Always My Babygirl: A Billionaire Romance Read online

  Always My Babygirl: A Billionaire Romance

  Jane Henry

  ALWAYS MY BABYGIRL

  Jane Henry and Shanna Handel

  Copyright 2020

  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

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Preview

  About the authors

  Chapter One

  Gabriel Lord

  I stare at the line of monitors on my office wall.

  Cycling.

  Weights.

  Private Training.

  Cardio.

  Pool.

  Sauna.

  And then I see her. She’s wearing her signature hot pink leggings and skin-tight black top. She’s twenty-nine years old, has a kick-ass figure, blue eyes with light tinges of violet in them, and ice-blonde hair that makes her look like an angel.

  Fuck, she’s so gorgeous. She moves with purpose and elegance, her bright eyes taking in everything around her. She smiles at the help desk and hands Penny something wrapped in a napkin.

  I grin to myself.

  Is that a homemade muffin? She never eats them, but sometimes brings them in for the others.

  Fucking adorable.

  She waves to the clean-up crew. Hell, I don’t even know their names. But she does. She knows every damn one of them.

  On she goes, greeting each person who sweeps the floor, wipes down the treadmills, refills the paper towels in the restrooms. There’s a brightness about her that glows like the Vegas lights.

  I’ve run some details on her, just the basics. Nothing too intrusive. I know where she went to college, and that she graduated summa cum laude from a college here in Nevada. She’s got her MBA in business administration, but the name of the business she runs is somehow off record. A well-kept secret, I suppose.

  I’ll find it out.

  She alternates spin and lifting, but occasionally meets a friend for a yoga class, a short blonde with curly hair named Katie. She’s here nearly every damn day, and it shows.

  I know she lives nearby, so close she can walk here. Sometimes at the end of her day, she comes back in the evening to use the sauna. To relax, unwind. I’ve seen the tension leave her face as she sinks down into the jets. It’s like this is her private sanctuary or something.

  She keeps protein bars and bottled water in her locker. The protein bars are mostly ignored. The water she drinks from a glass bottle with a lilac sleeve.

  Alright, so I might be a little on the obsessive side. But it’s harmless, really. I’m just… fascinated by her.

  I watch as she goes to cycling class, and frown as she sways a little. I’m on my feet, taking an involuntary step toward the camera before I know it.

  Is she alright?

  I didn’t see her eat one of the protein bars before her workout. I doubt she treated herself to a muffin. Is she hungry? Dehydrated? Or am I too obsessed and the woman’s just fine?

  I watch her take her class, but today, something seems... off. I swear she doesn’t look right. Even with the dimmed lights in the spinning studio, her face looks a bit pale, her complexion haggard. This isn’t like her.

  I pace my office, thinking of an excuse to barge in there and interrupt her class.

  Declined credit card.

  Question about membership.

  Fire alarm?

  But before I can make a decision, I watch in sickening horror as she collapses right there off the bike, falling to the floor. There are screams from the studio as my office door slams behind me.

  Chapter Two

  Miranda

  “Faster! Faster! He’s after us! He’s just over that hill and you know what he’ll do to us if he catches us.”

  Tori’s hair flies behind her as she rides like a demon straight out of hell. A strand loosens from her ponytail and it clings to her cheek, her skin red and damp from exertion. Her words send a surge of adrenaline through me. I press my feet into the pedals of the bike and rise on my feet to mimic her stance. Lifting and dropping each knee one torturous push at a time, I ride as hard as I can. My heart hammers against the cage of my ribs, threatening to pump right out of my body. My hands wrap tighter around the bars of the bike, slick with sweat.

  She pumps a fist in the air. “Go! Go! Over this hill. Give it all you’ve got. Now follow me—let’s cross that bridge. Don’t give up now. Faster! We’ll lose everything we’ve worked for if he gets to us.”

  Glancing down at the screen that’s attached to my bike handles, I see we’ve got another mile to go in this class. A chocolate covered vampire inches up from the bottom corner. It’s The Calorie Count, stalking us from behind. If he gets to us, he’ll dump a pack of double chocolate chip macaroons on us, wiping our entire calorie count from the screen.

  Totally fake, but still motivating as hell. Seeing that hard earned 300 cal burned erase to zero—it’s devastating.

  The figures on the monitor look blurry. I wipe the sweat from my brow and narrow my vision.

  I’m getting tired.

  I feel slower than usual today. My can do anything attitude seems just out of my grasp, no matter how deep I dig. I raise my eyes from the screen, scanning around the room.

  They switch the black lights on. The dark room is suddenly a sea of neon designer sports bras, highlighted hair, and freakishly bright white smiles. I can feel the grimace etching on my face. I close my eyes, try to tune out the thumping music that blares through the speakers.

  I feel… off. Lightheaded. Fatigued. Nauseous.

  Maybe I should have skipped the second espresso and opted for a real breakfast. But I can’t slow down my pace. I can’t let this bike, this silly screen, this chocolate monster… I can’t let them beat me.

  I can’t let anything overpower me.

  Not again.

  “Let’s go! Let’s go! Come on girls, ride harder. Give me everything you’ve got!” Tori’s chirpy lisp swirls around in my head.

  But now, they are jumbling… fading… disappearing.

  My mind is clouds. The brightness of the neon’s dull as the room grows darker. I feel as if I’m floating, tipping, falling.

  There’s a strange sensation of a dull thud as my head hits the floor. But I feel no pain, my mind seems disconnected from my body. The echo of screams fills the room.

  A woman stands over me, her face a mask of terror as her eyes widen. Sweat runs down her décolletage and I find myself watching the beads as they disappear into her sports bra. Her mouth opens, the whites of her eyes and her teeth are an inhuman white beneath the blacklights as she screams, “Miranda!”

  That’s… my name.

  The world goes totally dark.

  When I come to, my mouth feels like cotton. My head aches. I’ve no idea where I am.

  I open my eyes. And I know I’ve died and gone to heaven. Because I’m looking straight into a bright white beam of light.

  There’s a figure dressed in white, hazy behind the light. Is it God?

  He’s peering into my eyes with an annoyingly bright flashlight. Strange. His lips form a thin line as he moves his inspection to my other eye.

  I take a closer look at him… wait… is that a
white… lab coat? What I mistook for the keys of the pearly gates are a stethoscope hanging from his neck.

  This is no celestial being. This is a doctor. Am I sick?

  I’m not dead.

  I'm very much alive.

  What am I wearing? A papery blue gown. I pull the neckline forward, only to discover I’m totally nude beneath the thin material.

  So, moms aren’t kidding when they tell you to wear clean underwear because you never know when you’ll be in an accident. Good thing I wasn’t wearing any? I picture a nurse peeling the sweaty spandex cropped leggings from my body then decide against thinking about how I came to be naked.

  I try to sit up and a sharp pain pierces through the back of my skull. A groan rolls from my lips, my hand going to my head.

  A big, heavy palm presses firm against my shoulder. “No, ma’am. Lay yourself right back down.” The gray haired doctor stares down at me.

  I lie back down on the pillow, my head in no condition to be sitting up anyway. My mouth is dry. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the hospital. You fell off your bike in a spin class at Spynners Studios. The instructor called 9-1-1 and you were transported here by ambulance. They had a difficult time finding your family, but we did manage to get in contact with your sister.”

  I have a vague memory of the incident he’s described, but no recollection of them calling my sister. “Lexi?”

  He flips through the papers on a clipboard that’s suddenly appeared in his hands. “Yes. Lexi Montague. Sacramento, California? We told her you were in good hands, but she insisted on being able to call you as soon as possible.”

  God, I wish they wouldn’t have called her. I don’t want her worried about me. “I’m fine. I only passed out in spin class.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  I take stock of my body. I feel fine other than being groggy from sleep and the sharp pain I felt when I tried to sit up. “Okay, I guess. My head hurts.”

  “You’ve got a little bump there, but the CT scan came back fine. I think a little ibuprofen will fix you right up.” His business-like manner breaks, his tone turning more personal. “There’s someone here to see you. Mr. Lord?”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “He said he’s with the studio. Just wants to check on you. See if you’re alright. Should I let him in?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The doctor disappears from the room, but another man steps in right behind him. I blink in surprise, and stifle a little squeak. The man is stunning.

  And I’m wearing a paper hospital gown.

  Easily six three with mesmerizing green eyes, and dark brown, slightly curly hair. He has one of those strong Roman noses that always make me look twice, and one of those perfectly structured, symmetrical faces that make him look like he was born on Mount Olympus.

  I can picture this dude laid out on the sand, staring at the camera. He could be a fucking model.

  “Miranda?” He flashes me a smile that makes me want to make bad decisions.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  He sticks his hand out—a large, manly, gorgeous hand that could do wicked and wonderful things to me. “I’m Gabriel Lord. Founder and owner of Spynners Studios.”

  I reach my hand out toward him. “Pleased to meet you.”

  He releases my hand and folds his arms across his chest, the smile fading. The words falter on my lips as his dark brow furrows. “Let me ask you—why didn’t you list the appropriate emergency contacts on your sheet when you first joined the studio?”

  His lips form a line. Firm, pursed. Disapproving. His green eyes stare down at me, demanding an answer.

  What’s it to him? I don’t see how my filling out of paperwork falls under his umbrella of authority. “I don’t think that’s any of your business—”

  His sharp tone cuts me off. “As someone who’s taken a vow to care for my clientele, keep them safe, and offer the very best service possible, I see it as very much my business.”

  I narrow my brows at him, giving him a glare. “Are you quoting your business mission statement at me?”

  “Maybe.” He stares back, unflinching.

  “Huh.” Maybe I should shock him. Tell him mine. Sugar Daddies Escort Service; matching high paying clientele with the date of their dreams.

  “Look, Mr. Lord. I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble but I’m not planning on suing the company or anything, if that’s why you’re here.”

  “I assure you, it's not.” He flashes me a look, as if anything I could ask of the company wouldn’t touch the wealth he possesses. “It’s just that when you fell, we had no way of contacting anyone.”

  I heave a sigh. “So what? They brought me here, to the hospital, which they would have done, no matter what I’d put on that paper. Go ahead and fill it in as 9-1-1.” Point, set, match.

  He pulls a sheet of folded white paper from his pocket. Unfolding it slowly, he holds it in his hand. His perfectly formed finger points to the middle of his page. “It says here, under ‘who to contact in case of emergency,’ you put, and I quote, I don’t do emergencies.”

  His gaze comes back to me. Fixes on mine. Makes me squirm beneath its boldness.

  I stare back. “Well, I… don’t do emergencies.”

  He raises a dark brow. “But you just did. Didn’t you?”

  I have no response other than the blush I can feel rising in my cheeks.

  He tucks the paper back into his pocket. “Miranda, my company will see to it that your bills are paid. That your every need is met. Should you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Your wish is our command.” He slides a shiny black business card onto my hospital tray.

  And leaves.

  What the fuck was that?

  I don’t have time to process the strange visit, because the doctor is back. We share some small talk, chit chat, then he gives me the update. “Your tests are clear. We’d love you to stay and rest another hour or so, so we can keep an eye on you. I think this was an instance of—too much exertion after not eating a proper breakfast—I’m guessing you’ve not had a proper breakfast?”

  “Actually, I had a two-course meal. One latte and one espresso.”

  “Ah—so over-caffeinated and undernourished? Most likely that’s the culprit here, and not something more.”

  “Something more?” My mind goes to all kinds of worrisome underlying health conditions. Heart disease. Cancer. Old injuries causing new problems. Panic shoots me up from my laid back position.

  The hand of God comes down again, pressing my shoulder into the bed once more. “Don’t worry. Just rest.”

  “Fine.” I give in, dropping my head back onto the pillow.

  “We’ll take good care of you.” He gives me a curt nod.

  “Thank you, doctor.”

  My phone rings. Someone’s put in on my bedside table for me. Videocall from Lexi. I take a moment to compose myself before I answer. “Hey, babe! What’s up?”

  Her straight, light brown hair is shorter than when I last saw her, just skimming past her shoulders in a blunt cut. She’s added bangs, too, giving her a rocker indie edge to her good girl heart-shaped face. The tips of her pearly white teeth dig into her glossy bottom lip as she stares back at me. “Are you okay? I’ve been so worried!” She begins her line of questioning, barely pausing to take a breath.

  She’s wearing classic Lexi. Oversized pumpkin colored cardigan. White V-neck tee underneath. Her fingernails are a shiny black. A look I could never pull off, but on her it's adorable.

  Her big blue eyes are wide as she smiles into the camera. A massive diamond sparkles on her tan finger. The one from Tom.

  Hence, the wedding bills I’ve got coming in.

  She stops her monologue, giving me a long, searching gaze. “How are you feeling?”

  I brighten my voice. “Lexi. It’s so good to see you. You didn’t have to call—”

  “Are you kidding me? Of course I did! I wanted to be on the next plane ou
t of Sacramento, but the doctor talked me out of it. Said you just needed to eat.”

  “Let’s just catch up. I’m feeling fine, I promise.”

  “At least tell me what happened?”

  Dismissing her concern with a wave of my free hand, I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Oh, it was nothing. Just didn’t eat anything, then went too hard in spin class. You remember Tori, the instructor whose class we went to when you visited last summer?”

  She gives a laugh. “Yeah. The one you take three times a week? She’s a real drill sergeant. I’m so far from my dancing days, I couldn’t keep up with her. No wonder your legs got as toned as they are and why mine were like jelly afterwards.”

  “It was during her class. I just overdid it.” Thinking of the fall from the bike, the strange sensation of my head hitting the floor, makes my insides turn to ice. I change the subject. “Tell me—what’s new with you? How’s Tom?”

  A light shines from within her as it always does when her fiancée’s name is mentioned. “Oh, he’s great! Just got promoted to head of sales at the Brewery. Hopthemost has had record sales and Tom’s gotten them into all the posh restaurants in downtown Sacramento.”

  “That’s good.” Tom’s successful, and smart, and hopefully, will soon be making good money. Same for Lexi before she left her job as a dance instructor. Sometimes I worry she’s bored. “And what about you?”

  “I visit Mom a lot.”

  “How is she? Did she get the cashmere cardigan I sent her?”

  Lexi averts her eyes. “Yes, yes. She’s doing great! A little slower than usual but you know it's that time of the year when people start to get colds, feel run down…”

  She’s hiding something, not wanting to worry me. No matter. I’ll drag it out of her later. I change the subject again. “And you—are you doing anything fun for yourself?”