Bedazzled (The Beguiling Bachelors Book 1)

by Madison Michael

  At 11 o’clock, she checked her phone one last time and dejectedly headed to bed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  At 9 Chapter, Wyatt finally headed to the city. Traffic was light and he was enjoying the Porsche engine revving under him at higher than legal speeds. He watched his mirrors carefully for police, but everyone around him was speeding, leaving him confident he would go unmolested blazing down the expressway.

  He needed the speed to help diffuse the anger pulsing through his blood. He had been simmering slowly, working to a full boil over the course of a very long day with his family. Right now he hated them, wondered how he would ever forgive them for their insular attitudes and snobbery. He could not believe they were his flesh and blood. He was actually embarrassed to be a Howe, ashamed of his parents, infuriated at Tyler, and confused about his future.

  His phone began playing Maroon 5’s “Moves Like Jagger” - Missy’s ringtone. She could not get enough of Adam Levine. Usually the song, Missy’s favorite, brought a smile to his face. She was his favorite sister after all, but he was even avoiding her now. She had already called three times without him picking up. Obviously, she was not giving up.

  Punching the hands-free button Wyatt barked, “Missy, just leave it. I am so done!”

  “Just shut up and listen,” Missy jumped in before Wyatt could hang up on her. “Okay, so they are snobs. You knew that already. Okay, so Dad doesn’t want you starting your own business. Seriously? Did you think he would jump at the opportunity to let you go?”

  Missy stopped to catch her breath. “And don’t you dare hang up on me, Wyatt.”

  “I’m here,” he was resigned to listening to her since she wouldn’t stop calling anyway. “I know you are right. It is what I should have expected, but I hoped for so much more. Even Regan didn’t help much, and you know she wants my job. She should be helping me.”

  “She did what she could, Ivy. She wants to stay in Dad’s good graces especially because she wants your job.”

  Wyatt eased his foot off the gas pedal a bit, taking a few cleansing breaths to overcome the adrenaline racing through his system.

  “It is a nightmare, Missy. You know it is. I could kill Tyler for showing up with his big mouth and setting things in motion. I may never forgive him.”

  “Stop, Wyatt. You are just going to get worked up again. Leave it. Sleep on it. Let Dad sleep on it and see how you feel in the morning. And stop speeding so you get home in one piece,” she finished.

  “I am not speeding…. much.” He could not help a small lift to his lips. “Love you, Missy.”

  “Love you, too.” Then she was gone, having done the job of calming him considerably so he could get home safely.

  Wyatt drove on autopilot, remembering the disastrous afternoon and evening. Usually family dinners were proper and polite, the food excellent, the house comfortable and spotless, and the family, while not exactly warm, were a known quantity. More over, the little ones running around added a lively distraction from too much business and money talk, or too much pressure to marry.

  This day had started the usual way. It was a lovely summer day perfect for a relaxing, scenic lakefront drive from downtown to Lake Forest. The views of the crowded beaches gave way to high rises but then the road started twisting, fun for driving in the Panamera and the homes grew stately, larger, better landscaped, and more exclusive. Finally, the twisting roads along the ravines cut into the hillier landscape of Chicago’s far northern suburbs. Here there were long gated drives, manicured lawns, and houses invisible behind shrubs precisely clipped.

  Wyatt loved this drive, leaving behind the hubbub of the city for the peacefulness of the remote suburb, the cool crisp air quality after the suffocating city heat. Since he had learned to drive, he had taken this route for pleasure or when he needed to think. He found it soothing somehow.

  Turning into the driveway of his childhood home, he proceeded down the curving drive to park beside the numerous luxury cars, grabbed the confections he always brought his mother from her favorite city bakery and took the steps two at time.

  Pulling open the screen to let himself in he hollered, “Does anyone care that the door is open and the a/c is on?” No one answered so he closed the door behind him and walked through the center hallway oblivious to the elegant décor he had known all his life. The house might look like a magazine spread, but to Wyatt it was just home. He moved past the refined living room on one side, the formal dining room on the other to enter a beehive of activity in the kitchen and family room.

  Wyatt kissed his mother, who stood perfectly coiffed, made up, and dressed in white linen as if they weren’t having a barbeque. She looked ready for a formal luncheon at the country club. Moving past her, he found Regan and Missy mixing drinks and putting chips in bowls, cheese and crackers on platters. Kissing cheeks and exchanging pleasantries, he stepped into the family room, shaking hands with his father and brother, neither of whom looked up from the baseball game.

  “Uncle Wyatt” came the squeal of young a voice just before a small body hurled itself into his arms. Wyatt happily accepted the sloppy kisses of the two year old before gently pushing her back outdoors.

  “Abigail, you are soaking wet!”

  “I swimming. You watch,” the chubby little girl commanded, pulling Wyatt by the arm to follow her outside. He accompanied his niece willingly, greeting his brother-in law and watching for a few minutes while the girl showed off her new aquatic skills, such as they were. The inflated water wings were clearly doing most of the work.

  “Outstanding. Don’t forget to breathe though,” he coached before turning to head back inside. Barely one foot in the door another small body ran to Wyatt, begging “pick me up, pick me up, Uncle Wyatt.”

  “You are getting so big, Alden,” he told his niece, lifting her high in the air before carefully returning her to her feet. She squealed with joy then ran out to join her brother in the pool. He could hear Stephen shouting “no running” then the splash of a little body entering the water and the muffled sound of the two children’s giggles.

  “A drink, my lord?” Missy handed him a scotch on the rocks in a beautiful cut crystal tumbler, mimicked a servant’s curtsy and pulled him to sit by her on the stately, cream sofa. “Your buddy Tyler called to say he is stopping by around 5,” she informed him, brows rising in question.

  “Really? Why?” Missy shrugged in answer, satisfied that Wyatt had not broken with tradition to invite his friend to dine on family night. It had always been a family-only event. The rare exception had been when Wyatt brought Sloane, something he had not done in months. “He’s staying for dinner?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Turning to the men, Wyatt again queried the status of the game. “Eighth inning. Cubs up by two” followed by silence until a commercial break. Then his father began an inquisition on all the meetings held that week, deals made, not made, how construction progressed at this site or that.

  “Enough shop, Wyatt. It’s Sunday,” His mother scolded her husband. “Ivy hardly ever gets here these days and you can talk shop at the office. He is mine for now.” She sat close to him after this proclamation, taking his hand in hers.

  “Tell me how you are dear,” she began politely, but Wyatt knew an inquisition was coming. “What is happening with you? Did you invite Sloane to join us? There is plenty of food, if you want to call her.”

  “Actually, I am not seeing Sloane, but you already knew that Mother. I am actually seeing someone new.”

  The room went silent, the game suddenly forgotten as everyone turned to Wyatt. He had their complete attention, whether he wanted it or not.

  “Her name is Keeli Larsen. She is a jewelry designer.”

  “Really, dear, “ his mother drawled “An artist? How charming. Who are her parents? Do we know them? Wyatt,” she queried her husband, “do we know any Larsens?”

  Trying to save her favorite brother, Missy jumped into the fray. “Oh, she is a lovely girl, an
d you would love her jewelry, Mother. You and Regan would want to buy everything.”

  “She is from downstate, Mother. I do not think you would know her parents. They own a farm.”

  “Farmers?” His mother was almost shrieking, “A commercial farm? How many acres? Is it very large?” She emphasized the word “large” very strategically.

  “I don’t think so, Mother. A family farm.”

  During this exchange, Tyler had arrived, helped himself to a drink and – however unwelcome - joined the conversation.

  “Oh, Mrs. Howe, nothing to worry about. Trust me. This is not serious. I met her. Pretty, actually,” he conceded, “but certainly not relationship material. Maybe you saw her?” he looked at all of them as he continued, “She was our waitress at the Howe Museum dinner.”

  “A waitress?” his mother queried in a deadly calm voice that the family knew was the precursor to all hell breaking loose. Wyatt sent Tyler a scathing look. Tyler did not even have the courtesy to pretend to be abashed. He knew exactly what he had done.

  “Yes, she is a waitress. Part time. Her roommate owns the catering company and she helps out from time to time.” Not the complete truth, but not a complete lie either, and Wyatt hoped to kill the uproar resulting from the waitress remark.

  Not so lucky.

  “Her roommate is male?” Regan was asking.

  “He’s gay.”

  “This just gets better and better,” his brother chuckled from the corner, one eye still on the game.

  “Where on earth did you meet this waitress, and how long has this been going on?” His father’s voice was imperious.

  “Artist, Father. I met her at an art show. Actually, I met her when she worked for a jeweler in our office building, but rekindled the relationship several months ago at an art fair. Missy was with me, buying jewelry.”

  “Oh yes, that ring you like so much, Regan, it is one of hers.” Missy chimed in and Regan agreed, “I love that ring.”

  But Tyler was not done fueling this fire.

  “You would have laughed to see her at our hockey game last week. She just couldn’t fit in with the group. No education, no conversation, but she is attractive. I can see why Ivy might find her fun for a bit.”

  “She is educated, Tyler. And charming, Mother. And she runs her own business, Father. You would like her very much if you got to know her.” Wyatt heard the defensiveness in his response but could not find a way to regain control of this conversation.

  “I found her delightful. I met her at the Gold Coast Art Fair. And we had lunch last week too,” Missy offered.

  “You had lunch with her?” Wyatt’s head nearly swiveled off his neck turning to look at Missy after that remark but her face gave nothing away.

  Why was Missy meeting with Keeli, and why the hell didn’t either of them tell me about it?

  “Ivy, you wouldn’t really get serious with an artist, would you? I mean, could you take her to client dinners? What kind of hostess would she be?” His mother had always been the perfect partner for his father at that type of event; of course she would worry about that now.

  “That won’t be an issue with the new business,” Tyler piped up. “Geeks have different standards.” Six sets of eyes bored into Wyatt.

  “Explain please,” his father demanded in a frosty voice.

  “Tyler, what exactly are you doing here?” Wyatt had commandeered his father’s cold demeanor and clipped tones causing Tyler to jump quickly to his feet and head toward the door.

  “Actually, I am not sure why I stopped by. I never meant to interrupt family dinner. Forgive me.” He was out the door with one longing look at Regan as he went.

  “Son. I want to speak to you in my study right now.” Wyatt’s father ordered as soon as he saw Tyler’s back.

  Knowing that his father would not be sidetracked, Wyatt reluctantly followed his father’s slower gait to the wood paneled room. Always one of Wyatt’s favorite places in the large house, the study had the smell of books and paper. It was dark and cool on this summer afternoon, serene inside with an open view across the manicured lawn. Wyatt caught a glimpse of orange lilies, blue hydrangea and roses artfully placed to look random before taking a seat in front of the imposing desk.

  “Sir,” Wyatt began. “You know I am committed to the success of Lyons Howe. I have been there for you and the company since I finished school. I helped to grow the commercial business and expand our reach beyond the Midwest. I believe you have no complaints about my work.” Wyatt tried to set the tone before his father could take control. He had never intended to talk about both Keeli and his new company in the same night. He understood he now had an uphill climb to earn his father’s support.

  “No, son, I have no complaints - at least not until now. Just spit it out. What the devil’s going on?”

  “Father, I have a great opportunity to start my own tech company and I want to take it. I have venture capital firms asking to meet with me. They are pursuing me. I believe I will have the necessary funding within a few months. I want to develop real estate software. It would benefit Lyons Howe but it would be my dream. We would still work together, just in a new manner.”

  Wyatt stopped to catch his breath. At first, his father responded with stony silence, not a good sign.

  “You are part of this family, the next in line to run this business and you want to pursue some dream of yours?” His father’s face was blazing with fury. “Do you know what I am handing you? Are you that ungrateful? First some down-on-her-luck artist, now a tech company?”

  “Leave Keeli out of this,” Wyatt suppressed his anger. “These are two completely separate issues.”

  “No, Ivy, they are not. They are both examples of your reluctance to accept your responsibility to this family. You are 34 years old, you should be anxious to assume control of Lyons Howe. You should have an acceptable wife and family. You should be a responsible member of this family and this community instead of a constant disappointment to your mother and myself.”

  “A constant disappointment? Is that what I am?” Wyatt was out of his chair and pacing like a panther, voice rising with each circle of the room. “This is not what you have said in the past. If I am so awful, give Regan the damn business. You know she wants it. Please Father, just set me free.”

  “Free! Free! You ungrateful miscreant. Regan is a girl for god’s sake. She will not run Lyons Howe. It goes to the first-born son. It has always belonged to the first-born son.”

  “Then give it to Ethan.”

  “Ethan is still wet behind the ears, damn it. It goes to you, you have known that since infancy.”

  “Father, this is the twenty-first century. There are women running far bigger corporations than ours. They run countries. You need to rethink letting Regan run things. I love software. You love real estate. Just let me try this, please.”

  Wyatt had promised himself he would not beg or cajole, but he could hear the whining creeping into his voice. He was the little boy seeking daddy’s approval. Wyatt tried to regain control of the conversation. “Father, I am concerned about your heart. Please can we just discuss this calmly and rationally - man to man?”

  “You are not behaving like a man. You are not behaving like my son. You are behaving like a spoiled brat. Are you prepared to give up everything? If you are not vice president of Lyons Howe, you will have nothing, no salary, and no benefits. Are you prepared to give them up? Are you prepared to support yourself? And just how long do you think it will take your little artist to run once she knows you are poor?”

  “Poor? C’mon Father, who are we kidding. I have enough investments of my own to last a lifetime. Also, I do not intend to allow my software company to fail. This is a win-win, Father. I want to create real estate selling and valuation apps that Lyons Howe will want to buy. There is real synergy here. Please cut me loose and then partner with me.”

  “This will kill your mother.” Wyatt’s father predicted, his voice low and ominous. “I am sure your g
randfather is spinning in his grave right now. I am ashamed to call you my son. Get out of my sight.”

  Wyatt slammed the cut-glass tumbler he had been holding in a death grip to the cherry table and stormed from the room. Moving past everyone he headed for the front door in a fury. Missy hollered his name and came running from the kitchen. Clearly, she had been watching for him to emerge from the study.

  “Ivy, wait. Mother will kill you if you leave now.”

  “Yeah, well Father will kill me if I stay. So what do I do now?”

  “Get another drink and calm down. Then go find Mother and she will smooth things over. You cannot leave before dinner. It is just not done.”

  Wyatt knew she was right. No one walked out on his mother’s dinners, ever. She might behave like a fragile flower but she ruled the family with an iron fist. Wyatt III might have the booming voice and tall presence, but his slender wife had him wrapped around her little finger. If she wanted her son at the dinner table, he would be at the dinner table.

  Taking Missy’s advice, Wyatt grabbed a fresh drink and Regan’s hand, dragging her out the front door and away from prying ears to let her know that he had just asked to leave the family business. Once over her shock, she was thrilled at the idea of leading Lyons Howe. They discussed the steps needed for a smooth transition and Regan was quickly excited about bringing some of Wyatt’s new applications into what would be her business. Wyatt carefully avoided telling her what their father had said about her running Lyons Howe.

  “I can see how this can modernize our sales approach dramatically,” she was bouncing on her toes with excitement. “It would give us an amazing competitive advantage. You, big brother, just may be a genius. How soon can we have prototypes?”

  “Well, Madame President, first get your father off my back, let me complete my deal with the venture capital team, and then maybe three months after that you can have alpha code. Work for you?”