Up for Heir (Westerly Billionaire Series Book 2)

by Ruth Cardello

“Have you talked to Mom lately?”

  “No.”

  “She really wants to see you.”

  “We don’t all get what we want, do we?” Spencer asked and punched the wall.

  “Spencer, you need to let this anger—”

  The last thing Spencer wanted was another lecture. He already felt like shit. “I’m not angry; I’m busy. If you haven’t noticed, WorkChat is soaring. Sorry if that means I have to work more hours. I don’t have an inheritance to fall back on.”

  “Spencer—”

  There was nowhere good the conversation could go, nowhere good it ever had. “Tell Alisha I’m happy for both of you. I’ll send your kid birthday gifts. That’ll have to be good enough.”

  “Still no for attending our wedding?”

  “Are we done? I need to get back to work.”

  “It’s amazing how much you sound like our father.”

  “He’s not my father.”

  “Biologically no, but you inherited his asshole gene.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Brett laughed. “Hey, I have the same gene—in spades. I sounded just like you a year ago, but meeting Alisha opened my eyes. It doesn’t have to be like this. Family is what we make it, Spencer.”

  “Good talk, Brett. Goodbye.”

  Brett sighed. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Don’t bother. Spencer hung up. Brett never gave a shit about seeing me or Mom until Alisha told him he should. He falls in love, and all of a sudden he wants to pretend we’re close? It doesn’t fucking work that way.

  Love.

  All it does is fuck a man’s head up.

  Spencer finished his beer, reached for another, and groaned as he remembered how that kind of thinking had driven him to step into the simulator. There was someone he needed to see. Her.

  Hailey was my first. Two virgins. Of course we thought we were in love. I was happy I was finally getting laid. That’s all it was. If I met her now, I wouldn’t spare her a second look. I’ve been with women so beautiful I could almost taste the envy of the men around me. I’ve slept with some so talented they could have taught a course on how to give males multiple orgasms.

  It probably wasn’t even as good as I remember it. And I can prove it.

  Jordan had said he’d loaded the drive with Spencer’s old photos. “Run album two.” The walls around Spencer were replaced by the college quad setting Jordan had programmed in. He knew Jordan well enough to guess the language he would have written for commands. “Show Hailey Tiverton.”

  “There are one thousand six hundred seven images detected and fifty-eight videos. Play through or isolate and merge?” a computer voice asked.

  “Isolate and merge.”

  “Location?”

  With his heart racing, Spencer said, “Garage.”

  The grass and college dorm buildings faded away, replaced by a representation of the computer lab he’d built in his mother’s garage. Although Spencer knew none of it was real, the experience of literally stepping into a memory was unsettling.

  Then Hailey appeared on a stool. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her eyes were just as beautiful and deep blue as he remembered. His heart began to thud wildly in his chest just as it always had when she smiled at him. “Your mom said you skipped dinner, so I brought you a sandwich.” She held out a wrapped package, and his memory of that day came back to him in full force. “Put the camera down and eat something.” Her eyes twinkled, and she smiled at him as she said, “Or put the camera down and kiss me. Your choice.” Her delighted laugh echoed through him, and he remembered exactly what he’d chosen that day. His cock tented his pants in excitement.

  Fuck, it was that good.

  Her image faded away, and she reappeared in another outfit. This time she had an earnest expression on her face. “I feel silly, but if you think this will help, I’ll do it. You know I hate cameras. Don’t you dare show this to anyone. And I’d better not end up as an avatar. Unless you make me a kick-ass one. Then I guess I’m okay with it. Really? You need more? You’re lucky I love you.” She looked toward the entrance of the garage, and a huge smile spread across her face. “Jordan, save me. He’s working on that voice-to-face recognition software and filming me again.” Her laugh rang out and mixed with his and Jordan’s just before the vision faded away. Spencer’s chest tightened until he could barely breathe as feelings he’d thought were gone emerged in full force.

  The next image of Hailey surprised Spencer. It was from a video project she’d helped him with a month after her father died. He remembered how sad she’d been after it happened, but he didn’t remember her looking as shattered as she did in the hologram. There were dark smudges beneath her eyes. She looked significantly thinner than she had in the earlier images. She’d always said she was fine, but she hadn’t been. Clearly.

  The representation of her in the simulator was so real, it was as if he were in the moment with her, and the pain in her eyes tore through him. “Come meet my brother. You’ll love him.” He nodded. Of course he would go. Then regret filled him as he watched disappointment darken her eyes. He didn’t need to hear his own voice to remember what he’d said. She continued, “Of course. I understand. Maybe another weekend?”

  She’d needed me. What the fuck had I been working on that was more important?

  He’d always thought their breakup had come out of nowhere, but the beginning of it was right there in her eyes.

  No wonder she left me for someone else.

  “End album,” Spencer had said and strode out of the simulator.

  In his apartment, Spencer rubbed a hand over his eyes as if that would clear the images still fresh in his mind. His phone beeped with a message. He checked it, then dropped the phone beside him on the couch. Monica was in town. Usually that meant a no-strings, mind-erasing fuck. She called whenever she was between boyfriends, and they had an understanding that was so easy Spencer never turned her down.

  Until tonight.

  Seeing Hailey again had left him in a funk. He laughed aloud with self-deprecation. Seeing her? I didn’t actually see her. I saw a video of her.

  The real Hailey wasn’t that girl anymore. In fact, she was probably married with children. Probably to that dick she left me for.

  Still . . . That shit was intense.

  That realization changed his view of Jordan’s side project. Despite the time, he called his friend and left him a message: “Jordan, your album simulator is fucking genius. You’re right. It’s going to change the world. Call me.”

  Chapter Three

  A week later, Hailey accepted the hand of the formally dressed driver who’d opened the car door for her. “Thank you, Pete.” She slid out and stood on the sidewalk in front of a redbrick office building. He closed the door and said he would park but watch for her.

  She’d told Mrs. Westerly she didn’t require a driver, but her employer had said that having one would allow Hailey to run errands more efficiently and she’d already hired a very nice man who’d been grateful for the work. Mrs. Westerly had ended all of Hailey’s protests when she added, “Should I tell him he doesn’t have the job? I’m sure he can find other employment.” She definitely knows how to manipulate someone into agreeing.

  Clutching her purse to her side, Hailey paused before stepping away from the black sedan. What a week.

  She thought back to her first meeting with Mrs. Westerly and marveled again that she was still employed. It hadn’t seemed like she would be when the older woman had asked, “What is your version of why you and my grandson Spencer broke up in college?”

  “I’m sorry?” Hailey had stalled as she tried to wrap her head around the ramifications of that unlucky coincidence.

  “Answer the question or don’t, but don’t pretend you didn’t understand it,” Mrs. Westerly had said curtly.

  Hailey felt paranoid for even wondering if what appeared to be an unlucky coincidence was something else, but she’d had to ask. “I had no idea you w
ere related.”

  “You dated for over a year. In all that time, he never mentioned me?”

  “No,” Hailey had answered without thinking about how it might come across. She was more concerned that Mrs. Westerly knew any version at all of her time with Spencer. I probably don’t want to know, but . . . “What did he say about me?”

  If possible, Mrs. Westerly looked even less happy. “As little as he said about me.”

  She’d still been trying to wrap her head around the fact that Mrs. Westerly was Spencer’s grandmother. Could something that significant have happened by accident? “Did you know about my relationship with Spencer before you hired me?”

  “I found out about it after you had applied. Do you think I would move you into my home without looking into your background?”

  Hailey had shivered at that. She knew and she hired me. “But it didn’t have anything to do with why I was hired, did it?”

  “Did dating my grandson leave you with a particular skill you think I require in a personal assistant?”

  “Of course not,” Hailey had responded, feeling foolish. I’m being stupid. It was a long time ago. A coincidence.

  “Then it’s of no consequence to me, is it? Unless, of course, you have feelings toward him that would make either of you uncomfortable should you meet up as a result of your employment here.”

  “No feelings.” Relief had flooded in. Of course. She wants to make sure it won’t be an issue.

  “Good, then you shouldn’t mind telling me how it ended between the two of you.”

  It had been tempting to say that her personal life was none of her business, but something told her Mrs. Westerly wouldn’t accept such an answer. And it’s not like I have many options. “My father died just before my sophomore year. It was a tough time for me, and my relationship with Spencer didn’t survive it.”

  “So it wasn’t because you were dating someone else.”

  Hailey gasped. “Of course not. I left school to move in with my brother.” Hold it together. Maybe she just wants to know how I’d feel about seeing him again.

  An emotion that might have been compassion darkened Mrs. Westerly’s eyes. “Ryan was the brother you recently lost?”

  “Yes,” Hailey had said tightly.

  “That must have been devastating.” The sincerity in Mrs. Westerly’s voice had rung true. “I would trade everything I have and every last breath for one more day with my late husband, Oliver.”

  Hailey had nodded. On the surface she and Mrs. Westerly had nothing in common, but that afternoon they had connected on an elemental level. Michael had said she was lonely. She’d practically admitted she was afraid to die alone. No matter how strong she looked on the outside, Mrs. Westerly was scared. She just wasn’t letting it stop her. She’s a survivor.

  Like me.

  It was easier to like her after that. Hailey and Skye had stayed for dinner that first night, and it had actually gone well. Mrs. Westerly definitely had strong opinions and a strict view of how things should be, but there was also a kindness to her.

  The rest of the week flew by, a blur of settling Skye into a new schedule with Mrs. Tillsbury, spending most of the day with Mrs. Westerly, then having dinner each night at the main house.

  Skye loved visiting with Mrs. Westerly. The staff waited on her as if she were royalty. Her needs were anticipated and fulfilled so seamlessly that Hailey worried it would spoil her. It was difficult to be anything but grateful, though, because Skye looked happier each day.

  Even Mrs. Tillsbury had commented on how well Skye seemed to have adjusted to the change. Her therapist said the same. No, Skye wasn’t talking yet, but there was a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Hailey didn’t want to get too hopeful, but the move was beginning to feel like the right choice.

  Even if the nature of her job left Hailey feeling conflicted.

  There were virtually no duties required of Hailey outside of spending time at the main house and listening to Mrs. Westerly reminisce about her early life. She really was looking for a companion. An only child, Mrs. Westerly had spent a lot of time on her own or with her nannies, but she always dreamed of having a large family of her own. She’d only been able to have one child and although he lived close by, she didn’t see him often.

  There was a palpable sadness in Mrs. Westerly, a feeling that her life had not turned out the way she’d imagined it would. Hailey understood that feeling all too well. She understood loneliness as well.

  I wish I could refuse to take money for visiting with her. She shouldn’t have to pay anyone to sit with her. I need the money, though—so does Skye. Compassion and pride will have to take a backseat to survival.

  “Is everything all right?” the driver asked, likely because she had yet to step away from the vehicle.

  “Yes, just trying to remember the office number.”

  “Two thirty-three, I believe.”

  “Oh yes,” Hailey said and pretended to be relieved he knew. She turned to thank him, but her attention was drawn to a silhouette of a man in a dark suit, standing at his office window several floors up. His features were impossible to distinguish from a distance, but for a heartbeat she would have sworn he was watching her. They connected for a moment in a way that shook her.

  Inexplicably, she thought of Spencer. Was he in a similar office somewhere, looking out, thinking of her?

  Yeah, right.

  According to Mrs. Westerly, he lived in the area and was running a successful tech company now. He was also too busy to visit his grandmother.

  She shook her head and looked away from the man in the window. Same old Spencer.

  At least he got his cake.

  An hour later, with a small, gift-wrapped package in hand, Hailey opened the door of the main house herself for the first time since she’d been there. Normally, Michael magically appeared to welcome her. His absence was unsettling. Before stepping into the house, she glanced back at the guesthouse. Mrs. Tillsbury’s car was still parked in front, which meant Skye was occupied with her lessons. Hailey checked her phone. No message. If something was wrong, someone would have texted her. She took a few deep breaths.

  I refuse to panic every time something is out of the ordinary. Things haven’t been easy this year, but that doesn’t mean they can’t get better. One foot in front of the other. One positive action followed by another. That’s how you survive. Right, Ryan? Hailey closed the door behind her with a shaking hand. And things turn around.

  I just need to believe they can.

  The sound of someone racing toward her brought Hailey to full alert again. Michael came to a stop beside her, looking flustered. “Mrs. Westerly means well.”

  “Means well?”

  Before Michael had a chance to answer, Mrs. Westerly’s voice carried from the library into the foyer. “Your Latin is rudimentary. Your Spanish is not much better, and dare I say your English could use a good polishing as well. Tell me you at least play an instrument. How do you expect to cultivate a love of learning in Skye when you yourself are ignorant? By the look on your face, I’ve insulted you. Feel free to refute my assessment, but do try to express yourself with some degree of refinement.”

  Oh no. No. No. No.

  “Or stomp away. Go on, then. That’s all the evidence I require that you are ill qualified.”

  Mrs. Tillsbury burst out of the library, showing relief when she spotted Hailey. “Thank God you’re here.” She came to a skidding stop next to Michael. “I should have asked you if it was okay to bring Skye to the main house, but she seemed excited by the invitation. Your employer, however, is nasty. I have never been so insulted in my life. If I were you, I would keep your niece as far away from that—that horrible woman as you can.”

  The sense of mortification Hailey had felt when she’d heard how Mrs. Westerly was speaking to the tutor quickly gave way to defensive anger. “Your concern for Skye’s welfare is painfully obvious given your departure without her.”

  M
ichael coughed back what sounded like a laugh.

  “I was coming out here to call you,” the woman said in a huff, then waved her hand around aggressively. “You know, I agreed to drive the extra distance because I felt sorry for your niece, but she needs more help than I can give her.”

  “That is obvious as well,” Hailey said tightly. “We won’t be requiring your services after today.”

  “Trust me, I had no intention of returning,” the woman said in an unpleasant tone, and walked out.

  Michael stayed beside Hailey rather than rushing over to open the door for her. As soon as Mrs. Tillsbury was out the door, Hailey took a step toward the library.

  “Wait,” Michael said.

  Hailey did only because she needed a moment to choose her words. Without turning toward Michael, Hailey asked, “What was she thinking?” Hailey shook her head. “Mrs. Tillsbury wasn’t perfect, but Skye was making progress. She liked her. It’s not just about finding a replacement. If the loss of Mrs. Tillsbury sets Skye back . . .” Hailey blinked back tears and raised her chin. “I don’t know what will happen.”

  “Mrs. Westerly only gets involved when she cares.”

  Whipping her head around to meet Michael’s gaze, Hailey said, “I understand that, but we have to be careful. It’s about what’s best for Skye. How do I make her see that? God, what if I can’t make this work?”

  Michael walked with her to the door of the library, but stopped her just before they stepped inside. In a low voice, he said, “Don’t rush to any decisions. Give her a chance.”

  Hailey shook her head, but Mrs. Westerly was speaking again, and she listened without moving.

  “My mother believed that every lady should know at least two languages besides English,” Mrs. Westerly said. “I learned French and Spanish. Which would you want to learn, Skye? I’d love to hear you try French. There’s no better excuse to spend a month at my home in Marseille than saying you need to work on your accent. We’d include a trip to Paris and la tour Eiffel. I haven’t been there since I lost Oliver. It would be good to see it again.” There was a pause and then Mrs. Westerly added, “Of course, you can’t have any accent unless you speak. Try this: Je parle français. ‘I speak French.’ Come on, we’ll make it fun. I’ll ask you what you speak and you answer ‘Je parle français.’ Just like that. Ready? Even better, I’ll ask you in French. It’ll be just like we’re having our first conversation but in a whole new language. Quelle langue parlez-vous? Now you answer, ‘Je parle français.’”