The Arrogant Billionaire's Redemption

Mother's workings

Simon's POV

I itched to throw the phone gripped in my hand at the wall, or hurl it at the glass window and shatter my view of the restaurant opposite the hotel where I was holed up.

It was a beautiful Friday afternoon, but beauty didn’t ease the irritation crawling beneath my skin. I had just gotten off the phone with my mother.

“I’ll expect you to show up in Trove Company on Monday morning, bright and early.”

That was her parting line before hanging up, her voice reverberating like a hammer against the inside of my skull.

I stared around the hotel room, trying to let its charm wash away the sourness. It wasn’t lavish, but tastefully done, with warm wood and clean lines. Not LA, but good enough. Still, the only thing that truly held me was the view—the restaurant across the street. I couldn’t explain why that was the most beautiful part of the room. Perhaps I didn’t want to.

My gaze landed on the laptop lying open on the oak table, still glowing with remnants of the virtual meeting that had just ended. I went to slam it shut, jaw tight.

“Stupid directors,” I muttered. “Nominating me for the merger as if I’m their pawn. Minions of my mother—the whole lot of them.”

The meeting was barely over when I’d called her. She let me stew in silence for six minutes before answering, only to tell me the decision was the board’s, not hers. Her tone was all triumph, though. I knew better than to take her lies at face value. Especially after she’d suggested—no, demanded—I volunteer for the position the day before.

I turned to my phone again, the damned object that chained me to people I wished I could silence. I dialed Sarah’s number to tell her the news. Voicemail. Again.

That was enough. I hurled the phone against the wall. It cracked with a satisfying crunch before sliding down to the tiled floor, leaving a jagged trail of glass. The satisfaction fizzled almost immediately.

I exhaled sharply and pulled my laptop back toward me. “Wright,” I typed to my secretary, “get me a new phone.”

He was used to requests like that. A new one would be here within twenty minutes. That left me with twenty minutes to wonder what to do about Sarah.

Sarah—my long-time girlfriend. Our relationship had endured too much: my mother’s meddling, my disastrous short-lived marriage, the constant suspicion that clung to me like smoke. Sarah had been there through the storms, but now? Now she wouldn’t even pick up my calls.

That had been my fifteenth attempt. Fifteen times, she had let it ring.

I could still hear her voice from that night, cold and resolute: “I’m not convinced of your sincerity. You don’t care enough for me.”

Her words had dug deep, even if I refused to let anyone else see it. Frustration clawed at my chest, but I masked it, as always, beneath the old armor of arrogance.

My mother hadn’t made things easier. Of course not. She had never approved of Sarah, not since high school. And now she had me trapped in this city, extending what should’ve been a three-day signing trip into months of merger oversight. A calculated move, no doubt. She even had the audacity to hint that there was still something between me and Tina.

Tina.

I clenched my jaw, irritated with myself for letting the name slip into my thoughts. My ex-wife, of all people.

The necklace on the table caught my eye—the teardrop pendant I shouldn’t have kept. It had been hers. Dropped in haste the last time I saw her, anger flashing in those grey eyes when I dismissed her at the mall. I had bent to pick it up, meaning to return it, then changed my mind. Perhaps some part of me had wanted a tether.

Her face rose in my memory—bright, smiling, during our marriage, as if nothing could dim her spirit. Except me. I had dimmed it. I remembered the day she shoved the divorce papers at me and the way her smile finally cracked into raw anger. It had almost satisfied me, seeing something real, something beyond that infuriating brightness. Almost.

But then came the despair, when the world branded her a gold digger. That guilt had weighed on me until recently, when I helped her secure a job. Seeing her across the street at that restaurant, radiant again as her coworkers congratulated her, had lightened something in me I hadn’t realized was so heavy.

That brightness—that damned smile—was probably why the restaurant across the street had become the most beautiful thing about this hotel.

I cursed under my breath and shoved the necklace into the jewelry box that also held Sarah’s ring—the one I had bought after her rejection, hoping another try would change her mind. Foolish.

A knock jolted me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Wright,” I muttered.

I opened the door to find him standing there, impeccable as always, holding out the new phone. Sleek, unblemished.

“All important contacts are already transferred. You’ll find it familiar,” he said.

I allowed myself a small smile. “Trust Mr. Wright to be perfect.”

He inclined his head, unbothered by the compliment. “Your next schedule is Monday morning, nine sharp. Enjoy your weekend.”

“No,” I interrupted, sharp enough to halt him mid-turn. “If I’m stuck here for this merger, I might as well get it over with. Inform Trove I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

Wright gave me one steady look, eyes sliding over my disheveled appearance. An arched eyebrow said more than words.

“Fine. An hour.”

He left without further comment.

I dressed quickly, trading frustration for polish. The necklace and ring clinked as I shut the jewelry box and stuffed it into my pocket. I lingered on the cool metal for half a second before turning away.

TROVE.

The name glared at me from the massive glass logo above the entrance. I swallowed down the flicker of apprehension.

“It’s just a merger,” I muttered, stepping inside.

The lobby gleamed with sterile perfection, the kind of place designed to impress investors and intimidate employees. I moved through the departments briskly, my headache growing with each forced smile and handshake.

I told myself I was only searching for efficiency. But my eyes betrayed me, scanning every face for those grey eyes. Hers.

Ridiculous.

The elevator carried me to the PR floor, the last on my list. By the time the doors slid open, I’d re-armed myself. Arrogance, indifference, control. I wore them like a tailored suit.

The department gathered, each member stepping forward with rehearsed introductions. I nodded mechanically, dismissing them one by one.

And then—

There.

Grey eyes. Exactly as I remembered. She stood at the back, posture tense, gaze fixed not on me but on the manager at my side, sharp as a blade.

I let my eyes linger only a fraction longer before shifting them away, thanking God she hadn’t noticed. The sight of her hit harder than I expected.

When it was her turn, she spoke her name. “Tina.” Her voice was steady, but when I passed her over without pause, I caught the flare of anger in her eyes. No smile this time. Real, unmasked emotion. I almost welcomed it.

I reached the door, then paused. “Miss Tina,” I said over my shoulder, my tone deliberately casual. “I’ll see you in my office before the end of today.”

Her head snapped up. Shock flooded her face.

I didn’t give her time to respond. I sauntered out, a smile playing at the corner of my lips, arrogance disguising the storm beneath.