Grumpy Billionaire's Baby Secret: An Enemy to Lovers Romance

CHAPTER ONEEric’s POV

CHAPTER ONE

Eric’s POV

Fate has a vendetta against me. I can feel it.

One minute I am traipsing down the hall in surprised interest, excited to be getting back into the world of business, and the next, I'm wearing a mug of steaming hot coffee. I yelp in surprise and pain and stare at the woman who collided with me with such force.

"What the heck! Can you not see where you're going?" I yell, my temper brewing just as hot as the coffee I'm now wearing.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you," a tiny brunette apologizes.

She pulls herself into an upright position, detaching herself from my body, and her hands go straight to work, wiping at my shirt. I don't know where a clean towel appears from, but next thing it's in between her delicate fingers and dabbing at the rapidly growing stain on my shirt.

To say I am annoyed is a huge understatement. I am raving. I had envisioned a better restart than this, and the white shirt might have been a symbolic representation of that, but now it is all blown to hell.

I put a stop to her scrubbing by grabbing hold of her wrists. "Stop! I can do that myself."

"I am sorry, I..." Her eyes rise to meet mine, and it's as if the words get stuck in her throat.

Her eyes are practically bulging out from their sockets as she stares at me in dumbfounded shock. A jolt of something like electricity runs through me as I look into her shocked eyes. What is happening?

"Is everything okay?" I ask her, my eyebrows inching high on my forehead.

"I can't believe this," she murmurs, more to herself than to me, pulling away from my grasp as though she were stung.

"Excuse you?"

She straightens, then tips her chin in defiance as she stares up at me.

"I'm suddenly not regretting this accident. I'm even wishing it weren't an accident and that it had spilled on bare skin, maybe a few body parts higher."

"Are you saying you would have loved to spill hot coffee on my face?"

"Ah. Your comprehension skills are great," she quips sarcastically.

"Did you hit your head or something?" I take a slow step forward. "Do you even have any idea who you're talking to?"

At that she stills, as if suddenly remembering that she is in a place of work or something.

"No, I don't. Clarify that for me, please?"

Her eyes are locked on mine as she says those words, and my forehead scrunches in confusion.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a feeling of familiarity blooms, a blurry image flashes briefly; but I cannot grab a hold of it. For a few seconds – or what seems like an eternity to me – we stare at each other.

"What is wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost," I say, my voice treading the lines of anger.

"You might as well be," she murmurs again, almost too low for me to hear; her head lowered as she stares at the floor.

When she raises her head again, her eyes are glossy with tears but are steel-hard.

“If you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

She doesn't even give me the time to respond, just brushes past me in a hurry while I stand back and watch her.

I exhale and walk back to my office, shaking my head to clear the fog of sudden emotion. It has been a busy morning, and maybe she is stressed so much that her brain is getting confused.

I take a seat and open my table compartment. I open the file and scrutinize the contents once more. It’s obscure and not detailed. There are missing pieces that I have to patch, or else I fear bankruptcy. A knock sounds at my door.

“Come in,” I say in a neutral tone.

A middle-aged lady with a cropped, auburn bob walks in. She smiles kindly at me and stands until I offer her a chair.

I look at her and wait for what she wants to say, but she just smiles.

“Excuse me,” I tell her, “what are you doing here?”

“Oh, silly me,” she waves her hands off. “I thought you knew already. I am Maureen, your father’s financial accountant. He told me you’ll be taking over the company when you return, and I guess you are my new boss.”

I nod, examining the woman from head to toe. “Nice to meet you, too.”

I dig out the file I went through previously and slam it on the table. “Can you explain this to me?” I have no control over the outbursts I make today. It's been one awful experience followed closely by another, and instead of the clarity I hoped for, I get a raging headache. Damn this day!

Her hands shake as she collects the papers. Now, fear invades her eyes, surprised to see that the son isn’t like the father. “Mr. Eric,” she stammers.

“Explain to me how thirteen million dollars managed to disappear from the company’s records without an explanation of any sort?” Anger burns inside of me, making me roar at her. “I am not my father; I would most appreciate accountability and reliability. I can either count on you and the team to deliver on that or…” I let the suspense build as she digests my previous words. “... I would not hesitate to find a better replacement, or send those who deserve it where they belong: in jail. Leave.”

The woman, who I now know is Maureen, scurries away in fear while I flex my fists. The word “jail” sends a chill down my spine. I remember the cruel nights I spent in a barred room, eaten by fat mosquitoes with long proboscises.

The worst thing about going to jail is going in with the knowledge of your innocence. I sat in the cell in orange dungarees, listening to inmates narrate their stories of how they ended up in prison.

Most were guilty and told tales of what they had done. Few people, like me, were accused, framed, or unlucky to get into the four corners of jail.

The memory frizzles out as fast as it comes in. I still have nightmares from prison. One minute, I am in peace; the next minute, I am handcuffed to the cold metal and dragged away by brutal policemen.

I let out a breath. “Get a grip” I told myself.

I unfold a piece of paper folded in squares and dial the number scribbled on it. I press the dial and wait for it to ring.

“P.I. Johnson here. What do you want me to do for you?” his gruff voice asks.

“This is Eric Greene. I have a job for you. Send me a location where we can discuss the basics of it,” I reply.

I have to find out who framed me and why.

********

I wake up the next morning with a throbbing headache. It’s like I’m being hit with a million sledgehammers. I roll out from under the covers and head towards the bathroom, grab Aspirin from my bathroom compartment and pop a pill into my mouth.

I check my bed and see a woman rolled up in my pajama top. How the hell did she get here?

I don’t disturb her. I step closer to the bed and see the girl in my bed is awake. She has a sheet wrapped around her body and she smiles at me with her brunette bird’s nest hair and messed up make-up.

Her face is blurry and I blink several times to clear my vision. Suddenly a memory flashed through my head of the night we spent together.

There had been something different about this girl. I remembered how our love-making turned from passionate to something deeper…almost something with an ethereal quality to it…I can’t describe it.

I reached out my arm to touch her…

The shrill sound of my alarm suddenly filled the room. Immediately, the vision of the girl disappears and I am slowly waking from a dark abyss.

My head does throb mercilessly. Probably as a result of the bottle of wine I drank last night. I guess my body is no longer used to all that alcohol after not imbibing any in jail.

I slowly get out of bed and manage to pull myself up to a standing position. My legs seem to want to buckle any second. I slowly walk to the bathroom, grab that aspirin and turn on my shower, washing off sweat and alcohol from my skin.

As the hot water courses over my body, the dream of the brunette in my bed fades and instead, thoughts of my run-in with the brunette at the office flit through my brain. It turns out that the menace with the hot coffee is my new assistant.

Her name is Lydia. The shock on her face when our HR director took her to my office to introduce me as her new boss brought a smirk to my lips. After I barked my initial instructions at her and what daily duties I expected her to carry out, she left without a comment, almost as if in a trance.

Yet, long after she had gone, I sat at my desk staring at the closed door, trying to grasp a fleeting memory. What is it about her? Is it the way she moves? Or the way she cocks her head to one side when she writes down my instructions? I shake my head vigorously and dunk my head under the hot water.

I get dressed, ticking up my professionalism level by donning on a suit. I shake off thoughts of the brunette in my dreams. The haunting thoughts threaten to come every time I catch a glimpse of my crumpled bed.

“My housekeeper will give you breakfast and show you your way out…” For every woman who has lain on my bed, I make it clear to them that I want no strings attached. Just a one-night stand.

There was this one woman though, the exception.

I didn’t even ask for a name, even though I wanted to know it. She was a brunette with lovely eyes and a tempting smile. She was an embodiment of grace and innocent sensuality; she was ravishing in every way possible and was somehow still clueless about it.

She invited me in for a drink after I escorted her home from the bar. One nightcap turned into several…

I remembered every single thing about her and about that night - until I went to prison.

The first night I spent in jail, I thought about her. I was supposed to see her again, have a fun night and just share laughs with her. I was vaguely certain it would have somehow still led to the bedroom but it didn't, because I ended up in jail instead.

I shake off the memory of her and walk in the direction of my car. My chauffeur stands outside waiting for me, and surprisingly, I see my father getting out of his chauffeured car.

“Father, what are you doing here?” I ask in bewilderment. My chauffeur, dressed in white, gives me a nod and takes my briefcase. I give Dad a hug.

“You’re late,” he warns as we break off. “Spending a work day with a woman?” I see him looking up at my second floor bedroom window and I join him. I halfway expected to see the blurred figure of the brunette from my dreams standing there, but the window pane was blank.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” I shrug, turning back to my Dad.

“Eric…” Father begins, “... you have a company to run now—a big one at that, and I would hope that the recent misfortune you’ve suffered would sober you up a bit. There are so many responsibilities that come with leadership, and now that you have taken over from me, I want to be able to trust your judgment. I know you will do well. Just a little less women and alcohol would do.”

“I’ll give it a thought.” I smirk. “Relax, Dad. There was no woman.”

He gives me a pat on the shoulder. “I’m glad everything got cleared out and you’ve been set free.”

“Me too.” Dad gives me a quick hug, mumbles something about having to meet with a business acquaintance downtown, and drives off in his chauffeured car.

I get into my car and give instructions for the driver to move along.

I keep replaying the conversation with Dad in my head even as we pull up in the company’s underground garage. I shake my head and walk toward my office. When I have settled, I unfold a piece of paper folded in my pocket and dial the number scribbled on it. I press the dial and wait for it to ring.

This is going to be another long day, but it is one more chance to improve my life and I won't trade it for anything.