Despite the Gentleman's Riches: Sweet Billionaire Romance (For Richer or Poorer Book 1)

by Easterling, Aimee

  Now, all three of us tumbled, laughing, out of the car as Jack pulled up in front of his house. "Come on! I want to see Florabelle before you go!" Lena demanded, yanking me out of the seat that I seemed to be glued to, and I let the girl drag me across the threshold and down the long hall. Even the Reynolds mansion seemed warmer and brighter than it had been when we left, as if Lena's happiness was soaking into the walls. I liked to imagine that my elevated mood was having an impact on the structure as well, the glow of my bond to Jack illuminating the dim hallway.

  My cockatiel was thrilled to see us, and I couldn't resist wasting a moment to take the bird out of her cage and snuggle her under my chin. I hadn't missed my pet as much as I thought I would, my human traveling companions keeping me too busy to be homesick, but I was relieved to see that Shirley had been as good as her word, maintaining the bird in tip-top health. "Sorry to grab Florabelle and run," I said at last, stuffing the cockatiel back into her cage. "But I don't want to be late for my meeting."

  "I'll clean up her papers later," Lena offered, picking up my basket of supplies at the same time as I hefted the cage, then walking with me back toward the front door. Halfway down the hall, though, the girl froze in her tracks, her face suddenly grimacing with such pain that if we'd been in the woods, I would have looked down in search of an ankle-biting snake. But since we were safely indoors, I was flummoxed by my charge's abrupt change of mood...until I heard the faintly familiar voice coming out of the living room.

  "This kind of behavior is totally unacceptable," Mr. Reynolds senior said coldly, his words stronger because of their complete lack of emotion. "And to think I believed you when you said this trip was all about your sister." The girl in question shot a glance my way, and in unspoken agreement, we opted to stay where we were rather than entering the living room or leaving the mansion. We both wanted to hear what the siblings' father had on his mind.

  "It was all about Lena," Jack retorted, not managing to maintain the same emotional distance in his voice that came so easily to his father. "The kid has been poring over college catalogs the whole way home. I think she's already planned out her undergraduate degree, her masters, and two or three doctorates by now."

  Jack was telling the truth. I'd noticed Lena scribbling away in the backseat several times over the course of our long weekend, and she'd even allowed me to browse through one of the thick booklets on my own. The course descriptions felt like an all-you-can-eat buffet—so many delectable options that it was obvious you couldn't fit them all in before you popped. If Mr. Reynolds senior cared about his daughter at all, he should have been thrilled by the academic excitement that this trip had generated.

  But, apparently, the older businessman wasn't impressed. "You expect me to believe that this is part of a college tour?" Jack's father demanded, the rustle of papers suggesting that some sort of damning evidence was being thrust into his son's face.

  "Shit." Jack's expletive was quiet but tinged with desperation. I could almost see the younger man's shoulder's drooping, even though a wall stood between us, and my stomach suddenly clenched in sympathy. I didn't want to know what had made my lover sound like he'd been struck in the gut, and I tried to force my feet to turn toward the door and the meeting I was already late to. But I remained frozen to the spot, unable to leave the scene of what was sure to turn into a spectacular train wreck.

  "You need to stay focused, Jack," Mr. Reynolds continued. "I didn't think I had to explain to you how lucrative this plant could be. You do understand that our business is what pays for your Lamborghini and tickets to Broadway shows, I hope?"

  I sucked in my breath, suddenly guessing what incriminating evidence Jack now held in his hands. The flashbulbs, the society reporters. Had they captured that instant when Jack reached behind my back to protectively cup the base of my spine, the gesture nearly as intimate as what had followed the subsequent day? Even on Saturday night, I'd known that my employer's touch wasn't one that a man would share with his daughter's companion. Did it look equally incriminating on the printed page?

  In the hallway, Lena and I were too petrified to even exchange another glance, and the lack of sound coming from the living room suggested that Jack was similarly preoccupied with his own thoughts. But Mr. Reynolds didn't give his son time to recover. "I think it's best that I take Lena home with me until you get your head on straight and remember where your priorities lie," the patriarch of the clan said, his tone brooking no opposition.

  But Jack was always ready and willing to fight for his sister's best interests, even if he wasn't willing to stand up for his own self. "Lena needs more attention than you can provide," my lover began, only to be interrupted by his father.

  "And apparently she needs more attention than you can spare either, if we want this plant approved and in construction by the end of the summer," Mr. Reynolds senior rebutted. "I'm well aware that your sister is a loose cannon, and now the girl's lack of sense appears to be rubbing off on you. I've always said you were the sensible one—don't prove me wrong." Then, as an afterthought, his daughter's future no more than a bargaining chip in the executive's mind: "Perhaps if you stomp down the local opposition quickly enough, Lena can come and spend the end of the summer here before you move on to your next assignment."

  I thought of how closed off Jack's sister had been when I first met her, how depressed and angry with the world, and I hated to think of Lena regressing back to that state. But what else would happen if the girl was forced to return home with her father, the man's indifference verging on sociopathic behavior? I was sure that the senior Reynold's house was even larger and more elegant, but also even colder and more impersonal, than Jack's mansion had felt when I first set foot inside. In fact, I could almost sense the warmth being sucked out of my charge's body as she stood by my side and listened to her father's words.

  So, I understood why Jack said what he said next. My lover thought it was the only way to keep his sister out of harm's way. I appreciated that fact...but I also couldn't help noticing the way the words sounded unbearably true coming from the mouth of a man who had spent the last few days wooing me in every manner possible.

  "Dad, you're overreacting," Jack said, his tone as controlled and passionless as his father's now. "I thought you understood that I was trifling with Cuadic's organizer, taking their little protest group apart from the inside out. She's not my girlfriend, for crying out loud. She's a tool in Clean Power's campaign to win the community over as quickly and cheaply as possible."

  "And the photograph?" his father volleyed back.

  "A sign that I've just about got the girl where I want her," Jack confirmed, his tone gloating.

  "Good," his father approved. "Then focus on that strategy, and you'll have Lena back in your custody before you know it."

  And then the siblings' father had joined us in the hallway, his impeccably tailored suit and dashing frame making him look like an older, more distinguished version of the man who I now admitted that I'd fallen in love with.

  But who clearly hadn't fallen in love with me back.

  "Come, Lena," Mr. Reynolds senior said, as if his daughter were a dog to be brought to heel. The man seemed totally uninterested in the fact that our presence meant we'd overheard every word that he and Jack had said. Perhaps the businessman really didn't care that his daughter had listened to him admitting that she was little more than a chess piece in his hands.

  And did Jack care? I was too afraid of what I'd see in my lover's eyes to risk the contact, so, instead, I turned toward Lena, who was beginning to cry now that she realized that her protector wasn't going to be able to shelter her any longer.

  "Jack?" she asked, her voice choked.

  "We'll work something out," my ex-employer said simply, and it didn't escape any of our notice that he'd promised nothing. "Don't keep Dad waiting," he continued, the words a warning, and Lena dropped Florabelle's basket and scurried out the door as if fleeing from her own tears.

  For my part, I wan
ted to be brave enough to stay and speak to Jack without his father present. Perhaps my lover would be able to reassure me that he'd only been attempting to do what was best for his sister, that he'd been lying through his teeth about using me to win Clean Power's battle. That he really did care for me, loved me even.

  But why should I believe Mr. Fish Stick's upcoming explanation any more than I should believe the one he'd just given to his father, the younger businessman's glibness making either alternative equally likely to be true?

  Damned oxytocin. The chemical didn't just make women fall in love; it tricked us into believing in men who didn't deserve our trust. I remembered reading that warning on the internet, could almost see how my guard toward Jack had dropped entirely once he'd gotten me into his bed.

  So I was stupid, I berated myself. Accept that and move on. I had responsibilities, as the heavy cage in my hand attested, and now that Lena was gone, I needed my Cuadic gig if I wanted to keep paying the bills. Why hadn't I notice that, even at his most charming, Jack never once told me that he was going to stop fighting against Cuadic? I'd been naive to assume that sleeping with the enemy would make any difference in my companion's plans.

  So it wasn't cowardice that made me follow Lena out the door without a backwards glance at my lover. It wasn't cowardice that had me carefully strapping Florabelle's cage into the back seat of the rust bucket, waving farewell to Jack's sister but not to him.

  No, it was simply survival. I needed to get to the Cuadic meeting before I lost that job as well, so tears would just have to wait until later.

  Chapter 19

  I knew I was late, but I wasn't expecting the pained silence that greeted my arrival to the community center where the Cuadic meeting was being held. Instead, I'd hoped that a few cheerful greetings from members calling out to their "Virginia Beauty" would be enough to make me forget everything that I'd recently walked away from. Perhaps Ms. Cooper's approval and Kimberly's chatty gossip would make my gut feel less like I'd just lost the most important part of my current life. Perhaps a few hours of strategizing would even make me forget about Jack.

  But the faces that turned toward me and Florabelle as we stepped into the room were grim, not welcoming, and I paused where I was rather than joining the organization's members around the table. "I'm sorry I'm late?" I said into the empty air, my words a question. What calamitous event had occurred during the last six days to put that pinched expression on my teacher's face? Ms. Cooper hadn't appeared so grim even after I'd told her I was attending community college instead of going off to Harvard, dashing her grandiose dreams for my future. So I shivered, unable guess what could make her look so bleak now.

  "Too busy consorting with the enemy to even show up for work?" Tom demanded, waving a printout through the air. I was too far away to read the headline or to make out the photo, but I suspected this was the same article that had lost Lena the right to spend time with her brother, and I instantly started to cringe. Leave it to our resident conspiracy theorist to track down any incriminating evidence within hours of the news hitting the national media.

  "Is this why you wouldn't tell us who sent the flowers?" Kimberly asked from the other end of the table. I could tell she was struggling to offer up the benefit of the doubt, but even I could admit that the testimony against me was damning. All of the Cuadic members who cared to notice were aware that I was barely scraping by, and it must have seemed like a no-brainer for a girl in my position to hunt down a sugar daddy, even if doing so compromised my ethics. Who would believe that betraying Cuadic hadn't been part of Jack's and my courtship? Even I only half trusted that supposition to be true.

  "Is Lena really Jack Reynolds' sister?" Ms. Cooper asked, adding her voice to the verbal deluge. My mentor didn't sound angry, just disappointed and confused. The teacher had taken a shine to my young charge, had wanted to involve Lena in stream monitoring in order to get her interested in science. Now Ms. Cooper was having to rethink both Lena's intentions and my own.

  As I looked from face to face, it became clear that the mood of the room had turned against me, and I honestly didn't know whether its inhabitants were even wrong to feel betrayed. Everyone here had been extremely good to me ever since my parents died. The organization's members had acted like honorary grandparents, sending me home with cookies if I looked sad and checking up on me when I didn't make it to Cuadic events. Ms. Cooper had encouraged me to expand my horizons and Kimberly had offered friendship time and time again, even when I repeatedly rejected her gestures. Each person in this room had been kind and nurturing...and I'd repaid their trust by getting photographed at a fancy event in New York City on the arm of the organization's worst enemy. How could I explain that away?

  I didn't even try. "I assume I'm fired," I said by way of reply to their accusations. Then, picking up Florabelle's cage once again, I went out the way I'd come in.

  ***

  June evenings are long, and it wasn't quite dark when I started down the street where I lived. All I could think about was getting home, holing up in my trailer and keeping the world at bay, blocking out the image of Ms. Cooper's disappointment and the sound of Jack's cold words. I wasn't able to focus on either the past or the future at the moment, but perhaps I could manage to survive in the present if I was able to pull the covers up over my head and fall asleep. My trailer might be tiny and bedraggled, but as long as I turned off the phone, no one could reach me once I was safely inside.

  Or so I thought. The scene that greeted me as I came around the bend and within sight of my home was so absurd that I couldn't even understand what was happening at first. A tremendous bulldozer had smashed its way through my carefully-tended vegetable garden, and two muscular guys were busy dismantling the skirting around the base of my mobile home. Another appeared to be unhooking my plumbing, and a fourth man sat on the huge piece of machinery, apparently waiting to yank my trailer right off its moorings. Perhaps I should have chosen a less mobile home.

  A tap on the driver's-side window jerked me out of my disbelieving daze, and I looked up into Mr. Reed's gloating face. Just the person I didn't want to talk to right now. But, seeing no alternative, I rolled down the glass, allowing my neighbor's garlic-and-body-odor aroma to drift into the car.

  "Glad you got here in time," my landlord crowed, obviously relishing my distress and not bothering with the usual pleasantries. "Here's your rent money back." My ex-neighbor handed over the same envelope that I'd thrust into his hands before I left on my trip, and I didn't even bother to count the bills to see if they were all there. It was clear that I had bigger problems than figuring out whether Mr. Reed had swindled me out of three hundred bucks.

  "I decided to go ahead and upgrade to a bigger mobile home on this lot after all," my landlord continued when it became evident that I was too shell-shocked to speak. "I'll have the guys put your tin can over there against the curb for now, but you really do need to get it out of here tomorrow or I'll send the whole thing to the dump. It's not worth saving, don't you think?"

  Since I definitely didn't have the funds to transport my trailer to a new lot, nor did I have a spot lined up to set it into, Mr. Reed was probably right. But still.... "My apple tree," I protested, the words trailing off as I realized both the stupidity of appealing to a bully and the fact that there was no hope for Pippin even if I'd enjoyed a more thoughtful landlord. As I'd told Mr. Fish Sticks so many days before, you can't move a tree.

  "Yep, gonna push that diseased thing down," Mr. Reed confirmed, wrinkling up his nose in distaste. "Prob'ly not tonight since these boys have been working hard all day and will want to go home. But tomorrow for sure. If you want to pick that apple off, now's your chance to do it."

  And, despite everything, I did want to harvest Pippin's first and only apple. I wanted to take the fruit away with me and savor every bite, even if the flesh was so sour that it made my mouth pucker up at the taste. I wanted to thank my tree for trying so hard to weave her roots through my dreams, even if she di
dn't have time to get any older than Lena (in tree years of course).

  But I knew I wouldn't be able to handle emerging from my rust bucket and taking the walk of shame over to where Pippin's roots would grow for one more night. I could imagine the inevitable catcalls from the guys Mr. Reed had hired to dismantle my trailer, and I shivered at the thought of spending another moment under my landlord's lascivious eye. So I just shook my head, and prepared to put my vehicle back into gear.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Reed had rested his folded arms in the window opening and seemed to have settled in to visit for a spell. "Of course, it doesn't have to be this way," my landlord said, his voice dropping down into what he probably thought was a seductive whisper but which instead came out sounding like a prank caller on the other end of a phone line, heavy breathing and all. "If you want to come over to my place and talk sensible-like, I can send all of these boys home right now. I'm sure we can come up with a mutually beneficial agreement." As if the innuendo weren't obvious enough, the slimeball concluded by pulling up his lips into a leer.

  Well, at least this experience proved that there were some depths to which I was not willing to stoop. "Drop dead," I said pleasantly, hitting the gas, and Mr. Reed barely jumped out of the way before my rear tires ran over his foot.

  ***

  "It's really not so bad, Florabelle," I tried to convince myself an hour later, wishing I'd at least entered my trailer to snag a flashlight and sleeping bag before making my escape. We were parked at the far edge of Emerald Lake's lot, hoping that the sheriff wouldn't drop by and roust us in the middle of the night, and the accommodations weren't very comfortable. I definitely wasn't likely to get much sleep, trying to curl up in the little bit of space between the flattened back seat and the trunk. But—"At least we have your birdseed and my toothbrush," I continued. "We aren't actually destitute."