The Aimless Billionaire (Small Town Billionaires Book 2) Read online

  THE AIMLESS BILLIONAIRE

  APRIL MURDOCK

  CONTENTS

  APRIL MURDOCK

  The Aimless Billionaire

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  APRIL MURDOCK

  Preview - The Billionaire’s Charity Date

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

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  About April Murdock

  Copyright © 2019 April Murdock and Sweet River Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to names, characters, organizations, places, events, or incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  THE AIMLESS BILLIONAIRE

  SMALL TOWN BILLIONAIRE’S - BOOK 2

  APRIL MURDOCK

  CHAPTER 1

  Brandon

  I stare at her across the table, struggling to remember her name. She’s been talking non-stop and I wish that I’d never met her at that dang party.

  I know my online critics see me as this rich kid without a worry or care. And for the most part, they’re right. I don’t have to worry where my next meal is coming from. I don’t have to stress about house payments for the luxurious mansion I live in with my parents. I’ve got a trust fund that makes a small loan of a million dollars look like child’s play.

  “But I wanted my cheeks to have that perfect glow, you know, like Kim Kardashian, so I got this Becca highlighter. It’s a-may-zing.” She rolls her eyes as punctuation and I want to leave right now. I want to stand up. Walk away without looking back.

  But I stay. I officially met her at a party, but I know all about her because we run in the same social circles. The truth is we’re all nothing but useless kids running wild with our parent’s money. Only concerned for ourselves, our joy, and keeping up with trends.

  I’m sick and tired of it. I never expected to feel this way, but I do.

  I’m tired of all the shallow, skin deep women I met. Sure, she’s easy on the eyes with her wide, high cheekbones, full lips, and sexy bedroom blue eyes. Her figure tends to be a bit on the slim side and she loves clothes that give hints and peeks to her body. And bras were not something she ‘believed’ in, whatever that meant.

  “So I started using the Becca blush and primer, but the foundation wasn’t as good as the Fenty beauty one.”

  It’s like she’s speaking a different language.

  She leans in, her silk blouse tightening around her neck and across her braless breasts. The creamy rose color looks good against her pale skin and my eyes wander between large freckles dotting her chest and bare shoulders.

  This date is running long and all she’s done was talk about herself, her hair products, her makeup, and the beauty video channel she runs on YouTube. But none of it is real. I have no idea who she is. What she stands for. What she believes in. Who she cares about.

  I want to ask questions. Has she ever had a pet? Has she ever been in love? Real take a bullet for you because I love you love. What is her fondest memory? Has she ever done anything she’s proud of? Anything she regrets?

  But as I think these questions and don’t ask them, I study her. She continues rattling off things about her life, her makeup brands, her superior application techniques and I decide she must just love the sound of her own voice.

  Anastasia. That’s her name. I remember now. How could I have forgotten that? And what were her parents thinking?

  Her lips continue moving and I nod like I’m hearing her, but I’m still a million miles away in my own mind. Tucked away somewhere else. Any where but here with her.

  A second of silence falls as she takes a breath. I’d swear it’s the first breath since she started talking today.

  “So I’m going to see this touring music festival that’s coming this way soon,” I said, wanting to share a little of what I was interested in.

  “Okay,” she says. “So the makeup brushes…”

  I shut down. Scanning the tables around us in the five-star restaurant, I take in the rich couples like us sitting and enjoying their meals. I wonder if they’re all like this. I’ve never felt so isolated, yet here I am in the middle of a crowded room.

  This can’t be right. This isn’t living. This is barely existing. I need to change things. But how?

  “And I loved the Pat McGrath eye shadow palette. Honestly, I more than liked it. It was totally to die for.”

  She was still going and I want none of it. The party where I’d met her had expertly masked her true lack of a personality. The music had been loud, she’d had a few cocktails, and she was dancing like we were all going to die before the morning. But she is not unique. I’ve never met a woman that’s anything more than a shell of a person. I know I’m running with the wrong crowd.

  We both glance up as the waiter appears and stands over us, waiting patiently for her to stop speaking before gesturing to the table and asking, “Are you finished here?”

  I nod, sitting back as he takes away my plate and turns to her. She nods, looking disgusted before pulling out her phone and starting to scroll.

  Giving the waiter my card, I nod at him. After he leaves, I plant both elbows on the table and stare at my date, wondering if I could feel less for another human being than I do right now.

  “So, um…”

  Her hand whips up and she holds up a single finger while continuing to scroll. With a sigh I wait. I’m fairly certain my whole life is just a bad episode of the Twilight Zone. Everyone that thinks money would solve all their problems doesn’t know that money is a curse.

  The waiter returns with my card and gives a nod of his head.

  “Ready?” I ask Anastasia.

  But her finger is back up and I wait to stand. A moment later she looks up at me. “Are we leaving or what?”

  “I was waiting on you,” I said.

  She gives me a weird look. “I’ve been ready. I was waiting for you.”

  I want to shout. She was the one on her phone, the one holding us up, not me. But I said nothing. Instead, I flash a tight smile and stand up.

  “Excuse me,” she says and I turn back to her. Her hand is outstretched and I offer her my arm. Her slight weight is nothing as she uses my help to stand before leaning into me like she’s about to fall.

  “Oh, that drink must have hit me hard,” she says.

  I’m sure the virgin daquiri got you drunk, Anastasia. I want to say it. I really do. But I keep my mouth shut. I’d ordered her a non-alcoholic drink on the sly for a reason.

  “You should drive me home,” she says, lifting a graceful arm and pressing her forearm to her forehead.

  Fine. I can do that. Changing course, I walk us toward my car and help her into the passenger seat. With a sigh, I walk around the front to get in the driver’s side. It was just a little bit longer. I can handle a little bit longer. Then she’d be out of my life and I never have to listen to her again.

  “Nice car,” she says as I get behind the wheel.

  I nod.

  “You know, you’re pre
tty quiet. I like that,” she says, placing her hand on my arm and running it up to circle my ear with her finger.

  I’m not all that quiet. I just don’t get a chance to speak around her. Grabbing her hand with mine, I move it away and study her. Her eyes glitter with anticipation and disgust rushes through me. There is no connection between us. I’m not going to spend any more time with her just because she’s available and willing. That’s not my style.

  The Bugatti’s engine roars to life and I tear out of the lot toward her place. She’s on to talking about her wardrobe now and I tune her out, my thoughts stuck on how I can change my life.

  “Help me up,” she says, bursting into my thoughts as I park in front of her building. I know she lives in the penthouse way up there. “That drink…” she trails off slumping back into the seat like she’s fainting.

  With a sigh, I get out and walk to her side. Scooping her up in my arms, I close the door to my car with my foot and head to the front door of her building, not really seeing any of it. She clings to me, her expensive perfume tickling my nose.

  In the elevator I watch her push the button and readjust her a bit.

  “Am I too heavy?” she asks, looking up at me in mock innocence.

  I shook my head not even wanting to get involved in this one. Holding her now I’m fairly certain she’s about five nine and barely pushing a hundred pounds.

  “This is my door,” she says as I walk. I stop and try to set her on her feet, but she refuses to let me put her down. “Carry me to bed?” she begs.

  Annoyed, I nod.

  “It’s unlocked,” she whispers, her eyes tracing my face.

  I open the door and carry her in. “Where’s the bedroom?” I ask.

  She nudges her head and I follow the direction and walk into her bedroom. The explosion of pink hits me like a sledgehammer to the forehead and I swallow back a wave of nausea. Everything is pink. The walls, the bed, the ceiling, everything.

  “Sorry, I don’t drink often,” she lies as I lower her to her bed.

  “It’s no worry,” I say. She clings to me, her arms around my neck and looks up at me.

  “After that drink, I’m feeling a little romantic. Why don’t we turn on some music…” she whispers.

  I’ve had enough. “Well, good thing I got you a virgin daquiri. At least one of you can say that.”

  Her eyes go wide and she trembles with anger as I pull out of her grasp and walk away. “How dare you!” she screams as I open the door and make a quick exit out of her place.

  With quick steps I make my escape. Only when I was in my car did I take a deep breath and chuckle. The look on her face was worth the rage she’d throw at me. I bet no one has ever said something so ugly to her. I’m not proud of what I said and how I said it, but I am proud of myself for being done. With all of it.

  I’d figured out how I can make a change for the better. As my car roars to life, I drive, loving the feel of the open road in front of me. I live a few dozen miles outside Houston and now I have a few minutes to think about what happens next. This new life plan is lifting some of the weight off my breaking shoulders. All too soon I pull up outside my house and park my car in the ten car garage.

  My phone chimes and I glance at it. Anastasia’s angry text is cut halfway, but I get the gist. I can’t help but grin as I read her hateful words. I guess she’s not taking my statement well. Good. Maybe she’ll wake up and see herself for what she really is. I’ll never know if she does, though, because I’m done with her and all those just like her.

  The sweeping front steps are guarded by five foot lions perched on either side of the grand entrance staircase. I step onto the white marble floors and take in the heavy wooden décor. This estate is old fashioned and heavy, like everything else in my life.

  Before my parents can catch me, I head for my room and lock the door behind me. Grabbing my headphones and plugging them into my phone, I queue up some music. I’m not my parents. This life shouldn’t define me. I don’t fit in.

  They want me to take over the family business. Be the heir to their throne. They never once considered what I want.

  I don’t want this life. I don’t want to take over the family business and settle into a dull, unrewarding, rich existence. It’s not living. In my opinion it’s merely existing.

  Pulling up my phone, I look up the music festival. There’s no way in heck they’ll okay it. I’m supposed to be shadowing my father and learning the important details to help me take over. I’m twenty-six. Not a kid anymore, but I still feel like one. I’m still treated like a child, but they want me to be an adult in spite of it.

  Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I still act like a child.

  But the bottom line is that I’m done.

  I’m done being what they want me to be.

  I’m done being who they tell me to be.

  I’m done living this vapid, useless existence.

  I’m ready to live a decent and productive life.

  I want to connect with someone. I’ve never had a meaningful conversation with another human being, ever. It’s time for that to change.

  Still getting nasty texts from Anastasia, I blocked her number and went back to reading about the music festival. Yep, I as done with her and all of the people she hung around with. All the people I normally hang around with. They could burn for all I cared. They deserved each other, all of them.

  “Knock, knock,” my mother said from the other side of the door. I sat up and pulled my earbuds out and put my phone aside.

  “Can I come in?” she asks.

  “Sure,” I say.

  She opens the door and peeks in, then opens it wide and walks over to perch on the edge of my bed. “Your father said you blew him off today.”

  I wanted to be disappointed, but I wasn’t even surprised. Of course she wasn’t here to say hello, to ask about my day, to connect with me. She was here to guilt trip me, to remind me that it was my duty to be a good son. To follow the blueprint. That I owed her because she gave me life into this lap of luxury twenty-six years ago.

  “I was in labor for five hours,” she said.

  Yeah, I’ve heard some women are in labor for days. But you wanted a child so you were prepared to deal with that, right? That’s kind of how it works, isn’t it?

  “And I’m sorry for that,” I said with a sigh.

  “I just want you to have a good life,” she said.

  “Mom, I’m twenty-six. Don’t you think I should be making my own way? Making my own decisions?”

  “Whatever for?” she asked, looking at me like I’d lost my mind.

  “I’m going to be going away for a while,” I said, looking down at the phone on the bed beside me. The dates on the festival page stood out and I decided to make the call now before she could yes or no me.

  “I’m going to be away, but when I get back I’ll be the son you need me to be.” I’d take this break. Find someone, connect, get all the stupid wants and desires out of my head and then do what’s expected of me. I just needed this little window to really taste life.

  I think I’ve figured it out. I know how to make meaningful connections with real people. First I need to find real people. Everyday people. Normal people that are in touch with the world and themselves. Not the people I know, not the ones in my circle.

  “Okay” she says, standing up. She leaves my room without another word and I feel emptier than before.

  Of course my parents wouldn’t approve.

  I don’t think they approve anything unless it’s me taking over the family business. The only thing they want me to do is fall in line. And I will.

  Once I get this out of my system.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jessie

  “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here!” I unlock the door to my place and slip inside before Whisper can lose his ever loving mind and race out into the hallway. Last time he did that it took me an hour to lure him back in with treats I’d splurged on for just this sort of situati
on.

  The sneaky cat threaded between my legs as I held my grocery bags, his odd raspy meow as pitiful as always. The kitty was a rescue, though it’s hard for me to really say who did the rescuing – me or him.

  I feel like he’s saved me from everything from loneliness to boredom. Considering how many nights I decided to stay in rather than go out, maybe he’s saved me from even more. I shove the plastic bags on the only available kitchen counter in my dingy little place.

  It’s a single bedroom apartment. It isn’t pretty and the landlord isn’t very good at keeping it up, but it’s mine. I pay for it all by myself. No money from Mommy and Daddy here, I’m making my own way and it’s the most freeing thing I’ve ever experienced.

  Whisper jumps up on the counter and I scoop him up and place him on his paws on the floor. “Not on the counter,” I say and he meows up at me. “I’m sorry, but you know the rules, dude.”

  As always I feel bad for him, but I try to enforce my rules. I’d rescued him as a tiny kitten from a shelter. Someone had wanted a silent pet so they’d cut this sweet boy’s vocal cords. But the surgery had been botched and left him with a slight voice that sounded like the muffled rasp of sandpaper on tinfoil. Thus, I’d named him Whisper.

  His black fur and odd eyes - one blue, one green - made him cute, but it was his larger than life personality that made me love him to pieces. Right now as he blinks up at me, his mouth open and lower jaw trembling as he tries to meow once more, I take pity on him.

  “Okay, come on,” I say, patting my chest right next to my shoulder. He leaps up on my shoulder and stands, claws thoughtfully retracted.