The Millionaire Affair (Love in the Balance)

by Jessica Lemmon

  She moved to the door. “I’ll put it by your bed, okay? Do you need me to read Green Eggs and Ham to you again?”

  He shook his head, turning blue-green eyes up at Landon. “Will you read it, Uncle Landon?”

  He smiled down at the boy swimming in what must have been one of Evan’s T-shirts. Black Sabbath. Interesting choice for a six-year-old. “You bet.”

  “In that case, I’m going to go to bed.” Kimber hesitated with one hand on the door frame. “Thanks for the drink,” she told Landon. She flicked her gaze to Lyon, told him to sleep tight, and blew him a kiss.

  When she pulled her palm away from her pursed lips and her gaze fettered to Landon’s, he swore a whisper of wind brushed along his cheek a second before she disappeared down the hall.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kimber lifted her cell phone to her ear in time to hear it ring. She’d hung up on her employee, Neil, mid-conversation when she’d attempted to rest the cell on her shoulder while making Lyon a sandwich.

  “You there?” she said when he answered.

  “Here,” Neil said. “I can’t believe you were that close to a millionaire and didn’t kiss him.”

  “I can. That would have been stupid.” And fun. And terrifying. The mere idea of her lips against Landon Downey’s had fear pooling in her stomach like an overfilling ditch. Only there wouldn’t be anything mere if she were to kiss him. It would be epic. Massive.

  Overwhelming.

  “Hang on,” she told Neil. Poking her head out of the kitchen, she found Lyon in the living room where she’d left him. “Lyon! Sandwich!”

  He ignored her, as he’d done all morning, and continued swinging his plastic sword while wearing a Superman costume. Why the conflicting wardrobe and weaponry bothered her, she didn’t know. Maybe she was a purist. She dipped her voice low. “Lyon.”

  Her “mom” voice. Who knew she had one of those?

  “Are you going to count to three, next, darling?” her employee-slash-smart-aleck friend asked merrily.

  She walked into the living room and caught the sword with one hand. “Lunch,” she said to the boy who was too cute for his own good. “Go eat and I’ll let you watch Man of Steel before bed.”

  That worked. He ran into the kitchen and climbed dutifully into his chair, swinging his feet as he bit into a peanut butter sandwich.

  “Color you Mary Poppins,” Neil chimed.

  “Have you ever heard of a kid who didn’t like jelly?” she asked distractedly as she put the peanut butter back in the cabinet and brushed crumbs from the counter.

  “Never.”

  “Right?” She wiped down the counter and tossed the dishcloth in the sink. “You have a question about the store,” she prompted. Neil’s first words to her when she’d answered had been “Mick said to call you” as if he was apologizing for interrupting. Little did Neil know his call was as welcome as the housekeeper that had arrived at eight a.m. today to clean the six bathrooms in Landon’s penthouse. In a word, very.

  Kimber missed Hobo Chic. Not just the store, but working—having a sense of purpose. She missed her morning habits she’d since abandoned to come and live in enviable luxury. Whether she was scheduled to work in the store or not, every morning she made her coffee and came down the stairs of her attached loft and into Hobo Chic. She’d sit on the for-decoration-only settee and turn on an elegant Tiffany lamp she refused to sell and take in her surroundings. She’d admire her handiwork: the clothing she’d procured at a recent estate sale or thrift shop, or a rescued piece she’d carefully mended the night before. Or sometimes she’d craft her homemade price tags, trimming squares of burlap, inserting gold eyelets, and threading pink silk ribbons to loop over the hangers.

  Having something of her own made her feel proud. Proud in a way that living and going to school in New York, as lush as that had been, hadn’t been able to match. Maybe because she’d gone on her parents’ dime. They’d long since forgiven her for abandoning her major, and in her eyes, she was still very much in the fashion industry. Instead of forging ahead to the future, she was cleaning up remnants of the past, she thought with a smile. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “And then there is this rack of shirts and skirts off to the side without prices,” Neil was saying.

  Crap. She would bet she’d rushed off and left the pile of tags in her apartment.

  “A beautiful career-esque woman, who would have probably gotten her promotion today if I sold her the shell tank top and vintage sage print skirt,” he continued with a dramatic sigh, “was inquiring.”

  “Tell me you sold it to her,” she pleaded. Why hadn’t she remembered to price that rack? She was always forgetting some mundane, simple yet imperative detail.

  “Can I have milk, Kimber?” Lyon asked, crumbs dotting his mouth.

  “Chocolate or white?” she asked, moving to the fridge.

  “Chocolate!”

  Like she needed to ask. She pulled down two glasses with one hand and held the phone to her ear with the other, not repeating the mistake of face-ending the call with Neil.

  “Of course I sold it to her,” he said. “It brought out her cheekbones. What I need to know is how you want me to price the rest of these items; if you had something in mind.”

  “I did.” But she’d forgotten. Had run off to her new gig and left her store in the hands of Neil; her near-useless ex, Mick; and a twenty-year-old girl who was fresh off the farmland of Indiana. “How is Ginny doing?”

  “She keeps calling everything ‘neat,’ ” he said with a laugh. “She’s precious. And flirting with me.”

  Kimber nearly choked on the glass of milk she’d poured for herself. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. She has no idea I like men.”

  “Speaking of, how’s Mick doing?”

  Neil grunted. He didn’t like Mick. Had made his distaste for her ex-boyfriend no secret. “Yesterday he spent most of the evening perched on a stool playing the guitar.”

  Mick’s talents extended to nearly every area of art. From decoration to design to music to painting. It was one of the things she’d fallen for when they’d been dating. If he’d managed to hone any of those skills into a career, she’d likely still be with him. But he quit everything. Like he’d quit her. And like he wanted to quit Hobo Chic.

  “I’ll be back on Monday,” she said.

  “We’ll be fine. Hobo Chic is fine. You work your nanny gig for a rich hottie and enjoy it, missy,” Neil teased.

  She smiled. He had a way with words. “I get a come-to-Jesus talk, too?”

  “No charge.”

  Lyon cast her a curious frown. “What’s ‘come to Jesus’ mean?”

  Great. With no graceful way to answer that question, she diverted his attention instead. “Use a napkin. You have peanut butter on your face.” He swiped his face with the paper towel she gave him. “Finish your lunch and I’ll give you a brownie.” Once she baked some.

  “So this is what you’re doing this week? Bribing a six-year-old kid into doing what you need him to? Stuffing him full of brownies and ultra-violent movies?”

  “Don’t judge me. Get a notebook and go to the rack. Describe each piece and we’ll talk pricing. I bet you’re going to know how to price them anyway.”

  As they worked, Neil paused to ask her questions she couldn’t answer freely within earshot of Lyon. “I’m thinking forty-nine dollars,” he would say, followed by, “What color are your millionaire’s eyes?” Or, “There’s a tear in the sleeve, toss or repair?” then, “What’s his butt like? Big, small, firm, flat?”

  “It’s delicious,” she said without thinking. Lyon had moved to his room a few minutes ago, his bath-towel cape flapping behind him. At least he didn’t have the sword any longer. She cleaned off the kitchen table and loaded his plate and glass into the dishwasher.

  “Describe,” Neil said.

  She lowered her voice. She didn’t have to—Lyon was roaring in the back of the house, appeased with his own imagin
ation for the moment. Closing the dishwasher door, she leaned a hip against the counter. “He wears these suit pants that sort of… cup each cheek, you know?”

  “Oh, I know. Keep talking, honey.”

  She grinned. This was fun. She turned around and rested on her elbows, toying with a knife in a block with her free hand. Surely snuggled in a corner at the back of Landon’s massive kitchen, with Lyon several rooms away, she could speak without being overheard. She glanced at the baby monitor on the counter behind her. Lyon had plopped onto the bed to play a handheld game. Yeah. He was in the zone. She was safe.

  “Landon’s tall, so he has these incredibly long legs. But even though he’s lean, his body looks strong.”

  “More,” Neil instructed. She pictured him perched on the ottoman at the back of the store, his legs crossed.

  “I can tell because of the way he fills out his clothes—”

  “Suits, you said. What brand?”

  “Dolce.”

  “Yum.”

  “Right?”

  “Continue,” he said, likely with a flick of his arm.

  Her smile returned as she pictured Landon the way he was last night. When describing him to Neil, she’d left out a few details. Details she wanted to keep for herself. Like the scratch of facial hair that had rimmed his lips, the way he looked rumpled and tired, but every hair had been in place on his head.

  “His chest is broad,” she continued. “And he has wide shoulders.” Capable of handling a business, and the life he’d built with his own two beautiful hands. “But his butt”—she paused for dramatic effect—“Oh, Neil. His ass is a thing of glory.”

  He laughed, further encouraging her. She slid a knife in and out of the block, allowing herself to revel in the conversation. She hadn’t had a grown-up conversation in days. She’d texted Gloria a few times, but it wasn’t the same as their usual randy exchange.

  She infused a little extra naughty into her voice. “And I got a great look at it this morning,” she practically purred. “He’d bent over to retrieve a paper that had slipped from his briefcase and it was all I could do not to grab hold and—”

  The clearing of a throat brought her out of her haze. She dropped the knife into the block with a clunk and straightened at the counter, but didn’t turn around.

  “And what?” Neil prodded after she trailed off.

  “Um.” She closed her eyes and tried to ratchet down her thundering pulse. Impossible. “I have to go,” she whispered to Neil. Because I’m going to have a heart attack.

  So long as it happened fast. She’d rather die on Landon’s custom flooring than face him right now.

  “Oh, my Turkish Delight!” Neil announced gleefully. “He’s there, isn’t he? He’s behind you!”

  She hung up on his laughter and turned, having planned a fake-startled expression. As it turned out she didn’t have to fake it. “Oh!” She put a hand to her chest as her heart hammered against her palm. “Evan? What are you doing here?”

  A sly, almost drunken-looking smile slid onto Landon’s brother’s face. His hair was a disheveled dark mess, his eyes a devastating aqua blue. Wow. He’d aged nicely.

  “Hello, Kimber.”

  Oh, yeah, he’d heard her. Heard every last word.

  “Just here to see my son,” he said, holding his palms up as if to say, Sorry to interrupt. “I had a break midday and took the train back. Thought I’d take him for some ice cream.”

  She put her phone on the counter between them. Picked it up. Put it down again. “Yeah. He-he’d like that.” Should she bring it up? Pretend it didn’t happen? She mentally reviewed her conversation. She didn’t think she’d mentioned Landon’s name. Maybe Evan wouldn’t know who she was talking about.

  “I won’t tell my brother you talk about his ass when he’s not here.”

  Or he would. She wound her fingers around the hem of the long shirt she’d paired with black leggings. Evan’s eyes flittered over her briefly while she grappled for an excuse… or an argument. Something. Anything.

  No words came.

  His face broke into an actual grin, more attractive than the smirk he’d worn a moment ago. “Angel was right,” he said, a note of wonder mixed with teasing in his voice. “She told me you liked Landon that summer. I was so sure it was me.”

  Her face fell. Right onto the countertop. Angel told Evan she liked Landon? And for that matter had originally told Evan she liked him?

  “Angel is officially the worst secret-keeper on the planet,” she mumbled.

  “Tell me about it,” he said with a wry twist of his lips.

  “Evan… if we could keep this to ourselves, I would—”

  He held up a hand to stay her speech. “Relax. Your secret’s safe with me.” He winked and she simply stared, unsure if she believed him or not.

  “Daddy!” Lyon scrambled into the room and leaped into his father’s arms, talking ninety miles a minute about all the things they’d done over the last three days. Evan released his son and squatted in front of him, listening and responding with unadulterated pride and love. Her heart squeezed.

  Again, she had the good fortune to be folded into the Downey family, albeit temporarily this time, too. At least she could hold on to these moments whenever she needed a reminder of what a rock-solid family looked like. Unlike hers and Mick’s disjointed business ownership; unlike her parents’ acrimony and cold shoulders. She watched, in awe and a smidge envious of the grand home life Lyon was blessed with. What would it have been like to have a receptive father? Evan had become an amazing parent. Probably not perfect, but then, who was?

  “Kimber, would you like to join us for ice cream?” Evan asked.

  No, thanks, I’ll just be here. Reeling. She shook her head. “You go. Spend guy time together.”

  One of Evan’s eyebrows jumped as he reached for the front door. She hoped he had been telling her the truth; that he wouldn’t tell Landon what had happened. She pressed her hands to her overheated face. She hoped it a lot.

  * * *

  “She likes your ass.”

  Landon snapped the pencil lead on the legal pad where he’d been outlining his upcoming meeting for Windy City. He lifted his chin and met eyes with his brother. Evan had dropped by his office unannounced, after he and Lyon spent the afternoon together, and was now talking gibberish while sitting on the arm of the couch on the opposite side of the room.

  Landon lifted his brows. No way had he just heard that correctly. “Excuse me?”

  “Kimber. She likes your ass. She was having a very colorful conversation about it when I stopped by your house today,” Evan said with a wave of his hand.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Evan ignored his question. Landon was getting a lot of that lately. No wonder he came to work. Here, people respected him when he spoke.

  “Everyone knows I have the best ass out of all of us. I guess there’s no accounting for taste.” Evan rested his hands on his knees. “Gloria got in touch with a small, Chicago-based children’s book publisher interested in my work. She also thinks there is some potential to get a few of my pieces into an art gallery in Columbus.”

  “Close to home,” he muttered noncommittally. In reality he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the notion that Kimber talked about him when he wasn’t there. Not just him, but… his ass? He knew they’d laid on the flirting pretty heavy last night, but he had assumed she’d been responding in kind.

  “If I can’t get picked up by a publisher,” Ev said, “I need a backup plan.”

  Landon nodded and sat back in his chair, flipping his pencil end over end. But even though he was looking in his brother’s direction, his mind was on Kimber’s tropical pants. Specifically, her backside. From what he’d seen so far, that part of her anatomy held as much promise as the rest of her. The long legs, smooth, silken skin, pillow-like bottom lip…

  “… I should be able to get Lyon Sunday morning.” Evan stood, snapping Landon out of his fantasy about Ly
on’s nanny. “That’s two more nights. And for the record, I think Kimber’s great with Lyon. Despite her questionable taste in the Downey brothers’ butts.” He rolled his eyes.

  Landon rounded the desk, rubbing his hands together. “Sunday is fine. Take all the time you need.” He reached for the door handle to show Evan out.

  “Hey, do you remember the guys I used to hang out with when we went to the lake every summer?”

  The “hoodlums” as Mom called them. Landon lifted a shoulder. “Barely. By the time you were a teen, I was in college. I didn’t go much after that.”

  “Oh. Right.” Evan narrowed his eyes. “Do you ever miss going there?”

  Landon pulled open his office door. “I practically live on Lake Michigan. So, not really.”

  “I know that. I mean do you miss our lake? It was like our own slice of paradise when we were kids. Where we all got to hang out as a family.”

  For Landon, family vacations had been about taking him away from his friends and the comfortable familiarity of home, then plopping him in a too-small house with three younger siblings who fought with each other nonstop. Though he did recall a few fun family game nights and dinners. “I haven’t been there in years.”

  “Me neither.” Evan crossed his arms and regarded his shoes. “You know how Rae hated the water. She had no interest in visiting a cabin by a lake.”

  At the mention of Evan’s late wife, Landon’s chest constricted. He’d have done anything to ease his brother’s pain over losing his spouse. Anything. Rae’s devastating and sudden loss had left Evan a widower far too soon. If it was natural between them, he’d pull Evan into a hug, but Aiden was the hugger. Landon was the stoic one. He stayed silent until the moment passed, waiting for Ev to say more. Predictably, Evan changed the subject.

  “After I get these paintings done, I’m going to take Lyon. Show him what he’s been missing all these years.”

  “That will be good for him.” Landon stopped short of palming his brother’s shoulder. He didn’t need to. Evan smiled knowingly, okay with the dynamic between them.

  Landon was glad Ev was starting to do the things he used to love doing. Pursuing his first passion, art, or visiting the lake they’d gone to every summer growing up. Whatever it took to help him move out of survival mode and begin to thrive. Maybe this meant he was healing. Or maybe he had healed. After losing Rae, their mother, Shane’s mother—their aunt—in one tragedy after another, it was a wonder any of them were healed. So many amazing women, gone too soon.