Not My Billionaire

Chapter One

James

Sometimes, I have nightmares about my parents' death. It doesn't make sense, not really. I wasn't on the plane, and I didn't hear any details until two weeks later when pieces of the wreckage were found floating in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Still, I wake up sweating, my eyes burning with exhaustion.

I wasn't able to sleep last night, which is why I'm in my office at seven in the morning. I stare at the pages in front of me, trying to discern any meaning. I was raised to do this job, and I have a business degree from Wharton. I shouldn't have any trouble, except I've gotten a combined ten hours of sleep in the past three days, and I don't know how much longer I can stare at charts and numbers without going completely off the wall.

"Mr. Preston," my assistant says, and I look up to see her standing in the doorway. Her hair is a mess, she's breathing heavily, and she's holding a paper coffee cup from the local place I like a block away.

"Camilla," I say, using my most formal voice. I may be confused and terrified, but I'll never go so far as to show it. She knows me as well as anyone, but I'm not willing to show her just how stressed I am.

"I'm so sorry," she says, rushing over to my desk and setting the coffee down carefully. "I had no idea you were coming in early or I would have-"

I hold a hand up. "No need to apologize. I didn't need anything. Thank you for the coffee."

She takes a step back and nods, straightening her blazer. She's been my assistant since last year, and she's been nothing but great at her job. I've tried to convince her to take time off, but the idea of it seems to make her even more anxious than she already is. Ever since the accident, she's been shaky and nervous, always insisting on doing everything perfectly. "Can I get you anything else, Mr. Preston?"

I shake my head. "No, thank you. I'm just going over the numbers from last quarter."

She gives a single nod and spins on her heel, exiting the room swiftly and closing the door.

I set down my files and turn, looking out at the ocean sparkling in the morning sun. I've always loved the view of Miami, and being back after years away at college would be amazing if not for the situation at hand. It was on their way to Dubai from my graduation that my parents' jet went down, and the guilt has not left me for a moment since. Maybe if I'd done more, they wouldn't have gone. Maybe someone would have caught the plane's defect on time.

I stand and walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows of my executive office, sighing as I roll my shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension.

It didn't help, but it was worth a shot. My eyes trace over the water, a sailing club the first sign of life on the water this morning. I wish I could be out there with them on my own vessel, but I haven't had a moment to myself since being shoved into a position I'm not ready to have.

I pull out my phone, swiping past the image of my sailing catamaran to unlock it and call my best-and only-friend.

"James, how are ya?" Tyler asks without aHello. I go back to my desk and lean on my elbows. He and I were roommates throughout our shared time at Wharton, and we were more of outcasts compared to the party kids that made up our freshman-year dorm.

"Having the time of my life," I say, my voice flat. I run a finger over the back of my desk chair, the leather lush against my skin.

Tyler gives a short, humorless laugh. In the background is the sound of some sort of industrial equipment. Sophomore year, he started a company making beard oil, which I happily invested in after confiding in my mother for advice. Since he dropped out just before Junior year, he's expanded to hair products, skin products, and basically anything else people can use to keep their bodies hydrated. Well, everything other than water itself.

"What are you doing?" I ask, trying to distract myself from the dizzying numbers on my desk. The board is going to be here soon, and I have to act like I know what the hell I'm doing. They already hate that someone so young is running the resort chain my parents created, and I don't need to give them any reason to vote me out.

Tyler shouts something away from the phone, then, to me, he says, "I'm at that filter plant I bought in Nebraska."

Right. I guess he is in the water business now, except he doesn't profit on that front. Instead, he bought a company that manufactures the best water filters on the planet, which can make any water drinkable no matter what. Any cent of profit goes to sending filters to third-world countries and natural disaster zones, because of course Tyler has to save the world along with building a billion-dollar company from scratch.

"Sounds great," I say, though my tone remains flat. Perhaps I should be kinder. He really is doing great things, and here I am, whining about my oh-so-difficult life as a trust fund baby with too much money and responsibility on my hands.

"I'm flying out to Japan in the morning to deliver earthquake kits," he says. "Then it's Taiwan, then-"

I interrupt him. "Can you look at some forms for me if you get a minute?" It's generally a bad idea to email top secret financial forms to people outside the company, but Tyler is a genius who will be able to help me, and he's a genuinely great friend.

"Shoot 'em over," he says. "I'll take five."

I sigh with relief. It's really not fair that I'm the person who had to take over this business. There are a thousand more qualified people than me in Miami alone, but good old nepotism gave me the job. If more geniuses like Tyler were given a chance, people like me wouldn't have a thing. I barely scraped by in college despite years of grooming, and now I'm running a company with my C-minus degree.

After hanging up, I email a copy of the forms using our secure server, built by some guy that Tyler knows in the tech industry.

Five minutes later, I get a text laying out what I should say in the meeting, including answers to any potential questions. I don't know how Tyler even texts so quickly, but he's the greatest blessing in my life. If I had nothing, no money, no home, no education, Tyler would keep me steady.

Thanks, I text him back. I used to be insecure about my short, to-the-point texts, but college broke me of that particular anxiety, at least when it came to my best friend.

An hour later, the investor meeting runs smoothly. None of the board members comment on my age or lack of experience, and they seem to eat up the answers I give from Tyler's text.