Page 51 of The Runaway Billionaire's Inconvenient Baby
“Congratulations, sir,” says one of the lawyers, beaming. I don’t say anything in response. How can I? There’s nothing good about this.
That night, I lie in bed, awake, staring at the ceiling, gripped in terror. Even if everyone got evicted, even if I moved back and was completely alone, I would be haunted by the ghosts of them. I would remember all the places Billie and I had gone, all the ways the townspeople had welcomed me in with open arms when they didn’t need to.
I’d remember the bonfires, the clothes, the late nights, the early mornings, the sweet taste of hot coffee on my lips.
Billie.
Half a dozen times over the last few weeks, I’ve thought about calling her. I’ve thought about messaging. I’ve thought about showing up at her door, but the idea of getting yelled at by her again is completely unappealing.
I want to make her understand, but I can’t figure out how to make her see through the betrayal, the pain — the hurt I caused her.
When I finally fall asleep, I dream of Billie on the beach, of her supple body, the smell of our sweat, the smell of the sea. I wake up more miserable than I was before.
Part of me wants to lie in bed until I rot away for good, but for the residents of Havenridge, I have to be better than that. Idrag myself out of bed, make some gross instant coffee, and call James.
“Who’s the proud owner of a new island?” he says, and I can practically see his smug little grin. This is definitely a win for him. I don’t think he often gets to complete such big sales, and I’ve no doubt that he’s getting a fat bonus for it.
“I’m miserable,” I tell him, not pulling any punches.
“Miserable?” He sounds surprised. “Why? You’re getting everything you want.”
“No, I’m not,” I snap. There’s a long silence, and for a second, I think James has hung up on me. I stare at wisps of steam floating up into the air, fading against the plain white walls of my apartment, listening to the sound of him breathing down the line like his brain is trying to catch up with what his ears are hearing.
“The final eviction notice has been served,” he says at last. “People are going to be forcibly moved out next week if they haven’t already gone.”
“How many of them have gone?” I whisper.
“A tiny percentage. You were right when you said these people were stubborn. It’s like they think that grouping together is going to change anything.”
James keeps talking, bad-mouthing the islanders, laughing at their small little lives, and each word he says stabs another dagger into my chest and twists. This is exactly what I sound like, what Ididsound like. What Billie hears when she I’m speaking.
He sounds so callous, so cold, so selfish. All of those words could describe me. I wish they didn’t.
“James,” I say, cutting him off mid-sentence. He hums in question. “Figure out a way that I can gift the land of the island to the inhabitants. Soon. Now.”
“What?” he stammers.
“You heard me. I want to give the land to the people who live there.”
There’s another long silence. This time he sighs. “Why would you want to do that when we just went to all the trouble of buying this thing as fast as possible to get rid of these people?”
“I’ve changed,” I say softly.
“Don’t tell me being on that island made you into some sort of bleeding-heart hippie?” James scoffs.
“It did,” I say. It’s not quite true, but any human emotion is beyond understanding for someone like him. Then I feel an anger bubbling inside my stomach, something I hadn’t been able to put a name to before. But it is anger. Fury that he can speak like this, that he can treat people’s lives like games. That I can too. And have. No one should be able to have that much power.
“I realized something,” I say hesitantly, my thoughts reeling through my head. “I realized that what I’m trying to get away from is people like you. CEOs and profiteers and people who think that wealth and fame are more important than anything. That’s what she— whattheyshowed me. None of that matters. All that matters is being there for the people next to you and showing them your heart. Seeing what you have and being grateful for it.”
“Jacob, what is wrong with you?” James sounds truly uncertain now, his voice wavering with a note of confusion and panic.
“I’ll pay you whatever you want,” I say, done with this. I don’t care what he thinks or says. My mind is made up. “Figure it out for me. This land is going back to the residents. Withdraw the eviction notices. None of them need to leave.”
“And you?” he asks. My heart thumps in my chest. “Are you still going to move? Or is this performative bull? You’re New Jacob, some sort of superhero who likes other people now?”
The blood rushes through my brain, making my ears ring. I hadn’t thought this far through the plan. That’s my problem, isn’t it? I never do. “How can we get the eviction notices withdrawn?” I ask again.
“I suppose it can be done, but someone will have to go there and tell them that all the notices have been rescinded. We’ll need it in writing, and they’ll need to hear it. It looks bad to issue a retraction letter, right?”
