Secret Billionaire on Her Doorstep

by Michelle Douglas

  An answering anxiety churned in her stomach. ‘Look,’ she started, ‘neither of us is expecting to like Richard, but I can’t see what harm he can do us. Besides, what happened between him and Frances took place a long time ago.’

  ‘He could try to charm money out of you.’

  ‘I mean to try to charm information out of him.’

  ‘You think he has any?’

  ‘Probably not.’ She pressed her hands together. ‘It just feels as if this is my last lead.’

  You still have Frances’s letters.

  She pushed that thought aside. She hadn’t been able to overcome her reluctance to read them yet.

  ‘So I have to follow it through.’

  ‘For the job?’

  ‘And my own peace of mind.’

  He nodded, and she knew he understood. But questions continued to plague her, and she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when she found out the answers. She wanted to know the identity of her father, and she wouldn’t rest now until she discovered it. But just as importantly she wanted to find out what had happened between her mother and her grandmother all those years ago.

  If Richard couldn’t shed any light on that she’d resolved to ask her mother. How else would she be able to decide whether or not to keep the inheritance Frances had left her?

  But... She glanced at Owen. If she didn’t keep it, how would he react? He wouldn’t be happy—that much was certain. But would it bring their perfect love affair crashing down around their ears? Would he make it a condition—accept Frances’s legacy or else he’d break things off between them?

  She rubbed a hand across her heart. Surely not. He’d never be that unreasonable. But, no matter how severely she told herself that, a part of her remained unconvinced. Owen had loved Frances as if she’d been his own flesh and blood. Callie couldn’t compete with that.

  ‘What if he does know something and you don’t like what he has to say? What if he tells you your father is a nasty piece of work?’ Owen asked.

  They were questions she’d repeatedly asked herself. ‘I fully expect my father to be wholly unlikable. Why else would my mother keep his existence a secret? But I’m no longer a child that needs protecting.’

  He shook his head again, but his lips lifted and his admiration buoyed her. ‘You must want this job really badly.’

  She thought of Dominic, and the way he’d gnash his teeth when he found out that she’d landed his dream job. His face, though, was hard to bring to mind.

  ‘Mystery Family Trees asks its celebrity guests to do exactly this. I mean the underlying premise of the show is to illustrate history on a personal level, as a kind of living and breathing entity, but it can become extremely personal for the person whose family is being traced. It can be uplifting, but it can also be shocking. What kind of hypocrite would I be if I refused to follow through on my own family tree, just because I might not like the answers I find?’

  She pushed her shoulders back.

  ‘I’m doing this for my own curiosity as much as to get the job. I’ve come too far to turn back. But I understand if you don’t want to meet Richard. You can drop me off and I’ll text you once I’m ready to leave.’

  Owen reached across and took her hand. ‘Sweetheart, there’s no way I’m leaving you to do this on your own. I’ll be with you every step of the way.’

  His reassurance and the warmth in his eyes had her chin lifting. With Owen beside her she felt as if she could achieve anything. She was on the cusp of a new life—a new job, living in a new place—and she was falling for the kind of guy she’d only ever dreamed about. It was all there, just waiting for her, and she wasn’t going to mess it up.

  * * *

  Half an hour later Owen pulled the car into the driveway of a large and very beautiful house. Callie’s pulse thudded. ‘It’s not exactly a shabby pile of bricks, is it?’

  ‘Larchmont isn’t exactly a shabby little town.’

  He could say that again—and Richard’s house looked as if it might be one of the town’s most desirable residences. It was a turn-of-the-century colonial mansion, with stained-glass windows, and a deep front porch that oozed charm and tranquillity. And then she remembered how he’d acquired this home—by taking Frances to the cleaners.

  She swung to Owen. ‘Remember the plan.’

  His lip curled. ‘Yeah, yeah. Be charming, be polite, find out what we can. Don’t call him names, don’t accuse him of anything, don’t punch him on the nose.’

  ‘He’s in his sixties and you’re in your thirties. You can’t hit the man. Besides...’ she turned to stare at the house again ‘...it’s hard to know what goes on inside other people’s marriages. You heard all that Eliza, Betty and Josephine had to say.’ She said the words as much for herself as for Owen. ‘It’s obvious that Frances could be stubborn. She might not have been an easy person to be married to.’

  His warm hand closed over hers and the smile he gave when she met his gaze had her heart turning over in her chest. She was glad he was here with her.

  ‘Do you always try to see the good in other people?’ he asked.

  ‘I...’ Did she do that? She hoped so. ‘Come on. Let’s do this before I chicken out. The sooner it’s over, the sooner...’

  ‘You can continue your search for your father.’

  ‘The sooner we can go back to your place for the pizza you promised me and stretch out on your sofa and...kick back.’

  A wicked gleam lit his eyes. ‘Or we could kick back in my bed.’

  She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth to stop herself smiling too broadly. ‘To...um...talk.’ But she inflected the word talk with so much extra meaning those teasing lips of Owen’s widened even further.

  ‘Because I’m such a good communicator,’ he agreed.

  She started to laugh, and it helped to dispel her nerves.

  He slipped a hand beneath her hair and drew her face close to his. ‘Hold that thought,’ he murmured.

  And then he kissed her—a brief, blistering kiss that had her blood pumping and heat rushing into her cheeks.

  He eased back, his eyes travelling over her face as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He nodded towards the house. ‘Ready?’

  She pulled in a breath and reluctantly eased away. ‘Ready.’

  The moment the door opened and she came face to face with Richard she could see why Frances had fallen for him. The man had charisma, and even at sixty-one he was still ridiculously good-looking. His greeting was effusive, and he was all charm, but Callie sensed that his charm was too practised, too calculated...and beneath the glittering cheerfulness in his too-blue eyes she sensed wariness.

  When they were seated with coffee and cake in a conservatory that overlooked the canal—a magnificently peaceful view—he turned to Callie. ‘So you’re Frances’s granddaughter?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I will confess myself surprised by your email.’

  Gut instinct told her to not prevaricate or pretend she didn’t know his and Frances’s history. ‘Because of the way your marriage to Frances ended?’

  ‘Precisely. But what you have to understand, my dear, is that one only experiences that kind of acrimony, that intensity of feeling, when they have loved greatly. And Frances and I did love each other very much.’

  Ooh, the man was oily. But two could play this game. She leaned towards him. ‘You know, that’s what I thought. I saw the photos of your wedding and the two of you looked so happy.’

  He pretended to wipe away a tear. ‘We were, my dear, we were.’

  She made commiserating noises. ‘I only learned about Frances when, upon her death, I was informed I’d inherited a substantial fortune. I feel as if I’ve missed out on so much.’

  His eyes gleamed briefly at the mention of Frances’s money and she knew she had the man pegged correctly. He was
a fortune-hunter, and if he thought there was money to be made from her he’d do all that he could to take advantage of it.

  Silently she thanked Owen for insisting on accompanying her. Not that she couldn’t have done this on her own. Of course she could. But his support made her feel less vulnerable.

  ‘That’s why I’m trying to put together as clear a picture as I can of Frances.’

  For an infinitesimal moment, he stilled. ‘Your mother never spoke of her?’

  ‘Never.’

  He gave a gusty sigh. ‘Frannie was never the same after her falling-out with Donna. I believe it’s the reason our marriage failed. I’d turned my face towards the future, but Frances couldn’t help but keep looking back.’

  ‘That must’ve been very hard for you,’ she said, careful to ooze sympathy rather than call the man any of the names that pressed against the back of her throat. Beside her Owen shifted restlessly, and she put a hand on his knee to temper the frustration she sensed rippling through him.

  ‘It was.’

  He shook his head ruefully, but she was aware of the way those practised eyes assessed her.

  ‘Frances froze me out. And I’ll be the first to admit I didn’t deal with it in the most mature manner possible.’

  He could say that again!

  She took a hasty sip of coffee. ‘These things happen.’ She let a pause stretch and then said, ‘I know it’s a lot to ask of you, Mr—’

  ‘Richard,’ he ordered smoothly.

  She simpered, but threw up a little bit in her mouth as she did so. ‘Richard. It’s just...my mother has never spoken about that time at all.’ She opened her eyes and knew she looked the absolute picture of naive candour, but she felt no compunction using such tricks on the man. ‘I feel as if a whole part of my history is missing.’

  ‘Of course you do, my dear.’

  He reached across and patted her hand, and she had to steel herself not to recoil.

  ‘I understand that Donna caused you and Frances a great deal of trouble?’ She sent him her most commiserating smile. ‘I suspect she never took you into her confidence, but...’

  He leaned towards her—all concern and encouragement. She could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes.

  ‘But...?’

  ‘But she never told me who my father was, and I wondered if you...maybe...had any idea...?’

  Her voice wobbled as she spoke, and this time it wasn’t feigned. That took her off guard. Did she care who this man was on a personal level? Did she have some secret hope of forming a relationship with her unknown father?

  As if sensing her inner turmoil, Owen covered her hand with his. She took heart at his silent support.

  Richard hesitated. Then, ‘Do you mean your father any harm, Callie?’

  She followed her gut instinct again. ‘Absolutely not! I hope... Well, I hardly know what I hope. But it’d be so very nice to meet him, and maybe even forge some kind of relationship with him.’

  ‘It heartens me to hear you say that.’

  Something inside her tightened. ‘So you do know who he is?’

  ‘Why, yes, my dear.’

  Her head rocked back. Her breathing grew short and shallow.

  He spread his arms wide. ‘My dear girl, I’m your father.’

  She froze. So did Owen. She wanted to shout I don’t believe you, but she couldn’t get the words out past the lump in her throat.

  He nodded, as if sensing her disbelief. ‘It’s come as a shock, I see. The thing is, I was dating your mother before I met Frances. In fact, it’s through Donna that I met Frances. Of course, once Frannie and I clapped eyes on each other...’ He shrugged awkwardly, but beamed as if nothing could make greater sense.

  He’d torn her family apart and that was all he had to say?

  Callie’s stomach rebelled at the coffee she’d just drunk and it took all her strength to battle the nausea that threatened to overset her. Richard had used Donna to target Frances. It was unspoken, but implicit in his words. And Frances... Her head started to pound. Frances had stolen her own daughter’s boyfriend.

  ‘I suspect you’ll want proof, and I’m happy to undergo a paternity test.’

  She didn’t want this man as her father!

  ‘But, in the interim, here’s a letter from your mother. I dug it out because I thought you might like to see it. I think it’ll help dispel your doubts.’

  She took the envelope he handed to her. With numb fingers, she pulled out the mercifully brief missive inside.

  Richard,

  A marriage based on lies is no marriage at all. You know the truth—you know the child I carry is yours. I beg of you, please do the right thing and tell Mother.

  If you deny your child again, you won’t be able to undo the chain of events it will set in motion.

  It was merely signed, Donna.

  Callie ran her fingers over the words. ‘This is my mother’s handwriting.’

  She passed the letter to Owen. He read it in silence before handing it back.

  Richard shook his head when she went to give it back to him. ‘You keep it, Callie. Ask your mother about it.’

  She folded it and replaced it in its envelope, moistening dry lips, feeling her heart pounding in time with her headache. ‘You never told Frances the truth?’

  ‘To my everlasting shame, no.’ He actually sounded truly regretful. ‘By that stage I was in too deep. I was in love with Frances—’

  Liar. He’d been in love with her money.

  ‘And she’d never have spoken to me again if she’d known the truth. I’d already sworn to her that my relationship with Donna had never become physical.’

  Her stomach gave a sick roll. ‘Didn’t Donna tell her?’

  ‘I said that Donna was lying. And Frances chose to believe me.’

  Callie’s hands had started to shake. Owen leaned across and took one of them in his. She held on as if he were a lifeline. ‘Why are you telling me this, Richard? You have to realise it paints you in a dreadful light.’

  ‘If we’re to forge a relationship, my dear, I understand that I have to tell you the truth. I have to be honest with you in a way I was never honest with Frances. I don’t want to make the same mistakes that I did in the past. You have to understand that back then I felt I was in a no-win situation. If I’d told Frances the truth she’d have cancelled the wedding. And I knew Donna would never take me back again.’

  You think?

  ‘There was everything to lose. What was there to gain in telling the truth?’

  ‘A daughter?’

  He sighed a gusty sigh and it was all she could do to suppress a shudder. He hadn’t wanted a relationship with her back then and he didn’t want one now. He wanted a relationship with her inheritance.

  ‘I’m a reformed character, Callie. I’ve wondered and thought about you every day. And here’s my chance to finally make amends.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’ She stood. ‘I could never have a relationship—any kind of relationship—with a man like you.’

  She turned and strode out without a backward glance.

  * * *

  Owen slid a homemade pizza onto the table, along with garlic bread and a green salad, but Callie made no move to put any of it on her plate. Not even so much as a lettuce leaf, though she’d barely eaten a thing at lunch. Her eyes had lost their customary sparkle, her lips drooped at the corners, and her pallor caught at his heart.

  He slid into the seat opposite. ‘Lissy claims this is the best pizza in all of New York.’

  Callie started, and blinked before seizing a slice of pizza and piling salad onto her plate. ‘It looks delicious.’

  But she didn’t start eating.

  He grabbed a slice of pizza too. ‘Callie, I know Richard’s revelation has come as a huge shock, but you need to eat something.’


  She shook herself. ‘Absolutely.’ She speared lettuce with her fork and put it into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. Biting into the pizza, she did the same—chewing and swallowing mechanically—but he doubted she tasted a thing.

  She didn’t wax lyrical about his pizza-making skills or give him exaggeratedly over-the-top compliments. He didn’t need them, of course, but it was out of character, and he watched her in growing concern.

  Her shock didn’t appear to be easing. In fact, it was as if she had a ticking time bomb inside her, waiting to explode. All he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be fine.

  Except he couldn’t guarantee that, could he?

  When she realised he was watching her, she pasted on a smile. ‘I’m trying to work out how best to frame this revelation in my little documentary.’

  He tried to hide his horror. ‘You’re going to make that revelation public?’

  ‘It’ll hardly be public. It’s just for the interview. It’s not like I’m putting it out there on social media.’ She thrust out her jaw. ‘Besides, I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. Making it public won’t hurt me.’

  ‘But what about your mother? What about Frances?’

  She shot to her feet, fury suddenly glittering in her eyes. ‘Why the hell should I protect Frances? After what she did to my mother...’

  She strode away from the table, giving up all pretence of eating, and he did too. He watched her carefully, waiting for her tears to fall; ready to pull her into his arms and give her whatever comfort he could the moment she needed him to. This had been such a shock. It had rocked him to the soles of his feet. And it had to be ten times worse for her.

  She stood with her back to him, hugging herself, and his heart went out to her. Before he could move across to pull her against him, she spun around.

  ‘If you still want to buy the apartment block, Owen, then feel free to start proceedings. I’m not accepting anything from that woman.’