Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (56 page)

The one thing that Dean wasn’t saying, but Nick knew full well was on his mind…what was going to happen to the community center when Nick sold the Hang Ten to the foundation?

Would they continue to champion Nick’s cause? Nick didn’t have to ask. He already knew the answer to that, which made turning down Lecie de Laurent’s two-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollar proposition that much harder.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

DEAN PROPPED HIS HANDS on the outer edge of Nick’s desk, leaned in toward him and asked, “Have you signed the papers yet?” He wore a look that bordered on terror, which was about how Nick felt.

The foundation’s offer was looking less and less attractive by the minute. Who knew the very organization that’d indirectly provided him with the means to build Hang Ten—through his inheritance from Walter—would turn around and try to steal it out from him the minute he got into a bind. A bind that was not of his own doing.

Their fair market offer, as it turned out, was anything but. He’d come out of the deal with scarcely enough cash to pay off the suppliers, the bank fees, and the line of credit. Forget about his savings. His annual salary was adequate, although not fantastic, but it was progressive, dependent upon inflation. He could, however, live in the loft above the restaurant free of charge. And the community center would receive a three thousand dollar a month stipend for as long as Nick worked at Hang Ten. That was less than Nick had been providing, but he was lucky to get anything for the center in the deal.

In some weird way, it did help to know he could have the job for as long as he wanted, provided the restaurant turned an annual profit, but it also felt like a ball and chain. Because of the community center, he’d have a hard time moving on.

But this was the price Nick was going to have to pay if he wanted Kevin’s legacy to live on. And that was the important thing to Nick right now—saving the center. It was all he had left.

“No.” Nick hadn’t signed those papers. He hadn’t even been able to utter a verbal agreement. He might already have lost Hang Ten, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. “I haven’t signed the papers.” He sucked in a breath. “I know I have to, but I can’t keep putting it off.” He let out a helpless shrug. “The suppliers are going to stop making deliveries if I don’t do something soon.”

“Don’t do it.” Dean’s expression insisted, right along with his words. “Not this deal. Not with the foundation.”

“Why not?”

“You were only gonna do it because they agreed to help the community center.” Dean’s shoulders slumped, and he looked away, defeated.
“The community center is as good as dead.”

“Look, I know three grand a month is hardly enough to keep it running, but we’ll find aid somewhere else.”

Dean shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Juno Properties is selling the land the center sits on.”

Selling the land?
Nick’s heart pounded against his chest. “How much?”

Dean said, “We have forty-five days to come up with eight hundred grand. After that, it’s going on the market for 1.2 million.”

At that precise moment, Nick knew what it felt like to have your world fall completely apart. Eight hundred grand. It might as well be 1.2 million because Nick couldn’t come up with either.

“Damn it!” Nick knocked that stupid fat cat off his desk that Ginny had bought him. The crystal paperweight hit the floor with a loud
crash
and fractured
in
to pieces.
What the hell?
Were all the forces in the universe lining up against him to take him down—permanently?

Nick leaned back in his chair and looked around the office. He sure had some shitty-ass luck. Everything in this office was going to belong, very soon, to someone else. There was no way he could take the foundation’s offer now. No point.

“You know what you have to do, don’t you?” Dean asked, still leaning across Nick’s desk.

“Yeah.” Nick nodded “I have to put Hang Ten on the market. Sell her to the highest bidder,” he said in a voice that was quickly losing power. “After paying off
my
debts, maybe I’ll have enough left over to go start a little café in some obscure little town or something.”

“No, no, no…” Dean shook his head. “You’re gonna call that chick. The rich one.” He looked Nick straight in the eye. “You’re gonna accept her offer. After that, we’ll figure out a way to save the community center. We’ve got forty-five days.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

GERARD BROUGHT A PITCHER OF iced tea and four glasses out to the terrace just outside the living room. Lecie, Deidra, Camille, and Tasha were enjoying the afternoon watching the children.

They’d bought a little kiddie pool at a shop not far from Lecie’s house, brought it home and filled it up with about eight inches of water. It had a slide on one side and a dragon that spewed water on the other. Juliana and James were having a grand time with their new toy.

Gerard set the tray on the table and began pouring tea into the glasses. “Lois,” he said of the cook he’d insisted on hiring, “asked me to inquire about dinner this evening. Will you all be dining in, or will it just be the children and the nanny again?”

Dinner?
The thought hadn’t even crossed Lecie’s mind, nor had any of the others talked about it. Her eyes traveled around the group and then back to Gerard. “Tell Lois that we’ll be dining in this evening.” She looked back at her guests. “Six-thirty sound okay?”

“Perfect,” Camille said. “But let’s feed the children a little earlier. Say five?”

Lecie looked back at Gerard. “There you have it.”

He tipped his chin and backed away. He was so
formal
. Even though she was used to that sort of thing, she still found it amusing having her very own,
do-everything-by-the-book
butler.

“I really don’t know why I need this guy,” she said. “Or Lois for that matter.”

“I think it’s a good idea to have Gerard here,” Camille said. “Especially once you get married. I mean, we can only assume that our judgment is good in our quest to find you a husband.” She shrugged. “But when it comes down to it, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Lecie hadn’t thought of that. The man she married would have to live in her house for as long as the marriage lasted. It would have been so much easier if Nick Matthews or Dean Triplett had agreed to this charade. At least she felt like she knew them, even if she didn’t. Not really. But, at the end of the day, she thought she would’ve been safe with either of them.

“Point taken,” Lecie said. “But how am I supposed to find someone acceptable?” She watched the children in the pool just so she wouldn’t have to look Tasha and Camille in the eye. If they looked into her eyes, they might see the insecure idiot hiding behind them. “I don’t want every weirdo in the state knocking on my door because of a quarter of a million dollars.”

“We could always try dating sites,” Tasha piped up.

“That’s a disaster waiting to happen.” Camille laughed.

“Maybe we should just try a good, old-fashioned “help wanted” ad?” Tasha nodded eagerly.

Lecie’s belief that this idiotic plan could work deflated. If her prospective husband was looking for a job, that meant he didn’t have one. If he didn’t have a job, he’d be here. All day. With her. She didn’t like that idea any more than going back home with Camille and Tasha next week.

“This is not going to work,” Deidra said, confirming Lecie’s fears.

“She’d better pray otherwise.” Tasha snorted.

And Lecie knew, just like everybody else on the terrace, that if it didn’t work, she’d be on the next flight back to France.

Lecie let out a long sigh, her shoulders drooping, and dropped her head into her hand. Still cradling her forehead, she looked at the others and said, “Why can’t my father just let me live my life?”

None of the adults said anything for at least ten seconds, then all three of Lecie’s companions burst into laughter at the same time.

“So…what’s it going to be?” Tasha asked. “A help wanted ad or a dating service?” Her cell phone chimed, interrupting the groaning that was making its way up Lecie’s throat. Tasha grabbed her phone off the table, checked the display and frowned, but answered the call anyway. “Tasha de Laurent,” she said her name eloquently with her American-influenced French accent.

Lecie and Deidra, and even Camille—even though she said it the same way—chuckled over Tasha’s enunciation. Thankfully,
de Laurent
was about the only thing that’d ever come out of Camille and Tasha’s mouths with them trying to sound French.

“Yes, it is.” Seconds later Tasha waved her hands in the air at Lecie and pointed to the phone.

Lecie gave her a one-sided shrug that oftentimes accompanied the unspoken inquiry.
What?

“Why, hell yes, she wants to talk to you!” Tasha said, a little too giddy to suit Lecie.

Lecie mouthed the words,
who is that?

Tasha ignored her, and said into the phone, “Can you come by the house?” She waited, listening. “Sure, that’s fine. Come around six. We’re having dinner at six-thirty.” More listening, then Tasha laughed. “Nonsense. We’d love to have you. Believe me, it’s no intrusion.” More listening, then Tasha snapped her fingers at Lecie, saying, “what’s the address here?”

Lecie rattled it off and Tasha relayed it to the caller, then ended the call with an eager, “We’ll see you about six.” After disconnecting the call, she looked at Lecie with an oversized grin.

“Who was that?” Lecie asked in a sharp tone.

“That…” Tasha said, quirking an eyebrow and smiling. “Was Prince Charming.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

NICK HADN’T ADEQUATELY PREPARED HIMSELF for what he’d walked into at this house for the ultra-rich that just so happened to be located less than a mile from Hang Ten.

Dinner had been awkward—although Dean would’ve enjoyed being the only man at a table with four beautiful women—but Nick couldn’t seem to find his comfort zone, knowing that one of these women practically held his future in her hands.

The sisters-in-law had encouraged Nick and Lecie to take their dessert on the terrace, where they could discuss the fine points of their proposed arrangement in private.

Stepping through the opening for the sliding glass door, the sun had not yet set but its glare had been masked by the weeping willow and palm trees at the back of the yard. This late spring evening held an unusual chill in the air.

Lecie sat down on the terrace’s sofa, so Nick took the chair to her right. Close enough to talk without yelling, but still far enough away that they could both avoid a crowded feeling.

She drew her arms up against her sides and shivered. Nick asked, “Are you cold?”

“It’s a little chilly,” she said. She was trying not to smile, he could tell, but even so, a slight grin had begun to break on the corners of her mouth.

He glanced at the fire pit, then back to her. “Would you like me to build a fire?” he asked. She looked like she was about ready to run for the hills. Nick didn’t want that. “It won’t take long, and I promise I won’t overstay my welcome.”

The smile she’d been trying so hard to restrain spread across her luscious lips. “That’d be great.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and Nick about died. “And don’t worry about overstaying your welcome. The person who accepts my offer will have to live here.” She looked around, and Nick tried to expel the carnal thoughts invading his head. “At least for as long as the marriage lasts.”

He ignored her last statement. It was far too surreal to consider that he could allow this sort of thing to happen. But he had to find a way to save the community center. That’d never happen if he lost Hang Ten.

Kneeling in front of the fire pit, he fished some kindling out of the box sitting at its side. After a couple of minutes he had fire.

“So why would a beautiful girl such as yourself need to
hire
a husband?” he asked, nursing the fire. From the looks of this place, and the fact that she was offering him a quarter of a million bucks to marry her, it’s not like she needed anyone’s financial support.

“It’s a long story,” she said, and dropped it at that.

“And one I think I deserve to know if I’m gonna marry you over it.” He put the poker back in the box and returned to his chair. “You need a green card for work or something?”

“Why would you think that?” Her face remained stoic. Nick couldn’t tell if she was put out by that notion, or if she had no idea what a green card was.

“Well it’s pretty obvious that you’re not from around here.” He let out a nervous chuckle. Nick didn’t need to piss this girl off. Now that he’d accepted his fate—that she was his only hope—he needed to stay in her favor. “Love the accent, by the way. Where is it…France?” It was the obvious choice, but truth be told, Nick wouldn’t know a French accent from a Belgium one.

“Yes,” she said. “Marseilles. Although I spent a lot of time at school in England.”

“I thought French people hated the Brits.” He winked at her. “Or is that Americans?” He chuckled. “Seriously…why are you doing this? What’s got you so spooked that you think you need to get married?”

“My father wants me to come home.”

This girl was legal, wasn’t she? “How old are you, Lecie?” He’d just better go ahead and find that out right now. She looked like she was in her early twenties, but looks could be deceiving. Nick didn’t need that kind of headache on top of everything else that was going on.

“Twenty-three,” she said.

That’s a relief
. Nick sucked in a breath to calm his nerves. “So what’s he gonna do…?” Nick asked of her father. “Cut you off?” But that didn’t make sense. How was cutting her off going to change if she got married?

“He wishes he could cut me off.” Lecie laughed, and that only confused Nick more. She must’ve seen it because she got serious and started talking again. “I am financially independent from my parents. So…” She shrugged. “Papa has to resort to drastic measures—having me deported—to get me to come home. And as my mother says…” She glanced at Nick and gave him a playful grin. “I am my father’s daughter.”