Page 15 of Adonis: The Cost of a Billionaire's Heart
As I turned away, I tried to convince myself that the kiss was just business, just a part of our contract. But as I headed toward where my son was, I couldn’t help but wonder if the week ahead would be far more complicated than either of us anticipated.
Shaking off the pestering thoughts,I retreated to my office and closed the door. There was always work to be done, contracts to review, and strategies to plan for my upcoming meetings with Garrick’s team. I needed to focus on the reason for our charade: the fifty-million-dollar deal that would cement Holland Enterprises’ expansion into new territories. Not on the warm amber of Sim’s eyes when she smiled at me. Not on the way her hand felt in mine, small but strong. And definitely not on that fucking kiss.
I opened my laptop with more force than necessary, irritated by my own distraction. I didn’t get distracted. I didn’t get attached. The women who occasionally shared my bed knew the rules—no emotions, no expectations, no complications. Mywork was my priority, always had been, especially since my last relationship and the death of my father. My arrangement with Sim was no different. It was a business transaction, mutually beneficial and, most importantly, temporary.
I turned on the TV to clear her from my mind. The minute I flipped it to the news, the other thing I’d been trying to avoid thinking about hit me smack in the face. My father. It was the fifth anniversary of his death, and I’d been ignoring requests for interviews and quotes about my feelings on it and the sentencing of his killer for weeks. I wanted the story to go away, and by announcing my engagement to Simora, I hoped that would somehow stop the media from bringing up the sore spot about my father and focus on something else. Something positive. Obviously, that didn’t work. There was a local news segment on him.
“Tonight, former colleagues and business leaders around the world are remembering Edward Holland, former CEO of Holland Enterprises. On this day five years ago, the former CEO was fatally shot inside his home during an armed robbery, a senseless act of violence that left two of the suspects dead and one in custody. The man convicted of the crime, Jadarius Washington, was sentenced to seventeen years in prison for armed robbery and second-degree murder.
In the years since Holland’s passing, his son, billionaire mogul Adonis Holland, has taken the company to even greater heights despite the tragedy. Under his leadership, he’s made Holland Enterprises a global enterprise, carrying on his father’s legacy of revolutionizing the way America transports our most essential goods all around the globe.
On a happier note, the billionaire mogul announced today that he’s officially off the market and is tying the knot. From all of us here at News Station 7, we honor the memory and legacyof Edward Holland and all the lives he touched through his work, and congratulate his son on his engagement.”
I sighed before quickly jabbing the power button on the remote. Of course, they’d merge the stories like a two-for-one special. The last thing I wanted to do was be reminded of the worst day of my fucking life. I was on vacation in Belize when I got the phone call that my father had been murdered. I hated feeling helpless, but I was thousands of miles away, and there was nothing I could do. All the money I had at my disposal, and I couldn’t rewind time, teleport there, or bring my father back from the dead. He was gone, which meant everything he’d worked hard to build was mine and mine alone.
At a young age, he taught me that the sky was the limit and that I was living proof of it. I still couldn’t believe that he wasn’t here to see me doing my thing—the things he’d taught me. Sometimes, I wanted to shed a tear, but showing emotion was something I couldn’t afford, no matter how many zeros I had in my bank account.
To the majority of the world, my father was a visionary leader, just like the news reporter said. But to a select few, he was one of the biggest drug dealers in New York, and had been for several decades. He’d immersed me in the game when I was twelve years old, having me at his side during business meetings and going on trips. I knew the inner workings of Holland Enterprises and the underground enterprise that truly scaled our business from the street corner to a Fortune 500 company.
I never expected to lose my father the way I did, but it only made me more determined to take Holland Enterprises to even higher heights, both legally and illegally. That was where Ellis Garrick and his company came in. He was another heavy hitter in the drug game who hailed from Chicago. He had access to more international ports and trade routes than I did, and I wanted in.
The only source of friction between us was his fixation on marriage. He was part of an elite network, an old billionaire boys club where marriage was a requirement. He was testing my loyalty. If I was going to be accepted into his inner circle, I had to appear to be on the path to marriage, and I prayed my fake engagement to Simora would be enough to seal the deal.
I shook my head, refocusing on the fact that I was halfway through reviewing projections for the Garrick deal when my phone buzzed. Rikers Island Correctional Facility came up on the caller ID, and I quickly declined. Seeing that shit pop up on my phone instantly put me in a bad mood. No matter how badly I tried to shake it off, I couldn’t.
Next came a text from Greta, the photographer.
Greta:
Social media posts are live, backdated as requested. Initial response is very positive. Everyone loves a good love story.
Attached was a link to my rarely used Instagram account, instantly populated with a carousel post of carefully crafted “memories” of my relationship with Simora. I scrolled through the images—Simora and I at what appeared to be a weekend in the Hamptons, the two of us having dinner at an exclusive restaurant, casual moments inside my penthouse. Greta’s team had done excellent work with the staging and filtering to make the photos seem authentic and taken over time.
I paused at the kissing photo. There was something in our expression, in the way Simora’s hand rested against my chest, in the slight tension visible in my shoulders, that captured the complexity of the moment. We looked like two people discovering something unexpected. It was compelling, even to me who knew the truth. The caption read: Sometimes the best things in life are worth waiting for. Simple, yet effective.
I switched over to a business news site and found that our engagement was indeed making more headlines: “Holland No Longer Solo: NYC’s Most Eligible Bachelor Off the Market.”The article speculated about Simora, describing her as “the mysterious beauty who captured the heart of the notoriously private CEO.”
Mystique was good. It meant fewer questions about her background, fewer opportunities for inconsistencies to emerge. Greta’s team had created just enough of a digital presence to make Simora seem real without providing too many details about her past that could be questioned.
A soft knock at my office door interrupted my thoughts. I locked my phone quickly, feeling odd, as if I’d been caught doing something inappropriate.
“Come in,” I called out, expecting it to be my housekeeper with a question about tomorrow’s arrangements.
Instead, Simora peeked around the door dressed in simple lounge pants and a loose-fitting T-shirt, her face scrubbed free of makeup, and her hair pulled up in a messy bun. She looked more natural, more vulnerable, and entirely too fuckin’ good.
“Sorry to bother you,” she stated. “I just wanted to ask about tomorrow’s schedule. For Mason. I usually have him in daycare during the week. The only reason he wasn’t there today was because of his fever, so he has to stay home tomorrow too. They have this whole thing about wanting the kids to be fever-free for twenty-four hours without medication before returning.”
I gestured for her to enter. “It’s fine. Maya will be here at nine to take him to the children’s museum and lunch, then to the park if the weather permits. She’ll have him back by four, before we need to leave for our first meeting with Garrick.”
“That sounds great. I really like her.” She hesitated, then added, “At bath time, he told me he’s excited about spending theday with Maya. And at the children’s museum? He doesn’t get many outings like that.”
I heard the unspoken reality behind her words—as a single mother working full-time, expensive excursions were a luxury she couldn’t afford.
“Maya is excellent with children,” I assured her again to put her worries at ease. “She has all the necessary qualifications and emergency contacts.”
“I know,” Simora answered with a small smile. “I wasn’t playing around about checking out her references.”
Of course she wasn’t. I couldn’t help but feel drawn to her, for some reason, but didn’t know why. I vowed that kids would never be in the picture for me after what that bitch Lola did to me, but Simora was a mother, protective and thorough. It was another one of her qualities I respected.
