Alpha Billionaire Series
Billionaire and the Barista Chapter 8

NATHAN

Four years later...

I stood in my father's office and stared at the piles of documents and file folders.

Of all the things to bring me back home, my father's death was the last thing I had imagined. What ha into the St. Louis office I realized I wouldn't be returning to Europe anytime soon.

There had only been a few days' notice for me to pack my bags and fly over from Amsterdam. My fathe called and informed me that I would be taking over the US offices.

"How did he replace anything in this mess?" I asked the assistant I had inherited with the position.

ed off to be a two-week extended visit for the funeral, and to help my mother while she grieved turned into a permanent relocation. The morning I walked

dden death caught us all off guard. I was staying in my mother's house for the time following the service when my uncle, who had already returned to Europe,

"He didn't," she said with a weary sigh. Her name was Cameron and she had managed- or maybe it was put up with- my father's system for the past two years. "Filing cabinets?"

She shrugged. "And yet..."

"There was a method to his madness. Unfortunately, only he knew what it was," she finished my thoug The office wasn't a madhouse of chaos, but it was unorganized. My father's assistant didn't know whe I had been dangerously stupid, and I had been beyond my father's control. Shipping me away from th It wasn't my uncle who got me to finally act like an adult. There was nothing like a series of losses tha Taking over the US office had been discussed many times. It was assumed that I would eventually trar nice idea, but the reality of it was nothing more than a dream.

Well, the dream was coming true. Only it was more of a nightmare than anything else. And I certainly in jeans and a Henley with the sleeves rolled up.

"Suggestions, Cameron?" I asked, looking at the piles.

hing was. He had been bad at delegating and wanted to be in control of everything. Case in point, my life. temptations and to my uncle had been my dad's solution for forcing me to grow up.

fe into perspective. First, I lost Gabriella to my ego, and then I lost my friend Fred to a motorcycle accident. There wasn't much left for me other than work. ack to the States. But eventually had been an abstract concept, a lot like returning to replace Gabriella and convincing her to come to Europe with me. It was a

thought it would have been under such rushed circumstances. I hadn't brought any business clothes with me, and I stood in the middle of an executive office

"We take over the conference room, bring in some temps, buy a bunch of bankers boxes for temporary filing, and get it sorted," she said. "Sounds like a plan. See to it. I am going to need to see any open property searches and the files for anything we are in the middle of." She made a low noise in her throat. It sounded like a threat response. "Problem?"

She gestured to the piles. "Gavin should have open property searches, as that is his wheelhouse. But anything that is under contract..." she sighed. "I'm hoping we discover that he had a preferred pile. The only things on his desk were three properties actively in development. I'm going to miss the old man, but I am not going to miss his system. Sorry."

She looked abashed with her confession.

"Not to worry. It's not like he made this easy on either of us."

My sleeves were already rolled up, it was time to hit the ground running. I had to catch up in a hurry. The US office handled more than hotels and resorts, the properties my uncle in Europe focused on. Here, the preferred developments were multi-use properties. We were creating communities from empty fields. Taking underdeveloped areas and breathing new life into them with combined living and commercial spaces.

And of course, after we manufactured a highly desirable destination, we brought in the hotels. It was a multi-phased approach. The US office had a more long-term vision when it came to development.

I dumped my jacket and case on the desk chair and flipped through the short stack of files on the desk. The first file was a multiplex in an area of St. Louis undergoing heavy re-gentrification. I knew the area well.

I slowly flipped through the documents, opening schematics, looking at photographs. I lingered over one in particular. It was an old turn of the last century style home with a shop on the first floor. Well, a coffee shop that was more bakery than anything. The upper two floors were a family-sized apartment, and then a smaller one-bedroom apartment.

I knew it intimately. Did Gabriella still live and work there? She loved that job. If she hadn't been willing to leave it to go with me, I couldn't imagine what would take her away from it.

I read through a few more documents. If we had purchased the property, was the building even still there? I pressed the intercom button on my phone.

"Cameron, what's the status on the Lake Moore project?" I asked.

"Gavin should have that. I believe we had just closed on the property. Hold on."

I could hear her clacking away on a keyboard.

"Yeah, okay. So, it looks like we have closed on one of the properties. The larger of the three lots. There is a small commercial and residential building with the corner property, and a small retail property that have not yet been secured. Clearing the main property was put on hold. I'm sorry my notes are just about calling and having the work put on hold, and not about the rest of it. Maybe Gavin can bring you up to date on that one?"

"Sure thanks," I said before ending the call.

I flipped through the other two folders on dad's desk. One property was complete, and the leasing contract had gone into effect during the past few days. I was pretty sure I could move that file to the completed jobs pile. Whichever one that was.

I crossed out of the office with the Lake Moore file in my hands. It was a thick stack of documents. I needed to be brought up to speed quickly, especially if we had put on track any work on hold.

In what could only be described as an exchange of hostages in the style of fiefdom holders during the Middle Ages, I had been sent to work for my uncle, while my younger cousin had been allowed to finish university before being given to my father to manage. Gavin was enthusiastic while I had to be dragged into the business. Gavin's youthful energetic enthusiasm was in stark contrast to mine. He embraced the property and location hunt like a terrier.

"Gavin," I said walking into his office.

"Dude, what can I do for you?"

The man had grown up in Europe, yet he spoke with the vocabulary and intonation of an American high school stoner. At university, he had all of his associates convinced he was from California when he was about as local as they came. I dropped the Lake Moore file with a loud thud onto his desk. I need a recap of this project, in writing.

"Well, I can tell you real quick," he started. "Lake Moore is in a really dodgy area. It's a big risk going in. With property values doing what they are doing, if we don't go in now, our profit margin will shut tight like a sphincter. I'm telling you." "I can't listen real quick," I cut him off. "I need to know the status on all associated properties, where we are in the process on each, and how soon we can be back up and running."

"On your desk in the morning?" he asked in an even more affected accent. I think he thought he was quoting a movie or something.

"No, before the end of the day. My father left a lot of loose ends, and I don't have time to second guess everything."

It was tempting to go over the list of everything I didn't have enough time for just to shut him up. He didn't need to know that I still hadn't made arrangements for my apartment in Amsterdam to be packed up and shipped over. Or that I needed work clothes. I refused to wear the suit I wore to the funeral to the office. At least not yet. It felt disrespectful. Of course, dad would not have been pleased with the jeans option either. Well, he was dead now, wasn't he? And I had to clean up his mess.

"Sorry about that man. Your dad was a good guy," he said. His expression lowered and he looked like a thoroughly beat puppy. The man's acting skills were wasted on me.

My father hadn't been a good man, but that was neither here nor there. What I needed to know was what was the status of the building? If it was still an operating business, I could probably replace out from the people who worked there where Gabriella was, if she wasn't still there. It had been five years, she had to have moved on by now.

When she crossed my thoughts in the past few years it was with fond memories and hopes that she was doing okay. I hated that things had ended the way they had. That they ended at all. I hoped her choices had served her well.

I had been in the States for over a week. In that time, I had to bury my father, comfort my mother, and keep this office on its feet. And never once did I stop thinking about Gabriella. As if the second my feet hit the ground in St. Louis, she suddenly permeated my thoughts.

I wanted to see her. I needed to see her. I needed to know that she had been okay. I needed to know if there was a way we could pick up where we had left off.