Bastard Heir (The Heirs Book 3)

by Brandy Munroe

  Bastard Heir

  A Small Town Romance

  Brandy Munroe

  Rules create order from chaos.

  Aaron

  I’d already broken one rule to get her in my bed. How many rules am I willing to break to get her back where I want her?

  Some rules should never be broken, not even for church going choir girls like Katie. And when she finds out the one rule I swore I would never break, would she stay?

  Rules were meant to be broken.

  Katie

  Aaron Walsh not only looks the bad boy, he lives it. He buys companies and takes them apart for a living.

  When the Corporate Raider breezes through town, I am willing to break a lot of rules to spend one night with him. Aaron is definitely not a relationship type of guy. That suits me fine.

  That means he won’t be around long enough to ask why at the ripe old age of twenty two I'd declared myself a spinster and asked for the crazy cat lady starter kit for my next birthday.

  Copyright © 2018 by Brandy Munroe

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Womanizer Heir Chapter 1

  Womanizer Heir: Chapter 2

  Womanizer Heir: Chapter 3

  Also by Brandy Munroe

  Chapter 1

  Aaron

  I will… I promise.

  I replayed in my mind the pledge I had made my mother to continue attending church after her death. She made me promise on her deathbed to never lose my faith.

  She also made me promise to connect with my father.

  Which was how I found myself sitting in his church this brisk November Sunday morning in the small seaside town of Tranquility.

  At my church, in New York, I was Evelyn’s son, the handsome self-made millionaire.

  My mother’s friends hovered and cared for me in the years after my mother passed. Most out of genuine concern, others hoping to marry the bachelor off to one of their daughters.

  I didn't do commitments. Certainly not with some churchgoing choir girl. Those girls all wanted more than I could give.

  I scanned the unfamiliar surroundings, spotting my father with his wife, sitting close to the front.

  If I were a better man, I would have taken a seat with them.

  Today, I would enjoy the anonymity of passing through as a stranger.

  Tomorrow, I would no longer be Evelyn’s son. I was readying myself to take my place as the bastard son of Richard Van de Graaf Sr.

  After my older half-brother fell in love and built a bed and breakfast with his girlfriend, he decided to hand the company over. To me, if I wanted it.

  That was the question—did I want it?

  I certainly didn't need it. During my teenage years, while bedridden with leukaemia, I had taught myself how to maneuver stocks and used my allowance money to dabble in commodities trading.

  I would never forget the look on my mother’s face when the doctors told her all of my medical bills had been paid in full.

  She automatically assumed it was Richard Sr, until I had revealed my extracurricular activities.

  I had no choice. I was underage, and I’d used my mother’s identity for my online persona.

  On my eighteenth birthday, I was diagnosed as cancer free, and my mother signed the online trading account over to me.

  By the age of twenty, I was a millionaire—by twenty-five, a multi-millionaire.

  None of it meant a thing when I lost my mother to the dreadful disease of cancer that I’d faced in battle and won.

  On the cusp of my thirtieth birthday, I was walking away from my own company to run one of the country's top fashion houses. The Van de Graaf name was well known in the industry. Now they wanted to take it global and wanted my help.

  Richard Sr, had wanted to take small mom-and-pop local shoe stores and bring them under the Van de Graaf umbrella. I was the best corporate raider in the country, and this was what I’d trained myself to do—overtake, dismantle, sell off, and move on.

  Only Richard Sr. did not want to overtake these business; he wanted it to be a partnership with the owners. This concept was not what I was used to, but it had potential, and I was excited about the new venture.

  I was growing tired of the same routine day after day. Before deciding to come to Tranquility, I had consider merging my own interest with that of a rival. This would give me more responsibility as a leader.

  That was what Van de Graff’s was offering me, a leadership role. Not a job, but a responsibility to do right by the people who worked for me. It required sensitivity and compassion—two words foreign to me since I’d lost my mother.

  Today, I would sit at the back of the church as Aaron Walsh, corporate raider. Tomorrow, I would finally honor my mother’s wishes and become a part of the Van de Graaf family.

  It was a family my mother had no intention of me ever getting to know—until I’d needed a bone marrow transplant from my half-brother at the age of fourteen.

  A flash of white pulled me from my reverie. One of the choir members had left the confessional and was heading upstairs to the gallery. All I caught was flowing curls of strawberry blonde hair.

  I had a thing for gingers. They were my one weakness.

  My only impression of this one was the back of her in an oversized white choir robe. For all I knew, she could be a seventy-year-old grandmother. By the way those curls bounced as she went up those stairs, I doubted it.

  Wouldn't I love to run my fingers through those strawberry blonde curls?

  I shifted in my seat into a more comfortable position. Fuck, didn’t my cock know I was in church? Maybe I was the one who needed to go to confession.

  I wondered what had inspired my choir girl to confess her sins.

  What the hell was I thinking? She wasn't my choir girl. She wasn't my anything.

  Later, on my way back to my seat from communion, I saw the choir girl with the bouncy curls sneaking out the side door. Damn, I was not going to be able to put a face to the curls. It shouldn't matter—I didn't do relationships, and choir girls wanted relationships.

  Richard Sr. nodded to acknowledge my presence in church. There was no way I was leaving now without at least saying hello.

  I stayed in the foyer and chatted with the deacon until Richard Sr. and his family exited the church.

  “Sir.” I nodded and shook Richard Sr’s hand.

  “Aaron, you should have sat with us. We had plenty of room.” Richard’s voice was authoritative. I expected nothing less from the man I acknowledged as my father, biologically at least.

  “I got in late and didn't want to disrupt the service,” I lied.<
br />
  “Very good, very good. We will see you tomorrow with a pair of Boardroom and Beyond, right?”

  I was well aware that this was meant as a statement, not a question.

  “And wear a suit,” Richard Sr added on his way out the door.

  “Yes, sir.” I smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I owned suits, though I preferred to wear my worn-out jeans, leather jacket, and riding boots. The clothes fit the bad boy image I’d carved out for myself. It also was the best attire for riding around on my bike.

  God didn't care what I dressed like for church.

  The only reason I was in that church and not my own was because I needed to get to The Upstairs this afternoon and get myself a pair of those famous Boardroom and Beyond men’s shoes before the board meeting early tomorrow morning.

  Someone was going to meet me there and take care of my needs. At least, that was how Richard put it.

  My half-brother Richard’s business partner was his best friend Aleksander. Aleksander’s wife was the manager of The Upstairs—Haley, if I remembered correctly.

  I remembered how Aleksander had been before he had settled down with his PR assistant, who happened to be pregnant with twins. I was curious to meet the woman who had tamed the notorious playboy, Manly Manos.

  I pulled up to the building on my bike. I like the old restored location that was known as The Boutique and The Upstairs. I would get the grand tour tomorrow after the board meeting.

  Today, my only task was to get a pair of shoes and head to my rented apartment to see if my things had been delivered.

  I headed up the stairs and walked into a spectacular showroom. I stood in the middle of the room and took in my surroundings. There was rich dark wood everywhere from floor to ceiling. Atop a plush Oriental rug were display tables filled with neatly folded ties, pocket squares and driving gloves.

  I whistled under my breath. The place was organized and functional. A little too opulent for my taste. Yes, I like the finer things in life, but this. I really had not words to describe.

  I turned when suddenly a pretty girl greeted me. Her hair was slicked back in a tight bun and held together with netting, as if she was afraid it would spring to life at any minute.

  I silently smirked, thinking uptight trophy wife. Not what I envisioned when I thought of Aleksander.

  She was petite, had a good body, impeccable makeup, stiff posture. Aleksander had good taste.

  She had a beautiful smile and emerald green eyes that danced.

  “Haley?” I inquired, although I was sure Alexander's wife was described to me as a petite brunette, and the woman in front of me showed no sign of being pregnant.

  She held out her hand. “Katie Steele,” she introduced herself. “I volunteered to come in since I had no plans, I’m filing in for Haley this afternoon.”

  That explained the good body. She wasn't Aleksander’s pregnant wife. I checked her ring finger. She wasn't anyone's wife. With a posture that looked like she had a stick up her ass, it was no wonder.

  “Follow me please, Mr. Walsh,” she said, and she ushered me into a private section labeled VIP - Appointments Only.

  “Please, call me Aaron.” She was cute. No harm in being charming.

  As I followed Katie, I noticed she did have a nice ass, regardless of the stick.

  I also got a better view of her hair. Fuck, another ginger. Was this town full of them?

  The lounge she brought me to was a little too ostentatious for my taste.

  It contained velvet-covered benches, plush leather chairs, and one wall was mirrored. I felt immediately uncomfortable. This was not how I shopped.

  Richard had said I needed a pair of those shoes, so I would get them and get out before this place turned me into a nansy-pansy. Do real men want to be waited on like this? I supposed if they were brought up rich and entitled. Which I wasn’t.

  For all my wealth, I never forgot where I came from. The son of a hard working single mom.

  “What can I do for you, Aaron?” Did she deliberately deliver that line breathy for my benefit? Was this what Richard meant by ‘special treatment’? Her overly starched blouse tugged against her ample breasts. The size of perfectly ripe peaches. Focus, Aaron, I chastised myself.

  “I want a pair of Boardroom and Beyond, black, size fourteen.” I was sure her eyes widened just a smidgen when I told her the size. Was she wondering if the old adage about a man and the size of his feet in relation to another part of his anatomy was accurate?

  “Have a seat and make yourself comfortable, Aaron. The espresso machine is ready if you would like something. Shall I pour you a cup before I go get your shoes?” The professional chill in her voice had returned.

  “I don't need to sit. I just need the shoes.” I knew my size. I didn’t need to try them on.

  “You can't try them on standing up,” she said slowly, as though she were explaining something to a child.

  “I’m not trying them on,” I informed her gruffly. Who did she think she was, my mother? I didn't need anyone telling me how to buy my shoes. Especially not this uptight future trophy wife.

  “You have to try them on,” she said defensively. “If a shoe is created from the bottom of the bolt, it may not fit the exact same as one cut from the top. You want your shoes to fit comfortably, don’t you?” Her tone implied that only an unrefined heathen would not want his shoes to be comfortable.

  “They’ll be fine. I only need them for one day.” I saw her demeanor waver.

  “Who spends a small ransom on a pair of shoes and only wears them once?” She was spitting fire now, and I liked it. Her prim and proper facade was fading fast. I was going to have a little fun with this.

  “Is this the famous Van de Graaf customer service I’ve heard so much about, questioning what I plan to do with my money?” I stepped toward her, “Or do you want to see my feet, Katie, to see if I really am a size fourteen?” I looked down, but not at my feet.

  She turned fifty shades of red. I wasn't sure if I had embarrassed her or angered her. Either way, I loved seeing her a little less demure. “You’re slouching, Katie. Do you need someone to put that stick back up your ass?” Fuck—I did not just say that out loud.

  “If you want size fourteen black Boardroom and Beyonds without trying them on, so be it. Wait here. I’ll be right out—and that’s Miss Steele to you.” She spun on her heels and left the room. She was done sparring with me, and I wished I hadn’t pushed so far so fast.

  I was just beginning to have fun.

  She returned with the shoes and I pulled out my credit card.

  “I don't need that. Apparently, you are an important enough VIP that you have a platinum account set up.” The room temperature had dropped by about ten degrees lower due to the chill in her voice. “You will be billed, and you can settle with the main office.” She handed me my shoes wrapped in a bag printed with the Van de Graaf logo. “Have a nice day, Mr. Walsh. Enjoy your purchase.” She escorted me out the door, closed it, and locked it.

  She had dismissed me. I was not used to being dismissed. Miss Katie Steele was going to get the surprise of her life tomorrow morning when she found out exactly who Mr. Aaron Walsh was.

  Chapter 2

  Katie

  I was going to have to leave church while everyone was at communion if I was going to get to work in time to tie up my hair and open The Upstairs. I didn’t mind taking this appointment for Haley, though she should be over her morning sickness by now.

  This was Haley’s second pregnancy, and she was sure she would know what to expect. But with this one being twins, things were not as easy peasy as Haley had predicted.

  It was good practice for me. I would be taking over while Haley was on maternity leave. I was going to have to deal with the high maintenance VIPs eventually. I had spent two days in the store and three at the main office.

  As one of three interns taking part in a new venture initiated by Haley, I was taking turns in The Boutique, learn
ing the business from the front lines. I had a retail background selling shoes before I went to design school. I was finding I enjoyed this area of the business much better than the designing part.

  Whoever this VIP was, he had to be very important. Mrs. Van de Graaf must be having a coronary today. No one worked on Sunday—her rules. Not in The Boutique, not in The Upstairs, and never in the main office.

  I was curious about this appointment.

  The only information Haley had given me was that this was a special circumstance and that Mr. Walsh had been set up with the platinum unlimited account. Few customers had platinum status. I was going to have to thank Haley for passing this off to me. The commission made off VIPs could be more than a week's salary.

  The espresso machine was primed, the pillows were fluffed, and the accessories were easily accessible. I took in a deep breath, straightened my posture, unlocked the door, and prepared for my VIP appointment.

  I heard the door chimes go off. Showtime, I thought. I walked into the store, and standing in the middle of the room with his back to me was a tall well-built Adonis. His dirty blond hair hung long on his shoulders, and when he turned to face me, a five o'clock shadow added to the mystique. His worn leather jacket looked like a thrift store find and his biker boots were worn to the hilt.

  He wasn’t what I expected. His devil-may-care stance told me he wasn’t one of the stiff upper lip crowd, as did the bike helmet dangling from his fingers.

  I licked my lips. My mouth was dry. Unfortunately, that was the only thing that was.