Compromising the Billionaire_A Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires Novel

by Ivy Layne

  The tension eased from her body and she rolled to her side, raising her eyes to mine. “Really?”

  The open disbelief made me laugh again. “Really,” I confirmed. “I never settle for less than exactly what I want. The second I laid eyes on you, I wanted you. Only you.”

  “Now you’ve had me,” she said teasingly, a thread of uncertainty running through her words.

  I craned my neck to brush my lips over her cheekbone. “Yes, I have. But not enough. Never enough.”

  “Do you want to skip the condoms then?”

  “If you’re okay with it. I can show you my test results if you want,” I offered.

  She pressed her lips to my collarbone. “No, I trust you.”

  I wanted to thank her. To tell her how much it meant to know I had her trust. Words jumbled in my head, stilted and wrong.

  I settled for holding her close, feeling her heart beat against mine before urging her up and into the shower with me. She started to complain, but her hair was still wet from her own shower and once I stroked slick, soapy hands down her back, she let out a contented sigh and relaxed.

  It wasn’t hard to talk her into coming downstairs and joining me on the terrace behind the house. The day was unseasonably cool for June in Atlanta, in the low seventies, perfect for enjoying the garden before summer kicked in.

  Violet twisted her damp hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, pulled on a pink linen sundress I’d packed for her and did something with her face before she pronounced herself ready to leave the room.

  She followed me down to the main level, waiting a moment while I grabbed my laptop and some papers from my home office. I’d taken the rest of the day off, but there were still a few things I had to check on. When I came back, she held her tablet in one hand.

  The terrace was deep and ran most of the width of the house. I led Violet to a small table beside a chaise lounge.

  “Do you mind if I get some work done?”

  “Hmm?” Violet stared out over the gardens, distracted. I understood. The gardens of Winters House were stunning, and early summer was their best season. Suiting the house, the gardens were formal, the beds arranged with precision, separated by stone walkways, a riot of color and beauty.

  “How is it that you don’t sit out here all day?” she asked. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “I guess I’m used to it.” Mr. Henried, the gardener, designed and maintained the landscaping at his discretion. I’m sorry to say I mostly just stayed out of his way. As long as things looked well maintained and attractive, I didn’t care what he did. “Do you know anything about gardening?” I asked.

  “Not really,” Violet, murmured, settling onto the chaise. “I don’t think I could ever get used to this. There’s so much to look at. Can I wander later?”

  “You can do anything you want. I packed you a bathing suit.” I nodded my head in the direction of the sparkling water of the pool.

  “I noticed. My smallest bikini. I’ve only worn it once. I don’t suppose you could have packed the one piece?”

  “Not likely.” Though now that I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I wanted Violet in that bikini in front of Gage and Riley. Was it too late to go back and get the one piece? Or maybe one of those full-skirted bathing suits women wore in the last century.

  The terrace doors swung open and Mrs. W joined us. “Excuse the interruption. I wanted to see if you’d like a tea tray.”

  At the sound of her voice, Violet set down her tablet and stood.

  With a flash of nerves at introducing the two women, I said, “Violet, this is Mrs. W. She runs the house and keeps us all in line. Mrs. W, this is Violet.”

  Violet approached Mrs. W and held out her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you. I apologize for springing a last-minute guest on the household. If there’s anything I can do to ease the imposition, please let me know.”

  Mrs. W graced Violet with an unexpectedly warm smile and took her hand in a firm shake.

  “Nonsense. It’s a pleasure to have any guest of Aiden’s. Don’t worry about a thing, just make yourself comfortable.” Then, shocking the hell out of me, in a low voice that was almost conspiratorial, she went on, “It’s nice to see this one relaxing instead of working all hours.”

  Violet looked at the papers spread before me. “Well, he’s still working.”

  “True, but he’s doing it out here in the sunshine, enjoying the gardens, instead of closed up in his office.”

  “I suppose that is an improvement,” Violet agreed. “I’ve told him more than once that he works too hard.”

  “If you can get him to spend a little less time in the office and a little more time enjoying life, I know we’d all be grateful.” At that, Mrs. W winked at me and turned to leave. Before she disappeared back into the house, she said, “I’ll bring a tray so you have something to snack on.”

  When she was gone, Violet said, “She adores you.”

  “I adore her back. I knew she’d like you.” I hadn’t known, but I’d suspected. Still, I wasn’t quite prepared for my satisfaction at seeing the two women hit it off. I trusted my own judgment, but I trusted Mrs. W’s almost as much. I hadn’t paid attention with Elizabeth, but I was paying attention now.

  “She was only being polite,” Violet demurred.

  “Trust me,” I said with a low laugh, “for Mrs. W, a smile and personal talk about the family is as good as a hug.”

  Violet smiled distractedly and settled back into the chaise, only looking up to thank Mrs. W when she brought the tray of tea, tiny sandwiches and cookies.

  Afternoon tea was a tradition when we were children, one both of our mothers, then just my mother, shared with the Winters children. A small way to spend some time connecting as a family over a snack and some sweets. After my mother was gone, Mrs. W kept the tradition alive, in memory of the women we’d lost.

  Violet joined me at the table and poured us both tea, admiring the delicate china service my mother had so loved, placing shortbread and crustless cucumber sandwiches on a plate for me before helping herself. I watched her stare absently into her steaming cup, not touching the food she’d taken for herself.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Everything’s fine. Just thinking.”

  “About?” I pressed.

  Violet let out a sigh. She picked up a sandwich but didn’t take a bite. “I need to go see my parents.”

  I didn’t have to look hard to see her reluctance. I could guess why she was so determined. My gut reaction was to bar her from ever seeing those people again, but it wasn’t like I could stop her.

  “You want to see the files,” I guessed.

  Her chin was set in mulish determination. “Chase should have copied both of them. Those files are about us. I have a right to know where I came from. And if it can help your friends, help other people find answers, I need to do something.”

  “We’ll go tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” Violet said, with a look of such relief I felt like I’d slain a dragon for her.

  She should have known there was no way I’d let her go anywhere near her parents on her own.

  They’d hurt her enough.

  If I had my way, no one would ever hurt her again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Violet

  The drive from Atlanta to Chattanooga was an easy two and a half hours. Aiden’s Aston Martin ate up the road, hurtling us down I-75 toward my parents and the confrontation I was dreading. It didn’t matter that they weren’t my biological parents.

  Finding out that I’d been adopted changed everything. And nothing.

  Whoever was responsible for my DNA, they were strangers. They had nothing to do with my childhood. Nothing to do with Suzanne and Henry Westbrook. Nothing to do with their expectations and my failures.

  I stared through the window for most of the drive, marshaling my resources. I would show them nothing. No pain. No fear. All they would get from me was ice. I didn’t want to renew our relations
hip or mend fences. I wanted to get my hands on those files. That was all.

  We pulled up in front of the house I’d grown up in at exactly five-thirty. The brick colonial looked just as it had the last time I’d seen it, right down to the tidy landscaping and artfully arranged flower pots on the front steps.

  Unless their schedule had changed, my father would have arrived home from work fifteen minutes before and would be in the parlor with my mother enjoying a pre-dinner drink.

  I wasn’t ready, and I was out of time.

  I’d dressed in the only suit Aiden had packed, the ice blue linen he’d liked so much when I’d worn it in Las Vegas. I was glad. I was tired of hiding myself in boxy, drab suits. They could take me as I was.

  I almost wished I’d snapped a picture of my mother’s expression when she saw us in her doorway. For just a second her face went slack, jaw dropped, eyes wide and disbelieving.

  Her frosted blonde hair, so like Chase’s and my own, was arranged in the same sleek bob she’d had for years. Like me, she wore linen, though her calf-length skirt was topped with a light Cashmere twin set. My mother did love her twin sets. The delicate pearl buttons matched the string around her neck and the studs in her ears. Her blue eyes were cool when she regained her composure.

  “Violet. What brings you here unannounced?” she asked, neither stepping back from the door to invite us in or bothering to say hello.

  Aiden’s squeeze of my fingers gave me strength. I lifted my chin and looked down my nose at the woman who’d raised me, then thrown me out without a moment of pity.

  “I won’t take much of your time. I have a few questions, and if you’ll answer them, I’ll leave.”

  “And who is this?” she asked, raking Aiden with a gaze like a blade, ready to carve him to pieces. I knew her too well. When she heard his last name, she’d shift gears fast enough. My parents were predictable, and they were dyed in the wool snobs.

  Taking control, Aiden held out his hand for hers. “Aiden Winters. Of the Atlanta Winters. If you don’t mind, as Violet said, we won’t take much of your time.”

  At the sound of his name, my mother warmed to wealth and position as she never had to her children. She took Aiden’s hand in both of hers as if he were a long-lost relative.

  “Of course, of course. I’m sorry, I was just so surprised to see Violet. We haven’t heard from her in so long, you see. Come in. Come in.”

  Finally, she stepped back and held the door wide, inviting us inside. “Henry and I were just having a drink. What can I get you?”

  We followed her in, Aiden and I sharing a glance behind her back. He rolled his eyes at her ridiculous shift in manner, his expression almost startling a giggle from me.

  It wouldn’t do to laugh: that would put her on edge and I needed her relaxed. I bit my lip to keep the sound inside and shook my head at him.

  My father’s face when he saw me was almost enough to startle the laugh right back out of me. He went white, then red, and shot my mother a furious glare. She stepped into the breach with a flutter of one hand towards Aiden. “Darling, Violet has stopped by for a short visit and brought Aiden Winters with her.”

  The look she sent him was so heavy with expectation I had to bite my lip again. Did she know how obvious she was? My father’s eyes flew wide before he regained his composure and came to his feet, thrusting his hand toward Aiden.

  Not only did he not speak to me, he didn’t even look at me. As much as the sight of his face made my stomach turn, his disinterest in his only daughter was a stab to my heart.

  He shook Aiden’s hand heartily, embarrassingly enthusiastic. “So good of you both to visit. What can I get you to drink?”

  Aiden said politely, “Whatever you’re having.”

  No one acknowledged my quiet, “Nothing for me, thank you.”

  My father fixed drinks and we sat. I found myself perched on the edge of the loveseat beside Aiden. Chase and I were never allowed in this room unless we were in trouble. Then, at my mother’s direction, I always sat here, back straight and eyes level as I listened to her castigate me for whatever it was I’d done wrong.

  My mother handed me a glass of wine I hadn’t asked for and said, “Violet, you look well.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, how do you know our Violet,” my father asked Aiden. “I can’t imagine how you might have crossed paths.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Aiden said. “Violet has made a place for herself in Atlanta. My family and I are very fond of her.”

  I resisted the urge to poke Aiden in the side. If Gage was fond of me, I’d hate to see his reaction to someone he disliked.

  “How did you meet?” My mother asked, her eyes flitting between us.

  Already tired of this conversation, I set the glass of wine on the coffee table untouched and leaned forward. “I spoke with Chase yesterday.”

  My father’s voice was a slap. “Do not speak his name in our home.”

  “He’s your son and my brother. I will speak his name. He’s doing very well, not that you care.”

  “Your brother,” my father said weightily, “chose to turn his back on this family.”

  “He dropped out of college, got a tattoo, and bought a motorcycle. He didn’t kill someone. He just didn’t fall in line with your plans. He didn’t turn his back on you, you turned your back on him.”

  My mother pursed her lips in disapproval and avoided my gaze, making a tiny sound of distress in the back of her throat. I realized I’d raised my voice. Seeing them again, being here, reminded me of all the reasons I’d walked out the front door and never returned.

  Focus, I lectured myself. You’re not here to fight with them. You’re here to get those files.

  Aiden’s palm flattened on the small of my back just under the edge of my suit jacket, his hand warm through the thin silk of my blouse. The simple touch soothed, and I leaned into him just a little. “Chase said that we were adopted. Why did you never tell me?”

  Both of my parents froze, faces blank. My mother recovered first. “He’s a liar. Violet, you know that. We had no choice but to cut him off after his behavior became unacceptable. You can’t believe a thing he says.”

  “So it’s not true?” I asked, fully aware who the real liars were.

  My father blustered, “Of course, it’s not true. Look at you. You’re the image of your mother.”

  Except that I wasn’t. Our hair color was the same, but hers was helped by a bottle. I was taller, and curvier, and though her eyes were similar to Chase’s, no one in the family had the same odd bluish-purple of my own.

  I’d seen a picture of Aiden’s cousin Vance at Winters House. He was right, Chase and Vance were almost identical.

  I ignored my father’s comment. “Then you’re denying it.”

  “Of course, we’re denying it,” my mother said, tugging at the strand of pearls around her neck as if it were a tightening noose. “It’s ridiculous. It’s just your brother trying to cause trouble again.”

  Sensing that we were wasting our time, Aiden leaned into me and said quietly, though loud enough for them to hear, “Sweetheart, we don’t need to talk about this. We’ve had a long drive, why don’t you go freshen up while I get to know your parents.”

  I manufactured the most saccharine smile I could come up with and aimed it straight at Aiden. “Of course. I’ll be right back.” To my parents, I said, “Excuse me.”

  As I left the parlor and walked down the hall to the kitchen I heard my father say, “That’s how you have to handle her. She needs guidance. Direction. If you don’t keep her in line, she gets out of hand.”

  I resisted the urge to eavesdrop and picked up my pace. Bypassing the small powder room off the kitchen, I headed straight for the basement door.

  I was too angry at Chase to talk to him yet, but I didn’t need to ask where he’d found the files. Like the rest of the house, the basement was ruthlessly organized. There were only two file cabinets in the storage closet beneath
the stairs, each of them with three drawers, and none were locked. It probably hadn’t occurred to my parents we’d ever bother to look inside.

  My heart raced and sweat coated my palms as I opened a drawer and scanned the neatly labeled folders. I trusted Aiden to keep my parents occupied, but I’d feel better once I found what I needed. The first drawer was filled with tax information, a folder for each year going back well over two decades.

  The second drawer held receipts, titles to their vehicles, and, weirdly, every report card either Chase or myself had ever brought home. I couldn’t imagine why my parents would have saved them. Especially since they’d thrown us both out of the house. But there they were, organized by year. I skipped past them and dug further.

  Chapter Thirty

  Violet

  In the very back of the middle drawer of the second cabinet, buried behind years of medical bills, I found a thin, unmarked, manila folder. Hands shaking, I pulled it from the drawer and unwound the string holding the flap closed. The stack of papers slid out in a neat pile.

  There wasn’t much. A contract with my parent’s names. Two birth certificates. There was no name on the first, but the birthdate was Chase’s. Chase Westbrook was identified on the second certificate, with the same birthdate. Several pages below I found a second contract and a second set of birth certificates with my own birthdate.

  Carefully sliding the pages back into the envelope, I closed the flap, winding the string to secure it, and stuck them in the waistband at the back of my skirt, beneath my blouse, settling my suit jacket into place. Conscious of time passing, I checked the rest of the drawers for anything else. There was nothing. Time to get moving.

  I made my way back upstairs silently and came to an abrupt halt in the hall when I heard my father say, “I’m sure you don’t need my advice, son, but I would keep her away from her brother. He’s a troubled man, has been since he was a teenager.”