One Weekend with the Billionaire Chapter 63

*Julia*

Walking up the steps to Braxton’s home without him is odd. I’m looking at the house with a new perspective this time, as if there’s a chance this is where I will live--from now on. It’s hard to imagine. It’s hard to believe I could be calling this place home. Braxton makes it seem like it is as simple as me making up my mind that this is what I want, and I can have it, but I have to wonder if it’s really that simple.

I am greeted by Susan, one of the servants. She is standing in the foyer, a warm smile on her face. She is old enough to be my mother, a thought that reminds me I will need to call my parents and tell them what has transpired. I wonder if Jeff has already called them….

“Good morning, Ms. Julia,” Susan says, taking my hand in hers. “Welcome home!”

“Thank you,’ I say, but the words catch in my throat a little as I consider what she’s saying. Home. Is this place my home? I can’t even fathom that truly being the case. Never in a million years would I have ever dreamt of a place like this being my home.

“Your things are being taken to your room. If you’d like, I can have the staff unpack for you,” Susan says, still smiling.

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I would like to do it myself.” I know that I will have to get used to other people doing things like that for me if I intend to stay here. It simply won’t do for the lady of the house to be hanging her own clothing in the closet! But it seems strange to me still. I can’t imagine a couple of servant girls my age or younger unpacking my intimates and putting them in a drawer….

“Very well, dear. Can I get you anything?” Susan asks, patting my hand before she releases it.

“No, thank you,” I say. I can’t think of anything that I need at the moment.

“If you change your mind, please come down and let us know. Or you can pick up any phone and dial nine and someone will pick up.”

“Thank you,” I say again. I will likely be saying that a lot. All of the people who work for Braxton are so kindhearted, just like him.

“Certainly!” Susan says. “It’s our pleasure to serve you, madam.” She smiles and steps aside so that I can head up the stairs.

I nod, gratefully, and then head up the stairs, the idea that someday she may be calling me Mrs. Merriweather dancing in the back of my head.

In my room, I find my bags and begin unpacking. It hasn’t been that long since I packed them to leave to go back to Jeff. Now, I wish I never would’ve done that. But then… if I hadn’t, I probably would’ve spent the rest of my life wondering if I should’ve given him a second chance. Now, I know that I have done my due diligence and that I could not make the situation with Jeff work, even if I hadn’t ever met Braxton.

After I unpack, I sit down on the edge of the bed, my old phone in my hand. I have several missed calls from Jeff and some texts. They start out with apologies and end up with threats. I’m not surprised. He wants me back not because he loves and misses me as he initially claims but because he wants to win. That, and he wants to control me. I check my new phone and am slightly disappointed to see I have nothing from Braxton, but then, he’s at work and has only been there a few hours. Unlike Jeff, Braxton actually works while he’s in the office. I’ll have to remember that. It isn’t fair for me to expect Braxton to interrupt his work day to call or text me.

I consider calling my mom but decide to wait. I’ve just arrived, and I don’t want to mar this occasion with the unsettling discussion I’m sure to have. I decide to go down to the art room to paint for a while before lunch. Perhaps I’ll call my mother later in the day.

I quickly get lost in the paintings I am working on. Without Braxton looking over my shoulder, I am free to express myself more. Not that he would ever criticize or make me feel as if I’ve made a mistake, but I prefer to work without anyone watching. Rather than the still life I’ve been doing, I decide to paint a couple locked in an embrace. I do not make their faces resemble Braxton’s or mine, but I know in my heart that’s what I’m painting, a woman who feels so safe and loved in the arms of this man who clearly cares more about her than anyone in the world.

I am almost ready to take a break when my phone rings. It’s my old phone. I’ve decided to carry both of them around with me. I glance down, expecting to see that Jeff is calling again to try and talk me into coming back or tell me how sorry I’ll be that I’ve ever left, but it isn’t him. It’s my mom.

I wipe my hands on a towel, making sure I’ve gotten any wet paint before I pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey. How are you?” Mom asks. I can hear the concern in her voice.

“I’m good,” I tell her, and for once I mean it. “I was going to call you in a bit. How are you?”

“Well, honey, honestly, I’m concerned. I’ve spoken to Jeff. He’s painting a very different picture of what’s going on. I wanted to talk to you to make sure that you’re okay. Is this Braxton person really the manipulative, tight-fisted, arrogant man Jeff paints him to be?”

“No!” I say quickly. “Mom, I have no idea what Jeff has told you, but that’s not true at all. Braxton is wonderful. He actually cares about me, unlike Jeff.”

“I sure hope that’s the case, dear. Jeff says that this is all just a scheme for Mr. Merriweather to get back at Jeff for potentially leaving his company to work for another firm.”

I laugh. I didn’t mean to, but it just came out. “No, Mom. Jeff isn’t that good at his job.” The idea that Jeff is trying to spin the feelings that Braxton and I have for one another into something that has to do with work is both humorous and revolting.

“He also says that he’s going to sue Braxton for everything that he has for breach of contract, and that he’s confident he’ll win.”

Now, my mom has wiped the smile from my face, and my blood runs cold. Not that I think there’s much to Jeff’s threats. They are almost always empty. But the idea that he would even think of such a thing is enough to stop my laughing. “That unbelievable asshole,” I mutter before I realize I am speaking to my mother who considers the word “crap” to be a curse word.

She doesn’t scold me, though. “Julia, is this something to worry about? If Braxton does happen to lose everything, will he take it out on you? Or decide he doesn’t want to be with you?”

“No, Mom,” I say quickly enough. I can’t imagine Braxton doing either of those things. Of course, I can’t imagine someone like Braxton doesn’t have the most powerful lawyers in the country working for him either. Knowing Jeff, he’s found some alley lawyer who is looking for fame by suing a well-known billionaire.

“Good,” Mom says, even though I can tell I haven’t convinced her. “Because I’ve heard of this lawyer Jeff has hired, and it concerns me, Julia. He’s good at what he does.”

A lump quickly forms in my throat that I can’t swallow down at first. I take a deep breath. “Who is it?” I ask, not that I know a lot of lawyers.

“Kyle Warren,” my mother says, and my blood runs cold as I recognize the name, too.

“Kyle Warren?” I repeat. “Fuck.”