Showdown: Tech Billionaires

by Ainsley St Claire

  “Yes, I’m sure it’ll be all facemasks and pillow fights,” Lilly teases.

  I stop and look at her. She’s rather funny, but she doesn’t show it very often. Or maybe it’s just that I haven’t noticed? “Are you expecting to participate?” I eye her skeptically

  She shakes her head. “No, and I promise to shield the girls from all the bachelorette festivities.”

  “They probably wouldn’t be interested in those things—at least I hope not.”

  She just smiles, like maybe she knows something I don’t. Does she?

  She fixes my shirt sleeve where it’s caught on my cufflink. “Have a great time this evening. You deserve to be happy.”

  I cock my head. “Does everyone think I’m this sad blob of a man?”

  “Maybe a little. But if you weren’t, we’d think something was wrong.”

  “I’ve been angry at Cecelia for a while now, you know.”

  “That’s understandable. She slipped her detail and disappeared. She also moved money around without telling you why.”

  I take a big breath. “I’m not mad at you when I say this, but I’m mad in general that everyone knows my fucking business. I hate the press who are crawling up our asses and going through our trash.”

  “Well, I was here when you called the girls after they arrested you and explained why the police thought you had something to do with Cecelia’s disappearance. I’ve spent hours with them digesting why their mom would do something that could leave them behind.” She turns to walk out the door. “I promise I’m not trying to force you to talk to me or regurgitate what the tabloids are printing.”

  I look at her backside as she goes. I think she just handed me my lunch. Fuck. I’m an asshole.

  I follow her out of our berth and into the area where the girls are preparing to watch their movie. “I’m sorry.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re my boss. I shouldn’t butt in. I’m sorry. Have a good time. The girls and I will enjoy ourselves. Security will be with us at all times, and the girls understand.”

  “Thank you.”

  The guys and I board the boat to take us to the Casino de Monte-Carlo, and I look back to see Lilly standing on the deck as we drive away.

  Mason leans in next to me. “What’s going on with you and your nanny?”

  I look at him, my brow furrowed. “Nothing. Why?”

  “She’s easy on the eyes, the girls love her, and she seems to like you.” He shrugs.

  I shake my head. “She said something tonight and put me in my place. Most people just tell me what I want to hear. She’s a fantastic asset to our household right now. I’m not thinking about anything else—with anyone.”

  He doesn’t seem convinced. “All the more reason, then. There could be some real potential there. Have you even been with a woman since Cecelia died?”

  I wouldn’t admit this to anyone I thought would use it against me. “No.”

  “And you’d been in a relationship with Cecelia since you were what, five?”

  I grin. “Not quite. But I can’t remember much about life before Cecelia.”

  “Just something to think about,” he says, clapping me on the back.

  The boat arrives at the dock, and we disembark and walk into the hotel.

  “Welcome, Mr. Sullivan.” A woman with a low-cut, sequined, full-length dress and a thick French accent leads us to the grand entrance to the casino.

  It’s breathtaking. The belle epoque architecture is flawless and so detailed. For a bunch of California boys, being in tuxes tonight is a big deal. But I’d feel underdressed in this entrance without mine. I see why it was essential.

  Luxury surrounds us. The women drip with jewels, and many languages flood my ears. As I continue to study the people, there seem to be more watchers than players. I guess this is a tourist spot.

  Our escort stops at a poker table with a small reserved sign and opens her arms. “I understand you want to play some Texas Hold’em?”

  “Yes, but I understood that was not a game you provide,” Dillon replies.

  As the best man, he’s organized this tonight.

  “We are happy to have a table for you to play,” she says. “The house minimum for the hand will be five hundred euros.”

  “I think we can manage that.” Mason smirks.

  We put our money on the table—we all agreed to come in with a hundred thousand euros—and a man dressed in a tuxedo shirt, tie, and black pants converts our money into plastic cards. The red are worth fifty euros, the blue are worth one hundred euros, and the green are worth a thousand euros.

  The first hand runs smoothly enough. The dealer seems to know what he’s doing and is enjoying the game. The second hand draws a crowd. I hear people use the term American as if someone has spit in their soup, but we don’t care. We’re having fun.

  Then, I hear a man with what I’m sure is a deep Texas accent. “Now this is the kind of game I understand. It puts more chances on the board. Got room for one more?”

  “As long as it’s okay with our dealer,” Dillon says.

  The dealer nods and explains the buy-in.

  I look at the Texan, and he’s wearing a nice western suit, with a leather bolo tie, but two things alert me that he may not be who he says he is. One, his watch is a gold Timex. I get that some men love a reminder of how far they’ve come, but his boots are new, and they’re not even a good pair of Justin’s. That would be sacrilege in Texas. I may have grown up in the city, but I don’t know any cowboy worth his salt who doesn’t wear custom Justin’s boots.

  We introduce ourselves by first names only, and we’re cordial, but not friendly.

  He tells us his name is Carl, and gestures to his wife of twenty-three years, who is Nancy. They’re from west Texas and hit it rich with oil on his small cattle ranch.

  She stands behind him with her hands on his shoulders and doesn’t say much.

  He’s chatty with the group, but no one seems too responsive. His wife is wearing a very nice diamond ring, but I’m not sure it’s real. It’s more likely a decent knockoff.

  At the end of the night, Carl doesn’t tip the dealer before he disappears, but we more than make up for it. We’re grateful that the casino played our game for us.

  “Merci beaucoup,” the dealer says.

  And with that, we head out through the opulent doors, back to the waiting boat, and transfer to the yacht. As we ride, Dillon is first to point out that Carl was wearing a Timex. Landon points out the boots, and the belt I hadn’t noticed, and Jackson says he believes his wife was telling him what to do by applying pressure to his shoulders.

  “Who do you think he was?” Mason asks.

  “I think he was from Texas, because that was a pretty authentic accent, but I don’t think he was the oil baron he wanted us to think he was,” I answer.

  “Do you think he was with the FBI or US government regarding Cecelia’s death?” Dillon questions.

  “I have no idea, but I’m on alert after what happened last night,” I tell them. “After the wedding, I’m taking the girls home. I don’t know what Cecelia was into before she disappeared, and I’d just feel safer on our home turf.”

  No one questions this. They’ve been with me from the beginning. The last two years have been extremely difficult, and I can’t be too careful.

  But if the girls and I are ever going to move on with our lives, we need to get to the bottom of Cecelia’s death.

  Chapter 2

  Lilly

  Bex has gone to bed, but I’ve lost Katrina. She was flirting with one of the crew members earlier, and I’m sure she’s gone to meet him for a secret rendezvous. Not on my watch.

  When I find them at the front of the boat, far from people’s eyes, the jerk’s hands are in her pants, and she’s trying to push him away. I grab her, and she puts up a fight—probably mostly to save face—as I scream at the man. “She’s barely sixteen!”

  He tilts his head to the side and looks me up and down, lick
ing his lips. “It’s only eleven years.” He shrugs. “She’d have fun. Of course, if you’d like to show her how to do it, I’m happy to help.”

  I’m not one to advocate violence, and I don’t know where the right hook comes from, but I’m pretty sure I broke his nose. That’s when he starts yelling at me in Greek. It’s strange that I feel no remorse.

  The ship’s captain comes up because the guy won’t stop squealing like a stuck pig. “What happened?”

  “He thought it was appropriate to take advantage of this sixteen-year-old, and my fist had a mind of its own,” I explain.

  They have a terse exchange in a language I don’t understand, and the captain leads him out by the ear. When the captain returns, he wipes his hands as if they are covered in dust. “He’s been fired, and he’s being removed from the ship as we speak.”

  I turn my glare to Katrina. I have no doubt she isn’t totally innocent, but I decide to have that conversation with her behind closed doors.

  “Please don’t share this with Mr. Healy,” the captain begs.

  I wonder if he’s mistaken us for someone else until I remember Dillon Healy, Mason’s best friend, rented the boat.

  “I promise.” I nod and grab Katrina by the arm, leading her back to our room.

  “Ouch! You’re hurting me,” she whines.

  “I have no illusions that you weren’t knee-deep in getting that man in trouble. If you want to continue this, we can have a conversation with your father and Jim Adelson. I’m surprised they haven’t already given your own security detail.”

  “Why do you have to be such a bitch?” She yanks her arm out of my grip and starts to walk away.

  “It’s in the job description.”

  She whips around and leers at me with her hands on her hips. “That’s right. You’re the nanny; you’re not my mother.”

  I let out a sigh. Katrina is often a somewhat volatile teen, but not usually a wickedly crazy one like this. I’ve had to manage my own grief since my weekend with the girls turned into something I never could have predicted. Cecelia ditched her security team that weekend in Las Vegas and was missing for eight weeks before she was found dead. I was never hired to be the nanny at all, but I hold my tongue.

  “You’re right,” I say instead. “I’m not your beautiful mother. I am, however, the person who will report you to your father if you aren’t kinder to me and don’t play within the rules.”

  She stops resisting and walks with me slowly back to our berth.

  “You need to realize that you hold a lot of power, and it’s your choice to use it for good or evil,” I tell her before we enter. “Your mother always used her power for good, and I hope you’ll do the same.”

  Tears pool in Katrina’s eyes as she balls her hands at her side. She screams in frustration and marches into the bedroom. I remain in the living area and catch my breath. I count to fifty before I feel calm enough to manage whatever barrage she has for me next. I love the teen years.

  I sit down and try to gather myself. Katrina and I have been having challenges for a while now. We’d always done well before, and I know she’s getting older, but I think there’s also something bothering her. She was mad at her dad before the trip. He was supposed to give her driving lessons before we left and instead, Trevor Van der Soot, the head of his security team, did it for him. I heard him yell “Brake!” more than once from the open windows upstairs.

  But who knows what it could be now.

  When I finally make my way to our bedroom, the berth is quiet, the only light coming from the reading light in my bottom bunk. I climb in bed and go back to the programming I’ve been working on. When the girls are sleeping is about the only time I can concentrate on what I’m actually supposed to be doing.

  A little while later, the door to our suite opens and closes, changing the air pressure. Then I hear clothes rustling, which alerts me that Nate’s returned from the casino. I shut my laptop and walk out to the living room. “Hey, how did it go?”

  He jumps at least a full foot in the air before he turns around, clutching his heart.

  I smile. Nate looks so handsome in a tuxedo. But I need to check my hormones at the door. I just haven’t been with a man since before I first came to the Lancasters’ house. I’m not sure Nate’s in the right frame of mind for anything like that anyway.

  “You’re still up?” he questions.

  I’m standing in boxer shorts and an MIT T-shirt. “The girls are fine, but after last night I was a little anxious. I’m having a hard time getting to sleep.”

  Nate pours himself a glass of water and settles in a large chair. I become very self-conscious. I have less on in my bathing suit, but for some reason, I feel naked in front of him in my loungewear right now.

  “It was a quiet night,” he says.

  “Did you have fun?”

  “It was okay. Just fancy. I can’t wait to return to Silicon Valley, where wearing pants is overdressed.”

  I can’t help but giggle. “We’ll be back in a week or so.”

  He clears his throat.

  “Sleep well,” I say just above a whisper.

  He doesn’t look at me as I go. I pull the door partially shut behind me and go back to my bed. Our room has two bunk beds, and the girls are both on the top. I’m happy just to have a mattress to myself. I’m usually sharing with Bex.

  Despite my best efforts, I climb back in bed thinking about Nate. The gossip columns haven’t put him with anyone, though for a while, a few of Cecelia’s friends were on the prowl for him. I was extremely grateful that he didn’t date any of them, as their motives were clearly questionable, but my heart still breaks for him. He’s had a rough time. I know he and Cecelia had an amazing relationship, and he deserves to find love again.

  Eventually I give up on my laptop and drift to sleep, wondering what his lips taste like. But I jolt awake to Bex having one of her nightmares. She’s screaming and crying. I scramble up to her bed and sit with her, rubbing her back. Usually this is all it takes to calm her.

  Nate sticks his head in. He’s wearing his pants he wore earlier tonight, but his chest is bare, and I freeze.

  “What’s going on?” he demands. “Is she okay?”

  How is it possible he’s such a hardbody? my mind asks absently. “Yes, she’s just having a nightmare,” I explain. “She has them periodically. If I rub her back, she does fine.”

  In the dim light I can see him biting his lower lip and moving his hands around. “Maybe she needs to see a therapist?”

  I look at him and count to ten before I answer. “She does see a therapist, twice a week, and she’s aware of the nightmares. I’m doing as she suggests.”

  “Oh.” He looks around, avoiding eye contact with me. “I forgot.”

  I force a smile and a nod. He’s not a bad father, but he’s still in survival mode after the traumatic loss of his wife. He’s not fully himself these days.

  Bex whimpers.

  I lean down and kiss her temple. “It’s okay. Your daddy and I are right here for you. You’re safe.” It takes about ten minutes, but she eventually settles.

  When I hop off the bed, Nate motions me out to the main room. I follow him through the door.

  “Why does she feel unsafe?” he asks.

  I bite the inside of my cheek and debate whether it’s time to be honest or just continue playing like everything is okay when it isn’t. I decide to go with honesty. He needs to be aware of these things. “Bex feels unsafe because her mother kissed her on her head, told her she’d see her in a few days, and left her with a strange woman. Then she never returned.”

  “But I’m here for her.”

  I lean my head to the side and try to determine if he’s drunk. Because I don’t remember him at the piano and dance recitals, at the parent-teacher conferences, or shuttling her from home to her thousands of activities. Sometimes the girls go weeks without seeing their father. “Are you?”

  His back stiffens. “Of course I am.”
/>
  I give a single-shoulder shrug. “Then maybe you should tell her.”

  “You have no idea how much pressure I’m under—”

  “You’re right. I don’t. I just manage your daughters, happily, all day every day.”

  “You can quit if this isn’t working for you.”

  He has no idea how many times I’ve wanted to quit and get on with my own life—my career, which is the very reason I met Cecelia in the first place. But instead, I’ve stayed, trying to help, because after nearly three years, I love those girls with all my heart, and nothing is more important to me than helping them put the pieces of their life back together.

  I shake my head. “Please don’t put words in my mouth. I just told you I was happily managing your daughters. But the girls need some quality time with their dad. I think they were hoping this trip would offer that. Instead, they get mostly me, and I’m not a replacement.”

  I can see anger in his eyes as he processes all that. I have such a problem with being too honest. My mother always said it’s what got me in trouble, and she’s right.

  “I should get back to bed,” I tell him. “I promised the girls we’d go swimming tomorrow before we dock and drive to the vineyard.” I turn on my heel and shut the door behind me.

  I wake before the girls and go back to doing some work on my laptop. I’ve been working on strings of code and sending them to my best friend and business partner, Mackenzie. We’re so close to having a working prototype.

  “What are you doing?” Katrina mumbles.

  “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

  “Not really. You’re just always on your computer. Are you talking to your boyfriend?”

  I chuckle. “I’m with you and your sister all the time. When do I have time to see a boyfriend?”

  “You get a day off.”

  No guy would be patient enough to handle my schedule. “I haven’t had a day off in a while, but that’s fine. Your dad’s busy.”

  She sighs. “We won’t see a lot of him this week. Mason Sullivan is one of his best friends, and he’ll be doing all sorts of things with him.”