A Billionaire Between the Sheets (24 page)

D
eacon woke to a blast of frigid water. The spray forced his head back against the cold tile of the shower with a thump that resonated through his already throbbing head like a sonic boom. He might've cussed if he hadn't been drowning. He rolled to his side to avoid the frontal spray, choking on the water he'd already sucked into his lungs. The movement made him aware of the queasiness in his stomach, and the choking soon turned to gagging.

The water was turned off, and Nash's voice cut through Deacon's misery. “From what I just found in the toilet, I would say that you don't have anything left, big brother.”

After a few minutes of trying to throw up, Deacon had to agree. He leaned back against the shower wall and took a deep breath before slowly opening his eyes. He was in the en suite bathroom of his office. Nash sat on the lid of the toilet with a grin on his face, while Grayson stood by the sink with a more solemn look.

“So it looks like you had a serious go-around with the minibar,” Nash said. His eyebrow lifted. “And the minibar won.”

“Very funny.” Deacon massaged his temples. “What time is it?”

“A little after nine o'clock in the morning.”

Deacon dropped his hands and stared at his brother, trying to figure out how he'd lost almost twenty-four hours. The answer came too quickly. Olivia. Just the name drove a knife through his heart and had his stomach clenching. He leaned up and gagged. A glass of seltzer water appeared, along with three aspirins. He accepted them from Grayson with a slight nod of thanks.

His brother waited for him to down the aspirins before asking, “So what happened, Deke?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened.” He got to his feet and leaned against the glass door for support. “I just tied one on, is all. I guess the pressure of running a big business got to be too much for me.”

A towel hit him hard in the face. He caught it and glared at Nash, who was no longer smiling.

“Cut the bullshit, Deke. You thrive on pressure.” Nash got to his feet, blocking Deacon from getting out of the shower. “So what happened with Olivia? You weren't kidding, were you? You really fell in love with her.”

He laughed and tried to ignore the pain in his head. “Now who is full of shit? Move out of the way so I can get ready for the meeting with Francesca's lawyers.”

“Not until you tell us what happened.”

“It's none of your business. Now move, Nash, or I'm going to pound your ass.”

“Not likely.”

If Deacon hadn't had the worst hangover on God's green earth and a meeting only minutes away, he might've taken his brother up on the challenge. But as things were, his brother's pounding would have to wait. Rather than fight with Nash, he stripped out of his clothes and tossed them at him before pulling the shower door closed. The hot water soothed his muscles and the ache in his head, and by the time he'd finished showering, he felt a little better. The feeling dissipated when he stepped into his office and found Nash sitting at his desk, Grayson sketching on the couch, and Donny John standing looking at the painting of the Paris lingerie shop, which had been slashed right down the middle.

“Dad?”

Donny John didn't look away from the painting. “It looks like you have something against Paris, Deacon.”

Deacon had a lot against Paris and could vaguely remember taking a mail opener to the painting the night before, but right now he wanted to know what his father was doing there.

“How did you get here, Dad?”

Donny John finally turned to him. “You look like shit, Son.” He waved a hand around the office. “I would've thought that all this would keep you as happy as a preacher on Sunday. You always loved the finer things in life. Although I must say that I enjoyed my trip in that jet with the kiss-on-the-ass end. With that cute little stewardess waiting on me hand and foot, I felt just like Hugh Hefner on the bunny plane.”

Since that didn't explain how he'd gotten there, Deacon looked at Nash.

“Don't look at me,” he said. “It was Grayson.”

Grayson stopped sketching and turned his direct gaze on Deacon. “After what happened with Olivia, I think we need to have a family meeting.”

“I'm not talking about Olivia.” Deacon strode past Grayson and leaned over the desk to push the button on the phone. “Kelly?”

There was a click before she replied. “Yes, sir.”

“Set the meeting with the lawyers up in the conference room, please,” he said. “And could you bring me a cup of coffee?” Not more than three seconds later, the door opened, and she waltzed in with a tray of cups.

“You are getting efficient,” he said as he took a cup from the tray.

She laughed. “I was on my way in when you buzzed.” She cocked her head. “So I guess you're done tossing your cookies.”

Instead of commenting he took a sip of coffee.

“Don't worry,” she said. “I've been there and done that. Just be glad you didn't wake up next to some guy with tattoos of Chip and Dale on his pecs. The sight of those little chipmunks nibbling on his—” Deacon lifted an eyebrow and she stopped in mid-sentence. “Fine,” she said. “I'll save the story for my girlfriends.” She moved over to Nash and handed him a cup of coffee. “And speaking of girlfriends…Olivia didn't come in today. And when Jason stopped by to see her, he said her office was cleaned out. Is she moving into Samuel's office in the design studio?”

What the hell? Did everyone want to talk about Olivia?

“No,” he said, “she's not moving into Samuel's office. She's leaving French Kiss.”

Kelly froze in the process of handing his father a cup of coffee. “But why?”

“I don't know. You'll have to ask her. Now if you'll excuse us.” He waited for her to walk out the door before closing it behind her. When he turned, his brothers and father were studying him with suspicious looks.

“What?” he said. “Don't look at me like I'm responsible for her leaving. Olivia left because she finally figured out what she wanted. And it's not French Kiss or…a bunch of rednecks from Louisiana. And I say good for her.” He took a sip of coffee, enjoying the scalding of the hot liquid, which seemed to detract from the searing pain in his chest. “And good for us. With her out of the way, we can concentrate on dealing with Francesca.”

“You did something, Deke,” Nash said. “When she came back to the house last night, she didn't say more than two words to me before she closeted herself in her room. Later Grayson heard her crying.”

Deacon had never liked for women to cry—especially Olivia—but this time he felt more than a little satisfaction. He wanted her upset. As upset as he had felt…as he still felt. “She made her choice. She made it perfectly clear that she doesn't want anything from us.”

“From us? Or you?” Nash got up and walked around the desk. “And I've got to tell you that I'm getting a little sick of you calling all the shots, big brother. You wanted to come to San Fran. Okay, we came to San Fran. You wanted to help Olivia—we helped Olivia. Now you want us to forget Olivia and help you take the company away from Michael's only kid. Why? Because you got a little taste of power and can't let it go? Well, I'm not quite as power-hungry as you, Deacon. I say we give Francesca what she wants and sell whatever is left.” He glanced at Grayson. “What about you, Gray?”

“Wait a minute.” Donny John held up his hands. “What's this about Francesca and Michael's only child?”

“Michael's other child.”

Everyone turned to Grayson, who had spoken the words in his usual calm voice. Deacon was surprised for about a second before he remembered that Grayson had been in the design studio when Olivia had shown up and asked him the question.

“What are you talking about, Grayson?” Nash asked.

Grayson went back to sketching. “Deacon thinks he's Michael's son. Which is why I thought we needed to have a family meeting.”

While Donny John looked at Deacon with shock, Nash laughed. “Is that your new plan to keep control of French Kiss, Deke? Because I've gotta tell you that it's almost as ridiculous as Michael willing us shares in the first place.”

Deacon didn't want to hurt his brothers or his father, but now that the truth was out, there was no way around it. “It's the truth, Nash,” he said.

“Where would you get that crazy notion?” Donny John's expression confirmed Deacon's belief that he knew nothing about Althea's being pregnant when they got married.

“I found Mom's pictures in the garage. Pictures of her and Michael in Paris. I guess they knew each other before she met you.”

“Of course they did,” Donny John said. “Mikey was the one who introduced us. But what I don't understand is why those pictures made you think that you were his son.”

“Because you never mentioned Michael and Mom dating and because the date on the back of the pictures was nine months from my birth,” Deacon said. “And if that's not enough, just look at me. I look exactly like him, Dad. Hell, I even act like him. I've got a bad disposition and put money before everything else.”

The right hook that Donny John delivered had Deacon stumbling against the desk and wondering if he might pass out. It took a couple blinks to clear his vision. And a couple more to find his voice.

“What the hell?” he said as he tested his jaw.

“What the hell is right, Deacon Valentino Beaumont.” Donny John pointed a finger at him. “How dare you think that your mother and I would keep such a secret from you. You were conceived on our wedding night. A good two weeks after Michael headed for California. And we couldn't help it if you decided to come early, Deacon.”

The pain in his jaw took a backseat to disbelief. “But she wrote him a letter telling him about me.”

“She did that in hopes that he could forgive and forget. That a new nephew might heal his heart.” He shook his head sadly. “But if she had asked me before she sent it, I would've stopped her. I knew our having a child would only upset him more.”

Deacon stared at him, having trouble believing what he was hearing. “But why didn't you tell us about Michael being in love with Mother? Then when I found the pictures I wouldn't have been so surprised.”

“That wasn't any of your business. What happened was between me, Michael, and your mother.”

Feeling a little woozy, Deacon sat down in the chair behind the desk. Donny John motioned to Nash. “Get your brother a bag of ice and a stiff drink, then you and Grayson leave. I need to talk to your brother alone.”

“I think he's already had the stiff drink,” Nash said dryly. “And I'd like to hear this story too.”

Donny John pointed at the door. “Out.”

Nash scowled, but followed Grayson to the door. When they had gone, Donny John went to the minibar and put some ice in a paper towel and brought it to Deacon. Deacon was still so stunned by Donny John's revelation that it took him a moment to take it.

“I should've known that Mom would never lie to me,” he whispered as he placed the ice pack on his jaw.

“No, she wouldn't.” Donny John walked to the window and looked out. “She hated hurting people—especially people she loved. It tore her up when we had to tell Michael that we'd fallen in love. Of course it tore me up as well. The first woman my brother ever brought home and I had to go and fall in love with her.” He shook his head. “At first Mikey just laughed as if I was playing some kind of joke on him. But when your mother and I didn't join in, he got this look in his eyes that I can't even describe. It was like I'd given him a right hook when he wasn't expecting it.” He paused. “And I guess that's exactly what I did.”

“That didn't give him the right to steal Mom's dream,” Deacon said.

Donny John turned. “And why not? We had stolen his. Your mother thought that it was only fair.”

Deacon got to his feet. “But it wasn't fair! Not Michael taking her dream. And not her dying. None of it was fair, Dad.”

Donny walked over and pulled Deacon into his arms. It had been a long time since his father had given him a hug. “You're right. Life isn't fair. But we can't spend our lives trying to make things even. That's what Michael did, and he died a lonely man. Your mother never once looked back, and she died with a smile on her face, surrounded by the ones she loved.”

Unable to bear the pain, Deacon had pushed that memory from his mind. But his father was right. His mother had died with a smile, surrounded by her family. “So she never regretted it?” he asked around the lump that had formed in his throat. “She never regretted letting her dream go for Louisiana and a bunch of unappreciative boys?”

Donny John pulled back. “I worried about that every time a French Kiss fashion show came on television.” He smiled, and his eyes brimmed with tears. “And as if reading my mind, your mother would always pull me close and whisper, ‘You and my boys are worth much more to me than a bunch of panties.'”

Moments passed before Deacon could speak. “So you think that's why Michael left the company to us? It was a way of repaying Mom for taking her idea?”

“I think that was some of it. That, and I think he still loved her.” He stared at the picture of Michael and Olivia with tears in his eyes. “You once asked me about the purple flowers that showed up on your mother's grave every week. I told you that I didn't know. But there was only one person who would want forget-me-nots placed on her grave.”

“Uncle Michael?”

He nodded. “I caught one of the groundkeepers putting them on. He said that someone had paid to have the flowers put there each week. Since Michael's death they haven't been there.”

Suddenly too tired to stand, Deacon fell back in the chair and pressed the ice on his chin. His father gave him the time he needed to digest what he'd just learned by walking back over to the windows. But after a few minutes, he spoke. “So what happened to Olivia?”