This Billionaire's Job: This Billionaire, #34

By Rachel Foster

Adam Holt is a successful billionaire who made his fortune off of computer programs. Now he's tackling his new project, a dating app called Love at First Swipe. When his assistant Cole convinces him to market the product by being the first one on the app, he thinks he's crazy. Until he finds himself falling for his marketing job. Allison is a school counselor who loves her career. All the time she's put into her work has prevented her from finding someone to settle down with to have her own family. Her sister Stephanie introduces her to the new dating app. Allison laughs at the idea of a dating service and tells her sister there's no way it will work. Now she's falling for Adam. Everything seems perfect, almost too perfect. It isn't long before Allison finds out that Adam went on the app for his own benefit, to market his product with no cost. Allison is devastated to learn she was all part of his job, but Adam is adamant to prove to her that what started as a career move actually did become love. Will Adam be able to convince Allison he loves her or will his dating app be a bust? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: 3rd Publishing
• Release date: Mar 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215744901

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This Billionaire's Job

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

1. Adam

2. Allison

3. Adam

4. Alli

5. Adam

6. Allison

7. Adam

8. Allison

9. Adam

10. Allison

11. Adam

12. Allison

13. Adam

14. Allison

15. Adam

16. Allison

17. Adam

18. Allison

19. Adam

20. Allison

21. Adam

22. Allison

23. Adam

24. Allison

25. Adam

26. Allison

27. Adam

28. Allison

29. Adam

30. Allison

31. Adam

32. Allison

33. Adam

34. Allison

35. Adam

36. Allison

37. Adam

38. Allison

39. Adam

Epilogue – Allison

1

Adam

I

pushed my hands through my hair, thinking about how ridiculous this all was. I immediately regretted doing that as strands of my hair fell out of place and across my forehead where they remained, annoyingly ticklish. I tucked them back up and smoothed them into place. I looked back down at my computer screen and the hairs fell again. I sighed and gave up. Normally, I wouldn’t have given up, but I didn’t have the patience to keep fussing with it.

I needed to come up with an idea, and soon.

I leaned over my computer, staring at the blank document screen, the white page begging to be filled with ideas. Frustration welled inside my chest. I’d set aside a whole hour of my precious time purely to gather ideas and had nothing to show for it. Time was almost up and I’d wasted all of it.

Well, I could look on the bright side and figure I had discovered many things I didn’t want to work on. But I wasn’t a bright side kind of guy. I was a realist, and the reality was that my head was as empty as the document on the screen, and that didn’t change no matter how you looked at it.

A sharp rapping on my office door disturbed me. I pushed my fingers against my temples. Who is it? I called out, and what do you want?

The door opened. A younger man with a crazy mop of blond hair stepped inside, carrying a packet of something under one arm. He pushed up his glasses using the knuckle of his index finger and glanced sideways at me. Sounds like you’re having a productive time in here, he said.

Cole, I said, you don’t know the half of it.

I’m sure I don’t and I’m not too upset about that. That’s why you’re the boss, after all. Cole walked over, setting his package down on an empty chair. He leaned around and saw my screen. You weren’t kidding, huh?

Definitely not, I replied. I pushed back from the desk and looked up at him. What do you need?

Cole folded his arms. "Well, I was going to ask if you had a minute, but it seems like I should be telling you to take a minute. You seem really stressed. More than normal. What’s up?"

I’ve just got a question and a burning need to answer it.

I’ll try.

I held up my hands. How am I able to run a successful computer programming company with hardly any issue but when it comes to brainstorming ideas for an app, I’ve got nothing? Where’d my creativity go?

Cole smiled sympathetically and knowingly. He’d been my assistant for a considerable length of time and knew me in ways my own parents didn’t. He was my second-in-command, my confidant. I never would have dared ask those questions of anyone else, but he was faithful and kept my secrets like they were his own.

Maybe it’s because you normally work with your teams, he suggested. That has a whole different rhythm to it from working on your own. You’ve got no one to bounce ideas off of, no one to refresh your mind. So, it’s been you sitting here for an hour, trapped with your own thoughts.

That seems like as good of a reason as any, I grunted.

You’re a creative guy, Adam, Cole said. You wouldn’t be half as successful if you didn’t have creativity. You know you can’t force it if it isn’t coming. Sometimes it’s just like that and nothing gets done. Maybe tomorrow you’ll set some time aside again and come up with something amazing.

You have a lot of faith in me. What he said was true, I just wasn’t in the mood to be told to try again later.

Always. You had a lot of faith in me, so... He shrugged. You’ve never given me a reason not to. I’m not just saying that to boost your ego or get another raise -not that I’d say no to a raise. Ha! But what I mean is, I’ve seen you get over way tougher things than a case of imagination block. So don’t give up. Don’t lose hope.

I smiled and shook my head with amazement rather than denial. You’re the president of my fan club, aren’t you?

It’s the first time I’ve ever been president of anything, he said cheerfully. I’m not going to slack on it.

Every day, I’m thankful I decided to overlook that aspect of you. I chuckled.

Cole’s cheeks turned pink. He probably didn’t like to be reminded of that time. It was four years ago, when he had just turned twenty. Not even old enough to drink and never having held a proper job, he’d applied for the assistant position along with professionals who’d worked in the industry for ten, twenty years. When he came in for the interview, he’d worn a sweater vest and a belt that didn’t match his shoes, and his hair had been even longer than it was now. His glasses had been broken, held together with a piece of tape colored on with Sharpie to make it blend in with the plastic.

I’d had no intention of hiring the poor sap but thought I’d give him a chance. I didn’t think many other people would, what with his resume. He was only slightly above average in all his modest accomplishments, and he had never led anything or even been part of anything very interesting or noteworthy. At most, he had prospects to be in data entry, much lower down in the company.

But I took him into my office and he apologized for his appearance and said he had convinced himself for some time that being asked in for an interview was part of a dream he had, and thus hadn’t had time to prepare properly. Not a good opener, but his honesty was refreshing and spending time talking to him seemed a better prospect than anything else I had to do. I served us both coffee and asked him about his resume.

And he was upfront with me. He didn’t embellish or use vague phrasing to get around his flaws. He stated that he knew he wasn’t the best intellectually but that he would bring his best to the table, and he was ready for anything. He didn’t say it in those words exactly, but that was the gist of the conversation.

I wound up spending longer with him than any other candidate. Later that night, as I was making my decision, I realized I had known from the beginning that I would choose him. What I had wanted was someone who knew what they were doing and could take responsibilities off my shoulders. After I met Cole, that changed. I realized someone open and honest and unafraid to speak the truth was what I needed. Someone young and willing, who could adapt to my needs. Kindness and genuineness couldn’t be taught, while all the technical knowledge could be.

Well, anyway, Cole said, a little awkwardly, still blushing pretty hard. The whole reason I wanted to talk to you was to show you the papers.

Papers? I looked over at the chair where he’d set his packet. Is that what you brought? Like I don’t see enough papers? I joked.

Cole laughed. I don’t know if you remember being interviewed for an article, but they finally got it published. You’re on the second page. There’s a huge picture of you beside the article. You look... pretty good. Did you do something with your hair?

I touched my hair and frowned. No. It just won’t behave. Oh, you mean when I had my picture taken? I couldn’t recall.

Cole’s lip quivered like he was holding back laughter. Well, wait ‘til you see it and let me know what you think. Back to work for me, then.

Have fun.

Always do. He gave a little wave as he walked out of the room.

I turned to my blank computer screen and sighed. That had used up the last of my time. Probably for the best. At least it had ended on a good note.

My phone rang and I picked it up without thinking about it. It was a reflexive movement. Whenever any phone rang and I was there to hear it, my arm would twitch and my fingers clench with the urge to grab.

Yes?

Adam, Mr. Jacks is here for his appointment. Should I send him in? My secretary, Shauna, had two voices. Normal and client-is-present. From her tone, she was in client-is-present mode. I had no doubt Mr. Jacks was currently looming over her, observing her. He was a nosy man, a perfectionist who needed to be aware of every minor detail.

Sounded like trust issues to me. Or he didn’t have the best company. Hire good people and do right by them, and you won’t have to watch them every second.

I really wasn’t looking forward to the appointment, but it was important. Each appointment was important.

Send him in, I said.

And the day was back on track, business as per usual. I met with my clients, answered only the most urgent of phone calls, signed more papers than I could count on all my fingers and toes combined. Time blurred. The next thing I knew, my office was darker because the sun had gown down and Shauna was popping in to tell me she was leaving for the night.

Have a good one, I told her.

Not as good as I’ll have tomorrow, she replied cheerfully.

I smiled. Tomorrow was Friday. She didn’t work weekends. I usually did, and her duties usually fell upon Cole’s shoulders.

Shauna headed out, her heels clicking softer and softer as she moved further away. The office was dead silent after that. Most people would have already gone home by that point, except for a few working overtime to finish projects, and a couple security guards and members of the cleaning staff.

I looked at my computer and thought of my empty Ideas document. I could stick around for a little while and see if I could come up with anything now. However, as I considered the idea, a sense of dread and trepidation fell over me like a heavy, constricting blanket. I turned the computer off and stood from my desk. That could wait. Cole was right that I was stuck in my own head. I wouldn’t accomplish anything aside from making myself dread the process even further.

It was time to go home.

I packed my things into my briefcase and picked it up. I grabbed my keys and headed for the door. I shut and locked it behind me and went for the elevator. As I stood there waiting for the elevator to come to me, I suddenly recalled the newspapers Cole had brought me. I hadn’t looked at them.

The elevator made its soft humming as the lift continued to move. I sighed and turned away and went back to the office. Cole sometimes came in early to get things ready for me, and I didn’t want him to see the untouched box. I wasn’t about to take the risk of hurting his feelings.

I grabbed a paper from the bundle he’d brought. He always picked up packages of the papers and magazines I was in. I took what I wanted, and he’d put the rest in the break room. Originally, the idea was for me to take the whole deal home to share with friends and family, but I hardly ever did. I didn’t like the idea of shoving my success under the noses of my peers. It felt cheap. I was sure they heard enough about me through other means.

I tucked the paper under my arm and went back to the elevator. The doors opened as soon as I pushed the button this time. I stepped on and rode the lift down to the lobby. A chubby security guard sat behind the desk where the receptionists usually did. He looked up and smiled, his Asian features round and kind. Goodnight, Mr. Holt.

Night. Hold the fort down until I get back.

You know it. Drive safe. I heard something about an accident because of the rain earlier.

I nodded to show I’d heard him and headed for the doors. I pushed through the rotating door and stepped out underneath the overhang. It wasn’t raining currently but it must have been earlier. I really hadn’t noticed. Great puddles formed on the sidewalk and in the middle of the street, and the gutters had become swirling rapids. Rather than boulders, the running water was torn to foam by clumps of trash.

I stepped around a slick, oily puddle and headed for the parking lot. The air was damp, thick, coating my skin with a sheen of humidity. The newspaper didn’t get wet, or even damp, but it felt the same way my skin did, saturated with a fine layer of moisture.

I tossed my things in the passenger side of the car and drove for home, stopping only once to pick up a burger and some fries. My house was at the edge of town in a gated community, one of many large homes with lavish gardens and lawns that had never known a weed. I exchanged a brief greeting with the guard at the gate and continued through the gate. A plethora of lampposts lit up the street like it was daytime, banishing every last spooky shadow to the deepest recesses of hedges and decorative miniature pine trees.

At home, I turned on the news and ate in front of the TV. Nothing particularly new or exciting was going on. I turned the volume down, reducing the hosts’ voices to ghostly murmurs. I liked the background noise.

I wiped my hands off on a napkin and reached for the paper, heretofore tossed aside on a couch cushion. The moisture had crinkled the pages, smeared a few words.

The front headline was about some celebrity and their revealed secret life. I was a bit offended that I was on page two. As if some manufactured drama had more impact upon the locals than my business, when I was the largest individual employer in the state. Mega corporations had me beat on quantity, never quality.

I read through the article and found it to be okay. Nothing spectacular. It highlighted some of my recent deals and business ventures. I didn’t recall exactly why I had agreed to the interview in the first place. I supposed I had to make public appearances every now and again, or something like that. After all, whether it was fair or not, I was the face of the company, and the value of my business was based upon me.

Cole mentioned something about the... picture?

I took a closer look at the picture beside the article, and finally understood why Cole had been so amused. I did remember getting my picture taken at that interview. This wasn’t it. This was a picture of me from two years ago at a Christmas function. I recognized the suit, the background.

I shook my head, amused. I shot Cole a quick text. What’s up with the pic?

He replied, leading with a smiley face emoticon. I know, rite? I asked. They say a computer malfunction got it deleted so they found another. C what I meant about ur hair?

I did used to have a different hairstyle. It used to be longer. I got tired of the extra time it took to style it and had my stylist tweak it so I had less work to do each morning. I could only guess at how much flack the paper had gotten for its inclusion of that picture. Who had picked that picture and why? Why not ask for another one from me? Pride?

I leafed through the rest of the paper without really seeing anything of interest. I turned back to the article on me, still amused by the weird picture choice. They must have had to scramble to reformat the page for the different picture because the layout was a bit on the weird side. There was an advertisement at the bottom of the page, a little too close to the text for comfort.

Need a date to the dance? I read. Call us to be matched with your sweetheart.

I laughed. There was always a dance in February for that sort of thing. I’d never taken much of an interest in it, myself. I wondered what led to the advertisement. Were not enough people coming? Relationships were a tricky ocean to navigate in this day and age. More people were single for longer.

Taking a bit of the pressure out of the process of finding a date for the dance was actually a good idea. Get a list of hopefuls and match them up for a night of fun. It’d drum up some more business for the companies that funded and attended the dance, and it meant more donations because the dance was also a fundraiser. There were contests to enter, prizes to be claimed...

Maybe some of the pairs would become friends. Or more than friends.

More than friends.

I set the paper down and sat back, thinking hard. Suddenly, everything made sense.

The idea I had been so desperately reaching for was right there all along.

A dating app. It sounded so silly, so brilliant when said aloud. Dating apps were entirely outside of the realm of anything I had ever worked on. It would be a challenge, and I loved challenges.

I grabbed a pen and started jotting down thoughts in the margins of the paper, eager to catch them while they were coming. I didn’t want to forget.

Naturally, it couldn’t be just any other dating app. The most successful apps were those that targeted a specific group of people. I needed to find a niche, an untapped market -or a market I could tap better than the competitors. That was where my team would help me, by brainstorming the potential markets. I listed a couple that came to find off the top of my head. Then, I moved off to the specs, the details of the app that would play behind the scenes. That was the bulk of any programming job, getting the guts of the program to function properly so all a customer had to do was push Download and then Open.

My thoughts ran their course faster than I would have liked, but I was smiling. I had my idea. Now I could do what I liked to do best.

I could get busy.

2

Allison

"H

i, Nora. I sat down next to the little girl and smiled at her. How are you this morning?"

Nora peeked at me shyly from behind too-long bangs, greasy from having gone unwashed for days. I’m okay, Miss Alli.

I’m glad to hear it. Did you have anything to eat for breakfast this morning?

Nora shook her head. She stopped looking at me as she answered. Five years old was too young for most kids to begin noticing that they were different from others, but Nora was an exception. She knew. She saw others having what she did not. She knew most other kids at school had breakfast each morning before coming in. She was ashamed of it, even though she didn’t understand why she felt that way.

My heart ached.

I hid the pain behind a smile. I was going to have a snack. Would you like one, too?

Yes, please.

I stood up and went to my mini fridge. I always kept drinks and snacks on hand. It was hard to be sad when you were eating, and you couldn’t cry while you were drinking. And it had made a lot of teachers particularly friendly toward me. Sometimes you just needed to step out of class while the kids were taking a test and get yourself a cookie. And I was the cookie supplier.

I pulled out a packet of cookies and a couple cartons of milk, set them on the table, and grabbed a sandwich I’d put in there earlier. Crunch peanut butter and blackberry jelly, cut into four small triangles, crustless.

Nora thought that was the way I liked to eat my sandwiches. All the kids thought I ate their favorite foods the same way they did, so they wouldn’t know it was special for them and feel guilty.

Nora watched closely while I opened the cartons of milk. I put one near her and opened the cookie package. Nora took a cookie with small, careful fingers and started to nibble. Her nibbles turned into happy bites and soon the cookie was gone but for crumbs.

I leaned my elbows on the table. I had a desk. Never used it. Desks were for authority. Tables were for friends. Did you like all the rain yesterday?

Nora nodded. I like rain. When it’s not raining, Mommy makes me go outside to play. When it rains, I get to stay inside and play.

What game did you play? I ate a cookie, and it was dry and tasteless on my tongue.

Hide-and-seek with Mr. Rabbit.

Mr. Rabbit was her stuffed toy. Her only stuffed toy so far as I knew. Mr. Rabbit was a frog, but frogs hopped like rabbits, so that was his name.

Did you hide and Mr. Rabbit try to find you?

Nora shook her head no. Mr. Rabbit hid and Mommy tried to find him. I helped, but I didn’t tell her where Mr. Rabbit was and she got mad ‘cause she said I knew, but I don’t know. Mr. Rabbit hides himself. He’s a very smart Mr. Rabbit.

Where is Mr. Rabbit today?

Nora peeked at me and said nothing.

I leaned in and whispered, I can keep a secret.

Nora’s serious expression dissolved into a smile and she giggled around a mouthful of cookie. Really? she whispered back.

I nodded.

Nora looked around to make sure we were alone. She whispered to me, Inside my pillow.

Such a tricky Mr. Rabbit. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. I’ve already forgotten! I lightly hit my head with my palm.

Nora laughed more. You’re silly, Miss Alli.

Yes, I am. Eat some of my sandwich, Nora. I couldn’t eat it all on my own. I took one of the sandwich pieces and made myself eat it. I loved cashew butter and organic cherry spread sweetened with honey on toasted whole wheat bread. This was... nowhere close. I made myself eat it anyway, or else Nora wouldn’t.

There were a lot of things Nora wouldn’t do. Or couldn’t do.

Nora took a piece of sandwich for herself and started to eat. Do you play any games, Miss Alli?

I like to read and color in my coloring books.

Growed-ups can play coloring?

We sure can, I said.

Can I see?

I didn’t bring any of my books to school today, but I’ll bring them tomorrow.

Nora kept eating. I can see you again tomorrow?

Yes. You can see me whenever you want.

She always asked that, with a terrible doubt lingering in her voice. She didn’t seem aware of her own sense of impermanence, which no child so young should have. She should feel like all the days stretched out before her, instead of worrying if they would come to an end.

Since she seemed interested in coloring, I asked her questions along that vein. Did she like crayons or pencils? What was her favorite color? Anything to keep her talking. Anything to keep her engaged and building listening and speaking and social skills.

My position at Joy Marsh Elementary School -named after the lady responsible for the opening of the school some twenty years ago- was both a happy and a sad one. As a school counselor, I got to interact with the students on a level their teachers and even their parents didn’t. I expected nothing from them,