McClellan Billionaires: The Complete Series

by North, Leslie

  Vane slowed to a halt. “What's going on, Al?”

  “A supplier fu—” Al glanced at Annabelle. “Supplier screw-up,” he amended. “That I would have caught if I was the one who signed off on the delivery. But I let my wife's lazy-ass—sorry—nephew do it because he needed the credits for his internship.” Al raked off his hard hat and wiped his brow. “I wanna let you know that I fired his sloppy ass. Sorry,” he added as Annabelle's eyes went wide.

  “But what happened?” Maggie wanted to know.

  “Wrong grade of lumber.” Al looked genuinely pained. “They tried to pull a fast one by sending us the cheap shit—sorry—instead of the one up to code.” He groaned. “And my head carpenter's been out 'cause his wife just had a baby. I didn't think I needed to check on it because I'm so used to him knowing his shit—sorry. But since it was signed off on, the crew just went ahead and used it.” Al wiped his brown again. “It's a real mess, and I am real sorry.”

  Vane pressed his lips together. “How long?”

  “Obviously, I fired that supplier with a vengeance. But we gotta tear down all the work we did with the wrong lumber and then wait for the back-ordered stuff that meets code to come in.” He shook his head. “I'm thinking at least another four weeks.”

  Vane let out a long breath. “Shit.”

  “You swore, Uncle Vane.” Annabelle looked gleeful.

  Vane shook his head. “Sometimes it's warranted.” He gripped Al's hand. “I'm not letting you eat the cost of this, Al. You know money is not my concern.”

  Al nodded. “Time is.”

  “Uh huh.” Vane turned to Maggie. The corner of his mouth kicked up in an apologetic smile. “I hate that I have to ask you this, but I have no choice.”

  “Stay?” Maggie squeaked. All eyes were on her. Even the sun felt like a spotlight... or the bright light in an interrogation room.

  “I hate that I have to ask you,” Vane said again. And he looked like he really did. “I can pay you extra, like an overtime fee—”

  “Stop,” she begged. She didn't need the reminder that he was paying her. Not after what they'd done last night—and the night before that, and the night before that. She felt the sudden urge to take a shower. “I know you need me—”

  “I do.”

  “Me too,” Annabelle said glumly.

  Maggie's heart wrenched. “How long?”

  “End of the summer.”

  She swallowed. That would put her right up against the start date of her new contract. No time for vacation. No travel, no exploring, just the beginning of a five-year slog trapped in one place. A shiver of fear went down her spine at the very thought... but what could she do? They were all depending on her. She was helping them.

  How could she possibly say no?

  “Okay,” she relented with an explosive sigh. “In for a penny, in for a pound, right?” She summoned all the courage she had and announced, “I'll stay.”

  * * *

  The first thing she noticed when she woke the next morning was that everything was wrong. Why hadn't her alarm gone off? Why hadn't Annabelle come tiptoeing in to wake her? Why did the slant of the sun indicate it had already climbed halfway up the sky?

  She jumped up with her heart in her throat and raced down the hall to Annabelle's room. The door stood open, the bed was rumpled and unmade, and to Maggie’s horror, her drawers stood open and clearly rifled through.

  “Annabelle?” she choked.

  “Hey.”

  She screamed and whirled around.

  Vane threw up his hands. “Hey, don't attack. It's okay.”

  “Where is she? Why didn't you wake me up? Is she downstairs? What's going on? Why does it look like a bomb went off in here? I mean, more than normal?”

  Vane chuckled. “I'll answer those questions backwards, if you don't mind. It's messy because Annabelle is bad at packing. She's not downstairs; she's actually on the road right now. I didn't wake you up because I wanted you to get some rest.”

  “But why? Where is she?”

  “Whoops, forgot to answer the very first question, huh?” Vane slid into the room and wound his arms around her. “I called my brother and asked him to take her for a few days.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “I know you wanted a break. I can't give you one at the end of the summer like you wanted, so I figured the least I could do was give you one now.”

  “Your brother?”

  “Art just had a baby, and Annabelle loves that little hellraiser more than anything in the world. She was thrilled with the idea of spending a few days getting spit up on by the little Jack-Attack.”

  Some of the tension flowed out of Maggie, and she sagged into Vane's chest. “You mean, I'm not on nanny duty?”

  “In fact, you are forbidden from doing anything remotely nanny-like for the next three days.” He kissed her long and slow before pulling back. “I'm glad you got to sleep in, but we need to get a move on. Our plane leaves in an hour.”

  “What?” she yelped. “Plane?”

  He shook his head. “To be precise, a jet, and I guess it's fine if we're late, seeing as we're the only passengers and they won't fly without me. But still, let's get going.”

  Bewildered, Maggie washed up and got dressed. She'd just poured herself a second mug of green tea when the sound of wheels on the gravel drive sent her to the window.

  “Car is here. You all packed?” Vane waved to the driver.

  “You have a chauffer?” She blinked at the uniformed man mounting the porch stairs.

  “Kind of. Mostly I pay him to sit around,” Vane joked as he shook the man's hand. “Frank Meechum, meet Maggie Stewart.”

  “Pleasure,” Frank said, kissing her knuckles in an ostentatious display of chivalry. “And, sir, you pay me to be available, not to sit around.”

  “Oh, is that what I'm doing?' Vane chuckled. “Well then, it must be worth it. Bags are on the landing upstairs.”

  “I can get my own bags,” Maggie protested. But Frank was already vaulting up the stairs two at a time. Vane held open the front door for her. “Really, it's no problem.”

  “Let him earn his fee,” Vane laughed and guided her to the sleek town car.

  She slid into the back seat and swallowed hard as her fingers brushed the buttery-soft leather seats. She'd known Vane was wealthy—the beautiful house and the costly repairs were a big clue—but a uniformed driver? Was he just showing off for her benefit?

  “Airport, sir?” Frank asked once he'd stowed their bags in the capacious trunk.

  “Hobbes has the jet waiting. He's probably in a bad mood because I got him up so early.”

  “If you don't mind my saying so, sir, I'm pretty sure Hobbes is always in a bad mood.”

  “Wait, who is Hobbes?” Maggie asked, bewildered.

  “Jonny Hobbes. He's my pilot.”

  “He wouldn't be if you would finish those flight hours, sir,” Frank spoke up from the front seat. "You always say you can't wait to fly yourself.”

  “Mind your own business, Frank,” Vane laughed easily.

  “Wait a second. Back up. You have your own plane?” Maggie stared at Vane, wondering what else she'd missed.

  He blinked at her. “When I started being bicoastal, it just made more sense,” Vane explained, as if buying his own private jet was the same thing as buying a bus ticket. “It's a little much for a short trip like this, I admit. But I didn't want to waste any time.” He pressed a kiss to her hand.

  She swallowed hard and tried to push down the rush to judgment. She could hear her mother's voice in her head, sniffing disdainfully before railing against fat cats and their inherent evil. Vane wasn't evil. He was a nice person, and he treated the people who worked for him with an easy, joking respect. They all seemed to like him, even Hobbes, who was indeed in a bad mood. He was the same Vane who had her wondering if she could finally stop searching.

  Once they'd landed in wine country and a different driver had whisked them to a rustic bed and breakfast, she felt like s
he was back on solid footing with him. Their private cabin was tasteful and luxurious, but not opulent. And the owner of the B&B, a frizzy-haired, bangle-wearing hippie named Melody, reminded Maggie so much of Kiara that she did a double take upon arriving.

  “We press our own grapes,” Melody explained at the end of the brief tour of the grounds, which included a private lake and several tidy acres of grapevines. Maggie glanced down at the owner's bare feet and hoped that wasn't what she meant by press. “We're up to six different varietals this year and expanding further. Our signature blend is a Riesling we age in oak barrels like Chardonnay. Would you like some sent to your cabin?”

  “Please, but...” Vane paused and let his eyes roam up and down Maggie's body. “In a little while, okay?”

  Maggie flushed to the roots of her hair, and she whooped with laughter as Vane scooped her up in his arms and rushed across the rolling lawn to their cabin. Clinging to his neck as she kissed him, she could almost feel like this was right. That the two of them could maybe stay like this forever. But she knew they had a time limit. Vane had asked her to stay longer.

  Would he want her to stay even longer than that?

  And if he asked her, Maggie wondered as they tumbled into bed, would she be brave enough to say yes?

  12

  “You're back!” Annabelle yelled as Maggie and Vane emerged from the back of the car.

  “How are you, Frank?” A blond, tattooed version of Vane called from the porch. He was bouncing a sturdy baby boy in his arms, seemingly unconcerned that the baby was trying to hurl himself backwards towards freedom.

  “Good, Mr. McClellan—”

  “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Art,” the blond version of Vane complained. “God, you make it so awkward.”

  “Maggie, meet my brother Arthur.” Vane rolled his eyes. “I swear we weren't raised in a barn—he just likes to act that way.”

  “You're Maggie, huh? You look like a fun person. Why on earth would you want to spend time with my brother?” Arthur tempered his teasing with a smile as he slapped his brother on the back. The baby headbutted him, and he chuckled and clapped his hand to his face. “I'm going to get going before this one decides to make a break for the ocean. The place is looking better, Vane.”

  “Getting there,” Vane agreed, shaking his brother's hand. “Thanks for the last-minute babysitting.”

  “Hey, my little Bluebelle did more babysitting than I did.”

  “Uncle Vane! Uncle Art paid me money!” Annabelle yelled from the porch. “Can I go buy something?”

  “You need to teach her about investing,” Art said with a wink. “All that boring stuff Granddad was into.” The baby let out a frustrated wail and pitched headfirst towards the ground. Art caught him easily and laughed. “Okay. Time to strap this one in. Nice to meet you, Maggie. If you manage to dislodge the stick from Vane's ass, I'll be pretty damn grateful.”

  Vane blew out a heavy sigh once Art had wrestled his protesting baby into the backseat of his sports car and peeled off. “My little brother is a charming fellow.”

  “He's funny,” Maggie giggled. “You sure you two are related?”

  “Hey, I make you laugh plenty.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “And more importantly, I make you make other noises too.”

  “What are you guys talking about?” Annabelle asked innocently.

  “Did you have fun with your cousin Jack?” Vane redirected smoothly. He went to his ward and kissed the top of her head, a gesture that made Maggie's heart feel too big for her chest. “He's a handful.”

  “Not for me,” Annabelle loftily declared. “Aunt Cassandra says I have the magic touch. He actually napped for me yesterday, which Aunt Cassandra says takes at least an hour of bouncing, but I got him to go to sleep in, like, only five minutes. I think I should run a daycare or maybe be a nurse who takes care of babies in a hospital, because I'm, like, totally the best babysitter on the planet.”

  She kept up her monologue as the three of them walked back into the house. Only to be assaulted by the noise and dust. “Phoo!” Annabelle cried and then sneezed three times in a row. “What's going on?”

  Al Raymond appeared around the corner, his face stormy. “You're back.” It wasn't a question.

  “You see, we live here,” Vane tried to joke.

  But the contractor wasn't having it. “I have the crew on double time to make up for the lost weeks. We're plastering the walls today.” Annabelle sneezed again, and Al nodded as if she'd agreed with him somehow. “If you want to continue living here in this super important historic house, run out and pick up some dust masks.”

  “How is this place important? I thought it was just, you know, old.” Maggie spread her hands.

  Al chuckled. “This was the summer home of the first governor of the state,” he explained. “Lots of important policy work done here and all that.”

  “What, really?” She turned to Vane. “Your ancestor was the first governor?”

  Vane shrugged. “I didn't know the guy. But that's what they tell me.”

  Just like it had when the private car rolled up, the wide gulf between her life and Vane's felt like a slap in the face. She watched Vane out of the corner of her eye as he attempted to have a conversation with Annabelle about her stay with Art. It was a pretty normal scene, but for some reason, she couldn't make him look “normal” at all. It was like seeing a picture of herself after studying her reflection her whole life. She knew she was looking at the man who had spent the last three days making sure she was happy and cared for, but something looked... off. He was the same, but he didn't feel the same to her.

  Then Annabelle leaped up with a shriek. “It's too loud in here! I can't think!”

  “We could stay at a hotel,” Vane suggested.

  Maggie shook her head vehemently. Any hotel Vane chose would be just one more reminder of their differences. She couldn't deal with the idea of spending time in whatever luxury, presidential suite he'd casually suggest.

  “How about we camp?” she asked. “On the beach. Do you have a tent?”

  Vane scowled. “I doooo,” he drawled. “But I'm not much of a camper.”

  “I am!” she butted in breezily. This was good. Camping was back in her comfort zone. Maybe a night spent out in the open, roughing it, would help her feel like she was back on even footing with him. Like they were just normal, regular folks.

  Instead of a billionaire, his ward, and the nanny he'd hired for the summer.

  * * *

  “I have never seen a tent like this,” Maggie complained. She didn't like complaining. But this was ridiculous.

  “Would you let me take care of that?” Vane smiled as he took the tent poles gently from her grasp, but she couldn't help but notice the tinge of irritation in his voice. She, who'd spent a lot of her childhood living out of a tent, had insisted on setting it up herself. But rather than the simple setup of her youth, Vane's tent was huge, as well as luxurious and complicated. She'd taken one look at the high-tech tangle of poles and nylon and felt instantly out of her element. This was the private jet of camping gear.

  “I can help you.”

  “I know. But you don't need to.” Vane gently shut her out, shifting his weight to block her from making a grab for the rest of the poles.

  Stung, she took a few steps back. She should have felt impressed at how capable he was in the face of such a complicated task, but instead she felt... small. Small and useless and left out.

  “Annabelle? I want to pick some flowers to pretty this place up,” Maggie announced, turning her back on Vane and pointing to a far-off dune. Wildflowers danced in the breeze, an explosion of blues and pinks. “Want to come?”

  “Sure!” Annabelle, bored with tracing a stick in swirling patterns through the sand, jumped to her feet. Maggie challenged her to a race, then yielded, laughing, when the girl overtook her.

  She didn't look back to check Vane's progress. In fact, she did her level best to keep her back
to him. It was childish, she knew, but part of her wanted him to see just how much she didn't need him.

  Sure, you're a big, strong, smart billionaire with money to burn and you're paying my salary. But you need me more than I need you.

  She reached down and plucked a perfect stem and lifted it to her nose. She hoped Vane was looking at her right now, just so he could see just how fine she was doing without him.

  “Hey.”

  She yelped and dropped her flowers just as she heard the click of Vane's camera shutter. “Hey!” she snapped.

  “Sorry!” Vane chuckled as he lowered his camera and grinned at her. “You looked like you were posing for me. So, I took some pictures.”

  She abruptly turned so he couldn't see she was blushing furiously. Yes, she wanted him to see her, but not like this. “Is the tent set up?”

  “Has been for a while now.” His smile was so real and genuine. How could he be so charming and so frustrating at the same time? “I came over to tell you ladies, but you looked so pretty picking flowers that I took a few shots first. Smile!” he called and pointed his lens at Annabelle, who immediately planted her feet and struck a superhero pose atop the dune.

  “How do I look?” she yelled as he checked his shots.

  “Actually, you look pretty awesome.” He beckoned her over, and the two spent a happy moment exclaiming over the shots he'd taken. Annabelle rested her head affectionately on his arm, and he absentmindedly patted her back as they shared the camera screen.

  This, Maggie thought with a sigh, was something she could feel good about, at least. The two of them were more connected now than they had been when she'd arrived. Instead of being so freaked out by his role as guardian, Vane seemed to be slipping into it more comfortably. Like a pair of dress shoes that needed to be broken in, he grew more and more confident every day.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon there on the dune, with Annabelle chattering a mile a minute about literally everything. Vane smiled and listened and occasionally raised his camera to snap a candid, and Maggie traced complicated mandala patterns in the sand before wiping them away and starting over. She went back to the gutted house and returned with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. As the sun slipped lower in the sky, Vane disappeared into the house and returned with all the makings for s'mores.