A Billionaire Between the Sheets (26 page)

There was a long stretch of silence before her father finally spoke. “I'm sorry, Livy. But you're wrong. I do love you.” He fiddled with his buttonholes. “I guess love isn't always perfect.”

Not knowing how to reply, she just stood there next to him and tried not to cry. It was a losing battle. Soon tears streamed down her cheeks. Her father shifted toward her and placed a tentative hand on her back. It wasn't a hug, but it felt nice. Maybe he was right. Maybe love wasn't perfect. Or maybe what wasn't perfect was people. Maybe Olivia was like Cassiopeia's daughter, a princess who felt as if she'd been sacrificed to the sea monster of life and was waiting for a savior.

The squeal of tires on asphalt had her eyes opening. She might've looked down to see who was driving so recklessly if a bright beam of light hadn't blinded her.

“They're up here!” Mr. Huckabee yelled. “The bum's trying to make a move on her, but I've got him in my sights.”

Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. She turned to see who it was, but before she could blink the spots from her eyes, someone stepped out on the balcony and attacked her father.

“If you've hurt her, you sonofabitch, I'll kill you.”

Olivia's vision cleared enough to see Deacon holding her father by the throat while Mr. Huckabee held his flashlight on them and yelled.

“Keep a tight grip, son. The police are on their way.”

Olivia grabbed Deacon's arm. “Let him go!”

Deacon squinted in the bright light before he called over to Mr. Huckabee, “Could you please turn that off?” The light clicked off, and Deacon turned to Olivia. “What's going on? Mr. Huckabee called me and said that the street bum had broken into your house and was accosting you on your balcony.”

“He wasn't accosting me. I invited him here.”

Deacon pointed a finger at her father. “So he didn't break in?”

“No.”

“And you're not hurt?”

“No.”

“Then what are these?” He reached out and touched her wet cheek with the pad of his finger. It amazed her how much heat the simple touch generated. And how much she wanted to fall into his arms and continue to cry.

Instead she took a quivery breath. “I've had an emotional day.”

He studied her for a mere second before he spoke. “Haven't we all.” Then he tossed the keys to the Porsche on the coffee table and left.

Before she could sort out all the thoughts and emotions that raced through her, Mr. Huckabee turned the flashlight on them. “I guess I'll call the police and tell them it was a false alarm. But, Britney, I sure wish you'd mentioned having an affair with the street bum at dinner. It would've saved everyone a lot of grief.”

A
nd here I thought all the Beaumont brothers were straight.”

Pulled out of his daydreams, Deacon turned to Samuel, who was dressed as impeccably as usual in a gray designer suit and lavender tie. “Excuse me?”

Instead of answering, Samuel turned to Babette, who was crouched in front of a model and pinning her corset—the exact corset that Olivia had worn. Which was what had prompted Deacon's daydreaming. He still couldn't look at it without all the memories flooding back. Not to mention the pain.

“Make sure the satin binding looks smooth, Babette,” Samuel said. “And don't lace her up too tightly for the show. We don't want her passing out onstage.”

Babette sniffed. “You act as if I have never stitched a stitch before, but I'll have you know that I could've designed this in my sleep.”

“Doubtful.” Samuel leaned back with one finger pressed to his lips and studied the corset before he nodded his satisfaction. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” He turned his attention to Deacon. “I said that I thought all the Beaumont brothers were straight, but it seems I was wrong.”

Deacon's eyes narrowed. “You weren't wrong.”

“Then explain why a heterosexual man who is surrounded by half-naked supermodels isn't smiling.” He nodded over at Nash, who stood in one corner, grinning like a Cheshire cat high on catnip. Grayson stood next to him. He wasn't smiling as much as sketching furiously. “Your brothers seem to be enjoying themselves.” He glanced at Donny John, who was chatting up a model. “And your father.”

“Because they don't realize how much is riding on this fashion show.”

Samuel studied him for another second before turning to the roomful of designers and models and clapping his hands. “Okay, everyone, let's see if we can finish up with the fittings before nine tonight. I want everyone getting a good night's sleep because tomorrow is going to be a busy day.” He glanced back at Deacon. “Would you please step into my office, Mr. Beaumont? There are some last-minute decisions I'd like your input on.”

Deacon nodded and followed him to the office. When the door was closed, he took a seat in front of the immaculate desk. “I've told you before that you can call me Deacon. I'm sure Michael had you call him by his first name.”

Samuel took the chair behind the desk. “Actually, the only one who got away with that was Olivia.”

“It figures. The more I learn about my uncle, the more of a jackass he becomes.”

“Michael Beaumont had his flaws just like the rest of us. One was his arrogance, and the other his love of money.” Samuel hesitated. “Is that true of you too, Mr. Beaumont? Is that the only reason you're working as hard as you are? You want to make the fashion show a success so you can sell the company for more money?”

Deacon had thought about it. He had spent the last two weeks thinking about it. And last night he had finally come to a decision. “I'm not selling French Kiss.” He got up and walked to the window that looked out on the design studio. “I'm trying to save it for the one person who deserves it.”

“I assume that we're not talking about Michael's illegitimate son.”

Presenting the doctor's records of Michael's football injury and consequent infertility to Francesca's lawyers had been the highlight of the past few weeks. Thomas, Bentley, and Thomas had immediately backed out of the will contest, and Deacon had yet to hear from Francesca. He hadn't heard from her even when the board voted to decline Avery's offer to buy French Kiss.

“No,” Deacon said. “He wasn't Michael's son.”

“And are you?”

He turned. “How did you know about that?”

“I've talked with Olivia.” Samuel leaned back in his chair. He was the only man Deacon knew who could lean back and still not look relaxed. “She calls me almost every day. She claims it's just to chat, but I think it's to keep track of what's happening here. So I'm going to assume that she's the one you're saving the company for.”

Deacon nodded. “She's worked hard all her life for French Kiss. She deserves to have it. And I don't know why my uncle didn't will it to her.”

“I think he finally realized that he had imprisoned Olivia in the walls of French Kiss, and he wanted to set her free to live her own dream…not someone else's.”

Deacon shrugged. “It was still a shitty thing to do. Olivia loves French Kiss more than anything.”

Samuel pressed a finger to his lips and studied Deacon just as he had the corset. “I don't think that's still true. As for Olivia running the company, it's a bad idea. She's too kindhearted to be a good boss. The company needs a controlling hard-ass…like you.”

“Well, they'll have to do without this hard-ass. I'm leaving first thing in the morning.”

For the first time, Samuel showed emotion. He sat up, his eyes concerned. “Before the fashion show? You can't do that. People will want to see the new owners—they'll want to know the faces that go with the names on the collections.”

“My brothers will be here. And people won't care about us as much as the designer who created the collections. That designer is Olivia. She should be the one who gets the accolades—the one walking down the catwalk at the end of the show to all the applause and camera clicks.” He crossed his arms. “Now what last-minute details did you want to go over?”

Samuel rose from the chair and walked around the desk. “There aren't any. I lied to get you alone so I could find out the truth.”

Deacon held up his hands. “Look, I don't know what vibes I'm sending out, but I'm not gay. And if you come any closer, I'm going to have to prove it with my fist.”

Samuel smiled, the first smile Deacon had ever seen on the man, and before Deacon could stop him, Samuel gave him a stiff hug followed by a peck on each cheek. “Thank you for being the kind of man I hoped you were.”

Feeling uncomfortable and more than a little confused, Deacon only nodded before he left the office. Since Samuel seemed to have things under control in the design studio, he headed back to his office. He had a few more details to finish up before he called it a night. Seeing the light beneath Jason's door, he stopped and peeked his head in.

Kelly was on the desk with her legs wrapped around Jason as he kissed her. Deacon might've ducked out before he was spotted if Kelly hadn't chosen that moment to break the kiss and glance over Jason's shoulder. “Oh! Mr. Beaumont.”

Jason whirled around, then smiled sheepishly. “Hi, Deacon. We thought you were down in the design studio.”

Deacon nodded. “Yeah, well, I'll just let you get back to…”

“We weren't having sex.” Kelly got off the desk and smoothed down her skirt. A professional skirt in a nice somber gray. Although her belt was hot pink with a rhinestone cat buckle that made Deacon smile. He was glad Kelly hadn't lost all of her style. “Jason and I have decided to wait until we're married to have sex.”

“Married?” Deacon glanced at Jason, who only shrugged.

“She asked me on the Jumbotron at AT&T Park. How does a guy say no to that?”

Deacon laughed and walked in to shake his hand and give Kelly a quick hug. “Congratulations. When's the wedding?”

“Not until next summer.” Kelly grinned from ear to ear. “We're thinking about having the ceremony performed at home plate during the seventh-inning stretch. I know you're leaving, but you'll come back, right? If you hadn't declined the Giants tickets, we never would've figured out that we could stomach each other.”

“I'd love to attend,” he said, even though it was doubtful that he would return for the baseball wedding. Olivia would be there, and Deacon didn't think he could survive seeing her again. The night several weeks before had been bad enough. Everything inside him had ached at the sight of her. He'd wanted to touch her, to hold her, to absorb every inch of her into his body. All she had done was look at him as if he were crazy. And maybe he had been a little crazy at the sight of another man touching her. He still couldn't figure out what she'd been doing with the trench coat guy. But she had made it perfectly clear that it was none of his business.

“Well, I better get back to my office,” he said. “I have a few things I need to finish up.” He nodded at Jason. “Thanks for being my right-hand man.”

Jason walked him out to the hallway. “I wish we could've found something on Anastasia.”

“After word gets around, she won't be working as an executive in the industry she loves. That's punishment enough.”

Jason's eyes turned sad. “I wish you'd stay, Deacon. French Kiss needs you.”

“It doesn't need me. It has you, Kelly, and Samuel.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “And I'm counting on you three to advise Olivia and keep her focused.”

“Yes, sir.”

Not wanting to prolong the goodbye, Deacon thumped him on the back. “You might not be good at sports, Jason, but you're a damned good team player.” He smiled at Kelly, who stood in the doorway with tears in her big brown eyes. “And so are you, Ms. Wang.”

Once in his office, Deacon didn't feel much like working. So he wandered over to the window and stared out at the view.

The night was as clear as a bell. The lights of the Golden Gate Bridge gleamed in the distance. He would miss this view. Miss the city. And miss French Kiss. But mostly he would miss Olivia.

“We thought we'd find you here.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see Nash entering the office, followed by Grayson.

“So I guess the fittings are over,” he said as he turned back to the window.

“Actually they're still going on.” Nash joined him.

“And you two left?”

“I think Donny John is more than enough Beaumont for those poor models to have to deal with. He claims he's found nirvana.” Nash looked out at the view. “And you have to wonder if he doesn't have a point. I've grown kind of attached to this view…the cool weather…the hot women.”

Grayson stepped to the other side of Deacon. “It is funny how much it feels like home.”

They stood there absorbing the view until Nash finally spoke. “So you're still leaving tomorrow?”

“Ten thirty flight.”

“Does Olivia know?”

“No. And she doesn't care. I told you how she reacted to me when I raced over there like an idiot.”

“You did drop everything when Mr. Huckabee called,” Nash said. “It's the hero complex you've got going. And if anyone needs a hero, it's Olivia.”

Deacon stared out at the view. “She doesn't want a savior, Nash. Nor does she need one. She'll do fine without me. Especially if you two stay to guide her.”

There was a long stretch of silence before Nash spoke. “We're not staying, Deke.”

“What?” He turned to Nash first and then to Grayson, who smiled and lifted one shoulder.

“We might not always get along, big brother. But we're family. If you go, we go.”

I
n the past few days, Olivia had learned that life was full of twists and turns. She had thought she'd one day own French Kiss, but now she was jobless. She had also thought that she'd never have a father, and now she had one. He might live on the street and have a few psychological issues, but he was living proof that when life gave you lemons, you needed to make lemonade. And it was easier if you had a great lemon squeezer to do it with. Her father sold great lemon squeezers. Which explained why he could afford to offer Olivia money to start a lingerie business.

“Two million dollars?” Olivia's voice hit a high note as she helped him set up his sidewalk stand. “You made two million dollars selling juicers on a street corner?”

Her father glanced around. “Over, actually. And I don't just sell them on the street. I sell them on the Internet. People seem to like a good product, and money accumulates quickly when you don't use it.” There was a flap of wings, and Jonathan Livingston landed on his shoulder. Her father barely paid attention as he unloaded his lemons from his roller suitcase and placed them in a large Del Monte tomato can.

Olivia shook her head. “I still can't believe that Jonathan is your pet.”

“He's not a pet. He's free to come and go as he pleases.”

It seemed this was very important to her father. He couldn't have ties that bound him to a house with walls or to a person. He needed to be able to come and go as he pleased. Which meant that he would probably disappear again. As hard as it might be, Olivia needed to accept that.

“So how did you get him to hang out on my balcony?” she asked.

“Maybe he just knows good people when he sees them.” His eyes twinkled. “And maybe I tossed up a few pieces of garbage. I wanted someone to keep you company in that lonely house.”

“It's not that lonely.”

He studied her. “So tell me about the man that came rushing to your rescue the other night. He looks a lot like Michael Beaumont.”

“You met Michael?”

“I've been keeping an eye on you for a long time, Livy. And while I never personally met Michael, I did some research on him at the library. Although that didn't tell me whether or not he was a good stepfather. Was he?”

She had been giving that question a lot of thought lately. In fact, with nothing else to do, she'd spent a lot of time thinking. About Michael. Deacon. Her life. And she had come to a conclusion. Love came in all different shapes and sizes. Michael was a good example of this. He hadn't been a verbal kind of guy, but in his own way, he had loved her.

She had finally gone through the documents the lawyers had sent over, and among them was a letter from Michael. A letter explaining why he hadn't willed her the company. It seemed that, on his deathbed, he'd realized what was important. And it wasn't a lingerie company. He wanted Olivia to realize this too. He wanted her to experience the world outside of French Kiss and to enjoy life to the fullest.

She looked at her father and smiled. “Yes, Michael was a good stepfather.”

Olivia stayed with her father for a few hours, watching him wow a crowd of tourists as he made lemonade. Then, catching his eye, she blew him a kiss before hopping the trolley for home. When she got there, she realized that she had left her cell phone on the counter. She had twenty messages. One was from her real estate broker, telling her that they had gotten a good offer on her house. And nineteen were from Samuel. Rather than listen to all of them, she called him.

“Where are you?” he asked. For once he didn't sound like the calm, demure man she knew. “I've been trying to get ahold of you since last night.”

“I was with my father. You would not believe how much money he makes—”

“Not now.” He cut her off. “Right now you've got to get to the airport and save the fashion show from being a complete disaster.”

“Calm down, Samuel. The fashion show is going to be amazing. I'm sure Deacon has everything under control.”

“He would if he were still here,” he said. “But he's not.”

She froze. “He left French Kiss?”

“Yes. And his brothers left with him.”

“But they can't leave now—not when their faces are scheduled to be plastered all over magazine covers and billboards across the country. Without them the new collections won't mean anything.”

He released his breath in a long sigh. “Exactly. Now are you going to the airport to stop them or not?”

Olivia drove to the airport faster than she had ever driven in her life. Not wanting to waste time on parking, she left the Porsche at the flight departure curb and got out.

“Hey! You can't park there.” A young security guy came jogging over.

“I know,” she said as she grabbed her purse from the front seat. “But this is an emergency.” She handed him all the cash she had in her wallet. “Please. I'll just be a few minutes.”

It took her more than a few minutes. When she didn't find them at the curb check-in or the airline counter inside, she was forced to buy a ticket for the flight so she could get through security. Standing in line, she glanced at her watch before she slipped it off and put it in the plastic security bin. The Beaumonts' plane boarded in less than fifteen minutes.

Once the TSA officer had waved her through the scanner, she quickly stepped over to the conveyer belt to get her shoes and purse. Unfortunately, her purse had been confiscated by one of the TSA officers.

“Excuse me, ma'am,” the officer said, “but we need to search your bag.” He took her out of the line and over to a table where he emptied the contents of her purse. He held up the lemon juicer her father had given her and that she'd forgotten about.

“What's this?” he asked.

“It's a lemon squeezer.”

He held it like a gun. “It doesn't look like any lemon squeezer I've ever seen.”

“Well, it is. My father designed it.”

“Hey”—another officer came over—“I've seen those. Some guy sells them on Pier Thirty-Nine. I got my wife one for her birthday, and at first she wanted to beat me over the head with it for not getting her that charm bracelet she wanted. But then she used it to make her aunt Martha's lemon cake—you know, the one I bring to work every Christmas—and now she thinks it's the best gift ever. She says it gets the juice out of a lemon like nobody's business.” He took the squeezer and demonstrated how it worked.

Olivia glanced at her watch as she put it back on. “Look, I really need to get to my plane before it leaves. You can keep the squeezer if you want to.”

The officer studied it for a second more before putting it back in her purse. “Fine. But next time you should leave the squeezer at home.”

“Thank you.” She grabbed her purse and hurried toward the gate. She arrived just as they were making the last call. Which meant that she had to board the plane. She intended to walk down the aisle until she found them, and then by any means possible get them off the plane before it took off. She didn't plan on a large woman with an even larger suitcase stopping her.

It seemed that the woman was planning an extended trip to Louisiana and had something against checking bags. The suitcase she was trying to shove into the overhead compartment didn't fit, but that didn't stop the woman from trying. She shoved, repositioned, and shoved again while the flight attendants were occupied elsewhere and didn't seem to realize the woman was blocking the aisle.

“Maybe you should check it,” Olivia said.

The woman glared at her. “And maybe you should mind your own business.”

Normally Olivia would've kept her mouth shut and waited patiently. But this was an emergency, and she was getting a little tired of always being the nice one.

“And maybe there's a reason these overhead bins are small.” She rose up on her tiptoes so she was at eye level with the woman. “Maybe it's because they're not meant for suitcases the size of a cargo trunk.”

“Why you little pip-squeak—”

A flight attendant finally showed up. “Is there a problem?”

The large woman gave her suitcase one last shove and closed the compartment with a slam. “No, there's no problem.”

“Good,” the attendant said, “because we're getting ready to leave the gate.”

“No!” Olivia shook her head. “You can't take off. I need to get some people off the plane.”

“Off the plane?” the man sitting to her left said. “Why do you need to get people off the plane? Is something wrong with the plane? And what's that hanging out of your purse? Is that a gun?”

“Gun!” A woman yelled.

“No.” Olivia pulled out the squeezer and held it up. “It's just a—”

“Hijack!” someone yelled, and the entire plane erupted in chaos. The flight attendant dove to the floor as people cowered behind the seats in front of them with frantic screams and squeals of terror. There were only four people who didn't duck: An attractive older gentleman Olivia immediately recognized as Donny John Beaumont. And his three extremely good-looking sons. One son was grinning from ear to ear, the other was smiling just enough to show his dimples, and the last was looking as if he'd just drunk an entire glass of her father's lemon juice. Of course it was Deacon who took charge—who unbuckled his seat belt and stood, his large frame filling the aisle.

Suddenly she forgot how to breathe. Because even though he was still scowling, he was the most beautiful, gorgeous, amazing thing she'd seen in days. And she realized that she had driven fast, parked in an illegal zone, and almost gotten in a fight with a large lady all because she didn't want him to leave. Not because of some fashion show. Or her designs. But because she couldn't stand the thought of his leaving. It didn't matter if he was Michael's son. It didn't even matter that he only wanted to use her to get back at his father. All that mattered was that she get a chance to tell him how she felt.

Unfortunately, before she could, the large woman clocked her with her tote bag. The last thing Olivia saw was Deacon's face going from angry to concerned. The last thing she felt was his arms around her. The last thing she heard was the strong, steady beat of his heart.

When Olivia woke up, she wasn't in Deacon's arms. Nor was she on the floor of the plane. Instead she was being rolled through the airport on a stretcher by a male and female EMT who seemed to be deep in conversation.

“It looked like a gun,” the woman said. “I understand why that woman knocked her out.”

“It did not look like a gun.” The man pushed her around a group of travelers. “Which is why they didn't handcuff her.”

The woman glanced down at Olivia and finally noticed that her eyes were open. “Welcome back. How are you feeling?”

Olivia took inventory before she answered. “My head hurts a little, but other than that I think I'm okay.”

While they were still moving, the woman took a flashlight out of the pack on her waist and flashed it at Olivia's pupils. “I don't think you've got a concussion, but it might be best if we took you to the hospital.”

Olivia came fully awake. “The hospital? I can't go to the hospital.” She tried to sit up, but she was strapped down to the gurney.

“Calm down,” the woman said. “We're just going to take you there for a few tests.”

“I don't have time for tests.” She struggled with the straps. “Please! I have to get to Deacon.”

“I'm right here, Olivia.”

She stopped struggling as Deacon moved to the other side of the gurney. He took her hand, and the entire world brightened. “How do you feel?”

It was hard to talk with those beautiful eyes staring back at her. She felt as if she were floating in an indigo sea of warmth.

“It looks like she got her bell rang but good.” Nash appeared on the other side of the gurney, right next to the EMT, who blushed profusely when he gave her a smile. “So how are you doing, hijacker?” He winked at Olivia. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“Mostly Deke.” Grayson moved next to Deacon. “I thought he was going to throttle the woman who hit you.”

“Now, your brother would never hurt a woman, Grayson.” Donny John joined Nash. “Beaumonts don't hit women—even large manly ones.” He took Olivia's hand. “Do you remember me, darlin'? Don Juan Beaumont at your service. After seeing you all grown up, I see why you have Deacon all aflutter.”

“That's enough, Dad,” Deacon said. “So what were you doing on the plane, Olivia?”

She swallowed hard. Suddenly all the things she'd wanted to say to Deacon got jumbled up like Scrabble tiles. “Well…I…”

Her cell phone rang. And since she was strapped in, Deacon pulled it from her purse, glanced at the screen, and then answered it. It wasn't hard to hear Samuel's loud prayer of thanks.

“Thank God she stopped you in time!”

“What's going on, Samuel?” Deacon continued to hold Olivia's hand and walk next to the gurney as they headed for the elevator that would take them to the exit. This time Olivia couldn't hear Samuel's answer, but Deacon must not have liked what he said because his eyes turned stormy. As soon as they were out of the elevator, he released her hand.

“Fine,” he said. “I see your point.” He hung up the phone and placed it back in Olivia's purse before his gaze pinned her. His eyes were cold as the gel ice bag beneath her head. “So that's why you came to the airport,” he said. “Why you were so frantic to stop the plane. And here I thought you had come for me.” A sad smile tipped his mouth. “But it's always been about French Kiss, hasn't it, Olivia?”

Before she could even try to deny it, he looked at his brothers and father. “Grayson, you and Dad stay with Olivia and make sure she's okay. Nash, you come with me to the fashion show. Two Beaumont brothers should be more than sufficient for the press.” He was almost out the front doors when Olivia finally found her voice. It wasn't a timid, unsure voice. It was a strong, commanding voice that had Deacon stopping in his tracks.