This Billionaire's City Girl: This Billionaire, #44

By Rachel Foster

Mason was just an ordinary country boy with a lot of land he inherited from his late grandfather. Things seemingly were perfect in his life minus his dad's tough critiques of his life and his struggle to find a country girl. After going out with some friends, he thought he had found the perfect girl. Sweet, kind, and country, at least he thought.Millie was a city girl through and through. Desperate for a break from her job, she goes out to her college roommate's hometown in Missouri. She spends time with her college roommate and friend Elaina and finds herself falling for Mason. She doesn't reveal that she's actually been living in the city.It doesn't take long before it's revealed that she's been living in New York City for a few years by no one other than Mason's ex. Will Mason take a chance on a city girl or will he leave everything he's ever cared about? A HEA that proves love conquers all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 3rd Publishing
• Release date: Mar 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215014004

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This Billionaire's City Girl

Rachel Foster

Copyright © 2018 by Rachel Foster

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Epilogue

1

M

ason

The Kansas City sun was unforgiving as I bent over to work the tip of my shovel into the ground. Without a cloud in the sky, the sun’s rays were free to beat down on my back, causing my skin to prickle like pins from the heat. Sweat dripped into my brow that I swiped away with the sleeve of my shirt, huffing as I stood upright and glanced at my brother.

He wasn’t doing any better than me. Though he had tied a handkerchief around his forehead, the black cloth gleaming with sweat from doing its job, his cheeks were ruddy and his usually tan peach skin with prairie yellow undertones hosted blotches of red like he had wrestled with a thorn bush—and lost. His green eyes were nearly hidden by him squinting through the waves of heat rising from the dirt. But when he looked at me, it looked like I was glancing into one of those dollar-store bins with a bunch of crystals overflowing from the center. That’s how bright his eyes were.

It was a family trait, green eyes. I had them, too. Mine had some speckles of orange, an individual characteristic I had likely picked up from my mother, but I looked like my father through and through. I had his golden-brown tan with prairie yellow undertones. I had the rusty freckles, the reddish-brown dots splattering over my skin like an artist who had accidentally spilled a can of paint.

Isaac sighed as he planted his shovel in the dirt and shook his head. It’s too hot, Mason. It’s just too hot.

It wouldn’t be too hot if we were in the shade.

Dad wants the pit here.

I snorted. He did this on purpose.

Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? It’s closer to the house.

We wouldn’t be wasting our sweat out here on a damn pit if he would just have us hire a few farm hands to help with everything else.

He shrugged. You know how Dad is about the family business.

Ever since we bought that plot next to Grandpa’s, it’s been nonstop.

I know. I need to be able to have a life without working here all the time.

I chuckled. And God save your skin.

I’m going to tan even more by tomorrow.

You might turn into a lobster.

He shook his head. Nope. I remembered the sun screen this time.

We don’t even look related. That’s how pale you are.

"I’m not that pale. He paused for a second and then added, Though Elaina says I could use a better tan."

I laughed. I’m surprised you’re not wearing long sleeves.

In this heat? Jesus, Mason. You want me to have a heat stroke?

I sighed as I dropped my shovel and wandered over to a nearby bench. I lifted a bottle of water from the cooler next to the bench and pressed the cool plastic to my face, adding more liquid to my skin. It didn’t matter. I was overheated. I wanted to sit down.

When Isaac walked over, I tossed a bottle to him and he gratefully uncapped it, pouring water all over his face.

I cackled. You never did love the farm like I did.

It’s not my thing, he claimed in a nasally voice. He cleared his throat, swigged back the water, and cleared his throat again. After a few deep breaths, he said, My allergies hate it.

How are we related again?

We’re not.

I shook my head. Not according to our parents.

Well, they can be wrong sometimes.

"They can be wrong a lot of times, Isaac."

He sighed, a heaviness weighing on his shoulders and causing him to drop onto the bench. He snapped his handkerchief from his forehead and dipped it into the cooler, letting it soak up the ice that had melted this morning. When he lifted the bandana, he draped it over his face and sighed again.

I sat next to my brother. What’s up?

It’s just not the same without Grandpa working with us.

I quietly nodded as I stared out at the fields. The place was gorgeous. Herman Farms boasted approximately 1,200 acres of land with corn, cattle, calves, and hogs. We had a standard two-story house with a four-car garage right next to it. We had a huge barn for farm equipment. We had everything we needed as far as the eye could see—and there was even more beyond that.

Lush fields rose in the distance marked with patches of trees. A forest exploded to my left where we often hunted. I was willing to bet the treehouse that Isaac and I had built with our dad was still in there, too, likely worn and rusty from exposure to the elements. To my right was the house and my depressed-looking brother who had pulled the handkerchief from his face to reveal reddened cheeks and watery green eyes.

You need a break? I asked. I mean, you look rough.

Maybe.

I nodded toward the house. Go inside. I’ll finish the pit.

He walked off without argument. I stood up and squinted up at the sky, cursing the sun for being so unforgiving on today of all days. After the pit was finished, I dove into various other tasks, checking on the hogs, cleaning up the barn, and discovering that one of the machines was acting up. I hauled my tools from the shed and got to work repairing it.

By the middle of the afternoon, I was exhausted. I wiped my hands on my overalls and stood up from the ground, scrubbing my fingers through my chin-length blond hair. That was something that wasn’t anything like my father’s. He didn’t like my long hair. It wasn’t even long, but it was long by his standards, and it was something he liked to mention all the time.

Speak of the devil, I muttered under my breath when I noticed his periwinkle blue Chevy pickup creaking toward me.

I blew out a loud sigh and snatched my hat from my back pocket while scooping my hair back. I planted my hat on my head and shrugged my shoulders, waiting for my dad to come to a halt next to me.

Earl Mason had weathered features from every year he spent in the fields. He grew up on the farm with his father, learning how to turn a profit and how to take care of the land. He knew everything there was to know about everything, which occasionally went to his head. His wrinkled features looked more like leather than skin, but he still looked human, by most standards, and his eyes were like mine: as green as crystals.

His blue hat was as tattered as he looked, and his overalls were a shade lighter than mine from being washed so many times. His white undershirt had oil stains. He rested his arm on the door of the truck and leaned over after putting the truck into park.

I raised my eyebrows. Why aren’t you out with the cattle?

Dad yanked off his hat and retorted, Why aren’t you in the hay fields?

I had to do the fire pit you wanted, remember?

"When are you going to get to the hay fields?"

I shook my head. I had to fix the machine first, Pop.

Well, why was it broken to begin with?

I don’t know, Pop. The weather? Rats? Who knows?

He pointed with his index finger and said, Don’t catch an attitude with me.

Farm equipment breaks. It rusts over time. It just needed fixing, Pop.

Is it done?

I nodded. Yeah, it’s done, but I’m beat. I have to go inside and shower.

When I was your age—

You didn’t shower for a whole week. I know, Pop. That’s gross.

He blew a raspberry—which either indicated his disbelief or reinforced the fact that he was always frustrated, no matter what I said—and waved away my comment. You got it so good, kid. You don’t even know it.

I rolled my eyes. You know, that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe we should hire some farm hands so that things get done around here. With that extra land next to Grandpa’s, it’s too much.

Dad laughed. Son, when I was a kid that wasn’t even an option. Maybe you need to stay out here a little later than you normally do.

I appreciate the advice, Dad, but I don’t really know how I could work anymore than I do.

And go get a haircut.

I scrubbed my forehead. Dad, it doesn’t get in the way. It’s fine.

Alright, I’ll talk to you later.

He drove off before I could say anything else. I stared after the periwinkle blue Chevy, watching clouds of dust roil up from the back tires. Red clay tinked against the undercarriage as the vehicle drifted away, the body of the truck bouncing dangerously. That needed fixing, too. But hell if I was about to point that out to my old fart of a father.

The dust billowed toward me like an approaching storm, which seemed fitting considering I had just encountered my dad. And the storm clouds would stick around. With us, they were always nearby, ready to strike the ground with lightning and shake the sky loose. That’s just how it was.

And it would likely never change.

2

M

illie

I leaned over my desk with my head in my hands as the fan above my head whirred rhythmically. I focused on the sound, honed in on it, and tried my best to let it ground me. I had spent the entire morning pouring over proposals for my boss while balancing phone calls, emails, and people popping into my office. It was getting close to the end of the day, but I was hardly done with work. And I think I was approaching the end of my rope.

My phone buzzed in my desk drawer. I did my best not to look at it while I was trying to dig into the mountain of work in front of me, but I needed a quick distraction. I needed something that wasn’t all about projected numbers or potential profits. I was getting sick of numbers. I wanted to look at pictures of puppies or something that would remind me I had a life outside of work.

Good luck with that, I thought glumly as I pulled open the desk drawer. I don’t even have a life outside of work. There’s life beyond these walls, but it’s not my life.

I clutched my phone in my hand, feeling the cool exterior of the device as well as the rigid silicone that protected my phone from my slippery fingers. I took a deep breath and sighed as I glanced around at my office. A couple of ferns sat near the window, much livelier than I could ever be, along with a couch and a coffee table. Next to the couch was a coffee pot which I used often and then there was nothing between the couch and the door, simply an expanse of dark blue carpet that cushioned the sound of my heels.

I lifted my phone and stared at the screen.

And just like that, I had a smile on my face.

I feel like Kent just knows when I’m stressed, I thought as I unlocked my phone. He always texts me when I’m swamped with work.

Hey, sis, he wrote. When are you coming home next?

I sighed as I slouched over my desk. My job is taking over my life, Kent.

Haven’t we practiced saying no? I feel like I remember us doing that.

We did. And I’ve been practicing in the mirror at home, even though that creeps me out.

He sent a smiley emoji and added, So?

So, nothing. I’m not good at it.

That’s why you’re supposed to practice.

I snorted. That’s easy for you to say.

Alright, let’s try something else. Switch jobs?

It makes me too nervous to start a new job.

I could practically hear him sigh. I knew the expression he was wearing, too. It was the same expression he gave me that was full of as much love as annoyance. He would smirk with disbelief, raise his eyebrows, and then soften his expression into a warm smile.

Millie, you need to do something. It’s not going to change itself.

I know, Kent.

Cue him sighing in my head again. Well, I can’t help you from here. You know your family misses you a lot, right?

I miss you guys, too.

So, take some time off. Come visit.

I placed my phone on my desk while staring at the screen. Kent was right. I did need time off, but I also didn’t want to hurt my potential here. This job was going well, minus all the ridiculous extra work I was doing. I had a decent apartment here in New York and I was finally getting into a good rhythm.

But I missed my family so much. It had always been a dream of mine to leave the Midwest and settle down in the big city. And New York was full of all kinds of potential. It was the place I knew my dreams would come true. It worked for plenty of other people. Why couldn’t it work for me, too?

Did my dreams involve being a doormat? Because that’s kind of what’s happening.

I shook the thought out of my head and replaced it with positive thinking. I loved my job. I loved my apartment. I loved everything about New York—if I didn’t think too hard about the dirty streets, the unclean subways, and the perpetual smell of exhaust lingering in the air. And then there was the catcalling, the muggings, the parks overwhelmed by the homeless, and every problem that every city had, but magnified because, well, New York.

I lifted my phone. I’ll see what I can do.

That’s all I ask.

I smiled and returned my phone to its place in the desk drawer. After shutting the drawer, I closed my eyes and visualized finishing all of my work. I wasn’t going to be able to get anything done if I stayed upset about it. Instead, I chose to focus on what I could do. I took a few cleansing breaths and smiled to myself. After I felt cleansed, I opened my eyes and dove back into the mountain of folders on my desk.

I spent the rest of the afternoon making a sizeable dent in the pile of folders. I was down to the last three, the smile on my face shifting into a smirk of determination. I popped open a folder, sped through the text, and made a few comments on a sticky note I had nearby. I placed the sticky notes wherever they needed to be placed and finished the folder, moving on to the next one.

By the time I was done, my head throbbed and my lower back ached. I stood up and walked to the window while resting my hands behind my head. I leaned into the stretch, feeling my chest muscles grow taut as I arched back with a groan. When I released the stretch, I sighed loudly.

I held my lower back. God, I need a posture pillow for that chair.

I shrugged my shoulders as I watched the traffic pass below. The streets were clogged with enough cars to cause mayhem, quiet mayhem, because posted on every block was a sign saying that horn honking was a sizeable fine. So, it was quiet chaos.

I was well above the chaos, but not so much that everything looked like ants. I could make out my favorite bakery on the corner of the intersection, the hot dog cart that I went to practically every day for lunch, and the familiar pedestrians who passed like clockwork on their way home from work.

I sighed as I placed my hands on my hips and studied the grid system below me. I shook my head as I turned around, slowly trudging back to my desk to organize the folders. All I had to do was drop them off with my boss and I could head home.

That is if I could avoid any more work piled up on me at the last minute.

Ever since I showed initiative here, it seemed like Veronica took every opportunity to dump something on me. And it was my fault for that. I was just talking about that with Kent. I had a problem saying no and it was rearing its ugly head right back at me.

But today, I felt committed to leaving on time. I wanted to go home, kick up my feet, and relax with a glass of wine while watching my favorite shows. I deserved that. I needed that. It had been too long since I had been able to do that without anyone around.

Since Jason left, I’ve had so much time to myself. I didn’t realize how much I truly needed it.

I smiled as I started packing up my things. I slung my purse over my shoulder and lifted the massive pile of folders I needed to drop off. As I rounded my desk, a knock came from the door and caused me to squeak. I fumbled the folders, nearly dropping them until I recovered the pile and slapped them against my chest.

I could hear my heart beating in my ears as I focused on my boss, Veronica, standing confidently in the doorway. My features sank, but I managed to smile.

Veronica, hey, I greeted. I was just about to drop these off with you.

You don’t have any plans tonight, do you?

Well, I was going to—

Veronica beamed. Great! I’m going to need you to help me on a project that I’m feeling overwhelmed with.

She waved for me to follow her, flipping around without turning back to see if I was going to be a good worker bee and chase after her. I sighed quietly as I made my way into the hallway and past the line of offices on the way to hers. The place was practically empty at this point. Most offices had their lights off, the blinds drawn, the doors tightly shut. Mine hadn’t even gotten the chance to have the lights turned off. My boss had grabbed me before I could do that.

I don’t want to stay here, I thought grimly as I walked into my boss’s office. She knows I don’t have plans. She knows I never have plans. It’s not fair.

I plastered a smile on my face as she gestured to the round table in her office. I set the file folders I had finished on her desk and joined her at the table. A box of donuts and coffee sat to the left with another stack of folders that looked suspiciously like the ones I had just finished sitting to the right.

Well, at least there was food.

Help yourself, she said while pointing to the donuts. I’ve already had three. Sugar helps me think.

Yeah, same for me.

I’m so glad you agreed to help me tonight.

I forced another smile. I didn’t exactly have a choice.

This thing is just driving me crazy, Veronica continued. Can you review these numbers here? I feel like I’m staring at symbols at this point.

Yeah, sure.

She slid a page across the table in front of me and I felt the weight of my shoulders dropping forward. More numbers. More math. I didn’t think my brain could manage to do it, but I couldn’t say no. Even after my chat with Kent, I just couldn’t say no. How could I? I was single, I was available, and this would all turn into overtime and bonuses that would help me pay for that apartment.

And since Jason didn’t live with me anymore, I needed all the help I could get paying for that place.

I spent a great chunk of the evening with my boss. After helping her with her project, I grabbed my purse and practically sprinted from the building to my car. At least there wasn’t that much traffic anymore, but I had to be quick about it because Friday night traffic in Manhattan was an absolute nightmare.

Once I got home, I stumbled into my apartment and plopped face down on my couch. I was exhausted. My feet were sore. My head was spinning with leftover numbers from what I was doing at work. The numbers didn’t even make sense anymore. They merely circled around in my brain like a tornado.

I need to go home, I thought. I need to see my family and catch my breath before this job ruins my entire life.

It wasn’t like I had much of a life since I had left my ex-fiance. But still, it would have been nice to come home and drink wine while watching my evening sitcoms. After resting for a minute on the couch, I stood up, went to the kitchen, and poured myself that glass of wine that I knew I deserved.

3

M

ason

Mom set a bowl of potato salad in the middle of the table next to cucumber sandwiches, freshly grilled burgers, and a host of side dishes that I knew she had spent the morning whipping up. Isaac sat behind me with a look of hunger that could only be described as ravenous, and my father sat on the other side of me with the same expression he always wore whenever he sat near me: disappointment.

Or at least that’s what I always saw.

My mother rubbed my shoulder as she passed me, prompting my attention. She was only a few years younger than my father, but she had the same weathered features and graying hair. Her eyes were bright, full of love, and her fingers were calloused from working on the farm in between cooking, baking, sewing, and fixing furniture.

She wore a pleated plaid apron that had frills on the sleeves that she whipped off before plopping into a chair across from me. She sighed as she gestured to the table. Alright, boys. Dig in.

Thanks, Mom.

Isaac and I argued over the burgers while Dad shook his head and Mom giggled discreetly. It wasn’t terribly discreet because it was the same reaction every time, Dad included, but it was sweet how she tried to hide her amusement. She knew exactly how Isaac and I were. Even though we were grown men, we were still brothers, and brothers argued over everything.

I swatted Isaac’s hand when he tried to grab a slice of cheese before me. Mom sighed and shot me a stern look that still held enough affection to convince me she cared. I shrugged and sat back, allowing my brother to grab the cheese first.

It doesn’t matter how old you two get, does it? she teased.

Nope, I replied.

We never get along, Isaac added.

Maybe that’s why the chores don’t get done on time, Dad chimed in.

I gripped my knee beneath the table to hide my disgust. It was always one thing or another with Dad. And though