Hello Billionaire

Hello Billionaire Kelsie Hoss Copyright © 2023 by Kelsie Hoss 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. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Editing by Tricia Harden of Emerald Eyes Editing. Cover design by Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs. Have questions? Email [email protected]. Readers can visit kelsiehoss.com/sensitive to learn about potentially triggering content. Created with Vellum For my boys, who know dandelions are so much more than a weed. Contents 1. Farrah 2. Gage 3. Farrah 4. Gage 5. Farrah 6. Gage 7. Farrah 8. Gage 9. Farrah 10. Gage 11. Farrah 12. Gage 13. Farrah 14. Gage 15. Farrah 16. Gage 17. Farrah 18. Farrah 19. Gage 20. Farrah 21. Gage 22. Farrah 23. Farrah 24. Gage 25. Farrah 26. Gage 27. Farrah 28. Gage 29. Gage 30. Farrah 31. Gage 32. Farrah 33. Gage 34. Farrah 35. Gage 36. Farrah 37. Gage 38. Farrah 39. Gage 40. Farrah 41. Gage 42. Farrah 43. Gage 44. Levi 45. Gage 46. Farrah 47. Gage 48. Farrah 49. Gage 50. Farrah 51. Gage 52. Farrah 53. Gage 54. Mia 55. Gage 56. Farrah 57. Levi 58. Gage 59. Farrah 60. Gage 61. Farrah Epilogue Author’s Note Acknowledgments Also by Kelsie Hoss Join the Party About the Author 1 Farrah I’m on my way to my seventh job interview this week, and I just realized there’s a sucker stuck to my pencil skirt. Things were going great. And by that, I meant, I needed to take three antacids just to keep my lunch down before I had a complete meltdown. Kind of like the tantrum my five-year-old had this morning because I couldn’t find her sparkle dress so she could wear it for the fifteenth day in a row. I pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine, then licked my thumb to try and get rid of the sugar spot on my black skirt. Now it was wet and shiny, but hopefully the interviewer wouldn’t notice. Getting out my phone, I dialed my best friend Mia’s number. After a couple of rings, she answered, and I could hear the echo of the bathroom she always answered my calls from during the workday. “This was a terrible idea,” I said. “I appreciate you getting me the interview, but maybe I should back out. I don’t want to embarrass you. I’m not even sure I’m qualified for this. I’ve had like three part-time interior design jobs in the last ten years, and I’m not even sure—” “Farrah,” Mia whispered, cutting me off. “I wouldn’t have recommended you to my boss if I didn’t think you could do it. I love you, but I’d kind of like to keep my job.” The sound that came past my lips was somewhere near an anxious laugh. “You did an amazing job on my parents’ new house. It helped their downsizing so much. This is on a different scale, but I know you can do it. You just have to come in and be your fabulous self.” I tried to listen to her words instead of hyperventilating. “Right. Right.” I still wasn’t convinced. “Tell me you’re here,” Mia said. “He hates when people are late.” “I just pulled up,” I said. “Wait. He? As in the interviewer?” “As in my boss.” My jaw dropped. “Gage Griffen is interviewing me? Doesn’t he have billionaire things to do?” Mia giggled. “Technically, he’s always doing billionaire things. And after the last three bad candidates HR sent through, he decided to handle the process himself.” Gage Griffen. Owner of Griffen Industries. The youngest billionaire in Texas. The only self-made billionaire in the country. Mia’s demanding boss with expectations higher than the Rocky Mountains. “Okay, now I’m really panicking.” “You’ll be great,” she said. “And your parents are watching the munchkins, right? You can let go of your worries and just focus in on this.” “Levi’s watching them.” I cringed. My oldest may have been fourteen, but sometimes I thought his eight-year-old brother was more mature. “Dad had a doctor’s appointment and Mom had to cover at their coffee shop, so I was on my own today. But Levi can handle it... I hope.” Mia was quiet for a moment, and we’d been friends long enough for me to know she was not saying was she was thinking. “Farrah, I know you. You can figure out anything for your family,” she finally said. “You can do this. Take a few deep breaths and come in. I gotta get back to the desk.” She hung up, leaving me alone in my minivan. I glanced around the car, wishing I felt less like a soccer mom and more like a professional. It would help if the car didn’t smell like Levi’s sweaty gym bag. I took a few deep breaths anyway, like Mia suggested, and got out of the car, determined to make the most of this. Then I heard metal on metal. My heart sank and I cringed, realizing I’d just door-dinged one of the fancy cars in the parking lot. A Tesla. “Shit. Shit shit shit,” I muttered to myself as I licked my thumb and tried to rub off the streak of white paint. It wasn’t budging. I couldn’t afford to fix this kind of car. But I couldn’t leave it either. That wouldn’t be right. I reached into my van, finding a scrap piece of paper from the sketchbook Andrew, my middle child, kept in the car and scribbled down a quick apology with my phone number. Hopefully the owner would just let it go.