by Floyd, Jacie
Table of Contents
The Brotherhood Begins
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Thank you!
Books by Jacie Floyd
Daring Dylan Excerpt
The Billionaire Brotherhood Begins
Acknowledgements
About the author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or they are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living are dead, is purely coincidental.
Winning Wyatt: ©2015 by Jacqueline Floyd
Cover Design: Kim Killion, Hot Damn Designs
1st Edition
All rights reserved.
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author.
In loving memory of my parents,
Robert and JoAnn McNatton
The Brotherhood Begins
Los Angeles, September 11, 2001
One of the worst days of Wyatt Connor Maitland’s seventeen-year life turned out to be one of the worst days in the history of the United States.
After a late night practicing for a prep school debate tournament, an early morning phone call from home awakened him with bad news. He needed to get back to Atlanta ASAP his mother said, his sister said, and his Uncle Jackson said. Like the more people that told him, the quicker he could get there.
After throwing his things into a bag, he called the hanger to change his flight and then went down the hall to tell his debate coach that he was leaving. Which created a debate of its own that ended up requiring permission from his devastated mother, the school principal, the entire debate team, maybe the Governor of Georgia, and who knew how many other people?
When the limo let him out at LAX’s charter hangers, an odd, anxious hush hung over the place like a noxious cloud. People scrambled about, but quietly. Groups gathered around television screens shaking their heads, looking over their shoulders, and checking the time. Even weirder? No passengers were being allowed to board any aircraft. Planes weren’t being prepped for flight. Jets were lined up outside the building, but none were taxiing toward the runways.
The National Package Delivery hanger was similarly inactive. Wyatt strode to the NPD offices to determine the whereabouts of his plane. No personnel populated the reception area. Following voices to the staff’s small break room, he found the entire NPD team riveted to some big news story on TV.
“Hey,” he said, not used to being ignored. “Who died?” He hoped it wasn’t his father. Surely that story wouldn’t make the national news.
“Thousands,” Joan, the receptionist, said. She dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex and turned to him with tears streaming down her face. “We don’t know who or how many yet.”
His gaze settled on the television screen where smoke billowed out of the Twin Towers. “My God, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. What happened?”
“Tom Brokaw says it’s a terrorist attack,” one of the mechanics said, his voice shaky. “Some whack jobs flew two planes right into the World Trade Center. And there are others out there, too. The Pentagon’s been hit and the White House has been targeted. Nobody knows how many more flights have been hijacked.”
That couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be happening. Wyatt searched for Marshall, the regular Maitland family pilot. The retired Air Force pilot was in his shirtsleeves with his tie loosened, not his usual spit-shine appearance.
“Rumors or fact?” Wyatt asked.
Lines of concern marred Marshall’s face. “Hard to say. Some of both. The Twin Towers and Pentagon have been hit for sure. There’s footage on both of those.”
Not that Wyatt wasn’t concerned, but New York and Washington were a long way off. “When will we be able to takeoff? We can track the story in flight, can’t we?
Marshall gave him a hard look. “We can’t leave.”
“What? Why?”
“All non-essential military flights have been grounded. None of the NPD planes or any others—commercial or private—are getting off the ground, no matter where they are or where they’re going.”
“Until when?”
The pilot shrugged. “Until further notice.”
“But I need to get to Atlanta.” If Wyatt didn’t know he sounded like a spoiled brat, the disapproving scowls of the men and women in the break room told him so.
“Not today, I’m afraid.”
“Does my mother know about this?” In Wyatt’s world, his mother was the ultimate authority. And she wanted him to come home with all possible speed.
“It’s been on all the news. I haven’t spoken to your mother or anyone from NPD since you called to change your departure date earlier this morning. The tower approved the flight plan before this happened.” Marshall nodded to the television screen.
Wyatt motioned the pilot outside. “My father’s had a heart attack. I’m needed at home.” His mother wouldn’t want him to tell anyone that machines were keeping the old man on life support until Wyatt could get there.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt. I’ll take you as soon as the blackout is lifted. But I doubt that will be today. Probably not tomorrow.”
“Then how will I get home?” Again with the spoiled-brat whine.
“I don’t know.” The pilot’s shoulders stiffened to military precision. “Maybe you can get a ride with someone, but I wouldn’t leave now if I could. Some of the hijacked flights were United out of Boston and that’s my brother’s regular assignment.”
Well. That put Wyatt in his place. He couldn’t blame Marshall for his concern. “You’ll want to get back in there and wait for news then. I hope your brother’s okay.”
The pilot’s posture eased up a little bit. “Come with me. We’ll figure out something when we know more about what’s going on.”
“I’ll be in soon. I’m going to hang around out here for a while. See if anyone else knows anything more.”
Marshall gave a little shake of his head. “There’s nothing you or your mother can do about this situation.”
“I know.” But surely there was something. “I just don’t want to stay cooped up in the office all day. You’ve got a personal stake in this, and you need to get back in there. Call me on my cell if you hear anything, okay?”
As Marshall went back into the NPD offices, Wyatt gazed around at the terminal’s organized chaos. Some passengers were throwing tantrums about not being able to go where they wanted to go, but most people were milling around in shock.
Two boys about his age were talking to a pretty girl with a killer body at a private gate. He headed that way to listen. One of them was doing all the talking and getting right up in her face. The other one, tall and muscular, looked like a walking billboard for Eastham Sporting Goods.
“But my unc
le’s a senator,” the frantic one said. Like that information would make any difference.
“How nice for him.” The pretty girl didn’t seem all that impressed. She probably got people more important than senators through here all the time. People like presidents. Princes. Movie stars. “Is he here with you in L.A.?”
“He’s in Washington or New York. I can’t get calls through to him, and I’m worried.”
“I heard that Senators who were at the Capitol Building have been moved to a secure location,” Pretty Girl told him, patting his hand.
“Look, my mother and sister are in New York. My Grandfather’s company has offices
on the upper levels of the Twin Towers. I know a lot of people who work for him, for God’s sake, and it’s just been blown to bits. I really need to get back home.”
Pretty Girl’s face softened. “I sympathize with your situation, Mr. Bradford, but this
airport is officially shut down. You can’t go to New York today. You can’t go to D.C. You can’t go to Philadelphia, or Hartford either. You can’t go anywhere. Not by plane anyway.”
Bradford. Well, that explained the kid’s attitude. The Bradfords were political royalty, like the Kennedys or the Bushs. They were used to people jumping through hoops for them.
The Prince of Entitlement shook his head at her sad lack of cooperation. “Okay, I’ve got it. I’ll figure it out myself. Thanks for your help.”
Bradford pulled Logo Boy by the arm away from the desk. Wyatt followed.
“I wonder if Amtrak is running,” Logo Boy ventured.
“Man, that would take forever,” Bradford said.
“Yeah, my mom tried to take the train from St. Louis to Kansas City once, and it sucked.
I guess in a national emergency it would be even worse.”
Bradford brushed his famous hair off his forehead. “Let’s rent a car.”
Wyatt thought that was a bad idea. Logo Kid agreed. “I heard all the rentals are already gone. Besides, we’re too young.”
The Prince paced back and forth. “Where’s your driver from this morning?”
“A campus van dropped me off and left. I can call the school and have them send
someone for us, but they probably won’t drive us all the way to St. Louis and New York.”
“They would if we offered them enough money.”
Logo Kid’s eyes lit up. “Hey, why don’t we buy a car? Something really cool like a Porsche or a Ferrari or a Maserati.”
Prince Bradford stopped pacing. “Brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that? St. Louis is closer than New York. Maybe by the time we got there, planes will be flying again. Let’s take a taxi to the nearest dealership and see what the Black Card will get us.”
Driving cross-country seemed like a decent idea to Wyatt, too. Driving cross country with two other guys taking turns behind the wheel sounded even better. He stepped in front of the prince. “You guys are going to drive east? How long will that take?”
Prince narrowed his eyes. “What do you care?”
“I want to go too.”
“Where you going?”
“Atlanta.”
Lobo Kid shook his head. “That’s not on our way.”
“Just take me as far as you can, and I’ll figure out the rest. I kinda need to get home.”
“Join the club, dude.” The prince shoved his way past Wyatt. “That’s what everyone here
wants. Why should we take you with us?”
“Three drivers are better than two. And I’ll pay for a third of the car. Or all of it.
Otherwise, I’ll just head out on my own.”
Prince Bradford tried to fry him with a glare. “Who are you?”
“Wyatt Maitland. From Atlanta.”
“Like the Wyatt’s Department Stores?” Logo Kid asked. “Yep. And National Package Delivery.”
“Cool,” Logo Kid said. “You got any ID?”
“You’ll see it when I buy the car.”
“I guess we will. Come on then.” Prince and Logo Boy began collecting their bags.
“Let’s go get a car. A fast one with a screaming sound system.”
That would never do. “Not a Porsche, Ferrari, or a Maserati.”
“Why not?”
“Too small,” Prince Bradford said. “We’ve got a long way to go, and we’re all at least six
feet tall.”
“Especially the walking logo,” Wyatt said as they headed for the taxi stand. “What are you? A body-builder?”
“Football player.” Logo Kid answered. “Stanford wants to recruit me, and I came to L.A.to practice with the team.” He stuck out his hand for Wyatt to shake. “Ryan Eastham.”
“No shit?” Wyatt asked. “All the Eastham crap you’re wearing isn’t just a coincidence? You’re a human calling card.”
To his credit, the kid didn’t take offense. “My dad likes me to wear his company’s stuff. He’s proud of it and of me.”
“I’ll bet he is.”
And he had good reason to be. Over the next two days, no matter what happened or whose temper flared, the football player smoothed things over and kept them all calm.
As they travelled across country in their newly-purchased Lincoln Navigator, they split travel expenses three ways. Ryan and Dylan, friends from the same prep school, took some time to warm up to Wyatt. Tense and nervous for the first few hours, they each spent more time on their cell phones than they did observing their surroundings and each other.
As horrific as September eleventh had turned out to be, by the time they reached Nevada, Dylan had talked to him mom, his uncle, and his grandfather. His senator uncle had lost friends at the Pentagon. Dylan’s grandfather’s brokerage had been wiped out, along with about half his employees. Although his family members were safe, he still wanted to get there and see them for himself.
By the time they reached Albuquerque, Ryan admitted he wasn’t just anxious to get back to his team for the upcoming football game. His parents had separated over the weekend, and it looked like they were splitting up. Despite his concern, he predicted his family would take the hit, but in the end, they would bounce back and be just fine. Just like the country would rebound from the day’s terrible events.
And by the time they reached Winslow, Arizona, which, as it turned out wasn’t that fine of a sight to see, even Wyatt loosened up enough to reveal that his father had suffered a heart attack and was being kept alive through artificial means until all the family had a chance to gather. And to turn it into a juicy scandal, the heart attack had occurred while the revered judge was handcuffed to his mistress’s bed.
With their worst fears behind them, the trio talked non-stop of other things. Joking, teasing, bragging, and sharing topics about being an over-privileged son of a famous American family. About how that honor and privilege came with expectations and responsibilities most other teenagers could never imagine.
When they reached St. Louis, Dylan’s uncle had arranged for his nephew to travel on a military flight to New Jersey. Which was close enough for him to get a ride into New York City.
Despite his close relationship with his mother, Ryan moved in with his father, knowing even then that his dad would need his son the most. And he kept the car.
Wyatt’s mother had sent her housekeeper’s husband, Jonah, to drive Wyatt to Atlanta. They made it back in time for Wyatt to say his final good-bye to his father.
Three boys, each with differing temperaments and backgrounds, but each destined to be a billionaire in a few short years, had formed a friendship. An unbreakable bond.
A brotherhood.
Chapter One
Connecticut, present day
The sudden vibration of Kara Enderley’s cell against her desktop interrupted her concentration. Frowning, she clicked to save next week’s art review column before snatching up the phone. “Hello!”
“Hello yourself, Kara mia.” The deep, Southern drawl that haunted her dreams reached out to her like a caress f
rom two thousand miles away. “Is this a bad time?”
Wyatt freaking Maitland. Damn, she really should remember to check the caller display before answering, or get in the habit of letting more of her calls roll into voicemail.
Unwanted, unexpected memories crashed through her as her gaze shifted from the computer screen to the crooked smile and mischievous amber eyes in the framed photo on the shelf above her desk. One of the few mementos she’d saved from the spring they’d spent together three and a half years ago. The spring that had reassembled the fractured pieces of her life. Before she knew the truth about Wyatt freaking Maitland… and about his family.
Equal parts thrill and panic fluttered in the pit of her stomach—just as they always did when he called. “Hi, Wyatt! I’m in the middle of something. Can I call you back?”
“You’re always so busy, Kara.” His chiding tone pricked her guilty conscience. “Can’t you take a minute to talk to an old friend?”
An old friend? She pondered the phrase. They were friends, but not friends. Lovers, but not lovers.
Still, she owed him much more than a minute of her time.
“Of course.” Clutching the phone tightly, she prepared to follow the long-established rules of their long-distance relationship. Keep things light. Surface topics only. “Have you been to Atlanta to see your family lately? How are they?”
“Allie and Xander are both fine.” He followed the news about his sister and nephew with the inevitable pause. “Mother, too.”
Shivering, Kara envisioned the reigning Georgia Ice Queen at her chilling best. “That’s great. And how’re things at Southern Cal? Are you drowning in mid-terms?”
“I’m ass-deep in a stack of essays, waiting to be graded.”
Silence settled between them, stretching into awkwardness. After a glance at the clock, she stole a moment to listen to him breathe. Probably not much time before she really would have to go.
“What can I do for you?” She winced at the abrupt question.
“So much for small talk. I guess I’ll get right to it. I’d like to see you.”