Betting the Billionaire (7 page)

“You’re not going to like it.”

What else was new? He forced himself to loosen his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. “Rip off the Band-Aid.”

“He was drunk.”

Gabe turned too sharply into the Fix ‘Er Up parking lot and jumped the curb with his right, front tire. He bounced in the seat but quickly recovered. He pulled to a stop in front of the closed bay doors. “No way. That would have been in the police report.”

“Point one four blood alcohol level. I saw it plain as day.” Carlos paused. “My hypothesis is that it was a one-car accident, and no one else was hurt, but the driver left behind an eight-months-pregnant widow. The cops probably thought they were doing your family a favor by failing to mention it in the report. Where it asks for B.A.C., the response is undetermined. I doubt the insurance company would have paid out if it could be shown your dad was at fault for the accident.”

His cousin may have kept talking, but all Gabe heard was the word drunk stuck on repeat like a scratched DVD. Little things his mom had said jumped to the forefront. The constant warnings to never drink and drive. The refusal to let him get a driver’s license until he was in college. The ever-present reminders that even one drink was too many. It must have all sank in, because to this day, his alcohol consumption barely made a blip on the radar, and he hadn’t bothered to get a driver’s license until he was twenty-three.

His lungs seized, squeezing out the oxygen and leaving him wanting. “It can’t….”

“It is. Sorry, man.”

He fumbled for a viable explanation. A reason he could grasp as tight as he’d held the steering wheel minutes earlier. Drunk—.14. At fault. Insurance. Confusion swirled where there’d been only certainty, roiling his stomach.

Desperate for a defense, he latched onto the best bad reason he could imagine. “It doesn’t matter. Dell Jacobs drove my dad to that bottle.”

“You don’t know that,” Carlos said. “For all you know about your dad, he could have been a raging alcoholic. It’s not like you’ve ever told your mom you knew the truth, let alone asked her about him.”

Bullshit. He knew what he knew. What he had to believe. “Are you done?”

“Yeah, I am. The question is, are you?”

“Not by a fucking long shot.” Gabe punched the end call button without saying goodbye.

Ever since he’d accidentally discovered the truth about his father and the accident six months ago, the only thing he’d thought about was bringing Dell Jacobs to his knees and making him pay the debt owed. He’d pushed and prodded associates to look elsewhere with their business. He’d plotted and planned his revenge, right down to the look on the old man’s face when he realized the company he’d spent his life building lay in ruins.

Still, doubt crept up his neck. He had to know. Without second guessing, he went with his gut and dialed the number he knew by heart.

“Jacobs Fine Furnishings,” the cheerful voice chirped.

“Dell Jacobs please.” Just saying the man’s name left a hole in his gut.

“Sure, hold on just a minute.”

Sixty seconds later, Dell answered with a weary sigh. “Dell here.”

“It’s Campos.”

“What in the hell do you want?” The old man was snarly and on guard, not that Gabe could blame him.

Girding himself for a harsh rejection, he made his request before he could change his mind. “The truth.”

“About what?”

“My dad and his accident.”

Silence weighed down the phone line like a lead balloon before Dell spoke. “You know, sometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

“This dog is already awake.” He wasn’t going to turn back now. That wasn’t how he functioned.

“What do you want to know?”

He closed his eyes, wishing like hell he had any other request. “What happened that day?”

“Your dad and I were in business together. For me, it was a side company to help alleviate the risk of putting all my eggs in the Jacobs Fine Furnishings basket. For your father, well, it was something else. Your dad wasn’t a bad man. He just lost his fight with some nasty demons.”

“Alcohol?” Not that he needed to ask after what Carlos found, but he
had
to ask.

“Your dad loved fast cars, fast people, and fast highs, but he couldn’t keep up the pace.” Dell paused as if gathering his strength. “The day of the accident, we had a huge fight, and I told him I was never going back into business with him. I couldn’t take it anymore. If only I’d known what would have happened next.”

The images from the accident whirled around in his head. “None of us knows that,” Gabe mumbled.

“And ain’t that a damn shame.”

Dread chilled Gabe’s blood.

What in the hell had he done?

The offer came—finally—when Keisha had already used up her last yes.

The official e-mail from Epson and Callahan Interior Design had announced its presence in her e-mail inbox with an ordinary ping, like any other message. Her hand shook as she clicked the mouse to open it.

Excited to offer
…
hit the ground running
…
start immediately
…
.

Disappointment stung her eyes, and a strangled groan climbed over the lump in her throat to escape from between her lips. She’d made the right decision to stay in Salvation. She had. Abandoning her family in its time of need wasn’t how she worked, but that didn’t mean doing the right thing didn’t hurt like a bitch.

“Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered under her breath.

The noise caught her dad’s attention as he sat in her office and read through the financials. “What’s wrong, Baby Girl?”

“Nothing.”
Everything.

Life was about choices. No one guaranteed they were easy. Or painless.

Dell sat up straight, tossed the papers to the side of her desk, and considered her. He scrunched up his mouth until it looked like he’d just sucked a lemon.

“Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining,” he groused. “I know that look on your face. It’s the same one you had when you told us that no-good son of a bitch fiancé of yours had been cheating on you for the entirety of your engagement.”

Keisha’s toes curled inside her wool socks, and she tucked her body as deep as possible into the cyan cushion on her chair back. “It’s not that bad.”

“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms until his forearms rested on his pot belly. Translation: bullshit. “Talk.”

Her gaze bounced from the red silk mums in an antique milk glass jug to the crystal knobs on the storage cabinets to the built-in shelves stacked high with design books—anywhere but her dad’s all-too perceptive eyes. This was not a conversation she wanted to have, but just like she knew puce was the ugliest color ever, she knew her dad wasn’t going to leave her alone until she spilled everything. Dell had the gift.

She shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

He drummed his fingertips on his cane’s cushioned handle. “I’m gonna tell you now what I said when you cried on my shoulder about that idiot ex-fiance of yours.” He leaned forward. “Everything in the world that’s important to you is important to me, and if anything hurts you, I will make it bleed.”

Yeah, he’d said that, but having to deliver that particular piece of shitty news to her parents hadn’t been the worst part of the night. Pushing past the pain and the fear she’d forever associate with that night at its aftermath, she forced a light tone into her voice. “Really? What I remember from that conversation was you storming off the front porch with your shotgun.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, but his cheeks flushed. “Who’d have thought a sudden stroke would save me from going to the pokey? God does work in mysterious ways.”

Guilt twisted up her insides as she stared at the financial paperwork covered in red ink that lay spread across her desk.

Keep your mouth shut, K. You can
’
t hurt him again.

“Enough stalling. Fess up. Now.” His voice held just enough fatherly concern and don’t-fuck-with-me finality to make her ignore her inner warning.

She considered her dad, who had raised her, loved her, and pushed her to always follow her heart. She’d been so scared of killing him off, she’d forgotten to live her own life. That wasn’t fair to her or to him. The epiphany lifted the rocks she hadn’t realized were weighing her down.

“It’s a job offer from Epson and Callahan Interior Design in Harbor City.” The words tumbled from her lips.

He gnawed his bottom lip as if he was chewing the confession into bite-sized morsels. “They just called you out of the blue?”

In for a penny, in for a second stroke. God, she hoped not. “The trip I made to Harbor City a few weeks ago…it was an interview.”

“Why not tell me?”

It wasn’t censure painted on her dad’s face. It was surprise and confusion. She had to make him understand. She’d never meant to hurt him. “Everything here seemed to be going well with Tyrell, and they’re one of the top interior design firms in the country. I thought it was finally time for me to branch out.”

“You want this?”

She shook her head as if she could shake off the last vestiges of that dream. “Staying here is more important for our family.”

“You keep talking about what’s more important for everyone else, but what about what’s important for you? You want this job. Take it.”

Freedom and obligation. Want and need. Change and the status quo. Each scared the shit out of her. “Pops, I can’t—“

“Live your life for everyone else.”

“What about all this?” She waved her hands out to encompass all things Jacobs Fine Furnishings related.

He settled back into the chair, picked fuzz from the pumpkin-colored sweater that had to be almost as old as she was, and shrugged. “We’ll manage.”

“What about the bet?”

“Me and my fool mouth.” Her dad’s lips compressed into a straight line. “It’s been a while since I’ve tangled with the wood pile, but I doubt I’ve lost my touch.”

She glanced down at his gnarled hands bearing the scars of his years of woodworking experience. They shook a bit, even when he tried to mask the stroke’s afteraffects by holding his cane, even while sitting. “No. Let me.”

“You saying I can’t hold my own with the sander?” He winked like the whole thing was a joke.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

It wasn’t a joke. It was his livelihood—not to mention the twice monthly paychecks of a couple dozen of Salvation’s working class citizens. Times were tough, and their skills were specialized. Finding another job would mean relocation at the best and a low-wage, dead-end job at the worst. If Gabe won and closed the company, it wasn’t just her parents who would pay.

“I’ll do it.” Her voice came out a lot firmer than she thought possible.

Her dad eyeballed her with the clear focus of a man used to getting his way. “On one condition.”

Now this sounded more like the man who’d finagled his way into business with some of the most luxurious boutique hotels in the country. Caution tempered her excitement. “What’s that?”

“Afterward, no matter what happens, you take that job in Harbor City.”

Her heart stuttered like a cold engine. “Pops…” She reached across the desk and wrapped her fingers around his arthritic ones, rubbing her thumb across the calluses earned with decades of hard work that hadn’t softened with age.

“Baby Girl, I know you’ve waited to tell me because you thought you were protecting me, but I’m telling you now, I am a grown man and a proud father. The last thing in the world I want is for you to be miserable in Salvation when you could be happy somewhere else.”

Judging by the soft, caring look on his face, he really meant it. He was setting her free.

“I love you, Pops.” Her voice cracked from emotion and gratitude.

“The feeling’s mutual, Baby Girl.” He squeezed her hand and winked. “Now, what kind of furniture are you going to make to win this bet?”

Chapter Eight

The barn was just as Dell had described it over the phone. A huge, red behemoth at the intersection of two highways. The sun had dipped low in the western sky, its warm rays receding with each second and reminding Gabe of last night’s trek through the snow. There wasn’t a flake falling anywhere in the vicinity, but he couldn’t shake the sense of déjà vu creeping across his skin under his thick wool coat. But this time, he wasn’t on the hunt for shelter, he was looking for redemption—and forgiveness.

Maybe it was because of his cousin’s call and his father’s .14 blood alcohol content. Maybe it was because he’d had time to process the news about his biological dad. Maybe it was because standing in Keisha’s office, facing down his nemesis, he’d realized that Dell Jacobs wasn’t just a faceless bad guy who needed to be punished. He was an old man with a droopy cheek and a company circling the drain.

Or maybe it was because what had driven him to Salvation hadn’t been the need for retribution, but the sound of Keisha’s honeyed voice that had fueled way too many late-night fantasies over the past six months.

Fuck. What if Carlos was right?

Leaving his now refueled—he would not be telling Carlos about that—Aston Martin on the gravel drive next to a heavy-duty pickup truck, he trudged to the propped-open door on the side of the barn. The smell of fresh cut wood hit him as soon as he crossed the threshold. The woodsy scent of pine and the pungent smell of red oak were heaviest with a hint of walnut floating underneath. Damn, he loved it. Making something out of a few sticks was a lot like investing. He took a company that hadn’t achieved its full potential and built it up until it shined like freshly-applied varnish.

He turned the corner and almost ran smack dab into the step ladder Keisha stood on, pulling to a stop at the last moment. But it was too late. Keisha whipped her body around, shaking the ladder. She wobbled on her perch on the fifth step. The ladder went left. Keisha went right.

Acting on instinct, Gabe reached out and caught her in his arms, tucking her close as the ladder clanged against the concrete floor. His right hand curled around her luscious ass, and it took everything he had not to squeeze the succulent flesh. Her arms tangled around his neck, ensnaring him in her sensual almond scent and scattering every intelligent thought in his head.