Over 40 And Head Over Heels: BWWM, Over 40's, Billionaire Romance (BWWM Romance Book 1) Read online

  Over 40 And Head Over Heels

  He's loved and lost. Can he love again?

  A sexy over 40's romance by Ellie Etienne of BWWM Club.

  Tamara Jackson is not looking for love—she’s looking to change people’s lives.

  And one of those lives is a girl who is deeply grieving over her mother…

  After his wife died, Dave Wilson has given up on love.

  And at first he doesn’t find it with his daughter’s therapist, Tamara, despite their undeniable chemistry.

  After all, they both rub each other completely the wrong way…

  Yet fate has other ideas, and their chemistry can only be ignored for so long!

  But Tamara and Dave have their own battles to wage before they can try to love again.

  But will the risk be worth the reward?

  Or would it have been better if they’d never had met?

  Find out in this emotional yet sexy romance by Ellie Etienne of BWWM Club.

  Suitable for over 18s only due to smoking hot sex scenes!

  Tip: Search BWWM Club on Amazon to see more of our great books.

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  Copyright © 2019 to Ellie Etienne and AfroRomanceBooks.com. No part of this book can be copied or distributed without written permission from the above copyright holders.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

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  Chapter 1

  David Wilson didn't appreciate being called in like this.

  He especially didn't like being made to wait like a naughty schoolchild, which was exactly what he felt like as he sat in the bland and beige reception area, waiting for the principal to see him.

  How could any part of a school look this dull? No wonder kids acted up. If he was surrounded by such beige dullness all around, he’d act up, too. Maybe it was meant to be calming. If it was, it failed. He wasn't calm, though nobody would have guessed that from looking at him. He looked as calm and collected as he always did, not a hair out of place, blue eyes perfectly steady and on his tablet—which was getting a few disapproving looks from the receptionist, a bespectacled young woman who looked like she should barely be out of school—his lips pursed as they usually were.

  The truth was, though, that this was unprecedented.

  He snuck a glance a Meghan.

  She seemed to be in her own world. She didn’t even look like she noticed the beige. It was hard to imagine that there was any reason for the principal to call him to the school. It was impossible to imagine that Meg might have misbehaved.

  She never misbehaved.

  Maybe, thought Dave a little uncomfortably, it would be a little more normal if she did.

  “You really don’t want to tell me why we’re here?”

  Meg turned to him, his own blue eyes looking at him guilelessly, steadily. She didn’t shake her head, nor did she nod.

  She just shrugged.

  Dave sighed.

  Frankly, he was at a loss, and it wasn't a feeling he dealt with very easily. Theoretically, he understood that Meg was having a difficult time, but practically…

  “Ms. Donovan will see you now.”

  The prim young woman who made the announcement was just the kind of person that set Dave’s teeth on edge. As if he needed more annoyance than he already had.

  Meg got to her feet and walked to the door, without sparing him a glance. The blankness in her eyes made him a little uncomfortable, to be honest, when he let himself think about it.

  It was a good thing he was comfortable with hiring people to do such uncomfortable things.

  Unfortunately, this didn’t come under their purview, or so he’d been told, so there he was.

  Dave followed his daughter into the principal’s office. He'd only met the woman once before, during Meg’s interview for admission. That had been a formality. He’d made sure of that. Besides, it wasn’t as if Meg needed any help of the strictly not ethical kind. Her record had spoken for itself.

  The last time he’d seen Alexandra Donovan, her face had been wreathed in gracious smiles. Now she looked stern, though not unrelenting.

  Or perhaps that was wishful thinking.

  “Mr. Wilson, I’m very grateful you managed to take time off from your very busy schedule and squeeze us in for this meeting.”

  Dave had to bite back a smile. That might have intimidated parents who had once been students with principals exactly like the unbending, prim, proper Ms. Donovan who wielded sarcasm like a staff to keep their students in line. But he was not one of those students.

  He’d graduated from a different kind of school altogether, where weapons had been rather more heavy-handed and literal, and he hadn’t been cowed then.

  “You’re welcome, Ms. Donovan.”

  He watched as she pursed her lips in annoyance that he’d played it straight like that.

  “Meghan, please have a seat.”

  Dave didn’t wait to be asked. It was only after he’d sat down that he noticed that there was somebody else waiting the corner by the giant potted plant, as if she wanted to hide. She came forward, making him feel outnumbered suddenly. She was small, and rather frightened-looking.

  Wow, what had Meg done?

  “This is Ms. Benoit, the school counselor. We believed it would be appropriate to have her here while we have this conversation.”

  Dave nodded curtly. He didn’t take kindly to such charades.

  “Maybe we could get to the point,” he suggested.

  “Of course. Meghan was found with drugs in her possession.”

  Ms. Donovan looked a bit smugly satisfied to have dropped that bombshell—because it was a bombshell.

  “What kind of drugs?”

  “Marijuana, Mr. Wilson. I’m afraid we take a zero tolerance policy towards drug use, but we decided to call you here so that we may have a chat about it instead of suspending her immediately.”

  Of course, he'd donated a bit chunk of money and had pledged another donation for the next year, so they couldn’t afford to just suspend Meg like that.

  “What is school policy?”

  “School policy is suspension for the first offense. Of course, we are supposed to call the police and hand the matter over to them, technically, but we function with a certain amount of autonomy. For small quantities we do not believe in such drastic action. However...”

  “Then Meg should be suspended. For how long?”

  “Mr. Wilson, may I have a word with you? In private?”

  Ah, so the mousy little thing spoke.

  “Is it necessary?”

  “I’m afraid it is.”

  The reply was firm and cool. So, the mousy little thing w
asn’t so mousy after all.

  “Are we done here, Ms. Donovan? I assume Meg is suspended for a few days? You could, perhaps, send me an email with the details. I would also like her property turned over to me.”

  It was a little satisfying to see the woman at a loss for words.

  Meg giggled a little, quickly stifled.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Meg’s property, Ms. Donovan. The marijuana you’re suspending her for possession thereof. I believe, as her guardian, I should decide what steps should be taken, and I should have the right to determine that it is in fact marijuana.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Wilson...”

  “I’m sure you do, Ms. Donovan, but how much experience do you really have with marijuana?”

  “I run a school, Mr. Wilson.”

  “A respectable school with barely any suspensions. I checked your school’s records before deciding that this would be the right establishment for Meg. My wife and I...”

  He lost track, just for a millisecond, as he always did when for just a split second, he forgot that Abby was gone. But she was gone.

  He recovered almost before anybody could realize it, used to it. He’d come to think of it as a glitch in his system.

  “We considered many options before choosing your fine establishment, Ms. Donovan. You have just informed me that the standard procedure for possession in your school is suspension. Considering the few suspensions you’ve had, I believe you might not be as proficient at recognizing marijuana from oregano as you might like to think.”

  Ms. Donovan was a nice shade of red, decided Dave. At least it gave the whole place a pop of color. It was a nice change from the relentless beige.

  “I shall have my lab run tests on it, and if their conclusion differs from yours, I will inform you. Of course, you will also run an investigation to prove that this herb was not planted on Meg.”

  “Mr. Wilson, your daughter has admitted to her fault. She was caught with the... the herb in her bag.”

  “It would be easy enough to slip something into her bag. It would be easy enough to get a young girl to say it was hers, too. I will insist on proper procedure being followed, Ms. Donovan. Meg will be suspended pending an investigation, and there will be an investigation. I will be given the property you have concluded is Meghan’s.”

  “Mr. Wilson, that word now, if you don’t mind.”

  Ms. Benoit’s voice was a little stronger.

  “You can have the office,” said Ms. Donovan, finding her voice again and getting to her feet.

  “Your daughter needs help, Mr. Wilson. I assume you believe you’re helping her by not working with us, but you're not. She requires boundaries, and she requires a firm hand.”

  With that final pronouncement, with all the satisfaction of somebody who had gotten in the last word, the principal began to sweep out of the office when he stopped her.

  “The herb, Ms. Donovan.”

  He was amused when she reached into her pocket, drew out a little plastic bag and tossed it onto the desk before resuming sweeping out of the office, leaving him with Meghan and Ms. Benoit.

  He glanced at Meghan, saw that she still wasn’t looking at him, but there was a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. That, he decided, was an improvement. He stuffed the bag into his own pocket.

  “Meg, would you mind waiting in the reception area?” asked the counselor.

  Meg shrugged as if it didn’t matter and still without looking at him she trooped out, her shoulders slouched.

  Ms. Benoit waited until she'd closed the door.

  “Mr. Wilson, you don’t really believe it’s oregano.”

  Dave shrugged.

  “I realize this is inconvenient for you, but Meg needs more help than you’re giving her right now, Mr. Wilson.”

  “You don’t—”

  “No, please. Let me finish. I am the school counselor. I’ve asked Meg come to me for sessions, but she doesn’t want to. I sent you an email to let you know that I was scheduling sessions for her because her grades have been slipping and she was quitting her extracurriculars.”

  Now those were concrete things, and Dave had to pay attention. He really wasn't too alarmed by the whole pot thing. So she had a little pot on her, it wasn’t the end of the world. He’d prefer that she didn’t, and he would have to talk to her and make her understand the importance of making sure her brain was fully developed before making such choices. He would have to do that. But the rest were real problems to him.

  “I believe she’s dealing with grief, and with neglect, Mr. Wilson. Please, don’t—don’t try to explain to me all the reasons why you haven’t been neglecting her, all the ways in which you haven’t been neglecting her. You cannot argue away the effect, even if you deny the cause. Meg needs help, and she needs more help than I can give her now. My scope is limited as the school counselor. Meg needs something more.”

  “Are you suggesting therapy?”

  Many people had suggested therapy for him too. He’d told them exactly what they could do with their suggestions and their therapy.

  But this wasn’t about him, he reminded himself.

  “I have names for you. You will, I’m sure, want to check on them yourself, but I have three names and I highly recommend Dr. Tamara Jackson. She will be able to help Meg, Mr. Wilson. And she does need help. Oregano or not.”

  He sighed a little.

  “You believe she should’ve gotten help earlier.”

  “What I believe is irrelevant, and the past isn't negotiable, Mr. Wilson. But Meg deserves to have us do our best for her for now, for the future. She's in pain, Mr. Wilson. She needs tools to process her grief and how her life has changed, that the way she must navigate these confusing years is very different from how most of her peers navigate it. I hope you will consider my words and get her that help.”

  Dave revised his opinion of the woman. She was small and had mousy hair and a mousy face, but she wasn't mousy at all. She was forthright and used to battles, used to winning them and losing them, both graciously. He never trusted anybody who was only used to winning their battles. Losses were inevitable in life. You needed to know how a person handled their losses.

  “I'll consider them.”

  “I’ve written down their contact information and anything you might need to run a preliminary check on them if you feel it’s necessary. I hope you let Meg see Dr. Jackson.”

  Dave nodded.

  “Thank you. I will.”

  “Wonderful. I will worry a lot less about one of my students now. Meg is an incredibly bright girl, Mr. Wilson. It’s been worrying to see her light dim the way it has. In a way, I'm glad this happened. Now she can get help.”

  Dave nodded again, though he wasn’t sure he agreed.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t believe that therapy could do good things. He did believe that. It was just...

  Well, it was strange to him, that was all. He supposed he was pretty old school.

  Abby used to tease him about some of his ways.

  But Abby was gone, and they were still there.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wilson. By the way, it’s not oregano. I do know the difference.”

  Dave grinned at her.

  “I didn’t think it was. I just didn’t appreciate how she was handling it.”

  “She means well,” tried Ms. Benoit, but the words didn’t sound sincere despite her best efforts.

  “I’m sure. Thank you, Ms. Benoit.”

  She nodded, gave him the piece of paper she’d folded and had been clutching all along, and Dave smiled.

  “This place needs color.”

  She grinned.

  “I know. I’m working on it. Take care, Mr. Wilson. If Dr. Jackson works out well, you should consider the third name on the list. She works with adults who might need a little help with change.”

  Before he could get a word in, she’d darted out the door, moving fast. Unlike Ms. Donovan, Ms. Benoit did indeed get the last word.


  Dave walked out to find his daughter waiting for him, that blankness back in her eyes. God, she looked so much like Abby that sometimes it hurt so much. It had been four years, surely long enough for them to have processed a few stages of grief, but in the four years Abby had become a teenager and she’d stopped looking like their baby. Now she looked like her mother’s daughter, and sometimes, when he caught a glimpse of her when he didn’t expect to see her, it was like being stabbed in the heart.

  Maybe that was a stage of grief that never went away.

  “Come on, Meg.”

  Meg got to her feet and followed him, no dread or fear in her face, just calmness like the placid waters of a lake.

  The kind of calmness that hid dangerous depths, maybe most dangerous to herself.

  Maybe the school counselor had a point.

  The piece of paper seemed to burn hot in his pocket.

  He would take no chances with Meg. He would make the call, and he would get her the help she needed, however he felt about it.

  Having settled that in his head, he pushed it aside and took his daughter home. It didn’t really occur to him that it was only in his own head that he’d settled everything and found a solution.

  ***

  Tamara waited. Silence, she knew, could be very effective. She’d used it well for the ten years she’d had her own practice as a psychiatrist. She’d used it well all her life.

  “Angry. It made me angry,” said the young boy sitting across from her, finally, and Tamara smiled gently.

  “I’m not surprised. It sounds frustrating.”

  “It’s just... they act like they know, you know? They act like they know what it’s like and they don’t! They don’t know! They just say ‘you have to say no’ but how many times have they ever said no? Do they know what it means?”

  Agitation and frustration bubbling over. He needed a safe space to let it out, and ways to say no without jeopardizing his standing in his social group. The young man had been caught smoking pot, and he’d sworn that it had been his first time, though his parents hadn’t believed him.

  For the record, Tamara believed him. Only a first-timer would be idiotic enough to smoke up in his own bedroom with the windows closed, when his parents were home.