July's Fourth (BBW & Billionaire) Read online

  Contents

  Chapter One - The Contest

  Chapter Two - The Flight

  Chapter Three - The Vault

  Chapter Four - The Talk

  Chapter Five - The Wait

  Chapter Six - The Afternoon

  Chapter Seven - The Farewell

  Chapter Eight - The Epilogue

  Chapter Nine - Thanks!

  Chapter Ten - Copyright

  Chapter Eleven - Recommendations

  Chapter One

  The Contest

  “Okay, I’m going to announce the winners of the sales team raffle now,” my boss Jonas was saying. “As stated before, you will receive an all-inclusive three-night trip to Vegas over this July fourth weekend, with airfare and hotel accommodations taken care of, as well as a per diem for food and drinks. Oh, and most importantly, the plane tickets are going to be for TONIGHT. So if you can’t or won’t make it to the airport on time, please let one of your deserving colleagues take the trip! This year, we’ve sweetened up the prize by booking a package at the Bellamey, which includes free drinks every night at The Vault.”

  It must have been quite an impressive perk, because conversation started to buzz right after he mentioned The Vault. Of course, I had no idea what he was talking about; I guess I wasn’t cool like that. At thirty-two, I was one of the oldest salespeople at PrisMatic Marketing (can you believe that?!) Most of the time, I didn’t mind, but some days I felt vaguely annoyed at having to explain things like the plot of The Goonies to people.

  But I had nothing to complain about. I was kicking ass at work, and the weather was fantastic for our company’s annual July 4th picnic. Being based in Milwaukee had its advantages, because our company picnics always had the most impressive array of beer. Some of our advertisers were breweries—they liked to send us the “best of the best” for our events.

  Microbrews were my favorite, and I’d already had two by the time my boss got on stage. I was nice and buzzed, more than happy to socialize with everyone while they waited with baited beer breath for the announcement of the winners. People stared at their raffle tickets as Jonas continued to talk. I wasn’t even bothering to look at mine. Even though I’d made the top five percent, thereby qualifying for the raffle, I never won anything.

  “Alright, here we go,” Jonas said with a huge smile. “Our first winner is…ticket number 727. Who has 727?”

  A squeal erupted from the front of the crowd, and then Tiffani Haddon made her way to the stage.

  “Tiffani! Congratulations!” Jonas said, handing her one of the envelopes in his hand as she jumped up and down, her long, bleached blond hair whipping in Jonas’ face.

  Bitch.

  Tiffani was one of my least favorite co-workers. She was tall, blond, waaaay too skinny, and had a knack for trying to steal my customers.

  Of course Tiffani won, I thought. It was so apt. In addition to being ridiculously thin, Tiffani had the added distinction of being a Haddon. One of the wealthiest families in the area, the Haddons were known for their flashy cars, trips, and clothes. In other words, Tiffani Haddon was the last person in the world who needed a free vacation. But so it was…

  Ah, the twists of fate…

  “Alright, onto our next lucky winner…ticket number 809!”

  “OH MY GOD!!!” The squeals erupted from the front of the crowd once again.

  The winner was Erica Nelly. I had to laugh.

  Of course.

  Aside from Tiffani, Erica was the other most annoying skinny bitch at PrisMatic. A beautiful girl who was half African-American and half French, Erica had been a model before she joined the company. With her creamy skin, lithe figure, and warm brown eyes, it was easy to see how people would want to take pictures of her all the time. Too bad her personality didn’t match her looks; for all intents and purposes, Erica was the biggest bitch at work, aside from Tiffani. And they were best friends.

  Wonder which bitch they’ll pick next…I thought to myself. Then I started laughing, because it vaguely reminded me of The Wizard of Oz.

  Which bitch? At this point, the contest almost seemed fixed.

  “Alright! Last but not least…ticket 247! Who’s got 247?”

  Silence prevailed as people kept looking down at their tickets…but no one was answering.

  “Come on, guys! 247! I’m gonna pick another number if no one has it! 247…”

  And then I looked down at my ticket number for the first time.

  NO. Seriously?!?

  Now, I didn’t want to go on the trip, but I was completely overwhelmed. Like I said, I wasn’t one of those people who won things. But the numbers didn’t lie. Right in my hand rested the lucky ticket.

  247

  “Last chance! 247!” Jonas was repeating.

  Should I even do this? I can’t stand those bitches.

  But, I reasoned with myself, I didn’t have to hang out with them the whole time. In fact, I didn’t have to hang out with them at all. And it had been a rough work year, filled with pressure. Why not go to Vegas and blow off some steam? Nothing was holding me back. I’d always been good at making my own fun, anyway.

  “I GOT IT!” I yelled triumphantly, holding the ticket over my head and sealing my fate.

  Tiffani and Erica looked back, obviously annoyed. I’m sure they would have preferred another member of their Bitch Brigade to win it. But, for once in my life, I’d beaten the odds. And it made me feel euphoric. Sure, I would never be the girl who had an easy time with her weight, or the girl who had a trust fund in addition to her inflated salary. But this time, this day, I was a winner. And no one could dispute it.

  “Alright!” Jonas said, pumping his fist. “Come on down, July Morris! The third winner of this year’s Vegas trip is July Morris!”

  I ran to the stage and grabbed the envelope from Jonas’ hands before he even checked my ticket.

  “I won! I won!” I grinned, jumping up and down.

  Most of the people in our department cheered for me as I ran back down the steps, prize in hand. Tiffani and Erica were suspiciously absent from the well-wishing committee. But I didn’t care. I’d won, and nothing could bring me down.

  “See you gals at the airport!” I said to Tiffani and Erica as I brushed past them on my way back to the office.

  After all, I had to make sure that all of my accounts were squared away before leaving.

  As soon as I logged into my computer, there was an instant message waiting for me.

  Nick Sweetzer: Hey, guess July’s getting lucky in July, eh?

  Nick Sweetzer was one of the creative supervisors. In addition to being ridiculously handsome, he was super young to be in such a high position. At twenty-five, Nick was a young supervisor even by PrisMatic standards. And, for such a young company, that was saying something. He was six-foot-two, with a head of wavy dark brown hair that had a slight hint of red in the sunlight. His eyes were a warm brown, and he had made it his mission to constantly distract me at work.

  I made it my mission to ignore him as much as I could, but some days were more difficult than others. In a job that I hated most of the time, Nick provided a sweet respite from the daily grind. But I wanted to grind with him in other ways, as inappropriate as it was. We’d made out once after a happy hour, and the memory of his strong hand on my ass had left an impression. I always had the lingering feeling, though, that Nick was kind of a player…which was why I kept my distance as much as I could. I couldn’t deal with the idea of having my heart broken again…for the fifty millionth time.

  Besides, he was so young. And we worked together. Clearly, the whole thing would have been a huge clusterfuck. But flirting was innocent.

  His constant
instant messages always gave off a tinge of sex, such as his reference to “getting lucky”. But, like I said, I was in such a fabulous mood that I didn’t even care if people were up to their usual tricks. I was getting a free trip to Vegas. So I wrote back.

  July Morris: I know, right?!? I’m SO EXCITED.

  Nick Sweetzer: So…when are you buying my plane ticket, then? I need a break, too!

  July Morris: Pssssh. As if! I want to have FUN, not baby-sit.

  Nick Sweetzer: Hey, that’s not cool…stop discriminating against us millennials, JULY.

  July Morris: News flash, Nicky. I’m a millennial too. You act like I’m 20 years older than you. Now, skedaddle! This old lady’s gotta pack.

  It was true. When I’d woken up that morning, I’d been totally unprepared for the possibility of going to Vegas at a moment’s notice. I’d even forgotten about the company picnic until Nick had reminded me. Everything was happening so fast, and I needed to get organized before leaving.

  A quick call to my sister ensured that my beautiful black cat, Mirabelle, would be taken care of while I was on my trip.

  When I arrived home, I tossed a bunch of things into a suitcase…bathing suit, dresses for evenings out, jeans, makeup…I even brought my lucky little black dress, just in case. As a bigger girl, I could never be certain that I’d be able to find cute dresses in my size while on vacation, so I had to make sure all of the good stuff was packed.

  Then I saw Mirabelle sitting on top of my clothes, perched in my suitcase.

  “Mirabelle! Don’t be a naughty girl. Mama will be back home before you know it. God, you’re adorable.”

  I wrestled to get the cat out of the suitcase, which was quite a struggle at first, but eventually she relented. It was finally time to get crazy in Vegas.

  “Go get ‘em, July!” I said, peeking at the mirror and trying to pump myself up.

  Chapter Two

  The Flight

  Tiffani and Erica were already at the gate by the time I arrived.

  “Hey, January,” Erica said in a snide tone as I walked up to them.

  “It’s July!” I smiled brightly. Obviously she knew my name. We’d worked together long enough. But I’d be damned if I was gonna let the Bitch Brigade ruin my first real vacation in years. “So…are we all in the same row? I’ll treat you girls to some wine!”

  Kill them with kindness.

  “Oh…that’s fine,” Tiffani replied. “Actually, Daddy upgraded me and Erica to first class, but thanks for being so kind,” she said in her saccharine sweet fake voice.

  “Ah, of course,” I said. “Well, no worries, then.”

  And I promptly walked away and plopped into a seat far away from them, reading my book until my group was called.

  “Will the following passengers please report to the gate and speak with a flight attendant: Morris, Beauregard, and Schmidt.”

  Ooooh, I may be in luck after all, I thought, hoping to get upgraded myself. I had a fair amount of frequent flyer miles with the airline. But, as it turned out, my predicament was quite the opposite.

  “I’m sorry Ms. Morris,” the woman said. “But it appears we overbooked. We’re not going to be able to get you out on a flight for three more hours.”

  “What?!” I was so aggravated. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” This trip was not starting off very well.

  “It’s not her fault,” said someone behind me in a snooty tone.

  “Pardon me?” I said, whipping around.

  “I said, it’s not her fault,” said the man standing right behind me.

  If I hadn’t been so pissed off at him, I would have thought he was gorgeous. With close-cropped hair, piercing light blue-green eyes, and olive skin, he could have been a Hugo Boss model in another life.

  “Why don’t you mind your own business?” I said.

  “It is my business,” he shot back. “Technically. I’m a stockholder.”

  “Whatever, asshole,” I grumbled, turning back around. Considering the circumstances, I hadn’t even been that rude to the gate attendant.

  “Again, I’m sorry,” the woman said. “We’re going to upgrade you on the next flight out, so you’ll be flying first class.”

  “That’s fine,” I said.

  Really, I was so tired that I would have preferred to just fly coach on the earlier flight. I’d been up since five in the morning. But obviously it was not meant to be. Grabbing my new boarding passes, I set off for the nearest bar. By the time my new flight took off, at least I would be good and tipsy for the second time that day.

  What an odd day. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had one drink, let alone a bunch—during the day, no less. I chalked it up to something crazy in the cosmos.

  “I’ll have a Spotted Cow,” I told the bartender as I settled into a seat at the crowded bar area, sticking my carry-on bag on the barstool next to me for a second.

  “Sure thing,” he said, grabbing a glass and then starting to pour my beer.

  “Excuse me,” I heard the distinctive snooty voice in my ear again. “Would you mind moving your bag?”

  “Ah, you again,” I sighed. Of all the rotten luck. It was the same jerk from the overbooked flight line. “I was just putting it there for a second. Of course.”

  And so I took my bag off the chair and placed it on my lap, going back to my book.

  “That’ll be ten dollars,” the bartender said, setting the tall glass of beer in front of me.

  As I started to shuffle my bag to the side in order to look for my purse, Snooty Voice interrupted.

  “It’s on me,” he told the bartender. “I’ll have a Spotted Cow as well.”

  “Alright, twenty bucks,” the bartender said, pouring another Spotted Cow and returning, just as Snooty Voice pulled a black Amex card out of his wallet.

  I had to stop myself from choking on my beer. Of course this jerk would have the most insanely expensive credit card in the world. And of course he wanted to show it off. He was seriously the worst.

  “Whoa!” said the bartender, carefully taking the card from him. “This is actually…heavy. What is this thing made of? Titanium?”

  “Precisely,” answered Snooty Voice, without a trace of irony.

  “Well, thanks for getting my beer,” I said, trying to make a peace offering by holding out my hand to shake his. “I know we maybe got off on the wrong foot, but it’s great to meet you! I’m July.”

  Snooty Voice just glared at me. “It’s no problem,” he said, fishing his laptop out of his own bag and firing it up without so much as the smallest introduction.

  “Ugh,” I muttered under my breath, going back to my book.

  I figured that if I ignored him, maybe he’d disappear. But he didn’t. Two beers later, he was still there, still picking up the tab for my drinks with his fancy card while pounding away on his laptop. It was the strangest thing ever, but I decided not to worry about it.

  Just a few hours til I’m in Vegas, I thought. Maybe I’ll hit up some slot machines…

  “July! July!” Snooty Voice interrupted my reverie. “They’re calling our flight.”

  “Oh…” I said. It was strange to hear him say my name. “Alright.”

  Then he packed up his laptop, signed the bar bill, and set off for the plane, without so much as another word. The bartender must have seen the perplexed look on my face.

  “Kind of a strange dude, huh?” he said. “Very abrupt.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” I replied. “I’ve been dealing with this guy all day. Hey, what’s his name?”

  “Uh…let’s see. Oh, whoa!” The bartender was distracted by something on the bill. “He left me a five-hundred-dollar tip!”

  “What? But he was originally booked to fly coach.” The plot was definitely thickening.

  “Just who the hell is this guy?” I said aloud.

  “James L. Beauregard the third,” the bartender replied, looking down at the check again. “Huh. Never heard of him, but he must be
loaded. Thanks for the tuition money, James L. Beauregard the third!” he said jokingly.

  Huh…

  After racing to the gate, I was finally able to board the plane. But it turned out that my free first class ride would come at a price—my seat mate.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  Seated right next to me was James L. Beauregard the third. Taking a deep breath, I settled into my aisle seat. If I relaxed and turned my head just so, I wouldn’t be able to see him. As we waited for all of the other passengers to get seated, James took a phone call.

  “Yes, I’ve been speaking with the relief workers all morning. Right. We should be able to figure out the specifications for that system as soon as possible.” Then, suddenly, his voice changed and he was speaking a whisper. Naturally, it only made my ears perk up even more. “Tell Abigail it’s over,” he hissed. “I don’t care how many times she wants to call, or how much she wants to use me. I hate cheaters and I hate gold-diggers, and she is both!”

  Ooooh, this is getting juicy, I thought.

  Then he switched back to a conversational tone. “So I sent Josh another late high school graduation present. Did he—oh good, I’m glad he liked it! Alright then, well hang in there for the rest of the night, Mrs. Trudeau. Sorry that they keep buzzing you so late, but they don’t seem to understand time zones. Promise I won’t call you or bug you anymore tonight! Alrighty. Good night, my dear.”

  I got the distinct impression that he was talking to an assistant. An older female assistant. James appeared to be somewhere in his thirties, and I would have guessed based upon their conversation that she was somewhere in her sixties. His tone had been both respectful and familiar.

  Hmmm…

  My eyelids became droopy as I heard the aircraft charging down the runway. It has been such a long day…and way too much beer. As I drifted off to sleep, I could heart the sound of the landing gear folding back under us. The constant hum of the engines was comforting, like a purring kitten.

  By the time I woke up, our plane was hovering over the Strip, right about to land. James L. Beauregard the third was staring out the plane window with reverence, and I felt fully rested and ready to rage.