Writing Our Song:A Billionaire Romance

Chapter 8


I slammed my front door behind me, locked it, and threw my keys towards the little table that seemed to collect all my junk mail. The keys slid across the surface and fell to the floor, but I didn’t care.

My shoes and jacket were discarded as I stormed through my apartment, making a beeline for my bedroom. I dived on my bed and pulled the pillow over my face, doing my best to block the world out.

This was bad. Really bad. I thought back to how difficult it had been to even get a position cleaning at Bloxhamtech. The fact that I was already employed by them was the only reason I’d been able to get a regular office job with any kind of potential for career progression.

Nobody outside of fast food had seemed to want to hire a high school dropout with no relevant experience. The job at Bloxhamtech was the only reason I’d been able to move out of my previous apartment, where I could never sleep easy with any confidence that one of my neighbors wouldn’t go crazy with a gun on a drug-fuelled rampage, pissed off at all the cockroaches or something.

I had some meagre savings but they would dry up pretty quickly if no more wages were coming in. Assuming it took me as long to find a job at a similar pay-level as it had last time, there likely wouldn’t be enough for me to keep living here. I did my best to run the numbers in my head and was left with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

The job hunt taking as long as last time might be a best-case scenario, unfortunately. Although I had gained some relevant experience out in the ‘real world’ I had also just been fired from my very first ‘grown up’ job. Things like that were probably a kind of red flag for employers.

Oh yes, this was bad. From the darkness under my pillow I tried to come up with the best survival plan that I could. For a couple of hours I mulled over my options and pondered how much I could prolong my stay in my current apartment if I made some changes to the budget like switching to a mostly rice-and-water based diet.

I was just about to get up and do a stock-take of my current food supplies when I heard the buzzer for the intercom to the main doors downstairs. I cast the pillow aside and swung my feet on to the floor with a sigh of resignation.

Nobody ever actually visited me, it was probably somebody selling something door to door. What they did was press every button available in the hope that somebody would buzz them through without checking who it was. It had happened before, the most recent time just a month ago, and everybody in the building had faced a hard-sell on some low quality sets of knives.

I pressed the appropriate button and spoke into the place that said ‘mic’.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Is that Beatrice? Beatrice Hampton?” a man’s voice came through the speaker accompanied by generous amounts of static.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Jeremy Holt.”

“Who?”

“Uh… you poured six cups of coffee on me today. Really hot coffee. Not sure if you remember?”

“Oh! I’m… I’m really sorry about that… I didn’t mean…”

“Can I come up?”

“Uh… I suppose so. Just a second.”

I pressed the green button and heard the buzz through the speaker, followed by the sound of the door opening and footsteps fading away before the audio feed from downstairs cut off. What was he doing here? He didn’t sound like he was coming to continue the berating that Rod Stevens had started, so what then?

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and I tentatively opened it, still unsure about what exactly I was going to be facing. Of all the possibilities I wasn’t expecting to be greeted by such a big smile, given what had happened.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hi Beatrice, can I come in?”

“How did you know where I live?”

“The Colonel is under the impression that I’m here to come after you for the cost of a new suit.”

“The Colonel?”

“Oh… uh… Rod Stevens. Don’t tell me you haven’t pictured him in a safari hat and thought ‘Yep, Rod Stevens in the library with a candlestick’? That moustache is ridiculous.”

I hadn’t played Clue since I was ten years old and hadn’t really liked it that much. I had to admit the resemblance to Colonel Mustard, from what I could recall, though I had never made the connection myself.

“Oh, yeah it is. So you’re not here for a new suit then?”

“Technically no, I’m here to thank you.”

“What do you mean? I poured hot coffee right into your lap.”

Jeremy waved his hand dismissively, “I was actually looking for a good excuse to cut the meeting short. You gave a better reason than I could have made up on the spot, and I ended up looking a lot less crazy than if I had poured the coffee in my own lap.”

Despite my predicament, and the person I was talking to, I couldn’t stop the corner of my mouth rising in a smirk. Only for a moment though.

“Well, glad I could be of service I guess. It didn’t work out so well for me though. So, thanks accepted, but if you don’t mind I’ve got a lot of things to think about because I’m pretty much screwed now.”


“Ah yes, that. Listen, that’s bullshit. You can’t be fired for falling victim to a health and safety issue, I saw that bunch of cables you tripped over. The five thousand dollar suit should be the only casualty of this whole situation. Can I come in? I’ll tell you exactly what you can do about that.”

“No. I don’t need your help,” I said.

“I thought you said you were pretty much screwed?”

“Whether I am or not, it’s got nothing to do with you,” I said, beginning to get annoyed with his very presence. “I don’t need you charging in like some kind of freakin’ white knight throwing money at problems to make them go away. You’ll just make it worse.”

“Throw money? Who said anything about throwing money? And how could I make it worse?”

I wondered if he thought mentioning that his suit cost five thousand dollars was subtle. So I’d ruined a piece of clothing that cost an eerily similar amount to my total net worth, that didn’t mean I was helpless.

At my side my fist bunched up as I felt my anger growing. For the past few hours I’d been blaming myself for what happened but I never would have been in this situation if they had just made their own damn coffee or just got the receptionist, whose job it actually was, to serve it.

“You people, you always find a way.”

“What do you mean ‘you people’?”

“Never mind. Look, I’m going to get through this myself, OK?”

“Wait. Wait, calm down. Don’t punch me, I can only take so much physical abuse in one day.”

I looked down at my hand and forced it to relax but made sure my expression remained as firm as possible when I looked back up to him.

“Somehow,” he said, “we’ve got off on entirely the wrong foot. Let’s put it this way. You don’t owe me anything. I understand that. OK?”

I raised an eyebrow, which he took as a signal to continue.

“On the other hand, I owe you something and I can see you’re the type of person that could understand that I want to make everything square again.”

“How do you figure that?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain. For the sake of argument, can you let that part slide for the moment?”

“Go on then,” I said.

“I have to go to New Zealand this weekend and I’d like you to come with me.”

“New Zealand? Are you crazy? That’s on the other side of the world! Why would you want me to go there? Why would I go there with you?”

“I’m going there on business anyway and taking my private jet, so if you wanted to come along it wouldn’t be any extra hassle or expense for me. I hear it’s a nice place, you could relax a bit.”

New Zealand. If he’d said anywhere but there the conversation would probably have been over, but as soon as he mentioned it I had a feeling I’d spoken to somebody else about it before. While he was saying something about his private jet I managed to place a name and face to the memory. It was my dad, he’d said he’d always wanted to go but hadn’t made it.

Jeremy could clearly see me mulling it over and pressed on with his spiel, “No obligations or expectations or pressure or anything, just me repaying my debt. You can do your own thing if you want, maybe meet up with me occasionally for a bite to eat?”

I thought about being able to visit my dad and tell him all about what it was like in that place he never got to visit. It would be nice to tell him some news that might have actually made him smile if he was still around.

I’d have given anything to see that smile again but when I went to see him these days all I had to talk about was the day-to-day drudgery of fast food or cleaning or working in an office. Sitting there next to his grave and talking about that, it was easier to imagine him telling me to shut up rather than smiling.

The more I thought about it the more I felt like I needed to go, but then the reality of my situation came crawling back to the forefront of my mind and I deflated a bit.

“I… I’d actually like to go…”

“Great!”

“… but I can’t. I’ve got to find a new job, or figure out how to get my job back at Bloxhamtech. I can’t go anywhere by this weekend I don’t think.”

“I can appreciate that, but please think about it and if you come up with a way to safely free up the next two weeks, let me know.”

“Uh… OK, yeah. Sure. How can I get in touch with you?”

“Here.”

Jeremy pulled out a business card from an inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to me. It was a simple card with no pictures or logos. Just a couple flourishes, his name, cell phone number and an office landline number, not even a job title. I examined it for a moment with my lips pulled to one side before looking back up to him.

“OK?” he asked, that smile returning to his face.

Once again, as I had been in the boardroom, I was struck by his natural good looks. It wasn’t easy being caught with the full force of that smile, a part of me wanted to giggle like a fool despite everything he stood for. I kept a straight face though.

“I will think about it,” I said.

“I hope so. It was nice to meet you, Beatrice.”

“OK… uh… you too. Bye.”

I closed the door, turned around, and leaned against it, looking at Jeremy’s business card again. Who was this guy? Who just invites random people around the world? Private jet?

*****

The next day I visited the local library because it had free internet access you could book in half-hour blocks. All the computers were taken when I arrived so I booked one for as soon as possible and sat in a nice comfortable seat while I waited.

On the table next to me was a small stand of novels supposedly hand-picked by some of the library staff. After reading a few of the little cards next to each book wherein the library person had given their own very short review I picked one up to kill the time until I could use the computer.

The book wasn’t great but kept me occupied until I was sitting in front of a screen and began trying to figure out what I should do about my employment situation. As much as I dreaded going back to Bloxhamtech and facing Rod Stevens again, I was also apprehensive about trying to start again somewhere else for all the reasons I had thought of the previous night. Plus there was nothing to say things wouldn’t be the same or worse at a different company.

I began searching for things like ‘unfair dismissal’ and ‘fired illegally’ until I happened across what seemed like a few reasonably good articles. Sadly, it looked like I would probably need to get a lawyer to fight this battle properly.

With my head resting on my hand, I finished reading the last few paragraphs and sighed. I was in no position to pay for a lawyer. If anything went wrong, and the articles stated that nothing was guaranteed, I would be out on the streets and unemployed even faster than if I did nothing.

I didn’t have much time left on the internet but I thought I’d start looking at some job sites until I had to leave. I’d barely looked at anything when my phone started ringing in my pocket.

Several heads turned in my direction, giving me dirty looks. I glanced around apologetically as I sprang to my feet and tried to fumble the phone out while I rushed towards the front doors.

The screen indicated that it was somebody calling from the Bloxhamtech building and I frantically pressed the button to take the call as I pushed through the doors and out into the street where noise was permitted. In my rush I hadn’t even thought about whether I should answer it or not, for legal reasons, but it was too late for that.


“Hello?”

“Beatrice, it’s me, Antoine,” said my Sales Manager.

“Oh, hi.”

“Are you OK? Can we talk?” he asked.

“I’m fine, and yes, I can talk,” I said.

“Great. Look, Mr. Stevens has asked me to contact you to make it clear that what was said in the heat of the moment was by no means ‘official’ and you are more than welcome to still consider yourself a valued employee of Bloxhamtech.”

“Are you reading this off a piece of paper?”

“Yes, cut me some slack. Furthermore, Mr. Stevens apologizes for any misunderstanding and management has agreed that you should be entitled to some time to calm down until you’re alright with returning to work. They’ve said you can have the rest of this week and the following two weeks as vacation, on full pay. It won’t come out of your yearly holiday entitlement either.”

“He couldn’t tell me himself?”

“Beatrice, you know what he’s like,” Antoine said under his breath. “I’ve never seen him even go this far before, a complete about-face. Maybe he really means it. So, do you want to accept? For myself, I’d really hate to lose you. You’ve never taken any annual leave before, you might as well take this. Please?”

“Well…”

“Please?”

“OK, Antoine. Yes, I accept.”

“Wonderful! I’ll see you in a couple of weeks then and I’ll get Scott to distribute your work amongst the other Sales Support Execs in the meantime.”

“OK, thanks. Bye.”

I stuffed my phone into my pocket and felt something else brush my fingertips. Pulling it out, I saw it was Jeremy Holt’s card. Two weeks starting from next week. That was a bit of a coincidence, wasn’t it?

After considering tossing the card into the nearest trash, I decided to go back into the library and book another half-hour slot on the internet. A brief search garnered more information than I wanted to know.

Jeremy was beyond rich. His fortune was measured in billions rather than millions. Apparently he was the third-youngest self-made billionaire ever, having struck out in the business world, whatever that meant, in his mid-teens. These days he was a venture capitalist who had large or controlling shareholdings in a number of companies of wildly differing sizes and industries.

My assumption had been right, he hadn’t been visiting Bloxhamtech for a job interview. In all likelihood he had been there to buy some or all of it. Then what? The website didn’t mention how he actually made money aside from buying things. Was he one of those people that bought businesses, chopped them into little pieces and sold them off at the cost of countless jobs? I had no idea.

With a decisive flick, I tossed his business card into the wastepaper basket next to the desk and was about to leave but saw I had ten minutes of internet time left. Out of curiosity I searched for New Zealand and spent the remainder of my time looking at pictures of empty beaches, mountain ranges, glaciers, forests and lakes.

It seemed so peaceful that even looking at it made me unwind a bit. My eyes flicked to the business card sitting on top of a bunched up piece of paper, then back to the screen in front of me that showed a beach with strangely dark sand and nobody on it.

I wanted to go there, get away from this place for a while. Here nothing ever changed except for the worse. Maybe on the other side of the world I could forget about everything for just a couple of weeks. I could put the brakes on the train and maybe see something beautiful before hopping back on. And I could tell my dad what it was like.

Besides, like Jeremy had said, this didn’t obligate me to him. Although I didn’t understand it in the slightest, he seemed to be under the impression that he owed me something. It didn’t mean anything besides him squaring up a debt. I would have to question him further on that but I had agreed to let the detail slide the last time I spoke to him, and I was going to let it slide a bit longer.

My time ran out and I retrieved Jeremy’s business card, dialing the number as I walked out the front doors of the library again. It rang twice before I heard his voice answer at the other end.

“Hi. It’s Beatrice.”

“Thanks for calling! I wasn’t sure if you would. How goes the job situation?”

“It’s a Christmas miracle! Colonel Mustard has mysteriously seen the error of his ways and offered me precisely the amount of time off I’d need to come to New Zealand.”

Jeremy laughed, a carefree sound I was mildly jealous of.

“You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?” I asked.

“Who me? No,” Jeremy said, drawing the word out with playful sarcasm, “I wouldn’t dare. People like me only make things worse, don’t they?”

“Yeah. So… is that offer still on the table?”

“Of course.”

“OK, I’m in.”

“We have a deal?”

“Yes.”

“So say ‘deal’.” I could almost hear the smile he was wearing.

“Deal.”

“Deal.”