Judge Me Not: A Billionaire Single Mom Christmas Novella Read online

  Judge Me Not

  A Christmas Novella

  Maggie Cole

  Pulse Press

  This book is fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. All names, characters, plots, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Maggie Cole

  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.

  To Teresa Pruitt,

  My super sassy, fun friend who kept begging me to write a story about a single mom.

  This one’s for you.

  May you be surrounded by love, happiness, and sexy studs always.

  XOXO

  Maggie

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Andre and Naomi

  Agent Andre Lòpez

  ALL IN BOXSET

  More by Maggie Cole

  About the Author

  1

  Jasmine

  Children change everything in life. Or they should, but not everyone sees it that way. My husband, Troy, who I thought was my forever, didn't seem to think it was important enough to stick to our vows or even be a father.

  After two years of marriage, I got pregnant. Eight months in, Troy decided he wasn't ready.

  "This is more than I bargained for, and the baby isn't even here. My career is finally taking off. I can't be held down."

  The air in the room suddenly felt as if it were suffocating me. My gut twisted as I stared at him, speechless, while he continued throwing clothes into boxes. I had just gotten home from the second job I had taken so we could have money to help further his musical career. His band always needed funds to produce their next album, or buy new costumes or instruments. And I was the stupid girl who worked her butt off to supply it so my husband could fulfill his dream.

  God, I was stupid.

  "Wh-what are you saying? I'm eight months pregnant. We're having a girl," I barely got out.

  We're having a girl. As if that statement would make him want to stay and be the husband and father I thought he would be.

  He dropped his socks in the box and sighed. His green eyes met mine. "I still love you. If you get an abortion, then we can keep things as they are."

  I gaped at him. Hurt beyond belief, I also got pissed. I found my voice again. "You don't get an abortion at eight months! And we've already picked out a name. It's Abby, remember?"

  He sighed again and ran his tattooed hand through his long, black locks. The tattoo was a heart, shaded perfectly, with a J through it to represent my name, Jasmine. I loved that tattoo and everything else about his overall bad-boy-rocker looks.

  My mother warned me about him. I never knew my father, and from the moment I met Troy, my mother told me to stay away from him. She claimed boys like Troy were selfish, unable to love, and no good. But I didn't listen. She died a few years before we married. When Troy loaded up his car with his boxes and kissed me on the forehead, I'm sure she was rolling over in her grave.

  I haven't seen him since that day. I don't know where he plays or resides. I've never gotten a dime of child support from him. The divorce papers he left on the table, wet with his signature, I didn't sign or file for several years.

  When Abby was born, my cousin, Cee Cee, was there. She's all I have. Both of our mothers have passed. They were sisters, and neither of us has ever known our fathers. So maybe it's karma my baby girl doesn't know her daddy. Perhaps it's a family curse that won't allow the women in our family to have a happily ever after. Whatever it is, I can't dwell on it.

  Abby is now six. I don't work two jobs anymore. I work three. But I'm not in your typical single mother situation. I don't work three jobs to only feed, clothe, and shelter her. I'm not doing it to put Christmas presents under the tree. Hell, I don't even know if we'll be able to afford a tree.

  I only started working three jobs to pay for her medical treatment.

  I'm fighting for my child's life.

  "There is a new treatment available. It just got approved last week. Ninety-six percent of the patients who receive it become cancer-free. There have been ten years of trials, and not one patient's cancer has returned. And they were all children similar to Abby's age and medical situation," Dr. Plax informs us.

  I grab Cee Cee's forearm, and tears fall. My baby has already been through so much. Multiple treatments have failed over the last few years. We were told the remaining options weren't promising and would only extend her life for a few months, a year at the most. They came with lots of long-term side effects, and there still wasn't a high survival rate. I was trying to decide if we would even go through with it when the doctor's office called to meet.

  Cee Cee clutches her hand over mine. "And Abby is a candidate?"

  Dr. Plax nods. "She's a perfect candidate right now. If her health falters, she may not be."

  "When can we start?"

  "The hospital is scheduling the first round of treatments in the first week of January."

  "They can't do it sooner?"

  "No. The board only approved it last night. But as long as you keep Abby home and her immune system up, I expect her not to have any issues starting the treatment."

  New tears of relief fall. "Thank you, Doctor."

  He hesitates.

  I've seen his worried eyes enough to know something is wrong. My gut drops. "What is it?"

  "This is considered a new treatment. Your insurance doesn't cover it, nor does anyone else's. I don't expect it to change anytime soon. And the hospital won't allow anyone to have it who isn't paying cash."

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "How much?"

  "She's going to need between ten and twelve rounds. Each round is fifty thousand dollars."

  "Fifty thousand dollars," Cee Cee cries out.

  My mouth hangs open. "I don't have enough for one treatment, much less the rest of them."

  Dr. Plax nods. "I assumed, so I spoke with our foundation. They will cover half the cost of each treatment. They are not able to do anything more. I pushed as much as I could."

  Twenty-five thousand dollars a treatment times ten.

  Two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

  Oh my God.

  I put my hand over my face, wishing I could stop the tears. I'm drowning in over a million dollars of unpaid medical bills already. Debt collectors call me all day long.

  Cee Cee puts her arm around me. "Is there anything else we need to know about the treatment?"

  Dr. Plax's voice is sympathetic. "No. Here is the packet of information about the treatment."

  I take a deep breath and remove my hand. "Other children need this treatment?"

  "Yes."

  "Is it like the other ones? If we don't do it now, we'll be on a list, and there will be no guarantee if we can get it?"

  "I'm sorry, but yes. There are limited quantities of the medication available. Only eight children will receive it, and we currently have twenty-two who need it."

  "When do we need to decide?" Cee Cee asks.

&nbs
p; He points to the packet he gave Cee Cee. "The hospital requires the first five-thousand-dollar deposit to be paid by next week to secure your first treatment. The subsequent payments are listed in the folder."

  Where am I going to get five-thousand dollars by next week?

  There's still twenty after, and it's only for one treatment.

  Everything about this meeting is cruel. It's like taking a person who has barely any hope left, telling them they can save the person who means the most to them in life, then taking that hope away.

  I'm her mother. Whatever I have to do to save her life, I will do.

  But what options do I even have?

  Cee Cee and I shake Dr. Plax's hand and leave. I read the information in the packet on the subway. I get to the last page and stare at the scheduled fees and dates they would be due.

  "How am I going to do this?" I barely manage to say.

  "We'll find a way. I'll sell my kidney if I have to."

  A little laugh escapes me, but Cee Cee and I would both do it if it were an option. We're desperate to heal my baby girl. But desperation doesn't solve problems, especially when unfathomable amounts of money are surrounding them.

  When we get home, we both lather ourselves in hand sanitizer before we go inside the house. Cee Cee and her teenage daughter, Maribel, moved in with me so we had more funds for Abby's treatment. Maribel is sixteen and babysits whenever we meet with the doctor.

  "Mommy!" Abby's face lights up, and she jumps into my arms.

  I hug her as tight as I can. "Hey, sweetie. Did you have fun?"

  "Yes. Maribel let me put on the new lip gloss. Look."

  She pulls out of my embrace and bats her hazel eyes, which are full of excitement. She is wearing the pink hat I knitted for her, which seems to be her favorite right now. Her eyelashes and eyebrows, along with her hair, haven't grown back from the last treatment she went through. Her skin is starting to regain color since she's between treatments though. The beautiful mix of her father's Italian genes and my mulatto ones normally gives her a healthy glow. She puckers her shiny, light-pink lips.

  "Great color on you! But I need another hug," I tell her.

  She jumps back into my arms, and I hold her until she wiggles out and goes back to playing with Maribel.

  The longer I watch her play, the more I tell myself that no matter what I have to do to come up with the money, I will.

  I just wish the answer was clear on how to get it.

  2

  Jasmine

  "Did you try the new scent yet?" Karla asks.

  I groan. "My nose can't handle anything else. It takes me all week to breathe right and then I come back and get to violate my nostrils all over again." I'm at Claudio's for my weekend job. It's a high-end department store in Manhattan. I take several busses to get here, but the money is worth it, especially right now during the holiday season. The cosmetic department pays a salary and commission, and there isn't anything here under fifty dollars. The women who come in are used to paying a fortune for their personal products. The men mostly come for gifts and will buy anything you tell them they need.

  Karla nods. "It's powerful, so go easy when you do."

  "Thanks for the warning."

  "Hey, how did your appointment go yesterday?"

  My chest tightens, and I take a deep breath to calm my emotions. I tell Karla what the doctor said about the treatments and how much it's going to cost.

  "That's highway robbery!" she cries out.

  "Tell me about it."

  A woman comes over wearing a fur coat and carrying a dog purse. A small, white puppy is inside it.

  Karla rolls her eyes, and I furrow my brows for her to behave. I would help her, but I have to finish wrapping the last order I took. The customer is at another makeup counter while I complete it.

  "Can I help you?" Karla asks.

  The woman purses her lips. "Just looking."

  Karla puts on a fake smile. To everyone, it looks genuine. But I've known her for too long. "I'm here if you need me."

  I pack all the items I wrapped into a bag and walk around the corner to the woman who bought them. "All wrapped. Do you need anything else?"

  She turns and draws her eyebrows together. Her eyes travel down my body and back to my face. It's the second time she's done it. Her scrutiny threw me off when I helped her, but there are many strange people in New York. I ignored it earlier, but it gives me the creeps right now. "Can we talk for a quick moment?"

  This is weird.

  She's rich. Most people who have money are.

  Okay, that isn't fair.

  Maybe she'll buy more.

  I can't afford to turn any customers away.

  I force a smile. "Sure." I walk to the edge of my counter, where it isn't crowded. "Can I help you find something else?"

  "You've got a sweet look about you."

  "Umm...thanks?"

  "You've got a great body."

  Is she hitting on me?

  "Thank you. Is there something else you wanted to look at?" I hold up a bottle of perfume. "This just came in. I can give you a sample if you'd like?"

  Her full, red lips twitch. "How much do they pay you here?"

  "I'm sorry?"

  She crosses her arms and plays with her long blonde hair. It's beautiful, but she must pay a fortune for her extensions. Her thick, black eyelashes flutter. "My guess is they don't pay you near as much as what you could earn."

  I nervously laugh. "Are you offering me another job? I'll take five-thousand dollars per day, in cash, please." I lean in to say under my breath, "Don't tell Uncle Sam."

  She raises her eyebrows. "Five thousand. Is that all you think you're worth?"

  Oh, wait. Is she recruiting me to be a prostitute?

  "Umm...I was kidding. I'm happy here. Really."

  She smirks then her face becomes serious.

  Abby needs treatment.

  I couldn't do that.

  If you don't do something, she's going to die.

  "Wait. Are you..." I glance around me then lower my voice. "Recruiting me to be a...well, you know."

  Her eyes turn to slits. "A what?"

  Oh, crap. Now I've insulted her.

  "I'm sorry. I'm confused by what's going on right now."

  She tilts her head then puts her arm around me. "Let's take a walk."

  "I'm supposed to stay around the counter."

  She turns to Karla. "Are you able to cover the counter while Ms..." she turns to me and looks at my name tag, "Jasmine, helps me with a special request?"

  Karla tries to cover her "you're with a crazy lady" expression. "Sure."

  Way to have my back.

  What is this lady trying to get me involved in?

  She leads me to the corner of the store, where the lingerie department is. "Your breasts. They're natural?"

  "Excuse me?"

  She softly laughs. "Natural breasts like yours are hard to find. You'll get paid more for them."

  I open my mouth to tell her I'm not doing anything that pays me for my breasts, but then Abby's face comes to my mind, and I snap it shut.

  "Ahh. You do need to make money."

  My face burns red. I look away from her.

  She clutches my chin and turns me toward her. "My name is Star Vintage. No, it's not my real name. That name is long gone, as well as the girl it belonged to. But I no longer fight to feed my children. I don't work all the time, never to see them. I choose the men I'm with and don't rely on them for anything." She leans close to my ear. "No one pays to eat my pussy, darling, so stop thinking I'm a hooker."

  I gape at her. My words finally come out in a stutter. "I-I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you."

  She shrugs. "You didn't. I don't judge anyone for how they feed their families. But I don't need to do that. I use my assets to my advantage and don't do anything I don't choose."

  My heart races. "So, what do you do?"

  She twirls a lock of my hair around her finger. "Is thi
s your natural hair?"

  "Yes."

  "And you're..." She peers closer at me. "Black and white?"

  I nod. "My mother was black. My father..." I shrug.

  "If you were taller, you could model. You would be plus-size, of course."

  "Sorry? I'm not—"

  "You have curves and aren't a twig. And men will pay big money to see those curves."

  "How?"

  Why am I asking her this? I shouldn't encourage her.

  Abby's face pops up again. Yes, I should.

  She smiles. "Come with me."

  "Where?"

  "To the dressing room."

  "I'm on the clock. I can get in trouble."

  She tilts her head. "What do you make for the weekend? Two hundred dollars? Three tops, and that's only during the holiday rush? Come January, this place will be dead. They will lay you off. You and I both know this."

  "I still need my job."

  Her face becomes more solemn. "Yes, you do. You're a mother?"

  "Yes. How do you know?"

  "I saw it in your eyes when I mentioned my children."

  I twist my fingers. "You understand I can't lose my job, then?"

  "You can if you make more in an hour than you do working here in two weeks."

  My pulse quickens. I'm not sure why I tell her. I usually hide it to avoid pity stares or comments. My tears well, and I blurt out, "My child is sick. I don't mean a cough. Legitimately going to die if I don't pay for her treatment. So I can't afford to take any risks."

  Her eyes widen.

  I look away, willing myself not to break down but unable to stop the tears that fall. I put my fingers to my eyes, trying to stop the flow.

  She hands me a tissue, and I take it, still not facing her.

  "I'm sorry to hear about your daughter. I don't know how much you need, but this is the address where I'll be tonight. Tell Donovan you're my guest when you arrive. He's the bouncer. You can't miss him. Come watch. We'll talk."