Billionaire In Hiding: The Complete Series (Alpha Billionaire Romance Western Love Story) (30 page)

"And you
think I can convince her?" he said as he rubbed his hand across his cheek.
I smiled as I recognized the habit he'd had since he was a small child. My brother
was still in there somewhere, even if he was holding back and hiding from us
for now. I wanted to get to the bottom of what had happened after Molly had
disappeared, but I didn't dare try and broach that subject while we were trying
to solve the problem with my mother. We’d deal with one thing at a time.

"I don't know
if you can convince her, but can you at least try?" I asked.

"Bring her to
Mass," he said. "I'll talk to her afterwards."

"And what if
I can't?" I asked. He had no idea how bad things had gotten, and I was
loath to tell him.

"Then we'll
go from there, but let's not invite trouble, shall we?" he said as he
stood up. "I need to prepare for my early morning service now."

"I'll try and
bring her," I said as I moved toward him. He slipped around the sofa and
was out of the room before I could tell him how much I'd missed him and how
happy I was to have him home again.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Jack

When
I stopped by the house to change clothes before meeting Sloan for dinner, the
ever-present butler opened the door. I shook my head as I walked past the man I
didn't recognize. My father had insisted that there always be a butler present
in the house when he was there, but he couldn't seem to keep one consistently
employed. As a result, I had no idea what this man's name was.

"Thank you
…" I said trailing off uncomfortably.

"Martin,
sir," he said as he stood stiffly, holding the door for me. He was dressed
in a uniform that called to mind England and royalty.

"Thank you,
Martin," I said as I moved toward the stairs, wondering how long it would
take me to convince my mother to stop this nonsense and live like a regular
person.

"Jackson, is
that you?" she called from the living room. "Come here and talk to
me."

"Mother,"
I nodded as I entered the room and found her reclining on the chaise that
looked out over the lawn. She looked pale, and when I sat down and took her
hand, I realized it was cold. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm
fine," she said withdrawing her hand and waving me off. "I've just
had a long day, and now I'm trying to relax. Is this blood on your suit?"

"Yes, but I’m
fine. A little accident at work, nothing to be worried about," I said as I
turned the conversation back to her and the full glass of bourbon in her other
hand. "Should you be relaxing so much?"
 

"My husband
just died. I think I'm entitled," she said in a brittle voice. "Don't
nag me like your brother does."

"I'm not one
to nag you, really, Mother," I said standing up and walking over to the
window. "But are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm sad,
Jackson," she sighed. "But under the circumstances, I believe that's
normal, don't you?"

"Mmm-hmm,"
I nodded as I stared out at the manicured lawn. My father employed seven
gardeners to keep the lawn meticulously groomed, and while they did an
outstanding job of it, right now it seemed like yet another example of his
ridiculous excesses. No one else saw it that way, though. Just me.

"Why are you
home so early?" my mother asked as she sipped her drink.

"I'm going to
dinner with Sloan," I said. "I need to change before I go."

"Because of
the blood?" she asked absently.

"Yes, because
of the blood," I said as I turned away from the window and looked down at
her. My mother was a strong woman—she'd had to be to stand up to my father—but
right now she looked small and fragile, and I was worried about her. "Mother,
I think you should take a vacation away from here. What do you think?"

"Where am I
going to go?" she said. "Everywhere I go reminds me of your father
and the fact that he's not here, and never will be again."

I moved back to
the chaise and leaned down to wrap my arms around her as she cried. I hated
seeing my mother cry, and I hated it even more that she was crying over my
father.

"There,
there. You still have a whole lot of life left to live," I said as I
rubbed her back and tried to stem the flow of tears. It did little good.

"I miss him
so much, Jack!" she sobbed. "He was my whole world!"

"Yes, that's
going to present a certain challenge now, isn't it?" I said feeling the
anger begin to course through my veins. I couldn't show her, though. She'd
pretend not to understand, and then the wedge he'd tried to drive between us
would be complete. I'd worked very hard not to hate my mother, and I wanted to
keep things the way they were now that my father was dead. "Perhaps a nice
long cruise would help you relax and unwind?"

"I … I … I
don't know!" she cried harder. "I don't know what to do without
him!"

"I know,
Mother," I said. "I know. We'll figure something out. You're going to
be okay. I promise."

She nodded as she
clung to me, and as quickly as they'd begun, the tears stopped and she returned
to reclining on her chaise. My mother was very good at short emotional
outbursts. It was dealing with the cause of them that was her shortcoming.

"You need to
get changed for dinner," she said as she returned to staring out over the
lawn. Her voice had a dreamy quality to it, most likely created by the bourbon,
but I think she liked to believe it was the deep well of emotion that she drew
from that fueled it. "Don't let me keep you from your dinner date. I've always
liked that Morgan girl. She's smart and well-raised."

"She
certainly is," I said as I headed for the door. "Like a good race
horse."

"Indeed,"
my mother said as she slipped back into her alcohol-fueled memories of days
gone by.

It didn't take me
long to change, and soon I was back in the car headed toward Manhattan. I
poured myself a whiskey and sat staring out the window, wondering how we had
all wound up here.

*

Jimmy
pulled the car up in front of the palatial Blue Water Grill with five minutes
to spare. It was located just on the edge of the hustle and bustle of Union
Square. It was a large restaurant full of people who were arriving after a full
day at work, looking to eat and blow off a little steam. The bar was crowded,
and I had to squeeze my way through tightly packed groups of people waiting for
tables as I made my way to the hostess stand.

"You're here
for Ms. Morgan, aren't you?" a cheerful young woman asked as I stepped up
to the stand.

"I am,"
I said a little confused, but then looked down and saw a picture of myself,
obviously cut out of the Times or the WSJ, and chuckled. Sloan was never
unprepared.

The hostess led me
to a table that was away from the loud crowd behind a small wall. I inhaled
sharply as I rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of the woman who had
occupied my every waking (and sometimes sleeping) moment in high school. She
was dressed in a scoop-neck blouse that threatened to expose more than what was
decent but didn't actually do it. Her hair shone in the soft light of the
overhead lamp, and when she looked up at me and smiled, I felt the blood
rushing away from my brain and heading south.

"You look
lovely, Sloan," I said as I quickly took a seat. She knew the effect she
had on me, and while it was maddening, it was also reassuring.

"You don't
look so shabby yourself," she said with a smile as she signaled to the
server who nodded and disappeared. He returned a few minutes later with two dirty
martinis and a plate of appetizers.

"You always
take care of everything, don't you?" I laughed as I raised my glass and
toasted.

"To old
friends and new memories," she said as she clinked her glass against mine
before sipping.

"So, tell me,
Sloan, why have you summoned me here?" I asked and watched a surprised
look briefly alight on her face before the calm mask reappeared.

"I told you,
I just want to see you and catch up," she said, smiling as she rested her
hand on my leg under the table. I could feel the blood surging and making my
pants tight, and I fought to keep it under control. I knew that deviating from
my plan of keeping everything on the up and up would spell trouble, but Sloan
knew my weak spots.

"Sloan
…" I said wanting to tell her to stop but unable to will myself to do it.

"What's
wrong, Jack?" she asked as she leaned closer and moved her hand higher up
my thigh. "I thought you liked this."

"Sloan,
stop," I said mustering the will to move her hand away from where it was
headed. My body wanted her, but the rest of me was still bruised by her
callousness. "I didn't come here to be seduced."

"Didn't
you?" she asked as she narrowed her eyes and slid back so that there was a
space between us.

"Why do you
always do this to me?" I said as I picked up my glass and sipped. She
opened her mouth to answer as the server walked up to the table and set down
another plate of appetizers.

"With regards
from the Chef, Ms. Morgan," he said with a polite smile.

"Oh, do tell
him thank you!" she replied with a wide smile and a wink. The server
blushed and backed away from the table.

"Why do you
always do that?" I asked.

"Do
what?"

"Charm
everyone," I said as I reached out and took one of the small triangles of
toast that held some kind of foie gras topped with caviar. I bit into it and
tasted the salty smoothness of the combination.

"I don't
know, I can't help it," Sloan shrugged as she picked up the other piece of
bread and ate half of it. I'd always liked the fact that Sloan wasn't shy about
eating. She'd never held back or pretended to pick at salads when what she
really wanted was a cheeseburger. Her lust for food carried over into other
things, though, and it made me wary.

"Tell me
what's really going on with you," I said as I stared intently into her
icy-blue eyes. I knew she was hiding something. I just didn't know what.
"Why are you really here?"

"Jack, look,
I don't really want to get into that," she said I knew then that there was
something she wasn't telling me. "It's not a big deal anyway, and besides,
it's your father who died and left you in charge of the company."

"I'm your
oldest friend, Sloan," I said quietly. "If you can't tell me, then
who can you tell?"

"Why do you
always have to pry?" she shot back as she slammed her glass onto the table
spilling her drink on the pristine tablecloth.

"Sloan
…" I said as I moved closer and slipped an arm around her shoulder. I
could see that she was in pain, but I knew that it was going to be work to get
the splinter that had caused it out from under the surface.

"No, I'm
serious," she hissed pushing my arm away. "Let it go, Jackson."

"Sloan, talk
to me," I said as I left my arm where it was. She bit her lip and looked down
at the table, and when she looked back up at me, I could see that I'd hit a
nerve.

"Jack, my own
father fired me," she said. "He fired me from a job that I loved and
was incredibly good at, and he replaced me with one of the frat brother
douche-boys he plays golf with because the guy promised to bring in higher
returns than anyone else."

"Oh man,
Sloan, I'm sorry," I said holding her shoulder as I shook my head.
"Your old man is as much of a bastard as mine."

"He fired
me," she said as she picked up her glass and drank deeply. "I've done
everything I possibly could to make that division run smoothly and bring in a
handsome profit for him, and what does he do to thank me?"

"Fires
you," I echoed as I watched one lone tear leak from her eye and run down
her cheek. I reached out to wipe it away, but she ducked and shook her head.

"Don't,"
she said. "Don't pity me. I couldn't stand it if you did."

"I'd never
pity you," I said as I slipped my fingers under her chin and lifted her
face so that she was forced to look at me. "You're not the pitying type,
Sloan. You're a survivor. You know it as well as I do. You always land on your
feet, and this time will be no different."

"You think
so?" she asked in a small voice. It startled me to hear Sloan sound so
vulnerable, but then it occurred to me that I'd never actually seen her in a
vulnerable position before. "You really think I'm going to come back from
this? I mean, everyone is going to know that my own father fired me. How's that
going to play in the big leagues?"

"So what if
they know?" I said. "It'll just prove that your father is, in fact,
the jerk they all think he is. And you'll prove that you're better than he is
by the time you're done."

"But how,
Jack?" she asked. "How on earth am I going to get someone to give me
a chance to rebuild?"

I looked down at
her lovely face, trying hard to ignore the fact that I'd had crushes on her
since I was a teenager, and suddenly I had an idea.

"Sloan, what
if you helped me turn a profit for Baby Steps?" I asked. "My miserable
father left me the company and then took away access to my own money so that
I'd be forced to run it. The will stipulates that I have to turn a profit
before I turn it over to a new CEO, what if you help me do that and in the
process, you rebuild your reputation independent of your father?"

"Are you
serious, Jack?" she laughed. "Me? Running a baby company? What kind
of drugs have you been taking? I'm an investment banker who works with large
funds and international clients! I'm not some kind of soccer mom who spends her
days figuring out how to match her child's diapers to its bottles!"

"You're so
narrow-minded and self-centered," I said, grinning as I recounted all of
the information that Leah had given me on my tour of the facility that morning.
"Baby Steps is about a lot more than products. It's about ecological
responsibility and efficient supply and demand. It's a global business just
waiting to be pushed to the next level."