The Game: A Billionaire Romance Page 9

  “Well, why don’t we have a female celebrity to endorse them or, better yet, have her name on them? Someone famous. That will sell them more quickly, right?”

  “That was precisely what I was thinking.”

  Abby lies back down. “She can’t just be any celebrity, though. She has to be a role model, an inspiration. Now, let’s see. Who’s inspirational and famous?”

  I wait for her answer.

  “Ah. What about Lindsey Holland?”

  I pause. I know we have a lot in common, but we think alike, too? I mean exactly alike?

  “No.”

  “Why not? She’s amazing. Every woman wants to be her.”

  I sit up. “Do you?”

  “I look up to her,” Abby admits. “I’ve read a few of her books, too.”

  I resist the urge to slap myself in the forehead and laugh. Is this some sort of joke? All this time, I’ve been planning on convincing Lindsey to endorse my apps, of using Abby to that end. And now that I’ve started to abandon that plan because of how I feel for Abby, Abby wants to pursue it?

  “Well, why not?” Abby asks.

  “Because she doesn’t want to endorse our apps.”

  “So, you’ve asked her?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Well, I haven’t exactly. I know if I did, she’d turn me down outright, so I’ve sent others to no success.

  “Hmm.” Abby sits up, touching her chin. “So even you have a woman you can’t get to say yes, huh?”

  “You did reject me, you know,” I remind her.

  “Well, I still think she should be the one to endorse those apps. So how about I try convincing her?”

  I give her a look of surprise. “You’ll do that?”

  “Why not? Maybe she’ll listen to me.”

  Well, if Abby was the one who came up with the idea and she wants to do it, I can’t say I don’t want her to.

  “You think you can convince her?” I ask her. “It’s not going to be easy, you know.”

  Abby gives me a confident smile. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

  Chapter 9

  The Other Woman

  Abby

  “You can do this, Abby,” I tell myself, taking a deep breath as I stand across the road from Lindsey Holland’s house.

  I’ve tried calling her three times, but all I get is her answering machine. I’ve left messages, of course, saying that I work for Grant Herbert and that I have an interesting proposition for her, but she hasn’t returned any of my calls. I’ve sent her about a dozen emails, too, and even tried to get in touch with her through her social media accounts to no avail. She just won’t answer. That’s why I’m here at her address now in Atlanta. After all, I can’t convince Lindsey if I can’t even talk to her.

  And I promised Grant I would do my best. Not just that. I want to do this for him. I want him to prove that selfish old man he calls his grandfather wrong. I want him to be able to make his own fortune, to succeed on his own terms.

  I want him to be happy.

  To that end, I’ve made up my mind to do everything I can. That doesn’t mean I’m not shivering in my shoes right now, though.

  Crossing the street to the dreamy two-story house with the blue roof and the white windows, it dawns on me that I am meeting Lindsey Holland in the flesh.

  The Lindsey Holland.

  The same Lindsey Holland who has a New York Bestselling book series telling women of all ages how to cope with just about every situation. The same Lindsey Holland who’s been on numerous talk shows speaking out against domestic abuse and shedding light on postpartum depression. The same Lindsey Holland who married a resort tycoon and opened hotels, spas, and recreational facilities designed especially for women.

  The same Lindsey Holland who I looked up to for the past five years.

  I stop in front of the blue front door with the silver knob and the wreath of colorful roses, my heart pounding like crazy.

  What if she won’t talk to me? What if she doesn’t like me? What if she sees through me and is disappointed in me?

  All of a sudden, I feel scared.

  So what? Are you going to run away?

  No. I’m not. I’ve come this far, and I’ve got way too much on the line.

  What was that Lindsey wrote in one of her books? Put one foot in front of the other until your fears are behind you?

  Well, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to conquer my fears and hope for the best.

  Taking another deep breath, I press the doorbell. No answer. I can hear children’s voices, though, so I press again and I’m about to press a third time when I hear footsteps scurrying to the door. When it opens, a woman with salt and pepper curls who looks like she’s in her late fifties stands in the doorway, wearing glasses, a luminous rosary around her neck, a floral apron over a white shirt and loose black pants and a pair of light flip-flops that look just like the ones I used to wear as a child.

  A Filipino maid?

  “I’m so sorry I took so long.” She adjusts her glasses. “I was cooking and taking care of the kids, and you know, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  “It’s no problem at all.” I give her a warm smile. “I’m sorry I rushed you.”

  “Well, what can I help you with?”

  “I’m here to discuss a business proposition with Miss Holland, actually,” I inform her. “I sent her an email to let her know I was dropping by.”

  “Really? She didn’t tell me she was expecting anyone.”

  “I see.” I tuck a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. “Is she home?”

  “Sorry, dear, but you just missed her. Why don’t you call her?”

  “I’ve been doing that, actually, but she hasn’t been answering.”

  “Well, she’s awfully busy.”

  “I understand.” I can feel my heart sinking but I refuse to jump ship just yet. “Would you know what time she’ll be back?”

  “I’m afraid not. It depends on a lot of things.”

  “Oh.”

  I reach inside my purse for my business card so I can hand it over but just then, a child, about four or five, comes to the door, poking her head between the woman and the door frame.

  “Who’s that, Lola?” the child asks.

  Grandmother? Don’t tell me this is Lindsey’s mother. I’ve never read anything about her being from the Philippines. Then again, come to think of it, I’ve never read anything about her mother at all.

  “Oh, just someone looking for your mom,” the woman says, placing a hand on the child’s shoulder.

  “She’s not here,” the girl tells me.

  “So your Lola told me.” I smile at her. “I guess I’m out of luck today.”

  “We really must go back in,” the woman says. “I still have to finish cooking my—”

  “Sinigang,” I finish the sentence for her, having caught a whiff of the tamarind soup base. “It smells good.”

  The woman lifts her glasses as she looks at me in surprise. “You’re a Filipino?”

  I nod, offering her my hand. “I’m Abby Gomez. Nice to meet you.”

  She shakes my hand. “Well, you’re someone I don’t usually see on this doorstep.”

  “Do you speak Filipino?” the girl asks. “Lola taught me a little bit.”

  “Why, of course,” I tell her, kneeling in front of her. “Magandang umaga, munting prinsesa.”

  “Is that good morning?”

  “It sure is. ‘Good morning, little princess.’”

  The girl smiles sheepishly, her body swaying from side to side.

  “You know what? I don’t know what time my daughter is coming back but I’ll be waiting here until she does,” the woman says. “You’re welcome to wait with me if you like, maybe help me out a little bit. I’d appreciate that. Plus, I’d love to have someone to eat the sinigang with. The kids don’t like it, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s too sour,” the girl complains.

  I chuckle. “That’s what
makes it good, though.”

  “So?” the woman asks. “Tuloy ka?”

  I stand up, smiling at the sincere invitation, at the warmth in her eyes that reminds me of my grandmother’s.

  Strange. I’ve been running away from my culture this whole time, yet now, it seems like it’s just saved me. For once, it’s done me something good.

  Maybe Grant’s right. Maybe I should stop trying to deny or hide it.

  I take her hand, pressing it to my forehead before giving a nod. “Salamat po.”

  ***

  The hours pass. Soon, the sun begins to set.

  I’ve been waiting long, but I don’t mind at all. Lindsey’s kids, Harper and Mia, are adorable, and her mother, Linda, is very kind. She has a ton of stories, usually about growing up in the Philippines, and it seems like she’s been wanting someone new to tell them to. I listen intently, fascinated, seemingly reliving my own childhood and seeing my own country through her words.

  It’s like coming home.

  Finally, when it’s nearly seven, I hear the garage doors open, and look out the window to see a white car going in. Anxiously, I wait in the living room for Lindsey to come in. I’ve already been waiting almost all day, looking forward to talking to her and yet, when I see her in person, looking stunning in her brown dress and black stilettos, I feel unprepared and surprised.

  She, too, looks surprised to see me, her gaze landing on me when she’s done hugging the kids.

  She also looks confused.

  “Mama, who’s this?” she asks her mother.

  “Oh, this is Abby,” Linda answers, touching my shoulder. “Abby, meet my daughter, Lindsey.”

  “Hello.” I wave shyly.

  She doesn’t answer, still looking confused.

  Linda goes over to her. “Abby’s been a big help. I wouldn’t have managed without her, what with my knees and all. You really should consider hiring a sitter, you know. You can afford one.”

  “We’ve already talked about this, Mama.”

  “Abby kept me company, too. We talked about a lot of things. She’s a Filipino, too.”

  Lindsey looks at me. “Really?”

  I nod. “I was born in the Philippines.”

  “And why are you here?” she asks curiously.

  “I’ve sent you a couple of messages,” I tell her. “I’d like to discuss something with you. A business proposition.”

  “Let me guess. You want to make a series of apps for me. Or rather, you want to make me into a series of apps.”

  “Oh, Lindsey, be kind,” Linda admonishes, a finger up in the air. “Abby’s been nothing but nice, and she’s been waiting for you all day. The least you can do is hear everything she’s got to say and think about it.”

  Lindsey sighs. “Fine.”

  “I’ll be going now.” Linda squeezes her daughter’s shoulder. “I need to rest.”

  Lindsey nods, holding her mother’s hand. “Thanks for coming over, Mama.”

  Linda looks at me. “It was nice meeting you, Abby.”

  I shake my head. “The pleasure was all mine. Take care.”

  “Drive safely,” Lindsey bids, watching as her mother goes out the door.

  As soon as Linda has left, Lindsey sits down on an armchair in the living room, taking her shoes off. I remain standing.

  “Sit,” she tells me. “No need to stand on my account. Besides, it seems like you’ve already made yourself at home.”

  I blink. Is this Lindsey Holland? She sounded much nicer on TV.

  “I’m sorry if I stepped over my bounds or caused any inconvenience. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Sorry,” Lindsey cuts me off. “I didn’t mean to snap. I shouldn’t. It’s just been a long day.”

  “I understand,” I tell her, sitting down. “Even the best of us have bad days. If you would rather see me at another day, I’d—”

  “It’s fine.” She waves her hand. “I’m grateful that you kept my mother company and helped her out. She’s not getting any younger.”

  “She was a joy to be around.”

  Lindsey grins. “I bet she told you a lot of stories from the old days.”

  “She did, though something tells me she hasn’t run out of them yet.”

  “Oh, she never will.” Lindsey stands up and heads to the kitchen. “Have you had dinner?”

  “Yes. Your mother fed me.”

  “Of course she did.” Lindsey goes around the kitchen counter. “So, who sent you? Grant?”

  My eyebrows crease. How did she know?

  “Yes, he sent me.”

  She opens the fridge. “I thought he’d given up.”

  “No. And I don’t think he should. I don’t think there should be anyone else’s name on those apps but yours.”

  Lindsey leans on the counter, a spoon in one hand and a pint of ice cream in the other. “Is that what he told you to tell me?”

  “No. It’s my own opinion.”

  “Really?” She raises an eyebrow along with her spoon.

  I nod.

  She eats a spoonful. “And what did he promise you in exchange for coming here and telling me your opinion?”

  I feel confused by the question. “Nothing.”

  “No reward?” Another spoonful. “Then maybe you’re doing it because he slept with you?”

  I frown. She may be a psychologist but that doesn’t give her the right to judge my personality or presume to know it.

  I stand up. “Miss Holland, with all due respect, I think you have the wrong idea about me and Grant. True, Grant may have been a jerk. He might have played around with a lot of women.”

  Lindsey snorts. “You can say that again.”

  “But he’s a good man,” I continue. “And a man who’s had it rough, like many of us have. I know your books are all about helping women through tough times but men have them, too. Grant’s been through a lot, and now he’s just trying to make his way on his own. I want to help him. That’s why I’m here. Not because he bribed me or blackmailed me or God-knows-what other underhanded means you can think of. Not even as his personal assistant. I’m here because I think he deserves a chance.”

  Lindsey takes the spoon out of her mouth. “Wow. You really care about him, don’t you?”

  “I also think everyone deserves a chance to benefit from your expertise. With these apps that Grant is developing, you’ll be able to help so many more people, men and women alike.”

  “Grant just wants to use me.” Lindsey sticks her spoon into the ice cream. “He’s using you, and now he wants to use me.”

  “He’s not…”

  “Just like he did before.”

  I pause, taken by surprise. What is Lindsey talking about?

  “Ah.” Lindsey eats another spoonful of the ice cream. “Grant didn’t tell you.”

  I approach the counter. “Didn’t tell me what?”

  “That he and I dated. That he broke my heart.”

  I stop walking, a lump in my throat. Lindsey and Grant dated? Why didn’t he tell me?

  “It still hurts, you know,” Lindsey goes on. “That’s why I told him he can stick his apps up his ass.”

  So that’s why. I understand her. I really do. And I feel a little betrayed that Grant kept that tiny detail from me. But my mind hasn’t changed. I still want to convince Lindsey and make things work.

  “I know how you feel,” I tell her, moving forward. “I’m sorry about what Grant did to you.”

  “Don’t apologize for him.”

  “But you can’t live in the past forever or let pain get in the way of happiness. Just think. If you refuse to do this, yes, you might get back at Grant, but you’ll also punish yourself. Don’t think of this as Grant using you. Think of it as him trying to make it up to you, him giving you a chance to do what you do best. He’ll get the profits, but you’ll also get money and help people. It’s a win-win situation.”

  She licks the spoon. “Wow. It sounds like there’s a psychologist in the kitchen. And it’s n
ot me.”

  I chuckle. “What can I say? I learned from the best.” I smile. “And others will, too.”

  Lindsey says nothing, tossing the spoon into the sink and putting the ice cream back in the fridge.

  “And no, Grant isn’t using me. I—”

  Lindsey puts a hand up. “You’re in love with Grant. I can see that, though how he did it to a woman like you, I don’t know. I don’t want to know.”

  I feel confused again. Is she jealous?

  Well, if she doesn’t want to know about me and Grant, that’s fine. That’s not what I came here to tell her.

  “So, you’ll do it?” I ask hopefully.

  “No.” She pours herself a glass of water.

  My spirits sink. “Why not?”

  She carries her glass out to the patio, and I follow her.

  “Do you know why I don’t hire a sitter?” Lindsey asks as she sits on the bench.

  I sit beside her. “No.”

  Like Linda said, she could definitely afford one, and it seems like she needs one.

  “Because I wrote in about half of my books that a mother should do as much for her children as she can.”

  “Yes, I remember but…”

  She turns to look at me. “How many of my books did you read?”

  “Four, I think,” I tell her.

  “And you’ve seen me on TV?”

  “Yes.”

  She drinks the water. “What did you think of me then, when you were watching me and reading what I wrote?”

  “That you’re amazing.”

  “How so?”

  “Because you seem to have everything under control.”

  “You see, that’s the thing.” She takes a last sip and sets her empty glass down beside her. “I don’t have everything under control.”

  To my surprise, she buries her face in her hands, breaking into a sob.

  “Lindsey?”

  “My husband is cheating on me. He doesn’t love me anymore. I’m too busy with work to spend time with my kids. I feel like everything is just falling apart, and none of the advice I wrote in my books helps. And I just hate myself.” She sniffs. “Everything is just a fucking mess.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that you’re going through a tough time right now.” I move closer to her, rubbing her back. “But isn’t that more reason for you to accept Grant’s proposition? You’ll earn money from the apps so you can get to spend more time with your kids, and you can stand on your own two feet and show your husband you don’t need him.”