Shelter With A Billionaire

"Get out," I spat; my voice shook with rage as I stepped back, creating a distance between my boyfriend and me.

Mike hesitated, his voice pleading. "Please Christine-"

"Hurt me? You cheated on me with your secretary." A lump formed in my throat, and tears spilled down my cheeks.

Mike's hands rose, palms up, in a defense gesture. "She came onto me," holding my shoulders, he continued. "You caught us at the wrong moment. Look, I swear to you, Christine, I would never dream of hurting you."

I stepped away from him and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "You have hurt me for the last time, Mike Russo."

Mike licked his lips with resigned expression. "I love you, but you need to trust me on this one, baby."

"Love?" I burst into a bitter laugh. "The only person you love is yourself. I never want to see you again."

Then I slammed my front door shut and leaned by it, my body shaking as I broke into a sob, feeling my heart shatter to a million pieces.

A year later, I clipped my ID badge to my jacket. I took a deep breath, pushing away thoughts of Mike's betrayal from my mind.

I stepped onto the porch and rang the doorbell to Mrs. Smith's Group Home, in the suburbs of Seattle. I loved my job as a social worker, and inspections like this one were my favorite part. I got to see the kids and ensure they received the best care possible.

When the door opened, Mrs. Gladys Smith, the manager, greeted me without her usual warm smile. "Hi, Christine. Right on time, as always."

I creased my brows together, pulling out my clipboard and my pen. "Let's get started, shall we?"

The living room space was tidy, and Kimiko, aged six, was sitting in front of the TV watching a popular preschool cartoon.

She turned to face me with a bright gap-toothed grin. "Hi, Ms. Frank."

"Miko, ah, enjoying the fine entertainment TV has to offer, I see?" I asked.

Kimiko shot me a confused look and shrugged. "I guess."

Gladys led me through the usual routine: medication, security alarm, food plan. I checked through my list as I glanced through the fridge contents. The sound of a ball bouncing echoed through the walls as Jayden and Tommy burst through the kitchen back door.

I lifted a warning finger as they froze. "Uh-uh, take it outside, boys. No dunking in the kitchen."

Jayden frowned. "Aw man."

Tommy snatched the ball and ran out the door, followed closely by Jay. Annabeth played hula hoops with Daphne and Millie in the backyard. Meanwhile, Noah was likely playing video games in his room.

"And another perfect record, Gladys, as usual. Thank you for making my job easier." I turned to face her.

Her expression turned serious. "Christine, can I talk to you for a minute in my office?"

My curiosity rose, and I nodded, following her to the office. But as I sat behind her desk, Gladys dropped the bombshell: "I'm dying, Christine."

I widened my eyes and waited for a laugh and a 'just kidding.' "Oh God, Gladys." I gave a nervous chuckle. "Save the spooky talk for Halloween."

Her green eyes remained serious. "It's terminal lung cancer, and the doctor. Damn, the man says I have about six months to get my affairs in order before I die. It's the result of my smoking habit."

I bit back a smile. Gladys was about sixty-five, still agile for her age, but I suddenly noticed her cheerfulness was gone. Tears formed in my eyes, and I quickly wiped them away.

"Do the kids know about..." I whispered.

She sighed. "Just Noah, he found me passed out in the bathroom, called nine-one-one. Listen, you know my kids don't like this job, and I have no one to hand the home to."

If no one would take the job, then it would be a problem; group homes were in shortage... and there was a possibility of separation.

Gladys' eyes locked onto mine. "I know you're thinking about the system. You can't let them be separated; they're a family, and even when they fight, hell, they always find a way."

Mrs. Smith's coughing fit sent a jolt through me. I leapt from my seat, my pulse racing, as I rushed to her side. "Gladys!" I took a stride towards her by the window.

She lifted a hand as I helped her sit on the leather sofa. "I'm...fine." She wheezed.

I filled a glass of water and handed it to her.

"Listen, I'll do my best to convince the authorities. They'll be together," I said, sitting next to her. "The house may need a temporary manager."

She looked at me with precision. "Or a permanent one."

I felt a surge of surprise as Mrs. Smith's words sank in. "You're suggesting... me? As the permanent manager?"

Mrs. Smith nodded, her gentle smile filling me with a sense of wonder. "Who better to care for them than someone who already loves them like family? I've watched you interact with them better than anyone, Christine," she said, her eyes really believing.

I thought back to all the moments I'd shared with the kids-the laughter, the tears, the quiet moments of connection. I had grown to love them, but taking on the responsibility of managing the group home was a great task ahead.

"But Mrs. Smith, I... I don't know if I'm qualified," I stammered, my doubts creeping in.

As she sipped the water, I processed her words. Becoming the permanent manager would change my life, but I couldn't bear the thought of the kids being separated.

She took my hands in hers. "I put my faith in you, Frank. This is my final wish."

"Gladys, I'll do everything I can," I promised.

She smiled weakly. "I knew I could count on you, Christine."

I swallowed as I heard the kids' voices from outside. How would they cope without her? Six months later, Gladys passed away in her sleep.

Two Years Later.

"Look, Christine, I drew you a picture last night." Eight-year-old Kimiko held up a paper for me.

A smile broke out from my lips. "Aww, isn't that sweet?" But I frowned as I stared at the paper. I was in a wedding dress holding a bouquet of roses with a wild haircut.

A knot formed in my throat. Two years ago I would have been Mrs. Mike Russo, but men were the least of my problems right now. The Home always relied on funding and donations; some days were better than others.

We all sat in the dining room having breakfast.

Beth, leaned to check it out, broke into a laugh. "The groom looks scared to death."

I narrowed my eyes at the fourteen-year-old goth queen. "Well, thanks for your input, Annabeth, and thank you, Miko; I love it, and I hope to meet this nice man someday."

Kimiko smiled. "And then our family will be complete with a Daddy."

"Wishful thinking." Tommy coughed under his breath.

Laughter broke out at the table. I thought I smelled something but brushed it off.

I rolled my eyes, then widened them. "Ha ha...whoa, wait a second...four, five, six? Where's Noah?" I asked as I counted the pack and spotted Noah's empty chair. I took a sip of my morning coffee. "Tommy?"

Tommy's eyes shifted. "Uh, I haven't seen him."

I glared at Tommy, "What do you mean? You're his roommate."

"Maybe he ran away again." Beth suggested. "Because I kind of noticed he disappeared during the second act of The Graduate."

I shut my eyes. Noah, who recently turned seventeen last month, made it a habit of running away a few times, increasing my blood pressure, and coming back home when he was out of cash. I'm going to kill him.

"Is Noah going to be okay?" Kimiko asked with worry as she held her stuffed pink toy, Bunny the Bunny.

I offered a smile. "Of he will."

I took out my cell phone and dialed his number, but it went straight to voicemail. Dammit, this kid would be the death of me.

"Probably make it to Mexico this time." Jay speculated as he bit into his toast and fried eggs.

"Yeah," Daphne scoffed. "If he knows where Mexico actually is on the map."

I dropped everyone off at George Washington High and called goodbyes; they walked off in different directions as though they didn't live together. I sighed and drove off.

My cell phone began to ring.

"Frank," I called my last name.

"This is Detective Rowley; we've got a young man in custody who claims to be one of yours," the voice replied.

My mind raced, and my mind pounded against my chest as I pulled to a traffic stop."Nope," I gave a fake laugh. "I just dropped everyone off at school."

"Noah Juan Miguel Garcia," the detective replied. "Ring any bells?"

Christine's eyes widened. "Nope, Noah's an angel."

Detective Rowley did not sound pleased. "We've got him on underage drinking charges. Care to come down and collect your little angel?" Then he hung up.

I groaned as the traffic light changed to green. I stepped on the gas. "You little mother-!"

Ten minutes later, I arrived at the precinct and was directed to the detective's desk.

This was the fifth time this year Noah had been arrested for doing something stupid.

"Detective?" I said. "What happened?"

Detective Rowley nodded. "Garcia was found with his group of friends, charged with underage drinking. They're lucky no one was hurt. He'll get community service and a warning since he wasn't behind the wheel."

I swallowed with relief. "Oh, thank God...I mean, how awful."

Detective James nodded, but his eyes remained skeptical. "You look a little young to be in social work."

The comment was equally flattering and insulting. I was only twenty-six. I scoffed. "And this is important to note why?"

"Just making an observation, you look like hell." He told me.

I looked down at my sweatshirt and jeans. "Can you release him now?"

"Alright, if I ever see you drinking again, you're going to jail." Detective James warned Noah after he was brought out.

Noah nodded with an innocent look and spoke with sarcasm. "You've changed my life."

The detective glared after us as we hurried out the building for the parking lot. Noah stunk of sweat and beer.

I grabbed Noah's left ear, and he howled. "Are you out of your mind?!" I sneered. "Get in the damn car!" I pointed at the minivan.

Noah sighed as I began to drive us home.

"Of all the kids, you have given me the worst of headaches, Noah. You're seventeen for crying out loud; you should be thinking of college, a career, and not screwing with a bunch of rich kids whose folks can buy them a spot in the Ivy League." I snapped. "And you wonder why you haven't been adopted." I caught myself before the words spilled out.

"Gee, thanks a lot." He murmured.

"Noah..."

"I'm going to be eighteen years old, and I don't give a shit-"

"Language."

"Crap about parents. So just kick me out, Christine."

I scoffed at his gaslighting. "Fat chance, Garcia. I have at least a year to put you back on the right path, and until then, you'll follow my rules."

I glanced at him. His lips curled down, and he pushed his head against the window; his hearing aid was visible. I returned my eyes to the road.

The drive became silent as a fire truck zoomed past us, blaring the emergency siren.

"Huh? Wonder what the emergency is." I muttered since we were going in the same direction and apparently into the street where we lived.

"Uh, Christine?" Noah sat up in alarm. "The house is on fire!"

I widened my eyes upon seeing flames.

* * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, lying on a couch was a young woman drinking red wine as she watched the news footage of the fire incident on her TV. The manager had overlooked a faulty gas line. Luckily, no one was hurt.

"This is the perfect opportunity we've been looking for." She said it out loud.

Her eyes locked on to Christine's image on the screen. "The plan is in motion."

Michael Russo's eyes flew open as fingers trailed down his chest, sending shivers down his spine. But his pleasure quickly turned to shock when the fingers wrapped around his privates.

"Mon Dieu, you're a lively one in the morning," a sexy female voice purred.

Mike's vision became clearer, and to his disappointment, a red-haired woman grinned at him. If only she were Christine.

"Who...what the?" Mike stuttered, trying to sit up, but Andrea St. Jean's grip held him in place.

"Russo. Don't play coy. You invited me to your bed, after all." Her French accent dripped with seduction.

Mike's mind raced as he tried to remember what happened. He bumped into Andrea, flirted, and they ended up in his private suite at the hotel.

"Uh, I think we might have gotten carried away," Mike stammered, trying to distance himself from her grasp.

Andrea pouted, releasing him. "Spoilsport. I was hoping to persuade you to dinner tonight...before I leave for Paris...to rejoin my husband."

Mike's eyes widened in horror. "You're married?!"

Just then, Mike's trusted assistant, Hunter Grant, burst into the room; his composition shifted to surprise. "Oh, shit!" Hunter exclaimed, quickly backing out of the room.

Andrea and Mike flew out of bed. She wore her dress and ran out, but not before sending him an air kiss. Mike watched her go, still in shock, before turning to Hunter, who stood in the doorway, trying to hide a grin.

"Isn't she married?" Hunter asked.

Mike's voice dropped to a low growl. "Shut up, and you didn't see anything, got it?"

"Whatever," Hunter shrugged. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

God, I hope she was on the pill. Mike thought to himself as he shut his eyes. He'd been carried away by her charms not to notice the damn ring. Or did she take it off last night?

"The quarterly meeting scheduled for today, Mike, everyone's waiting." Hunter reminded him.

Right. Mike was the owner of The Royale Hotel, Restaurant and Spa; one of the classiest hotels in Seattle. Politicians, billionaires, even the president had stayed there. Mike was a billionaire tycoon, and he earned every penny of his fortune.

"Ah, shit. Send extra coffee and keep them distracted; I'll be there in fifteen minutes." He ordered Hunter.

Mike quickly freshened up and took the elevator to the boardroom.

"Sorry everyone," Mike apologized as he walked into the boardroom. Eight pairs of eyes looked at him. "I was...distracted."

Someone murmured. "Looks like someone has a Parisian hangover."

Low chuckles rose around the room. Mike shot the head of the kitchen department, Oliver Wayne, a warning glance.

Mike cleared his throat and sat behind his chair. "Silence. Let's get this show on the road."

Hunter began his presentation.

"Here's my Kayla on her first bike ride," Oliver muttered as he held up his phone in front of Mike. Kayla posed with a bike.

"And you feel the need to distract me, because?" Mike glared at the man. He hated distractions and needed a clear head to run his business.

Oliver pressed his lips together and leaned back on his seat. "Uh, never mind."

Mike felt a headache as he listened to Hunter and blurted. "Just skip to the conclusion!"

Hunter cleared his throat. "We lost 20% of our bookings than the last quarter."

Mike widened his eyes in shock. Losing money was not part of his plan. "Unacceptable," he said, looking at the marketing head. "Increase our marketing, both on television and social media."

"Listen, Mike," Brooke, the marketing expert, began. "The world is changing; everyone wants to join a fad; cheap AirBnB is taking over the hospitality industry so much that our customers are folks from the last two decades. If we want to draw in the young ones, we need something more than social media."

Mike was filled with annoyance; the hotel had been his family legacy since the founders laid claim to the city. I couldn't lose it.

"Let's not forget the huge scandal with Gina Corrales." Hunter spoke, making Mike shut his eyes. How was he to know that he'd been sleeping with an engaged woman?

After the meeting, Mike moved to the window overlooking the hotel grounds. He'd never fully gotten over Christine, the love of his life. He did all he could to win her back, but nothing worked. Dating without strings was his way of coping.

"I think I may have a solution," Brooke stepped up to his side and held up a tablet screen to his face. Mike grunted with disbelief watching the footage of the fire outbreak. His hand went for his pocket on impulse to call Christine, but he had left the phone in his room.

Brooke's smile seemed to hold a hint of calculation. "Gen Z's love a good romance tale."

Mike lifted a hand, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. If I have to help, it'll be because I want to."

"Oh, stop with the white knight attitude, Michael," Brooke poked his chest. "Picture this; a viral documentary, we could partner with an influencer to show how 'bad boy' Mike Russo helped support the foster kids community."

Mike scoffed with disbelief. "My personal life is no one's business."

Brooke giggled, causing Mike to lift a brow. "Tell that to Vanity Fair, The Seattle Times, and several others you've appeared in."

Mike shut his eyes; no one ever got to the top without taking risks. "Fine, I understand what you're proposing, and you're right, I need to make amends. But I have a say in whatever this influencer shows to the public."

Brooke nodded. "Of course. You're the boss."

* * * * * * * *

The next morning, Mike's heart pounded against his chest as he waited for Christine in his office. Hunter had contacted her to meet up with him, and surprisingly, she agreed.

A knock on his office door drew him from his thoughts. "Come in," he said while looking out the window.

"Mike," Christine said softly.

Mike turned around to see her standing in a maroon suit, holding a briefcase, her eyes filled with hurt and exhaustion. He took a step forward.

Longing swept over Mike, and he moved to draw Christine into his arms, his lips fiercely claiming hers.