. Does she fear she’ll have no money for herself if she becomes a widow? Maybe there’s a fear of having the relationship with her only daughter change because of grief. Or is it the fear of losing the person you love?

Unfortunately, as much as I wish I could be there for her and tell her I know exactly how she is feeling, I can’t. I’ve never been in love.