by Caro LaFever
And still loved him.
I thought you were special.
The gnarled hand on his leg tightened. Her words were low and meant for only him, but they seemed to ring in his ears like a call to arms. “Eres especial, mi nieto. No es problema.”
I love you too, Jiggs. I love your owner even more.
Something billowed behind the old rage. Something strong and pure and impossible to deny.
“Tell me you went and got that knee attended to.” Drew glanced at him as he passed a plate filled with roast, potatoes, and carrots to his wife. “I can only hope.”
I hoped you’d share. Except there’s nothing to share, is there?
“I don’t need a job.” His words thundered into the room like a whirlwind.
Dead silence fell.
Jorge’s expression turned grim. “Don’t sass at the dinner table, Enrique. You know better.”
The temper he’d struggled with for his entire life twisted around his disgust at himself. Not for all the bad things he did as a kid, or the mistakes he’d made learning to be a Marine. Rather, the disgust came from disappointing the woman who’d sauntered into his life with a pretty smile and a rounded chin and made him realize.
You’re a coward, Enrique de Molina.
“Don’t worry.” His mimi came up from behind him and patted him on his shoulder. “You’ll find something soon.”
His grandmother made soothing noises beside him.
“I don’t have a job because I have my own business.”
At the head of the table, his father frowned. “What is this? Why haven’t you told us?”
“When did this happen, Riq?” Drew smirked his disbelief. “This morning, before you came for dinner?”
Angelica and Doris snickered. His nephews glanced from adult to adult, their eyes wide. Perhaps, unlike the adults in the room, they sensed the fury forming in their youngest uncle’s gut.
For a second, he pulled back. What did it matter if his family knew of his success or not? His father and mother were settled, with no debts to speak of. His brothers were both wealthy. What did he care if they didn’t know he could buy and sell everyone here a thousand times over?
Coward.
It mattered. Finally, after years in a self-imposed exile, it mattered.
“I have billions of dollars in the bank.” Again, his words boomed into the room, although he kept his voice calm.
“My goodness,” his mimi gasped from behind him.
“What did you do to get that kind of money?” his popi exclaimed, a look of horror crossing his face.
His two brothers stared at him. Their wives as well.
Then, Jorge chortled. “Sure you do, Enrique.”
“Tell us another one.” Drew snorted.
“I knew it all along.” Yaya Tibby’s claim rose in the air like a choir of angels singing praises. “I never had a doubt that mi nieto was a smart man, deserving of success.”
His brothers merely laughed out loud.
You won’t even let yourself dream.
After he lost his SEALs career, he hadn’t dreamed. He knew that. Going through the motions, rarely getting excited about anything—whether it was a woman or an investment—had been the easy way. The safe way. He’d also known this would be the reaction if he did announce his success. His family loved him, even his brothers. But they didn’t believe in him.
At least, none of them other than his grandmother.
“Show them,” she said from his side, her demand echoing another female’s call.
A call to dream. A call to break free of his wretched depression and self-disgust. Taking in a breath, Riq dived into the fray again. He whipped out his phone and dialed Charlie.
“Yo, big man.” His friend came on the line with a cheerful greeting. “What’s up?”
“Hold on.” He looked at Jorge. “Ever heard of Charles Woodstone?”
His brother was well-connected both politically and legally. Since Charlie schmoozed with every bigwig in the Miami area and liked to be seen, it wasn’t hard to imagine that his attorney sibling would know of the prominent investor.
“Sure,” Jorge drawled. “I’m just surprised you know of him.”
“Charlie.”
At his clipped word, his oldest brother straightened in his chair.
“Yeah, dude?”
“I want you to have a chat with my brother.”
“Really?” His friend’s voice went from lazy to fascinated. “Would that be the venerable Jorge de Molina who you won’t talk about?”
“That would be the one.” Riq kept his gaze on his dazed brother’s face. “Tell him my net worth and tell him where he can confirm it online. And tell him what I do for a living.”
“Whoa.” Charlie knew about his keeping his wealth secret from his family and everyone else that mattered. He’d accepted the lame excuse offered and only laughed when confronted by hanger-ons who wanted more information about one Enrique de Molina. “Are you sure, man?”
“I’m sure. It’s time.”
“Time, huh?” His friend’s voice grew sly. “Anything to do with a pretty blonde who you couldn’t keep your eyes off of?”
“Maybe.” Definitely. But first he had to come out of hiding with his family before he could ever confront the mess he’d made out of his relationship with Risa. “I’m handing the phone over now.”
His family dutifully passed the phone around the table, holding it as if the thing was a grenade. Jorge stared at it for a moment and then, lifted it to his ear. “Hello?”
On this side of the conversation, there was barely a word spoken. Clearly, Charlie was giving his oldest brother an earful. His yaya patted his leg, and he turned to stare at her. For the first time in his life, she gave him a full-out grin.
“He wants to talk to you again,” Jorge said, handing the phone back to Doris. “He has something you need to know, he says.”
Riq didn’t much care what tidbit of investor knowledge his friend wanted to pass on. What mattered was the look in his brother’s eyes. That look told him Jorge believed what he’d heard. That look told him the entire family dynamic was going to change. And he was ready for it. Ready to take on the new role of being a solid citizen worthy of respect. Ready to discard the mantle of bad boy he’d worn for years and years.
“Yeah, Charlie—” he kept his focus on his gaping family “—what’s up?”
“Speaking of that blonde bombshell of yours—”
“Not mine,” he muttered. “At least, not yet.”
“Ah.” His friend stalled, a long breath echoing down the line. “Then maybe you don’t want to know what she’s been doing.”
He straightened in his chair. “What do you mean?”
“So you do want to know. Thought so.”
“Tell me.”
Tell me you have a job. Tell me you went to the VA.
Tell me. Tell me.
Tell me to back off instead of lying.
All the tell mes rang in his ears. All the demands to come clean, confess, clear up the confusion. But the only one that mattered to him was Risa’s charge—the one where he’d finally understood what kind of woman she was. The kind of woman a man could depend on and love and care about for the rest of his life.
“She’s doing some nosing around these last few days,” Charlie barged into his thoughts. “I’ve talked to several investors who’ve seen her business plan and it’s a good one.”
Riq grunted.
It was a good one. They’d put it together one piece at a time, and it combined his savvy with her passion. That was the best kind of plan.
“In fact, one of my investor pals told me it read like you had your fingers all over it.”
He grunted again.
His family began to emerge from the fog of incredulity. Rio giggled when his brother poked him in his side, and his mimi scolded his popi about dripping the gravy onto the table.
“Nothing to say?” Charlie kept going. “Anything to say wh
en I tell you the Bartlo brothers are circling around her and her business plan, sniffing away?”
The Bartlo brothers were scum-sucking bottom feeders that preyed on naïve owners who only wanted a chance at success.
He went taut. “Coño.”
“Figured you’d have something to say about that.”
“Mi neito,” his yaya tutted at his side. “No cursing.”
“They better stay away from her,” he growled into his phone.
“Her?” His mimi’s ears perked up and her expression turned avid.
“Yep, but you know me,” Charlie continued. “Not interested in a barroom brawl. And knowing the Bartlos, that’s the only way they’re going to be driven off from the pretty blonde and her perfume company.”
“Coño,” he said again.
His grandmother sighed by his side.
“Anyway, I’ve imparted enough information.” His friend’s voice turned sly once more. “Guess I’ll be watching a knight in shining armour riding to the fair lady’s rescue.”
He was no knight. And the only armour he had he’d just broken free of. Still, he knew Maurice Migneault well enough to know there wouldn’t be rescue from that corner. Hell, the man would probably eagerly take the Bartlo gambit. His princesa might be intelligent and brave, but he knew she was desperate. So there was only one thing to do.
Ride his broken-ass, tattooed body to the rescue. “Thanks, Charlie. I owe you one.”
“I’ll collect.” His friend coughed. “Speaking of which…”
“Yeah?” His mind buzzed with the things he needed to put in place to save Risa, yet something in Charlie’s tone caught his interest. “You need help?”
“Nah. Just wanted to let you know I’m going out of town.”
Riq frowned in confusion. Neither he nor Woodstone checked in with the other like they were each other’s nursemaids. “So?”
Charlie chuckled. “Yeah. So. I’ll talk to you when I get back.”
“Back from where?” He wanted this conversation over so he could start rescuing, but something kept nagging him.”
“I’ve inherited some kids.”
He straightened in his chair. “What the fuck?”
“Cursing again,” his grandmother complained at his side. “I can’t eat with these words flying around.”
“Sorry, Yaya. I’ll be better.” Patting her hand, he focused on the conversation. “What are you talking about, Woodstone?”
“Kids. Plural.” The man’s voice was dry as dust. “Nothing you need to worry about, however. I’ll talk to you later.”
The connection was abruptly cut, leaving Riq befuddled and amused at the same time. Clicking off his phone, he looked up to see both of his older brothers staring at him. “What?”
“Need some help, Riq?” Drew said, his mouth pinched but his gaze steady.
“Sounds like you’ve got a woman and she’s in trouble,” Jorge added, his expression serious and concerned. “You need us, hermanito?”
A long-lost memory swam into his brain. When he’d been little, these two boys had seemed like gods to him. And they’d treated him with kindness, treated him as if he was their buddy. It wasn’t until they’d left for college and he’d turned into an angry, surly teenager that they’d been driven away.
Jesús.
Driven away.
“Yeah,” he said, his heart swelling. “I might need your help, after all.”
…Impossible things are happening every day.
The Fairy Godmother
Chapter 35
Risa strode into Migneault Perfumery’s boardroom, her heart in her throat, her courage in her toes, her plan in the leather satchel she clung to. For a second, she wished, wished, wished Riq were here by her side, holding her hand, lending his investor chops to the coming confrontation. But he wasn’t, and wishes didn’t make dreams come true.
At least she had the one piece of him she had left along with her.
She knew it was silly to have stuck the sandal in her tote, as well as the notes they’d worked on together and the UBS flash drive containing her presentation. However, it was all she had of him, and she needed a tiny memory of him along with her as she stepped into the biggest moment of her life.
Sucking in a breath, she met her father’s expression of amusement with a gimlet eye.
“Maurisa,” he said from the head of the table, surrounded by their top department heads and a smatter of important stockholders. “This really isn’t—”
“It is, it really is.” She walked to the other side of the table and set down her laptop.
Her daddy didn’t reply. She’d done an end run around him, much to her despair. But instead of being upset, he’d merely been tickled by her determination. He still thought this was all a lark of hers, a little dabble into the business world that wouldn’t amount to anything.
Her daddy was wrong.
“She’s a fighter, Candice,” he’d said at the dinner table last night. “Have to give her that.”
If Risa had her way, he’d have to give her control of the company by the end of this meeting. It was the only way Migneault Perfumery was going to survive. Not all the stockholders knew what dire straits the company was in, but by the look on the face of their department heads, word had permeated to the staff that they had only days to stay open.
Yet, she had a plan. More than the business plan she and Riq had worked on during her time on his island. Now, with Grandma Olsen’s help, and a smattering of advice from other investors she’d contacted, she had a plan with clout.
She was the only hope.
The first slide of her presentation brightened the screen hanging over her daddy’s head.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispered under her breath so no one could hear. Then, she smiled at one and all, and started her pitch.
By the end of her slideshow, her daddy had slouched into his chair, completely dazed.
“Can you show us your financials again, Ms. Migneault?” the CFO said, his expression concentrated and alert.
She dutifully went through the slides once more.
“Could you discuss the combination of old and new?” The advertising director flipped through the presentation packets she’d prepared. “What did you call it? Natural with nostalgia?”
“Yes, that will be the overall brand name.” Risa explained the factory updates that would be needed.
Several of the old-time stockholders leaned forward, intense interest on their faces.
And that’s when she knew she’d done it. She’d convinced them. She’d gone around her daddy and done something he didn’t think she could do. Because of that, she’d saved the company. A blast of pride, a kind of pride she’d never felt, tore through her. In her previous life, she’d been proud of her looks, proud of her personality, proud of her ability to charm.
But for the first time in her life, she felt pride in accomplishing something major and important. Almost impossible.
She’d convinced a roomful of people that she was more than a pretty face.
Far more.
Glancing at her father, her heart sank at his expression. It wasn’t pride for her on his face, nor relief that he no longer had to wrestle with a company he had no aptitude to run. The realization turned her gut, but she kept going. Maybe over time, as he saw the Migneault Perfumery come to life again, and as he eased into a retirement filled with fishing and laughing with friends, he’d come to appreciate what she’d done.
She had no other choice.
The roar of a motorcycle drifted up from the courtyard below. No one seemed to notice except her. But she’d put aside any dreams about sexy men on steel steeds. This was her future.
She only had her company to focus on.
Ivan Terriblier rose from his seat near her father, his gaze sharp, his mouth firm.
A shiver of trepidation went through her.
Then, he spoke. “I am impressed, Ms. Migneault. You have clearly put a lot of time and thought in
to this proposal.”
“Yes, yes I have.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound like a squeaky baby’s, yet the look on the Nose’s face couldn’t be anything other than respect. That fact stunned her and made it hard to breathe.
“If you would let us consult with each other for a few minutes, we can then let you know our decision,” he said, something moving in his eyes.
The something told her it was mere formality, but he’d been her father’s friend for years, and she appreciated his finessing of the situation. “Absolutely. I’ll be right outside.”
Grabbing her satchel, she paced to the door and opened it, stepping out into the small foyer leading into the main offices.
“Hello, Princesa.”
She whipped around to stare in astonishment.
Enrique de Molina lounged on the far wall, dressed in old jeans and his usual T-shirt. Another pair of his Versace flip-flops were on his feet, reminding her of the one she still hid in her bag. He looked impossibly good and amazingly inaccessible.
He had a scowl on his face.
“What are you doing here?” She straightened her spine, adopting the same suspicious attitude she had at the beginning of their relationship.
Their failed relationship.
“I want you to tell me what’s going on in there.”
“What?” She gaped in shock and bewilderment. “Why should you care?”
“You used my business plan to make your pitch, didn’t you?” He kept the lounging position, but by the tense line of his shoulders, she could tell it was a fake stance. “Then, I care.”
“Our plan,” she snapped. “We did it together.”
“Yeah. We did, didn’t we?” His misty blue eyes narrowed into lasers. “So tell me who’s in there with you, trying to steal your father’s company from right under your nose.”
Outrage raced through her. Flinging her satchel to the floor, she planted her hands on her hips. “No one is stealing my daddy’s company from under him. I’m saving it.”
With a snarl, he strode to stand right in front of her. “Not with the Bartlo brothers. Not on my watch.”