A Chance at Love (A Ferry Creek Novel): (a billionaire romance novel) (4 page)

“
I
’
m not the boss,
”
Jess said.
“
Just... whatever...
”

Tyler reached for the pot of coffee
and Jess slapped his hand away.
“
I
was only kidding, Tyler.
”

“
Of
course you were,
”
Tyler
said.

Jess poured the coffee and Tyler
sipped it.

“
Any
word on Bob?
”
Murphy asked.
His tone changed from the tall tale telling, light voice to his deep hearted
concerned voice.

“
No
idea,
”
Jess said.
“
Bobby left to go see him.
”

“
What
a damn shame,
”
Murphy
whispered as he shook his head and looked down.

“
Just
hope he hangs on,
”
Tyler
said.

“
Why?
”
Jess asked.
“
If he
’
s going to...
”

“
She
doesn
’
t know,
”
Peggie whispered.

“
Know
what?
”
Jess asked.

Tyler stood from the counter and
dug money out of his pocket. He threw more than enough on the counter.

“
I
’
ve got to go,
”
he said.
“
Need to finish some reports and
head south and check on a disturbance from last night. Busted up a little party
of kids. No drinking, or so they claim. I want to make sure nothing
’
s down there.
”

“
What
a good cop,
”
Murphy said.
“
Working on his day off.
”

“
We
all can
’
t waste away like
you, Murph,
”
Tyler said.

“
Damn,
”
Tyler whispered, realized his
poor choice of words.
“
Shouldn
’
t of said that. Take it easy
everyone.
”

Tyler left and Jess turned to
Peggie and grabbed her arm.

“
What
’
s going on with Bob now? What
don
’
t I know?
”

Peggie leaned towards Jess. She
caught whiff of Peggie
’
s
strong yet cheap perfume. It made her nose itchy.

“
From
what I heard,
”
Peggie
whispered,
“
Bob had another
son with another woman. Bobby
’
s
supposed to be finding him to get him to come here. Bob wants to say goodbye
before he... lets go.
”

The news was like a punch to the
gut.

Bob was such a good honest man.

How could he have another son?

And who was this other son?

___THREE___

Sullivan sat behind his desk with
his hands folded. He had rejected the phone call and had stepped out of the
meeting. He cited a family emergency and asked Parker to take over. Charles was
sympathetic although he had a cautious eye that it was all some kind of setup.
It would have made for a great setup, but the entire phone call situation
really bothered Sullivan.

It seemed ever since a local
magazine did a feature on him six months ago he would randomly get emails and
calls from people who claimed to know him or people who had the next greatest
business idea and wanted his help. He had refused the magazine for a few months,
but it was Parker who convinced him it would only give him a better stance for
deals. The magazine wanted to focus on Sullivan
’
s
wealth over his business capabilities and goals. He steered the questions away
from money as best he could but when the article was printed it painted him as
some guy who had become an overnight billionaire success story. Everyone knew
what he was worth and it gave him plenty of extra attention. Sullivan marveled
at how the words millionaire and billionaire came with so much of a different
outlook from people around him.

He had received emails and calls
from long lost aunts, handwritten letters from people who said they went to
high school with him asking for help with their finances, and then a slew of
emails from small startups looking for any kind of money to get their product
to market. Sullivan knew how to develop real estate and land. He wasn
’
t interested in investing in
tech companies but a lot of people assumed that he would.

This call was a little different
though.

Beverly
’
s voice sounded different, and the way his cell
phone had been ringing beforehand, it was too different to ignore. As Sullivan
sat at his desk he couldn
’
t
believe he was considering engaging in this.

Some guy had gotten his cell and
office number and called saying he was his brother and that their father was
dying.

Sullivan
’
s father, Henry Chasen, died ten years ago of a
massive heart attack. Here today, dead tomorrow. That
’
s exactly how it had happened. Sullivan still
remembered every little detail of what happened the day before and the day of
his father dying. His father always called him every single day. Just to talk.
Just to say hello. Just to remind him of the weather. He
’
d call to tell Sullivan that it was going to be
record heat and to drink a lot of water. He
’
d
call to tell Sullivan that it was going to snow and to be careful driving. He
’
d call to check on national
news, local news, and if there was nothing to talk about, he
’
d find something.

The night before his father died,
Henry called and said he had a hankering for some wings. As fate would have it,
there was a wing night at a local bar on Tuesdays. Sullivan told his father
they
’
d go to wing night
together and indulge. Sullivan even said he
’
d
have the company limo take them to and from. His father grumbled at the idea,
saying he didn
’
t want to be
treated like a celebrity, but Sullivan insisted because he wanted his father to
understand the life he had made for himself.

His father said he was going to bed
early that night. That he felt run down. That he had heartburn. Sullivan
remembered those tiny details because Sullivan wanted to know why the hell his
father wanted to get hot wings the next night when he had heartburn.

His father laughed it all off and
the conversation ended. That night, Sullivan was restless. He had this deep
seeded urge to call his father and tell him he loved him, so that the next
morning Sullivan called his father and talked to him. He sounded fine. Alive.
Well. Happy. The same old Henry Chasen that world had come to know and love.
That time when Sullivan hung up the phone he made sure to clearly say how much
he loved the man who raised and took care of him. It brought on thoughts of
Sullivan
’
s mother, the
woman who left when he was just ten years old. She found someone new and
started a new life with a new family. That day he couldn
’
t stop thinking about it... right up until the
point when he received a phone call. From the hospital.

Sullivan had a picture of himself
and his father on his desk. It was from a fishing trip up in Canada the summer
before his father died. His father always pushed him to the outdoors and that
’
s sort of what put Sullivan on
the path he ended up on. He
’
d
always loved business and since his father insisted on keeping him outside it
took Sullivan no time to find a way to make money outside. Hence real estate
and developing. It was his father who backed his first real estate deal all
those years ago, co-signing on a loan to buy a rundown shopping center.
Sullivan cleaned it up, managed to rent out every space, and then sold the
building off and gave all the money to his father. After his father died,
Sullivan was pleased to see that his father had enjoyed some of that money but
not nearly enough. His father had stashed most of it away to give back to Sullivan.

That was the kind of man his father
was.

But a feeling came over Sullivan as
he looked at the picture of himself and his father. They were each holding up
fish. Sullivan had no idea what kind of fish it was. He wasn
’
t a fisherman, then or now. A
long time ago, Sullivan was thirteen and at a sleepover when one of the bigger
kids - a bully named Stevie
–
pointed out that Sullivan didn
’
t
look like his father.

Henry Chasen had a thick mane of
black hair. Thick eyebrows, constant stubble on his face, and a little bit of
darker skin compared to Sullivan. His eyes were brown while Sullivan
’
s eyes were a crystal blue
color. Sullivan had blonde hair that grew darker and darker into the almost
brown shade he had now in his mid-thirties. Sullivan wanted nothing more than
to look like his father. When he approached his father about it, Henry laughed
and told Sullivan that he looked like his mother. The thing was, it never
stopped bothering Sullivan. He loved his father, and he acted like his father
but he did not look like his father at all.

Sullivan reached forward and
grabbed the picture off his desk. He thumbed the glass and tried to figure out
a connection. But face it, even standing next to his father wearing a cap and
sunglasses, they didn
’
t
look alike at all. Their cheeks. Their lips. Their build.

Sullivan had outgrown his father at
the age of sixteen. His mother was a small woman, so it didn
’
t make sense that Sullivan ended
up with the size and natural muscle he
’
d
been given.

When Sullivan placed the picture
back on his desk he reached for his cell phone. He unlocked it and looked at
the number that had called.

It could have been a coincidence,
right?

Sullivan leaned forward and pressed
a button on his desk phone for Beverly.

“
Yes,
Mr. Chasen?
”
her voice came
through the small speaker.

“
I
need the number that called you,
”
Sullivan said.
“
I want the
number and I want to know everything this man said to you. Meet me in thirty
minutes in my office.
”

“
Okay,
”
Beverly said.
“
I
’
m
very sorry if I
’
ve done
anything wrong.
”

“
No,
Beverly, you didn
’
t do
anything wrong. Just give me the number right now and then meet me in thirty
minutes.
”

Beverly took a second and then
rambled off a series of numbers. Sullivan wrote them down and hung up the
phone. He looked to his cell phone and turned the screen back on. With the
swipe of a finger he would confirm that the same number called him and then
called Beverly.

Whoever had called, obviously
needed to talk to Sullivan.

Sullivan busted back into the
conference room with a new sight. Parker stood next to Charles, pointing. They
were speaking calmly and both stopped to look at Sullivan.

“
Sullivan,
”
Parker said.
“
Everything okay?
”

“
We
’
re good,
”
Sullivan said.

He adjusted his jacket and then
took it off. His nerves were frayed. The last place Sullivan needed to be was
in a conference room in a meeting. The look on Parker
’
s face confirmed that.

But Sullivan didn
’
t care.

He needed to stay busy for the
moment while his mind processed everything.

“
I
’
m tired of this,
”
Sullivan said.

He walked to Parker and reached for
everything they were looking at. Sullivan closed the folder, bending pages on
the inside, and then slid the folder away. He reached for his tie, loosened it,
and sat on the conference table.

“
When
I was kid,
”
Sullivan said,
“
my father used to teach me to
find the simplest answer in life. Because the simplest answer is always the
right answer. We
’
d go
fishing and he
’
d have this
little tackle box. His friends would come with box after box of equipment to
catch a damn fish, I never understood it. My father didn
’
t either. He just had his little tackle box and
worms. Worms from our backyard. He
’
d
always catch the most fish and the biggest fish.
”

“
You
fish, Sullivan?
”
Charles
asked.

“
Not
anymore,
”
Sullivan said.
“
I keep my hands dirty in my own
business. The point I
’
m
making, Charles, is this... there
’
s
a piece of land that needs to be used. It
’
s
a damn eyesore for you and me and the city. So let
’
s just figure it out. No figures. No financial
nonsense. Just you and me talking.
”

Parker excused himself as did the
associates Charles had with him.

Exactly twenty seven minutes later
Sullivan and Charles emerged from the conference with a deal in place. Sullivan
handed Parker a folder and patted him on the shoulder.

“
What
’
s this?
”
Parker asked.

“
The
information,
”
Sullivan
said.

“
You
’
re not going to handle it...?
”

“
I
have a meeting,
”
Sullivan
said.

“
A
meeting... with...
”

Sullivan kept walking.

He touched his stomach. The
uneasiness told him that the meeting with Beverly was going to change the
direction of his life.

“
He
called you first?
”
Beverly
asked.

She was literally on the edge of
her seat, eating up all the potential. Her glasses were perched on the tip of
her nose and her eyes were wide. It told Sullivan that Beverly had a calm,
quiet life at home and watched too many chick flicks.

"He called me first,
yes," Sullivan said. "I ignored the calls and then you called."

"I'm so sorry," Beverly
said. "He was just so adamant about it. And nervous."

"He was nervous?"
Sullivan asked.

Sullivan stood behind his desk with
his hands in his pockets. His palms were sweating and no matter how hard not
to, he tried he kept looking at the picture of himself and his father. The man
who died ten years ago.

"Very nervous," Beverly
said. "He told me your father was dying of a heart condition and his dying
wish was to meet you."

"Can't be true," Sullivan
said.

"He described you, Mr. Chasen."

"What do you mean he described
me?"

"The way you looked..."

"My picture is
everywhere," Sullivan said.

He turned and faced Alexandria,
Virginia. He had seen his face in magazines, newspapers, television, even
billboards at one point in his career. Thanks to the internet, all that
information could be easily found.

"Mr. Chasen..."

"Beverly, why don't you just
call me Sullivan?"

"You're my boss."

"I don't care."

"Okay. Fine. Sullivan it is.
He described a picture of you as a child."

"As a child?"

"Did you have... a Red Flyer
wagon?"

Sullivan stiffened. He looked over
his shoulder. "Yes."

"He has a picture of you in
one."

Sullivan curled his lip. He was
annoyed. "You know how many kids had one of those?"

"Was yours painted to say
'dead
flyer'
?"

Now it was serious. Very serious.
Sullivan turned and put his hands to his desk. He leaned forward was about to
break one of his own rules. He was ready to snap at Beverly and tear her to
pieces. But he looked into her big, brown eyes and backed down.

"Don't mess with me,"
Sullivan warned. "Beverly..."

"Sullivan, I would
never," Beverly said. She blinked fast. She was ready to cry.

Shit,
Sullivan thought.

"I'm sorry," Sullivan
said. "But it's true, what you just said."