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BABY FOR MY GRUMPY BILLIONAIRE
AN ENEMIES TO LOVERS PREGNANCY ROMANCE

CASSANDRA RUSSELL

MOONLIGHT PUBLISHING
Copyright © 2023 by Cassandra Russell

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.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1 - Megan
Chapter 2 - Christian
Chapter 3 - Megan
Chapter 4 - Christian
Chapter 5 - Megan
Chapter 6 - Christian
Chapter 7 - Megan
Chapter 8 - Christian
Chapter 9 - Megan
Chapter 10 - Christian
Chapter 11 - Megan
Chapter 12 - Megan
Chapter 13 - Christian
Chapter 14 - Christian
Chapter 15 - Megan
Chapter 16 - Christian
Chapter 17 - Megan
Chapter 18 - Christian
Chapter 19 - Megan
Chapter 20 - Christian
Chapter 21 - Megan
Chapter 22 - Christian
Chapter 23 - Megan
Chapter 24 - Christian
Chapter 25 - Megan
Chapter 26 - Megan
Chapter 27 - Christian
Chapter 28 - Megan
Chapter 29 - Megan
Chapter 30 - Christian
Chapter 31 - Megan
Chapter 32 - Christian
Chapter 33 - Megan
Epilogue - Christian
CHAPTER 1 - MEGAN

“M iss? Miss?”
I don’t immediately wake up to the sound of the voice politely trying to get my attention. The
voice is soft and almost lyrical, and it blends in well with the dream I’m having.
But when something blunt pokes me right between the ribs, my eyes fly open and I jolt upright in
my seat, knocking my head against the bus window as I try to orient myself. I must have dozed off to
the lull of the road noise as the bus lumbered down the city streets. Burning the candle at both ends
means that night and day are starting to blur together at this point.
I look next to me and see the source of the blunt object that poked me in the ribs—the stubby
finger of the man sitting next to me.
The lady across the aisle, which runs down the center of the bus, is still trying to get my attention
and her smooth olive complexion and kind eyes match the soft sound of the voice I heard while I was
still in that haze between sleep and wake.
“She told me to do it,” the stubby-fingered guy says as he motions toward her.
“Hi,” she smiles. “You fell asleep, and the bus route only has one more stop, which is my stop.
And since I’ve never seen you in my borough before, I figured you must have slept through your stop.”
I look out the window in a panic. Shit!
“Oh, shit, shit, shit!” I say as I stand up in my seat.
I practically stumble over the lap of the guy with the stubby fingers next to me and race up the
center aisle of the bus to the driver.
“Get back in your seat, ma’am,” the driver shouts as he sees me approaching him in the mirror
above his head.
At twenty-seven, I don’t feel old enough to be a ‘ma’am’ quite yet.
“Sorry,” I pant, breathless more from my panic than the quick jaunt down the aisle of the bus. “But
I missed my stop. I accidentally fell asleep, and I was supposed to get off three stops ago.”
The driver stares at me apathetically in the mirror as if my mere existence is offending him. “And
you decided to run up here while I’m driving to share this with me why?” he asks.
I can tell by the drawl of his words that his question is laden with sarcasm. “Because I was
hoping that you could still take me back to my stop.” I give the guy my best puppy dog eyes because I
am desperate. I’ll be late for work, and I can’t be late for work.
“Oh sure,” he says with a smile that seems a little bit too wide. “I’ll just turn the bus around after
I make this last stop on the route and drive you back to exactly where it is that you need to go.”
 “Really?” I ask in surprise.
“No! Now go back and sit down in your seat. You can get off at the last stop just like everyone
else.”
“But what am I supposed to do?” I ask, so exhausted from a full week of working my day job at
the construction firm and moonlighting to get my master’s degree as a physician’s assistant. I was up
all night last night working on my final term paper, and I am so tired that I’m on the verge of tears.
“I’ll tell you what you can’t do,” he says. “You can’t get back on this bus once we reach the last
stop on the route because my shift is over and I’m going home. I’ve been driving the graveyard shift,
and I can barely keep my eyes open myself.”
Oh geez, that’s reassuring. What kind of bus driver admits to almost falling asleep at the wheel?
“You can call a cab, walk to the nearest bus stop and pick up another route back, or simply decide
to relocate to this neighborhood. I don’t give a shit what you do as long as you go back to your seat.”
I stare at his reflection in the long mirror that covers the width of the bus above his windshield.
It’s pointless to argue with this man, as he obviously doesn’t have a heart.
So, I go back to my seat and wait for the last stop. The guy next to me is stifling a laugh at my
misfortune. But the woman who had been trying to wake me up just shakes her head and looks over at
me with sympathy. It’s my own fault. I should have had coffee before I left my apartment.
When the bus finally slows to a stop, I grab my bag and get ready to disembark. Since I can’t
afford a cab, I guess I’ll have to hike it to wherever the next bus station is.
“Hey, do you know where the closest station is where I can catch a bus back to my correct stop?”
I ask the nice woman from across the aisle.
“Yeah, it’s about a block or so away. Take a left once you get off the bus,” she answers with a
growing look of concern on her face. “But you should stick to the main road and avoid the side
streets. This neighborhood is tough.”
I look out the window at the neighborhood. It’s morning and broad daylight, so I can’t imagine
walking around here being too dangerous.
“Thanks for the help,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder and following her off the bus.
I give the bus driver a solid glare before walking down the steps, and he doesn’t seem at all
affected by my dissatisfaction.
As soon as I step off the bus, I see exactly what that woman had been referring to. This is
definitely a sketchy neighborhood. I mean, I don’t live in the ritzy part of town either, but this place
has the same kind of vibe as those crime shows where the gangsters are having turf wars in the
streets. That bus driver ought to be ashamed of himself for having just dumped me off here alone
without a care in the world.
“Just keep your head down and walk fast, “ the nice woman calls as she hurries off in the other
direction.
Without hesitating, I do as she says, both because I am already late and because I don’t want any
trouble here. I’m already going to be in enough trouble as it is when I show up late to the office.
The night classes I’ve been taking are pushing me closer and closer to getting my degree. I only
have one more semester and then I’ll be able to get a job as a physician’s assistant, and that will make
a load of difference for me—and for my younger sister, Maya.
Things haven’t been easy since our parents died. For the last seven years, I’ve been taking care of
Maya all by myself. Don’t get me wrong, I positively adore my sister, and we get along great. But it’s
still a heavy responsibility, especially with the salary I currently make. Being an executive assistant at
a high-end construction firm doesn’t exactly earn a six-figure salary. But that’s exactly why I’m
moonlighting to get my master’s degree, and I’m only one final term away. Then, I will finally be able
to create a better life for both me and my fifteen-year-old sister. Maya deserves the world, and I fully
intend to give it to her.
Sometimes I feel bad that she doesn’t really remember much about our dad. He passed away when
she was tiny, when I was just a kid myself. All that my sister saw was how hard our mother struggled
to raise us both on her own, and when our mom passed away, I think Maya worried that I would
always have to struggle that hard too. And currently, she’s right. It is a struggle to balance my day job
and night classes. But I am finally feeling a bit relieved because even though it was an all-nighter last
night, I finally finished my term paper.
I see the signs for the next bus station up ahead and breathe a sigh of relief that I’m almost there.
Hopefully, the next bus will be here soon.
But just as I’m nearing the station, I see a group of rough looking guys loitering around the bus
stop sign. They look like the kind of guys just waiting around to see if they can catch something, like a
spider waiting for a fly to walk into its web.
As much as I really want to march right up there and plant myself squarely by the bus stop sign in
the hopes that the bus is on its way, I decide that it’s smarter of me to try not getting raped or killed on
my way to work. So, I do what the kindly woman warned me not to do. I divert down a side street to
wait for a bit and see if the guys move along.
Unfortunately, they ‘move along’ right into the alley where I’m standing. And, just like the woman
had tried to warn me about not walking into alleys in this neighborhood, I now find myself blocked in
because it’s a dead-end street.
“Hey pretty thing,” one of them calls at me as he walks forward.
There are more of them now, four or five at least, and one of them is slapping a baseball bat
against his open palm.
I try to gather my wits about me and seem unafraid. I listened to a podcast a few months ago that
talked about how fear attracts fear. So, I square up my shoulders, grab my messenger bag close to my
shoulder, and walk forward as if I am going to march right past them.
“Excuse me,” I say as I try not to look at any of them directly in the eyes. “I have a bus to catch.”
“What’s your hurry?” one of the others says. “There haven’t been any buses running to that stop in
months.”
Shit.
“We’ll take you where you need to go, pretty lady. We only charge a small fee.”
“I don’t have any money,” I say, slowing my pace to a stop since they won’t move out of my way.
It’s not a lie, I really don’t have any money. The only thing in my bag is my lunch and my laptop. My
keys and cell phone are in my pocket, and for a moment I think about trying to place a call for help,
but I will never be able to dial anyone in time before these goons grab my phone away.
I’ve never been in this part of town before. I have no idea where to run for help, even assuming
that I could get away from this mob of losers. I look around and see only a few doors down this
narrow side street. One looks like the back of a Chinese restaurant, and the other looks like some
shady martial arts gym. Aside from that, the only thing in the immediate vicinity is the bus stop, which
is apparently ghosted.
“That’s all right,” the guy with the baseball bat says. “We accept many forms of payment. We’ll
take your bag for starters.”
“My bag?” I ask in surprise as I look down at my ratty old messenger bag and nearly laugh.
“Seriously, you guys would be better off hitting up anyone other than me.”
 The looks on their faces indicate that they are not amused. In fact, they look as if they’re quickly
growing weary of my antics to try and stall.
“Just give us the bag,” the first guy growls.
Normally, on literally any other day that this, I would just hand over my bag and be done with it.
But I can’t hand over my bag because my laptop is in it. Granted, my laptop is almost as ratty as the
messenger bag itself, but it has my entire, completed term paper on it, and that paper isn’t saved
anywhere else. I’ve spent weeks writing that paper and I don’t have time to start over. I would almost
rather die than prolong the successful completion of my master’s program for a day longer than
necessary. The only reason that I’m still barely hanging on and exhausting myself is because I know
that I’m almost done. I’m in the homestretch, and I will not let these assholes take my paper.
As soon as they reach out their hands as if they intend to take my bag from me, I lift it by the
handle and start to swing the bag wildly around me, using the dead weight of the laptop inside of it to
try and swat them out of the way. Maybe I’ll even get lucky and land a direct hit that renders one or
two of them unconscious. But who am I kidding? There are four of them and only one of me, and they
are all at least twice my size.
One of the guys manages to grab the strap of my bag and pull, but I don’t let go. I hold on for dear
life and yank it back as hard as I can. I must have surprised him with my sheer will to keep my bag,
because for a second, I am able to pull it right out of his hand.
Unfortunately, it catches me by surprise too, and I fall backward. My feet slide out from under me
as I lose my balance and my head hits against the street with a deafening thud that sends an instant
shooting pain through my skull. I am still clutching my bag to my chest, but the fall and the hit of my
head onto the street has me once again disoriented. When I look up, I see one of the thugs staring back
at me with a stiff jaw. He looks pissed off and fed up with my attempts to thwart them.
“Enough of this shit,” he says as he lifts the baseball bat in the air.
I am keenly aware that when the bat comes down, it’s going to be coming down on me.
CHAPTER 2 - CHRISTIAN

“Y er ‘ittin like a gurl,” my trainer hisses at me in a way that only a genuine Englishman could.
“Put some muscle into it, Christian, or we’ll be here all day.”
I’m only partially vexed by his critique because I know he doesn’t mean it. He’s just trying to get
me amped up enough to take out my training partner in two hits so that he can get back to his Earl
Grey or whatever the hell grizzled and crotchety old Englishmen drink in the morning.
I grant his wish and end the sparring match by taking my training partner down and wrenching on
his arm until he taps. There aren’t many guys inside this MMA gym that can land hits as well and as
hard as I can, and I suppose that’s the reason Michael trains me so hard and keeps such a watchful
eye on me. I think he’s secretly worried I might accidentally kill someone during sparring. But I’m not
that much of a dick, so I opt to end the round with a submission instead of knocking out my comrade.
“Take a break,” he says, heading to the back room to grab his tea.
“I’ll take a coffee, black,” I tease.
Michael looks back at me with a thin-lipped smirk. “It’s an MMA gym, Christian, not a
goddamned Starbucks.”
“Man, that was great!” Anton, an exuberant fifteen-year-old, says to me as he comes to stand just
outside the ring and hand me a towel.
Anton is the gym’s ‘rat.’ That’s the term of endearment we gave to the very young but very talented
kid. He’s all ambition and sinewy muscle, not unlike me at that age. I wanted to be a world-class
mixed martial artist just like this kid does, and I have worked my way up to the most prestigious
promotion and am now a top contender. Granted, it wasn’t without a whole hell of a lot of hard work
and sacrifices, especially considering my unconventional background.
Even now, at the age of thirty-five, I can still vividly remember the day I announced to my father
that I would not be stepping into the role of heir to his multi-billion-dollar real estate development
empire. He tensed up so tight at my refusal that I thought the muscles in his face would crack.
Shunning my silver spoon upbringing was like the equivalent of driving a stake through my dad’s
heart. I didn’t do it to intentionally piss him off, it was just what I wanted.
And I wanted it bad.
I was a highly successful wrestler from a young age, and even though I humored my father by
completing a prestigious degree at Princeton while also winning a national championship during my
time there, I decided to forgo grad school to pursue my dreams of fighting. Of course, that was over a
decade ago.
 “Come on, Christian, spar with me. Please,” Anton pleads.
I can’t refuse the kid, especially not when I see parts of myself in his eager eyes. So, I give up my
break in order to move around a bit and give the kid some tips. He’s thin and lanky, and I need to help
him put some mass and muscle on those bones.
“I’m going to be as strong as you when I get old,” he says.
“Old?” I say as I raise a brow at him. “Don’t make me knock you out before we even get started,
Anton.”
He laughs at me and tosses his head back.
“You know what I mean. I meant when I’m an adult and as muscular as you are. Maybe I’ll even
get some tattoos like you too.” Anton eyes the tattoos sprawled across my bare chest. His favorite one
is the dragon—he’s mentioned that before.
“Well, if you keep fighting as well as you are now, and you improve on it every day, then I don’t
doubt you’ll be every bit as good as I am someday,” I encourage him.
“Really? You mean that?”
I get ready to tell him yes, and to correct his stance since he doesn’t have a lot of weight to throw
behind his hits yet, but there’s a sound of commotion outside the gym. It’s loud enough to get
everyone’s attention, even Michael’s, who quickly sets down his tea to head to the door. I’m right at
his side, not that he needs me. Michael is still a badass fighter, despite his sissy tea-drinking habit.
Anton is at our heels too.
I probably should turn him around and tell him to stay inside the gym since he’s just a kid.
Nowadays who knows if someone is packing, and I would hate to be the reason he gets shot in the
chest during a street brawl. But the best way to learn how to defend yourself is by actually defending
yourself, so I let him come along. Besides, Michael and I are both ahead of him if anything too crazy
is going on in the street.
We head toward the noise and the first thing I see is a mob of guys standing around in a semi-
circle over what appears to be someone crumpled up on the ground at their feet. One of these
criminals is holding a baseball bat over his head and looking like he’s about to crack it down on
whoever their victim is.
“Take the left,” Michael says.
I nod and sweep around to the left of the little mob, grabbing one of the guys by the neck and
smashing his skull against the wall of the building. He collapses to the ground as the blood starts to
gush from his nose.
Michael has already used a quick choke to render one of the guys unconscious, and Anton is
holding his own with the third. That kid really is super talented to be besting a guy twice his size and
age.
The last guy standing is the one with the bat.
“You want a piece of me?” he shouts as he waves the bat around in the air between us.
I grin at him with a hungry look that I can tell surprises him.
“Oh, definitely,” I say, swinging my leg around in a kick that knocks his feet out from under him
and then grabbing the bat to twist around into my own hand, hitting him on the head as he falls to the
ground.
The guy that Anton is fighting still isn’t down, but he knows he’s beaten so he runs off in the other
direction.
“Yeah, we got ‘em!” Anton cheers. “Three against four, not too bad!”
“We could have handled more,” I say smugly.
 I look over to see Michael bending over on the ground to look at the woman lying there. She’s
conscious, although visibly shaken up and overwhelmed, and absolutely gorgeous.
“All right?” Michael asks as he helps her to her feet.
She stands there looking dazed, her green eyes wide and a trickle of blood matting the strands of
blonde hair on the side of her head.
“Christian, here,” Michael says as he helps her over toward me, placing her hand in mine and then
walking back toward the gym. “I’m gonna get her an ice pack. Think she ‘it the ground. Might ‘ave a
concussion.”
I hold one of her hands and place my arm around her back to keep her steady since she looks
wobbly on her feet. Anton stands in front of us, staring at her as if she is an alien.
“Miss?” he asks as he snaps his fingers in her face. “You okay? Can you talk?”
He shrugs his shoulders and looks at me when she doesn’t say anything. Her face is pale and her
breathing ragged.
“What’s wrong with her?” Anton asks me.
“Aside from a complete and total lapse of judgment and a large helping of idiocy for walking this
neighborhood alone?” I say, chastising her for getting herself into this mess. “I’d say she’s just a bit
dazed and will probably have a banging headache. Other than that, she looks fine.”
Anton reaches down and picks up a gray messenger bag that was laying on the ground beside her
and hands it to her with a smile. He’s a good kid, definitely has a more pleasant demeanor than I do.
He puts the strap of the bag in her hand and when it touches her, she suddenly seems to come alive.
“Oh my god, my laptop—my term paper. The bus driver was so mean, and now I’m going to be
late. Ugh, I can’t even with Daniel today, and Kristy is going to shit all over me for my mussed-up
hair. Is it broken? I swear to God if it’s broken, and my paper is lost then I might as well just die
now.”
Anton and I both stare at her babbling nonsense in sheer confusion.
“What the hell is she talking about?” he asks.
I nearly laugh at his blunt assessment of the situation but before I can even crack a smile, the
woman folds over like a limp noodle and passes out in my arms.
I catch her and hold her there for a moment before scooping her up and letting her legs drape over
my forearms as I get ready to carry her back into the gym. Anton grabs her bag, which likely contains
whatever ‘term paper’ she was rambling on about. And whoever her cast of characters are—Daniel,
Kristy, and a mean bus driver—it sure sounds like she’s starting off with a wallop of a day.
“Lay ‘er down over ‘ere,” Michael says as he points to a gym mat and walks over with an ice
pack and some smelling salts.
I guess if she was lucky about one thing this morning, it’s the fact that she got caught up in that
little altercation right outside of the gym where the three of us could come to her rescue and then have
all the necessary supplies to wake her up. The MMA gym has no shortage of unconscious fighters on a
regular basis, and within seconds, the smelling salts have done the trick and her beautiful green eyes
are once again open.
CHAPTER 3 - MEGAN

W hen first I open my eyes, I have no idea where I am. I don’t even remember passing out.
Something is stinging cold at the side of my head, and I reach up to swat it away, only to have a
cantankerous man scold me for doing so, and then press it back against my temple.
“Leave it, lass,” he growls at me. “Or ya gonna have a much bigger lump than ya already do. Yer
lucky it doesn’t require stitches, or I’d be ‘aving ‘em hold ya down while I stitched ya up. Bet that
would ‘ave really thrown ya for a loop.”
I want to ask who he is and where the hell I am, but my throat feels dry, and I suddenly start to
remember all the screaming that I did in the alleyway.
“Ya feelin’ any better?” the old man asks in his thick, cockney accent.
I nod my head, which hurts, and then look around to try and take in my surroundings and figure out
where I am. This must be the MMA gym I saw the back door of in the alley. There’s a large fighting
cage in the center, red mats all over the floor and hanging punching bags, and a thick, sweet smell of
sweat.
The man walks away to go into the small opening of a back room, muttering something about
getting me a ‘stiff cuppa tea’ and some aspirin to bring me back online. I can see the boy from the
street, the one who handed me my bag, sitting on a mat across the room staring at me. He looks around
the same age as my sister.
I hear the rhythmic sound of fists pounding against a punching bag, and I turn to see the absolute
Adonis who came to my rescue by knocking out the bastard with the baseball bat and catching me in
his arms when I blacked out. It’s all coming back to me now.
I sit for a few minutes, holding the ice pack in place so I don’t get yelled at again and sipping
down the hot tea the man brings back for me. He’s right, it is strong. He and the boy go about their
business and let me sit there to recover for a moment until I feel steady enough to stand up. I stare
over at my handsome rescuer, watching him training intensely in one of the corners of the gym, and am
taken aback by how attractive and fearsome he is.
With every hit that he lands on the punching bag, his muscles flex, moving the ink tattooed all over
him in patterns that ebb and flow with his movements. A strand of his dark hair falls into his eyes, and
he pushes it away with his glove. I don’t think I have ever seen a man built to such perfection.
When I realize that I’m gawking, I decide that I need to go over and thank him for helping me. If
these three hadn’t shown up, I might have been beaten to a bloody pulp. I owe them a debt of
gratitude, and I feel like I especially owe him a debt of gratitude since he’s the one who took down
the ringleader of the bunch.
Before I get up, I order an Uber on my phone because I am now very late for work. I really can’t
afford to call for a ride, but I’ve officially learned my lesson about trying to take the bus in this part of
the city. I’ll suck it up and go without breakfast for a few days if I need to. It’s worth dipping into the
bill money to get out of this neighborhood in one piece and in time to save my job.
After I secure the ride, I get up and walk over to the corner of the gym toward the terrifyingly
handsome guy covered in tats. I am feeling grateful, but shy as I approach him because he emits an
intimidating energy.
“Hey, thank you for coming to my rescue,” I say, as soon as I get close enough that he can hear me.
I know that he sees me there because I’m standing right beside him, but he doesn’t stop hitting the
punching bag hanging from the ceiling in front of him. He’s completely unresponsive.
So, I try again.
“It was really incredible how you took them on. You must be a really good fighter. I don’t know
what would have happened if you hadn’t—”
“Are you some kind of idiot?” he asks as he abruptly stops hitting the punching bag and whips his
head around to face me.
I stare at him in shock. I hadn’t expected him to be so off-putting and downright mean.
“I think you know exactly what would have happened if we hadn’t shown up to save your ass.
What were you even doing down that alley alone? You know what, never mind. I don’t even want to
know. I don’t have time to save ditzy girls who find themselves in the wrong side of town and then
want to have a conversation about it. You’re obviously not very bright.”
I can feel his eyes burning into me as if he is judging me on the spot.
“Cute, but not bright,” he says before going back to his training.
For a small moment, I envision his face on that punching bag, and my hand as the one dealing out
the hits. What a jerk!
“Don’t worry about him,” a voice says quietly from behind me.
I turn to see the young boy standing there.
“He has an important fight coming up, and he’s just focusing on that,” he says. “He gets grumpy
when he’s interrupted from training before a big fight. It’s all about focus.”
“You’re quite a talented fighter yourself,” I say with a smile. “I saw you fighting that man in the
street, he was twice your size. You’re brave, too.”
His cheeks blush as he looks down at his feet. Fighting skills aside, he seems like a nice kid. I bet
Maya would think he’s handsome too, with his chocolate brown eyes and dimpled smile.
“Size doesn’t matter; it all comes down to how smart you are.”
“Is that what he taught you?” I ask as I tilt my head toward the eye candy with the bad attitude.
He’s still punching that bag as if it has personally wronged him in some way.
“No, it’s what Michael taught me. He’s a master trainer, and he knows everything.”
“Who’s Michael?”
The boy points to the old man who gave me the tea. He’s doing some training in a different corner
of the gym. He’s surprisingly muscular and spry for a man his age.
“And what’s your name?” I ask, using the time I have waiting on the Uber to get to know a little
bit about my rescuers, at least the ones not trying to bite my head off.
“Anton.”
I am just about to tell him my name and ask him about the grumpy heartthrob, but my phone
notification goes off to let me know that my ride is here.
 “It was really nice meeting you, Anton,” I say with a grateful smile. “Thank you for all that you
did today to help me. You’re a real hero.”
I look over my shoulder to wave a thank you to the old man, and then think about saying goodbye
to mister moody, but I decide against it and just rapidly run out of the gym to get my ride. I am already
incredibly late to work, and I don’t want to deal with any more needless stress today if I can help it.
“Want me to walk you out?” Anton asks as I head for the door.
“No thanks, I’ll be fine. My ride is parked right out front so I can take it from here.” I hand him
back the ice pack and race out the door to the waiting car.
When I reach the car, I glance back at the gym one more time just to commit it to memory since I
am pretty sure that I will never be coming to this side of town again. But when I look back at the gym,
I see a face staring through the window at me. It’s none other than my rescuer—the fighter too self-
obsessed to hear my expression of thanks. And as crazy as it sounds, seeing him watch me leave out
the window makes my heart flutter a little inside my chest.
“Where to?” the driver asks.
I give him the address of the company office I work at, and he scoffs when he reads it.
“You’re a long way from home. Need to be careful in this part of the city. You can find yourself
running into trouble in the blink of an eye.”
I sit in the back seat for a moment while he gets his GPS up, staring back at the face in the
window. He was rude, and he acted as though I had inconvenienced him by nearly getting mauled just
outside his MMA gym.
But I still can’t bring myself to look away.
A part of me wishes I had a bit more time to hang around in the gym and find out his story, but the
bigger part of me is very glad to be getting back to the other side of town, and very focused on getting
to work as quickly as possible. I’m never late, and I have too much on my mind to worry about my
heartthrob hero.
CHAPTER 4 - CHRISTIAN

I do everything I can to not pay attention to this woman.

I meant what I said—what kind of foolish female wanders into this part of town alone with a bag
strapped to her shoulder? It’s practically inviting trouble. Broad daylight or not, muggings happen on
a daily basis around here. So do other crimes that are much, much worse.
She’s lucky—but also stupid.
And I don’t have time for stupid; especially not right now when I’m busy training for my next big
fight.
But unlike most of the women I’ve been with, this one does have something unusual about her.
She’s gorgeous in a way that I haven’t seen before. Pretty without a lot of makeup or hairspray or
plastic implants. She’s just naturally beautiful.
Even as she sits there, sipping on the tea that Michael gave her, her blonde hair cascades in waves
over her shoulders. It’s not that artificial platinum blonde that so many women have. It’s more like a
gold and dirty blonde that makes me think of the sun kissing the earth. And those green eyes—damn,
those eyes get me.
I refocus myself and take out my slowly building angst on the punching bag. I’m sure she’ll be on
her way soon, and she’s not the kind of girl I will likely see in this part of town again. Besides, I can
get any woman I want. Between my reputation as an excellent fighter, and the social circles that I
don’t, but could, run in being an ‘in the shadows’ billionaire, I can have any woman I please.
Sometimes, that’s a consolation to the demons I still wrestle with internally, and sometimes it isn’t.
I suppose if I hadn’t still been estranged from my father when he died the recent car crash, then I
might not have such lingering guilt. But he made it very clear before his death that he didn’t approve
of my path in life, so what was I supposed to do? Kiss his ass as a grown man? Besides, he’s cursed
me by leaving behind my family’s huge real estate empire to deal with.
Precisely another reason why I have no time for nonsense. And since I’m too focused on my own
self to hold down a steady relationship, that makes even glancing in this girl’s direction a bad idea.
Plus, she looks a lot younger than me, and she probably just thinks I’m a grump—all for the best.
But after I repel her attempt at an apology, I can see her talking with Anton out of the corner of my
eye. He’s smiling and being nice to her. I can only hope that doesn’t encourage her to stay long.
Michael has already moved on to his day after having patched her up as best he could.
I focus on training, only vaguely overhearing parts of the woman’s conversation with Anton. But
when she suddenly looks at her phone and then races out the door, I can’t help but take notice. As
much as I was ready for her to leave, a part of me is still very intrigued about who she is and why she
was here on this side of town at all. I bet if I had asked her, she would have given me an entire
rundown of her business here, but I remind myself that I don’t have time to get involved in other
people’s lives.
Still, I find myself pausing my training and walking over to the window to see whose car she’s
getting into. It’s an Uber—good. At least now she’ll make it home in one piece.
But just as she gets inside the car and closes the door, she turns her face, and our eyes meet.
Crap.
It takes me a second to peel my stare away from those green eyes that seem to cut straight through
the glass, but as soon as I do, I stalk off quickly to go shower and change. I've got a lot to do today,
and I don’t have the energy to be distracted by stupid things or pretty girls.
“She’s pretty cute, huh?” Anton grins as I walk past him toward the showers.
I chuckle and give him a pat on the shoulder.
“I think she’s a bit too old for you, my friend,” I tease. “Stick with sixteen-year-olds for a few
more years.”
“I wasn’t saying for me,” he grins. “I was saying it to you. She isn’t too old for you, is she?”
Anton laughs in amusement of his own clever sarcasm.
I ignore him and keep heading to the showers, but then I get ribbed by Michael as well.
“He ain’t wrong,” Michael says as he stops his kickboxing training to look over at me. “She was
pretty.”
“What is this, gang up on your gym bro day?” I say, pretending to find it funny but actually getting
a little uncomfortably annoyed. They wouldn’t be teasing me about her if I hadn’t been staring out the
window as she left.
“Not tryna get under your skin,” Michael snickers. “Just saw the way ya looked at her s’all.”
“I didn’t look at her in any sort of way,” I retort dismissively. “I just wanted to see that she got in
a car to get the hell out of here so that our training didn’t get interrupted again today.”
“Looks like yers already did,” Michael smirks.
“Jesus,” I scowl as I stomp off to the showers. “Both of you need to get back to your training and
give it a rest.”
I can hear them both laughing as I walk off.
Thankfully, I’m on a tight schedule today and that gives me very little time to stay annoyed for
long. I need to get showered because I have a phone interview for the big, upcoming fight in thirty
minutes. Then, I have to go and meet with a construction firm. It’s just one of the many newly acquired
responsibilities that my father left me with, just like now having to take care of my mom. Don’t get me
wrong, I love my mom more than the whole world, and I will take care of her for the rest of my days.
But it’s all just a lot.
Here I was, just wanting to fight and win matches and rise up the ranks until my name was on the
lips of every great MMA fighter on the circuit, and now I have all of these other responsibilities to
take care of. I’ve got an endless supply of money to deal with it all, but the time and the desire to do
so are frequently lacking.
Ever since my parents’ car accident, I’ve had a lot on my mind and increased responsibilities that
I don’t want to have to deal with at all.
No one else at the gym knows that I’m richer than God, and I intend to keep it that way. I don’t
like the two sides of my life mixing together, especially when I try so hard to distance myself from
one of them. The only other person who knows about my billionaire status is my best friend, and even
Dwayne plays it down as much as possible. He knows I don’t like thinking about it, let alone talking
about it. I prefer to live a spartan lifestyle, with no one aware of my roots as an heir to a fortune.
Thankfully, even with all the attention that I get as a top fighter, the MMA press still hasn’t picked up
on it either. I made every effort to prevent myself from being linked to my father’s fortune, even going
so far as legally changing my last name to my mother’s maiden name. The press can dig around all
they like, but I did a damn good job of erasing any trace of the man my father wanted me to be.
I finish my shower and dry off in front of the mirror, admiring the tattoos that cover my arms,
chest, and torso, and that stretch around to my back. My father hated the fact that I got tattoos. He
warned me that no ‘reputable business would take me seriously’ if I was covered in ink. Honestly,
that only prompted me to go and get even more ink done because I thought his whole point was
ludicrous and worthy of a little rebellion.
If I had a lot of money and a solid reputation, then why the hell would anyone care if I had a
dragon tattooed across my chest? My father was old school and perhaps that was why we never saw
eye to eye. He thought it was my whole life’s purpose to grow up into some responsible, dull as fuck,
stuffed shirt who would take over the family business. I thought it was my life’s purpose to chase after
my dreams.
I towel dry my right shoulder, right over the place where my favorite tattoo lies—a family crest. A
lot of the high-level fighters have family crests as a way to pass down the title of their championships
to their offspring, not that I’ll ever have any offspring. I’m too busy taking care of my own life to want
to take care of anyone else’s. I designed the crest myself, since obviously my own father didn’t have
one. It was a way for me to come to terms with the fact that if there were things I wanted in this
world, I needed to give them to myself, because money couldn’t buy the things my heart desired.
I’ve only ever been asked about it once—by Michael, who asked me if there was a story behind
it. I told him no, and he never brought it up again.
That is one of the things that I appreciate about Michael. He may be a hard-ass Englishman with a
stiff penchant for knocking my ego into place, but he’s good about minding his business, and I admire
that.
“Whoa,” Anton whistles when I walk back out into the gym, this time in a suit and tie instead of
the pants to my Jiu Jitsu gi.
“Cleans up well, doesn’t ‘e?” Michael chuckles.
Even his chuckling sounds British.
“Workday, boys,” I say as I head out, downplaying the fact that sometimes I need to attend to my
day job. “Try not to kill each other until I get back.”
“Speak fer yerself,” Michael jokes as he winks at Anton.
I sigh as I leave and head out to my car. I really don’t want to take care of logistics today. I would
rather stay at the gym all day and train.
Oh well, at least the phone interview is for something important. I’ll be able to think about the
upcoming fight as I’m sitting in my meeting with the construction company, likely bored to tears.
Meetings like that are all the same—the company tries to kiss my ass because they want to keep my
business and ensure my satisfaction, and I try not to comment out loud on how much bullshit is being
tossed back and forth across the table.
Usually there’s an attractive secretary or office assistant, sometimes even a pretty junior executive
that sits in on these meetings, batting her eyes at me and pushing her breasts out to get me to take
notice. Sometimes, I take one home with me for the night, but usually I pass. They’re all the same—
every company, every meeting, every pretty face with dull eyes and zero personality. This is exactly
why I would never cut it in the corporate world—it bores me to death.
Plus, I find no honor in throwing money at people so that I can make more of it. Whoever invented
that system was an asshole. The fighting circuit has a meaningful hierarchy. You earn your way to the
top by using technique and skill, and by garnering respect. The corporate world is just a shitshow
circus full of clowns. They’re all patting each other’s backs with one hand, while driving a knife into
it with the other.
No thanks—I’ll stick with fighting.
Just as I get ready to turn down the street leading to my apartment, my phone notification goes off,
and I look to see not one but two messages.
The first delays my meeting with the construction company until tomorrow—something about not
having all their staff in-office and prepared on time. Fine with me; I wasn’t thrilled about having to go
there today anyways. Although it does look bad on their part to reschedule at the last minute. I can
only hope that their team isn’t a bunch of morons who run late all the time.
The second message is the fight interviewer who wants to do the call now instead of in a half
hour. I guess that means I’ll be doing the interview from my car. Too bad it’s not a video interview so
I could at least get some mileage out of this suit today.
I type a quick response and get ready to accept the incoming call as I change direction and take a
different route. I have a stop that I need to make now before I head home.
CHAPTER 5 - MEGAN

I ’m late thanks to my earlier escapades. Very noticeably late. And although I try to swing into the
office without drawing attention to myself, there are those here who would not miss the opportunity to
make me suffer.
Thankfully, I am at least greeted by a friendly face first.
“Megan!” Essence calls as she flashes me a smile. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was beginning to
get worried that maybe something had happened because you’re never late!”
Essence knows me too well. She’s more than just a coworker, she’s also the only friendly face
around here aside from my boss. She’s bubbly and sassy, and always has my back, and for that I am
eternally grateful.
“You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had,” I exclaim. “Actually, it’s been pretty much one long
blur from night straight through to morning since I haven’t even slept yet.”
“Girl, you have got to stop burning the candle at both ends. You’re running yourself into the
ground. But don’t worry, I’ve done my best to cover for you, so we have a few minutes. Tell me all
about it!”
Essence pulls me into a corner office to hear the scoop while she hands me a cup of coffee.
Between the Earl Grey tea I was given at the MMA gym earlier, and this cream-and-sugar-laden
office coffee, I’m sure to have a heart attack before the end of the day.
By the time I’ve finished telling her everything that happened, her eyes are so wide that the whites
of them are popping out against her ebony skin. And I even left a few parts out.
“Damn, I can’t believe you even came into work after going through all of that,” Essence
exclaims. “I would have taken the day off for sure!”
“Well, I need the money, and I can’t afford to lose this job. Speaking of losing this job,” I say.
“What did you say to cover for me?”
“Oh, I just said that you were stuck in traffic and would be here soon.”
“But everyone knows that I ride the bus into work!”
Her face drops when she realizes that her attempt to ‘cover for me’ is likely just going to make me
look like I am not only late, but also a liar.
“Shit, Megan, I’m sorry,” she frowns. “I forgot about that.”
There’s no way that I can be mad at her, Essence is just too nice a woman to be upset with. And
also, she is literally my only friend here at work. High-end construction firms aren’t exactly the most
conducive social gathering places. Even if they were, I wouldn’t want to be friends with most of the
people here.
“It’s okay,” I say, hurrying off now because every moment that I stand here talking is another
moment later that I become. “We’ll catch up later, okay?”
I scurry down the hall, hoping to make it to my office before running into anyone else.
“There she is! Trying to make a fashionably late entrance this morning, Meg?”
I grimace when I hear the voice. I don’t know how many times I’ve told this jerk not to call me
Meg, but he insists on doing so anyway. Daniel is the kind of guy who will go out of his way to be a
douchebag just to show you that he can do whatever pleases him.
“I wasn’t trying to be late, Daniel,” I scowl at him. “It’s just been a very difficult morning.”
“Oh? Anything I can help with?” he asks as he saddles up next to me and puts his hand on my
shoulder.
When his fingers start to massage the crook where my shoulder meets my neck, I pull away in
disgust.
“Come on, Meg. Everyone knows that a good massage can do wonders for easing tension,” he
says with a seditious smirk. “You know what else is a great stress reliever?”
“No, and I don’t want to know, Daniel.” I turn and walk away before he can say anything or do
anything else that crosses a line in the workplace.
Daniel is always trying to hit on me, even though I make it very clear that his advances are
unwanted. With guys like that, I’ve learned that the best thing to do is to just ignore them and walk
away because they feed on attention and controversy.
He says something else to me as I deflect his advances and proceed down the hall to my boss’s
office, but I pretend I don’t hear him.
When I get to Mr. Bedore’s office door, I take in a deep breath and knock.
Mr. Bedore is a super nice guy—old, wise, and usually empathetic to his employees and their
needs. I’m hopeful that he won’t be too upset with me about being late to work today. But as soon as
the door opens and I’m met with the face of someone who is not Mr. Bedore, I remember that there
was a meeting scheduled for this morning with a very important, high-profile client who had been on
the schedule for weeks.
Shit.
“Well, well, look who the cat dragged in,” Kristy says as she rolls her eyes at me and pouts her
perfectly lined lips.
Kristy is a she-devil, and even worse than Daniel. I’d take his unwanted, pathetic advances any
day over Kristy’s downright evil-spirited meanness that she seems to enjoy inflicting on me every
single day at work.
“Good morning, Kristy,” I say with as little emotion as possible as I push past her to see Mr.
Bedore.
“It’s hardly morning anymore, Megan,” she scolds in her most condescending tone. “But I suppose
we should be grateful that you blessed us with your presence at all.”
She continues to chastise me all the way until I sit down in the chair across from Mr. Bedore’s
desk. When she finally decides to be quiet, I greet my boss with a weak smile and am relieved when
he asks Kristy to leave. I am stressed out enough as it is, so watching Kristy get kicked out of the
boss’s office in a disgruntled mood at least brings me a small bit of pleasure.
“Okay, Megan,” he says with kindly eyes that look over the rim of his glasses at me. “Tell me
what happened.”
I launch into my explanation of this morning’s ungodly events—leaving out the part about how I
Another random document with
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the Society for six months and who were in the employment of the
Society at the date of commencing the fund, if they were sixteen
years of age or upwards and not over fifty years of age in the case of
males or forty-five years of age in the case of females, should be
members of the fund. The proposed scale of contributions to the
scheme was 5 per cent. of the wages or salary received, and
contributors were to be eligible at sixty years of age to retire on
pension if they so desired. At the age of sixty-five for males and fifty
for females they would be eligible to receive annuities ranging from
25 per cent. of their salaries, after ten years’ payment of
contributions, to 85 per cent. of their salaries after having paid
contributions for fifty-one years. To assist in launching the scheme it
was proposed that the Society should make an initial contribution of
£10,000. It was also proposed that the superannuation fund should
be managed by a committee of seven, which committee should
consist of the chairman and three directors for the time being of the
U.C.B.S. and three representatives of the employees, who must have
at least three years’ service with the Society.
When the scheme was brought forward again at the September
meeting of the Society one of the amendments sent in was from St
George Society, and called for the rejection of the scheme in its
entirety. The motion to reject the scheme was seconded by a
representative of the employees, who referred to the “autocratic”
methods of the directors in adopting this scheme and bringing it
forward without consulting the workers. The result was that the
scheme was disapproved. The scheme which was brought forward by
the S.C.W.S. for the superannuation of their employees suffered the
same fate.
 THE INTERNATIONAL CO-OPERATIVE
CONGRESS.
It was as the result of an invitation which came from the Scottish
National Co-operative Conference, held in Kilmarnock in 1910, that
the International Co-operative Congress held in Hamburg in the
autumn of that year decided to come to Glasgow for the 1913
Congress rather than go to Vienna, the claims of which city were
strongly urged by Dr Beno Karpeles, in opposition to the claims of
Glasgow, as set forth by Mr James Deans.
The year 1913 was a big year for Scottish Co-operators, for not only
had they to entertain the International Congress in the autumn, but
Scotland was also the location of the British Congress in the summer,
and pessimists were not wanting who thought that the Co-operators
of Scotland had undertaken a task which was too heavy for them
when they decided to entertain two so great Congresses as the British
and the International in one year. Events proved that the pessimists
were wrong, however. One of the first duties which fell to the lot of
the committee which was appointed to make preparations for the
International Congress was that of finding a suitable house for it, but
they did not require to look far afield. The U.C.B.S. were the owners
of the best hall in the city for the purpose for which it was required.
In St Mungo Hall there was ample accommodation for the Congress
itself, while in the adjoining halls ample space for dining the
delegates could be provided. The Bakery was just across the street,
and cooking and waiting facilities were all that could be desired. So it
was decided that in St Mungo Hall the Congress should be held.
The U.C.B.S. undertook all the work of catering for the delegates at
luncheon each day. They also undertook the provision of the
luncheon which was given by the reception committee on the
Saturday, and they themselves provided the entertainment for one of
the afternoons of Congress. It was universally acknowledged that the
International Congress of 1913 was the best International Co-
operative Congress held, and to this happy result the U.C.B.S.
contributed no small share. The event was one which will not readily
be forgotten by those privileged to take part. Alas, that the
expressions of fraternity so freely uttered then should have been so
soon made of no avail by the outbreak of war.
 THE HOLIDAY CAMP.
It is to Mr John Dewar, for many years president of the
Renfrewshire Co-operative Conference Association, that the idea of a
Co-operative holiday camp owes its origin. For many years Mr Dewar
was an enthusiastic Volunteer, and his experiences under canvas
during the annual training periods of his regiment impressed him
with the value of this form of holiday. Associated with him in his
propaganda for a camping association on Co-operative lines was Mr
James Lucas, at that time president of the Glasgow and Suburbs
Conference Association, and latterly, also, Mr John Paton, of the
Renfrewshire Conference council, who had been converted to the
idea as the result of a visit to Douglas, I.O.M., where he had seen the
huge city under canvas which for a number of years housed
thousands of holiday-making Lancashire lads every summer.
By 1910 these gentlemen had been able to get their organisation so
far advanced that they had selected a site on the Ayrshire Coast for
their first camp, and had made arrangements with the farmer who
rented the land. At the last moment, however, the landowner stepped
in and vetoed the whole proceedings. This put an end to doing
anything further with regard to a camp during that year, but the
search for a suitable site continued and, at length, the little farm of
Roseland, situated on Canada Hill, Rothesay, overlooking the Bay,
was secured. The farm was for sale, but the committee in charge of
the arrangements considered that purchase was too bold an initial
step to take, so they leased the farm for six months; securing an
option to purchase at the end of that period if they wished.
Here, in the summer of 1911, the first Scottish Co-operative
holiday camp was established. It was rather a primitive affair, that
first camp. The cooking was done in the little farmhouse, while the
campers had their meals in a large marquee. The U.C.B.S. directors
took a keen interest in the camp from the very beginning. The
catering was done by them, and the catering staff were housed in the
little farmhouse.
 Primitive though the arrangements were, they appealed to the
campers, who were unanimous in their praise of the beautiful
situation, the pure air, the perfect catering, and the small outlay for
which they secured a perfect holiday. Thus encouraged, the
committee which had promoted the camp proceeded to organise a
Co-operative society to work it, and in this Co-operative society the
U.C.B.S. took out twenty-five shares. The farm was purchased for
£600, and in September the Baking Society increased the number of
their shares to 100.
In 1912 the camp was much better organised than in 1911, but it
was still far from being what its promoters desired to see it. They
were hampered for lack of funds, however, as the Co-operative
societies were showing caution and a lack of faith in the enterprise,
and were not providing the capital necessary to work it properly as
readily as had been expected. The only fault which the committee
found with the site lay in the fact that in dry summers the water
supply was inadequate. The summer of 1912 also showed them that it
was desirable that something more impervious to rain than a
marquee was desirable for the gatherings of campers and, in order
that these two defects might be put right, they applied to the U.C.B.S.
for a loan of £1,000 on the security of the property. This loan was
granted them, and so good use did they make of the power which it
gave them that, before the time came for opening the camp in 1913,
they had put down a huge storage tank for water, capable of storing
20,000 gallons; and had erected a dining hall large enough to dine
several hundred persons.
The camp was a very great success in the third year. Its popularity
was so great that the committee found it quite impossible to provide
accommodation for all who wished to avail themselves of its facilities
for holiday making, and this has been the case in each succeeding
year, notwithstanding the influence of the war. At the end of the
third season, however, the committee of the association came to the
conclusion that, if the camp was to be made the success they believed
it was capable of becoming, some rearrangement of its management
would require to be made, so they invited the Baking Society to take
it over as a going concern and work it themselves.
They explained to the directors of the Baking Society that they
were not taking this step because they disbelieved in its success, but
solely on the ground that they considered that dual control was not
good for discipline and did not make for good management.
The directors of the Baking Society promised to consider the
matter, and the result was they brought forward to the quarterly
meeting, held in March 1914, a recommendation that the camp
should be taken over, and this recommendation was accepted by the
delegates. Since then the camp has been managed by the U.C.B.S.
In 1914 accommodation was provided for 250 persons, and it is
extremely probable that greatly increased accommodation would
have been provided before now had it not been for the intervention
of the war which, by providing another and much more strenuous
form of camping for the past and prospective frequenters of Canada
Hill, prevented for the time being such further developments.
Doubtless, however, with the return of Europe to sanity, such
developments will take place; until, before many years are past,
almost the whole of the Society’s seven-acre estate will be covered in
the summer and autumn months with the picturesque pyramids of
white canvas.
 THE SOCIETY’S PROGRESS.
In all its branches, with the exception of the tearooms, the
progress of the Society during these four years had been remarkable.
In 1913, however, the London Street tearoom was closed, and as soon
as the lease of the Union Halls expired they also were given up. At
the beginning of the period the output had averaged 3,820 sacks per
week, while at its end the average output was 4,648, an increase of
848 sacks per week in four years. The aggregate sales for the year
which ended in July 1914 were £692,600. Truly, the Society had
travelled far from the days when a small two-oven bakehouse
sufficed for all its output. The membership now consisted of 201
societies; which was also a contrast to the eight small struggling
societies which had banded themselves together in the last days of
December 1868 to form the Federation.
The time had now arrived when the Federation was to be put to a
more severe test than ever before since it had attained to years of
maturity. Like a thunderclap the war storm which had been
gathering over Europe during the month of July burst on an
astonished world which had almost come to believe war on such a
gigantic scale impossible, and many were the doubts expressed, even
by sincere wellwishers of the Co-operative movement, as to how it
would weather the storm. The next chapter will tell how one
federation kept the Co-operative flag flying and added to the laurels
it had gained by its devoted and loyal service to the interests of the
common people.
 CHAPTER XVIII.
BAKING UNDER WAR CONDITIONS.

THE EARLY DAYS OF WAR—KEEPING DOWN PRICES: THE

DIRECTORS’ VIEW—HALF-PAY TO SOLDIER EMPLOYEES
—ARMY CONTRACTS—HORSES AND MOTORS
COMMANDEERED—PRICE OF BREAD ADVANCED—
DEATH OF BISCUIT FACTORY MANAGER—MORE ARMY
CONTRACTS—EXTENSIONS AND ALTERATIONS—M‘NEIL
STREET BLOCK COMPLETED—BUSINESS ORGANISATION
—TEABREAD AND PASTRY SHOPS—THE PRICE OF BREAD
—INCREASING OUTPUT—BISCUIT AND TEABREAD
TRADE—THE SOCIETY AND ITS WORKERS—DELIVERY
DIFFICULTIES—DEATH OF MR DUNCAN M‘CULLOCH.

On the fourth day of August 1914, Great Britain entered on a new

era. There are not awanting cynics who declare that Great Britain is
hardly ever out of war, but however that may be, there never has
been in the world’s history a war which seemed in its early days to be
fraught with so dire consequences for civilisation as did that into
which the nations of Europe plunged in those early days of August
1914. For the first few days it seemed as if chaos had suddenly
developed. The people seemed to go mad with panic, and rushed to
purchase goods wherever these could be procured, careless of the
prices which they were called on to pay. To the traders, large and
small, it must have seemed like the beginning of a trading
millennium, and they took immediate advantage of the position in
which they found themselves. Prices doubled, trebled, and
quadrupled; yet the eager rush to buy continued. The poor bought
what they could, but they soon reached the end of their meagre
resources. Not so the rich, however. Amongst them, the panic
seemed to be even greater than amongst the poorer sections of the
community, and they provisioned their houses as if for a siege,
careless as to who must want if only they had plenty in store.

EDUCATIONAL DEPUTATION TO ENGLAND

 EDUCATIONAL DEPUTATION TO ENGLAND

The bakers of Glasgow were also the victims of the profiteering

craze which had suddenly enmeshed the trading public, and at a
meeting which took place on the afternoon of 3rd August, they
proposed that the price of bread should be raised. Mr James Young,
manager of the U.C.B.S., had been present at this meeting and had
opposed the proposal, with the result that it was not carried out. This
action of his was homologated by his board at a special meeting
which was held the same evening, while at another meeting, held
three days later, the committee decided that they would not raise the
price of bread in the meantime. The Baking Society found itself in a
very favourable position at this time. In M‘Neil Street there were
supplies of flour which would keep the bakery going for nine weeks,
while Clydebank had supplies for six, and Belfast for seven weeks.
They were thus in a position to view the situation with more or less
equanimity. The S.C.W.S. were also in a good position so far as
supplies of flour and wheat were concerned, having some nine or ten
weeks’ supplies either on hand or on board ship at the outbreak of
war, and the rapidity with which the German fleet was bottled up
within its own harbours gave security of passage for the time being to
food-carrying vessels. Nevertheless, the general panic of that first
week of war affected the wheat and flour trade as much as it did
many others, and it was not long before flour was selling at a price
which had never been asked for it in the whole course of the
Federation’s history.
These were conditions under which the two great Co-operative
federations were able to show to advantage, and they were conditions
also which proved the wisdom of the Wholesale Society in
establishing its own purchasing agency in Canada; for while outside
millers were asking as much as 65/ a sack for flour in the first week
of the war, the highest price quoted by the Wholesale Society was
37/, and ordinary flour was sold by them at 1/6 per sack advance on
normal price. Thus the two federations were in a position to see to it
between them that on this side of the Atlantic, at least, no undue
advantage was taken of the circumstances created by the war. At the
meeting of the Baking Society’s board, which took place on 1st
September, the committee placed on record their appreciation of the
manner in which the crisis brought about by the war had been met
by the manager, heads of departments, and employees generally, and
desired the manager to convey this expression of the board’s
appreciation to the heads of departments and employees. At the
quarterly meeting of the Society, the directors had a similar
compliment paid to themselves; Mr Shaw, Cambuslang Society,
moving, and Mr Glasse, S.C.W.S., seconding a motion which received
the unanimous endorsement of the delegates, thanking the directors
for the splendid lead which they had given to the purveyors of bread
in the city and far beyond. Mr Shaw drew attention to the importance
and magnificence of what had been done, and thought that the
nation was entitled to recognise what the Co-operative movement
had done, not only now but at all times, in keeping down prices and
in keeping goods pure.
Perhaps the position in which the Federation was placed by the
war and the view of it taken by the directors can be explained most
clearly in the words of Mr Gerrard himself. Addressing the
September quarterly meeting, he stated that the profits for the half-
year which had ended in July had been a little better than usual, but
[3]
“the future was so indefinite that no one could foresee with any
accuracy what would happen. They had been blamed, and were still
being blamed in certain quarters, for not increasing the price of
bread, but they had resolutely refused, thinking it their duty as a
Federation to keep the price of bread and other commodities as low
as possible. Notwithstanding, he understood the price of biscuits had
been increased in some quarters, and this had brought them some
trade that they should have had before. The way in which prices were
rushed up at the commencement of the war had seemed to the board
most unseemly and unpatriotic, and seemed to show that everyone
was trying to make as much as possible out of the war. It was
unfortunate that the price of bread would require to be increased
before the war was over, but until that step was absolutely necessary
they would not increase it, and then only as far as was necessary.
They had received several contracts for bread, and the manner in
which the manager, heads of departments, and the general body of
the employees acted under the stress of these circumstances was
worthy of all praise.”
3. (The Scottish Co-operator, 25th September 1914.)
 HALF-PAY TO SOLDIER EMPLOYEES.
At the outbreak of war, a number of the employees had been
members of the Territorial Forces and had been called up at once,
and the board decided to grant them half-pay. Later, when the call
for more men came, many of the employees joined up, and the
directors decided that those who enlisted should be placed on the
same footing as regarded half-pay as were those who had been called
up at the outbreak of war. At this quarterly meeting the directors
were accused by a representative of the Bonus Investment Society of
not being so generous to their employees who were serving with the
Colours as were some other Co-operative societies, but the chairman
was able to satisfy the delegates that, in those cases where generosity
was most necessary—those of wives with large families—the Baking
Society’s scheme was the one which gave the wife the larger total
income.
This meeting was the one at which the method of giving the
minutes in the form of synopses was first adopted, and one of the
delegates took occasion to compliment the secretary on having
produced synopses of the various minutes which gave the delegates
enough information about the business done to enable them to find
out what was taking place. At this meeting also a grant of £100 was
made to the Belgian Relief Fund, the chairman stating that further
grants could be made if occasion demanded. Other donations made
were:—£500 to the War Relief Fund, £100 to the Lord Mayor of
Belfast’s Fund, and £100 to the fund being raised by the Provost of
Clydebank. It was urged very strongly by several of the delegates that
the administration of the relief fund should be in the hands of the
Government. In the minute of the board meeting of 2nd October, the
fact is noted that during the past quarter the Society’s motors had
covered a distance of 125,015 miles. It had certainly been a busy
quarter.
 ARMY CONTRACTS.
Immediately the war broke out, the United Baking Society were
inundated with Army contracts. In the first few days they had to
make arrangements for supplying camps all over the country, in
addition to those for which they had held the contracts. These new
camps included those at Perth, Inverness, Falkirk, and Dunblane,
and all were supplied at current prices. Yet, notwithstanding the fact
that the Baking Society were doing much work for the Army in that
first week of the war, they were not allowed to escape from some of
the other discomforts which come to the owners of horses and
vehicles in a nation at war. On the 6th of August 18 horses, two
motors, and one lorry were commandeered for military purposes.
Other large bakers suffered in the same way, and on behalf of all of
them a telegram was sent to the Officer in Command, pointing out
the importance of the work which was being done by the baking
firms in the distribution of food, and complaining that serious
hardship to the people would ensue if bakers’ horses were removed.
With this telegram the committee of the Baking Society associated
themselves. To enable them to overtake their work, the Society
decided to purchase several motors which had been offered to them,
while a circular-letter, explaining the position, was sent out to the
societies. That the War Office officials were not ungrateful for the
assistance which had been rendered them in the emergency of
mobilisation was shown by the fact that at the board meeting which
was held on 7th August, letters of congratulation on the manner in
which the service of bread to two camps had been carried out were
read to the committee.
Among the minor results due to the war may be mentioned the
cancelling of a number of social meetings, excursions, marriages,
etc., and the closing down of the holiday camp at the end of August.
At the beginning of October, another attempt was made by the
Glasgow Master Bakers’ Association to have the price of bread raised,
but again the directors of the Baking Society blocked the way. At the
same time, however, the committee came to the decision that, in
view of all the circumstances, they would not raise any objection
should another overture be made. At the beginning of October, the
situation was again reviewed and, in view of the fact that by the
beginning of the year the price of flour would be greatly in advance of
that then being used, it was agreed to resist no longer a slight
advance in the price of bread. For three months the Society had been
the means of keeping the price of bread at the rate at which it was
being sold at the outbreak of war. If we assume that their action
influenced only two hundred thousand households, and that the
average consumption of bread in each household was only one 2–lb.
loaf per day, this action of the Baking Society was responsible for
saving to these householders in three months no less a sum than
£21,250, and probably double that sum, for that only supposes an
advance of one farthing per loaf. The first advance in the price of
bread took place on 16th November. In Belfast the price of bread had
been advanced ¼d. per 2–lb. loaf on 19th October.
 DEATH OF BISCUIT FACTORY MANAGER.
Mr John Gilmour took charge of the Society’s biscuit factory
shortly after it was commenced, and he continued to manage it until
his death, which took place on 9th October 1914. He was highly
respected by both directors and workmen for his devotion to
business and his tact and kindness in dealing with those under him.
He was succeeded by Mr William Ninian, who had the distinction of
being a Bakery-trained man and who was acting as Mr Gilmour’s
assistant at the time of that gentleman’s death.
At the quarterly meeting, the chairman made fitting and
sympathetic reference to the loss which the Society had sustained
through the death of Mr Gilmour. He also referred to the retiral from
active work of one of the Society’s bread bakers, Mr W. Lees, who
had been in the employment of the Society for forty and a half years.
During the quarter an electrically-driven motor had been at work in
Glasgow for the Society. It was proving very satisfactory and the
board, he said, considered that before long these electrically-driven
cars would replace horses on the streets, although petrol-driven cars
would still be used for the long journeys.
At this quarterly meeting, some of the delegates wished to know
why the board had decided that they would no longer resist an
increase in the price of bread seeing that in their minutes they stated
that their contract for flour was still unbroken. The chairman, in
replying, pointed out that flour at the moment was about 10/ higher
in price than before the war, and the board thought it better that the
price should be raised by a halfpenny now than that it should be put
a penny or three halfpence later, when the stock of cheap flour was
completely exhausted. He also stated that eighty-six of the Society’s
employees were then serving in the Army. At this quarterly meeting,
also, the question of granting relief to what were termed “innocent
enemy aliens,” in other words, British women who had married
subjects of nations at war with Britain, and who through the
operation of war were left destitute in this country, was raised
through an appeal on their behalf issued by the International Co-
operative Alliance executive. A proposal was made to grant £25 to
the fund which was being raised, but this was defeated by a two to
one majority. The cake show was held this year as usual, but, as was
to be expected, the sales were not so great as in some former years.
The price had been advanced on the average one penny per pound.
In their report to the delegates to the December quarterly meeting,
the directors stated that they would regard it as an instruction to
make no increase in the prices of their goods so long as they were
able to work without actual loss.
 MORE ARMY CONTRACTS.
In September, an arrangement had been entered into with the
Army Authorities by which the Government supplied the flour and
the Baking Society baked it into bread for the troops. In addition,
several contracts for biscuits for the Army were received. The first
three of these totalled 200 tons. The contracts for the baking of
bread for the Army continued until early in 1916, when an intimation
was received from the Quartermaster of the Scottish Command that
the contract would cease, as the Government were now erecting field
bakeries for themselves. Two months later, however, another
contract was entered into with the Scottish Command on the same
terms as formerly. The contracts carried out by Clydebank and
Belfast Branches have already been referred to.
 EXTENSIONS AND ALTERATIONS.
For the whole of the first year of war and almost the whole of the
second year, the building department of the Society was kept busy
with the extension to the M‘Neil Street premises. The principal
reason for this extension was the necessity for securing more space
for the biscuit factory, and as soon as practicable this extension was
carried through. A new travelling oven was installed early in 1915 at a
cost of £175, and at the same time a new biscuit cutting machine was
got at a cost of £300. A gas-fired travelling oven was also installed
before the end of the year and another one, built in accordance with
alterations suggested by the bakery staff, was installed in October
1916. In the spring of 1915, it was decided to cover over the space
between bakehouses Nos. 11 and 12 for the purpose of providing
dressing rooms for the workers, and at the same time it was decided
to put fans in each flat for ventilation purposes.
M‘NEIL STREET BLOCK COMPLETED.
Parts of the new block at the Adelphi Street and South York Street
corner were occupied as they were completed. Particularly, the
ground floor was occupied as an extension to the biscuit factory, but
it was not until June 1916 that the entire building was ready for the
official opening ceremony. This was of a very modest character, for,
as the chairman stated, the directors did not think the circumstances
of the time lent themselves to the celebration of the opening of their
splendid addition by means of a grand function, and in this he
believed the board had interpreted the wishes of the delegates.
The dressing room for the female workers, which was situated on
the fourth flat, was fitted up in an excellent manner. Each worker
had a locker of her own, made of cast steel, of which she alone held
the key. Fourteen wash-hand basins were fitted up and eight spray
baths. There was also an excellently appointed sickroom, where a girl
who became unwell suddenly could rest, and also a room fitted up
with the appropriate scientific appliances, where accidents could be
treated at once.
 At the quarterly meeting, which took place on the day on which the
new wing of the building was opened, the chairman stated that the
total cost of the land and the buildings on it had been £11,800, while
the total cost of the bakery buildings, including the addition, had
been £131,000; which had been depreciated to the extent of
£52,000.