Billionaire's Vegas Night: A Standalone Novel (A Billionaire Boss Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #4)

by Claire Adams

  "Ease up on the sainthood bullshit, Norma," Burt scoffed as he and Kevin offered us a shot from their flasks. "He was a good guy, but he could also be a real bastard."

  "Don’t piss on my leg, and tell me it’s raining, Burt," Norma warned, wiping her eyes. "He was a man who sunk everything he had into the business to make it run successfully."

  "And those are the guys who are usually running from something at home," Kevin said before drinking deeply. "I would know."

  "He was always kind to me," I said, looking back and forth between the two men. "I'm not sure what you guys are talking about."

  "Look, he was a good man," Burt sighed. "He worked hard and ran a successful company, but those sons of his are two of the biggest pains in the ass I've ever met. I don't think they raised themselves, if you know what I mean."

  "Kiss my ass and go-to-hell!” Norma gasped. "Those boys have done incredibly well for themselves! The oldest one is a lawyer, and the younger one made a fortune in computers. I'd call that successful."

  "Yeah, but they both hated their old man," Kevin said grimly. "I'm not sure how you missed the forced smiles and the hateful looks. Besides, Mrs. Yates had to reprimand them both in order to get them to shake hands with the folks coming to the wake. Did you miss all of this, Norma?"

  "It's the grief," Norma insisted. "They're just sad that their father died."

  "More like they're both waiting to celebrate," Burt muttered. "He was a good businessman, but a lousy human being. That's all there was to it, Norma."

  "Don't y’all speak ill of the dead," Norma said, narrowing her eyes and giving both men a cold stare. They shrugged their shoulders and slunk off to join the other guys from the warehouse at the back of the room.

  As I watched them go, I noticed that Jack Yates had moved to the back of the room as well and was talking with a tall, elegant, blonde woman. She stood close to him as she talked, and it was obvious that she was telling him something of great importance. When he looked away, she reached up and grabbed his chin, turning his face back toward her.

  He caught me staring at them for a split second before I resumed my conversation with Norma. Part of me remained focused on Jack Yates, and I wondered who the woman was and what was so urgent that she had to corner him at his father's wake.

  "So, what do you think, Leah?" Norma asked.

  "Huh? About what?" I asked, shaking my head and trying to focus on what the woman was asking me.

  "Who do you think is going to run the company now that Mr. Yates is dead?" she asked impatiently. "What's going to happen to Baby Steps?"

  "I'm sure there is something in place that will take care of it, Norma," I said, trying not to let her worry work its way into my brain.

  "I've been working for this company for 20 years, and I've seen everything there was to see. But I've never seen the paperwork for who would be in charge if Mr. Yates died," Norma whispered to me. "I'm wondering if it's going to be his younger son."

  "You're kidding, right?" I said. I turned my attention toward Jack Yates and observed a tall, broad shouldered man who was dressed completely inappropriately for his own father's funeral and who was passionately discussing something with the tall, blonde woman in the designer dress. Jack Yates appeared to be the exact opposite of everything his father stood for. "There is no way they are turning the company over to that man."

  "Who else is going to run it?" Norma asked. "I mean, his other son is a high-powered attorney at Bank of Manhattan. He's not going to drop his clients to run the company. And his wife isn't someone who knows how to run a company. Who else are they going to get?"

  "There's no way they're going to turn over the company to Jack Yates," I said shaking my head.

  "You wanna bet on it?" Norma said with a twinkle in her eye as she held out her hand to shake. I looked at her then down at her hand before looking back over at Jack Yates who was now downing a bottle of beer that someone had handed him. He had one arm around the woman, and he was eyeing her the way I'd seen the men at our local pub eye me after one too many drinks. I looked at Norma grinning and grabbed her hand.

  "It's a bet," I said shaking firmly. "What are we betting?"

  "If I win, you take me to dinner, hon," Norma said.

  "What the hell kind of bet is that?" I demanded. "If you’re right, you win, and if you’re wrong, there’s no consequence!"

  "He’s already made his interest in you pretty clear, so if I’m wrong and he doesn’t take over, I’ll find a way to fix you two up,” she grinned. "I might just do it anyway. You’re not a spring chicken, you know, darlin’.”

  "Norma!" I protested. "I resent being treated like chattel."

  "Oh honey, don’t go getting your knickers in a knot," Norma nodded. "I'll keep you posted on the progress in the executive suite."

  "Norma, you’re a piece of work," I said shaking my head.

  "Nah, darlin’, I’m just a woman with a mission," Norma said as she drank from her flask and watched the rest of the mourners pass by Mr. Yates's casket. "I think I need to get home."

  I said goodbye to Norma, and she went outside to find a cab.

  *

  A little while later, I stepped away from my coworkers to get some fresh air and try to keep my swirling emotions at bay. I felt a deep sadness about losing Bernard, but I also felt conflicted about my mother. For a moment, I thought about how all of this would have been different if my mother had died instead.

  "Everything would be fine if it was Mama instead," I muttered as I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to put that horrible thought out of my mind.

  "What’s that?" a deep voice asked breaking into my private moment.

  "What?" I said as I whipped around to see who was talking to me. I found Jack Yates standing a foot away, grinning.

  "I said, ‘What’s that?’" he repeated as he stepped slightly closer, closing the gap between us. I could smell his deep, musky cologne that was decidedly masculine and incredibly intoxicating. Jack Yates was well over six-feet tall and had a head full of curly dark hair that looked like it would be heaven to run my fingers through. His dark-brown eyes were warm, but had a hint of danger that made my pulse race as I looked into them. But it was his full mouth that caught my attention and left me slightly dazed. His bottom lip begged to be nipped at, and I shook my head as I looked away to keep myself from imagining what I’d do if I were alone with the man. He was wearing a dark suit with a blue dress shirt that looked like it hadn’t seen an iron in quite a while and, unlike the rest of the men at the wake, he’d skipped the tie and left the neck of his shirt open. I could see his broad, smooth chest begin to . . .

  "Oh, I was just working out some frustrations," I said shaking my head and stepping backward as I tried to widen the space between me and the handsome son of my late boss.

  "I know of a better way to work off frustrations," he said with a sly grin as he, again, attempted to close the gap between us.

  "Did you really just say that?" I asked as I put my hands on my hips and squinted up at him. The sun was high in the sky, but Jack was so tall that he blocked it, leaving a halo of bright light shining around the outer edges of his skull. The idea that he could be wearing a halo struck me as immensely funny, and I burst out laughing.

  "What? What did I say that was so funny?" he asked, obviously annoyed, but also interested.

  "Your father, my boss, is inside in a casket, and you're making a pass at me out here in the parking lot?" I said bluntly. "That seems like something that would be more suited for a wedding or a formal dinner, not a wake."

  "Can't blame me for trying, can you?" he grinned as he, again, stepped closer and reached out to run a finger down the side of my arm. The feeling of his skin pressed against mine gave me a jolt. I stepped backwards and tripped on a concrete barrier placed around the nearby flowerbed. Before I knew what had happened, Jack reached out and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me tightly against his body to prevent me from tumbling into the dirt.

&n
bsp; I looked up into his brown eyes as I felt the strength of his arm holding me against his firm body. I gasped as he lowered his head and quickly brushed his lips across mine before setting me securely on my feet and backing away. I stared at him with wide eyes, unsure whether to slap him or grab the front of his shirt and drag him back toward me so that I could kiss him again, this time harder.

  "That's what I thought," he grinned as he turned and headed back inside without another word.

  I stood there, staring at the empty space, wondering if I'd imagined it all or if Jack Yates had actually kissed me. If so, what I was going to do about it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jack

  I'd walked away from the moment with Leah Walsh wondering why she hadn't given in to my seduction. Granted she was not the usual type of woman I pursued, but there was something incredibly sexy about the way she stood up to me and laughed at my lame pickup line when most women would have swooned. I liked her honesty and the way she'd felt, pressed against my chest. But I also knew that she worked for my father's company, and that our little encounter would be limited to the flirtation at my father's wake. I was disappointed, but I told myself that there would be others. There always were.

  After the wake, Jimmy drove my mother and me back to the house in Brooklyn. We both spent the drive staring out opposite windows. Fighting back tears, my mother sighed and reached out to take my hand while I simply watched the familiar landscape pass by. I wondered how much longer I'd have to endure this hell.

  "I've got your room ready for you," my mother said as she unlocked the door and turned on the entry lights. My brother and his wife pulled up in the driveway several minutes later, and I could hear them open the door and send their two small children running toward the kitchen.

  "Grandma! Grandma!" the small boy shouted as he threw his arms around my mother's waist and hugged her tightly.

  "Well, now who is this?" my mother said smiling down at him as she patted his head. "I don't think I remember you. You've gotten so tall!"

  "Grandma, it's me! Joey!" the boy laughed loudly as he hugged her tighter.

  "Ah yes, Joey. I believe I remember you," she grinned as she bent down and kissed the top of his head.

  "Who is that?" Joey asked pointing at me.

  "That's your Uncle Jack," Lincoln's wife, Jessie, said as she bent and picked up the little girl who'd been lost in the action and was now crying. Jessie smoothed the child's hair and soothed her saying, "Don't cry, Mimi. Uncle Jack is Daddy's brother. See? He looks like Daddy!"

  "Hello," I said holding out a hand to Joey. "It's nice to meet you."

  "You're tall," Joey said, staring up at me and completely ignoring my hand. "How did you get to be so tall?"

  "Dunno, I grew, I guess," I said looking down at him. "How did you get to be so short?"

  "It's because I haven't finished growing yet!" Joey shouted. "I'm not done growing! I need more nutrients!"

  "Where did he pick that up?" I asked my mother. "Kind of precocious."

  "Stop it, Jack," she said. "Joey goes to a Montessori School. They teach them advanced concepts according to their own learning styles."

  "Wow, guess we missed out on a few things, eh Linc?" I said, looking over at my brother who practically looked murderous.

  "Can it, Jack," he said, "Hey, Joey, I bet Grandma has some cookies out in the dining room for you. Want to go check?"

  "May I have a glass of milk to go with them?" Joey asked.

  "What's the magic word, Joey?" his mother said in a sing-song voice, making me want to vomit. The whole family routine was already getting on my nerves, and this little act was the last straw.

  "Cookie!" Joey bellowed in a voice that sounded like it was designed to shake the foundation of the house.

  "No, that's definitely not the magic word," Lincoln said. "Try it again."

  "Linc, ease up," Jessie said, shooting him an irritated look. "He's 4."

  "Never too early to learn proper manners," Lincoln shot back in an equally irritated tone.

  "Come with me, Joey," my mother said, taking the child's hand. "I'll take care of the cookies and the milk."

  "Thank you, Gamma," Joey said with solemn sincerity. My mother leaned down and hugged him tightly before leading him into the dining room.

  "Long time no see, Jack," Jessie said as she held her daughter and smoothed her hair. The child had stopped crying and was staring up at me with wide, blue eyes rimmed in red. "How have you been?"

  "Not bad, Jessie," I said. "Not bad at all. But then again, being away from this place often does a person good."

  "Dammit, Jack," Lincoln said throwing his hands up in the air in premature defeat. "Can't you ever just let it go? I mean, seriously. Our father hasn't been dead two days, and you're already digging at old wounds."

  "Who says they're old, brother dear?" I tossed back at him as I opened the cupboards, searching for a bottle of something that could take the edge off.

  "It's out in the living room," Lincoln said pointing toward the drink cart my mother had set up in anticipation of guests. I walked to it and poured myself a healthy glass of scotch as Lincoln muttered, "Can't do anything in this family without drinking."

  "And why, exactly, do you think that is?" I asked as I raised the glass to my lips and drank deeply. I had no desire to get into this mess with my brother, but if he was going to drag me into it, I wasn't going to fight him too hard.

  "You haven't been home in almost a decade, and you're the one who is complaining?" Lincoln hissed as he poured himself a drink, following my lead. "You escaped. You're the lucky one. Why are you so resentful?"

  "Why am I resentful?" I hissed as I moved closer to him so that my mother wouldn't hear us. "You've got to be fucking kidding me, right?"

  "No, I don't get it," Lincoln muttered. "You got out and never looked back. I had to stay here with him. I got trapped in this hell hole, and now you come back acting all victimized by a situation you left almost a decade ago?"

  I opened my mouth to argue with him, but my mother intervened before I could say any more. The look on her face told me that she wasn't going to allow this discussion to take place in front of the children.

  "Do you boys want some of these cookies and a glass of milk," my mother asked. There was a sternness to her voice, and I knew better than to challenge her.

  "I'd love some," Lincoln said, looking over at Joey who sat coloring on one of the big sheets of butcher paper that my mother kept stocked just for his visits. "I'm sure Uncle Jack would love some, too. Right?"

  "Can't think of anything I'd like more," I said with a fake bright smile. My mother gave us both a warning look and then went into the kitchen to pour the milk.

  "After the funeral, we'll meet with the lawyer and settle this," Lincoln said.

  "And once that's over, I'm out of here for good," I said. "I want nothing more to do with the mess that man created."

  "So, you're going to leave us behind again?" Lincoln said. His face showed anger, but his eyes were deep wells of pain. "Great. Just fucking great."

  "Gamma! Daddy said a bad word!" Joey yelled.

  "I'm sure your daddy didn't mean to say a bad word, did he?" my mother said as she carried a tray of full milk glasses into the dining room and set it on the table. "Did he?"

  "No, Mother, I certainly did not," Lincoln said bowing his head slightly. I caught Jessie's disapproving look out of the corner of my eye and knew that there was something else going on.

  Lincoln took a glass of milk and one of the cookies my mother offered, and shot me a look that let me know this was far from over.

  *

  After Lincoln and Jessie and the kids finally left, I said goodnight to my mother and went up to the room she'd assigned me. It had once been the room that Lincoln and I shared, but after we'd gone to college and moved out, my mother had renovated and turned it into a permanent guest room.

  I hated the room. It reminded me of an ice cream parlor, with the peach striped w
allpaper running halfway up the wall ending in cream wainscoting. The upper half of the walls was painted a frothy peach color, which matched the bedding and all of the accessories. The room made me feel like throwing up.

  I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes, trying to conjure the image of the room before its makeover—back when Lincoln and I had still been close.

  We'd begged my parents to paint the walls navy blue so that we could hang bright, space-themed posters on the walls. We had ordered glow-in-the-dark stars from the back of a comic book and wanted to fix them to the ceiling. My father had ignored the requests until we finally drove him over the edge. He'd taken off his belt and punished us for having annoyed him then told us to take our request to our mother.

  My mother's mouth had formed a thin, grim line when she saw what Father had done to us with his belt. She agreed to have the bedroom painted a dark blue. The painters came the next week and laid down tarps before they coated the walls in darkness. Lincoln and I had watched from the hallway as they worked, discussing the various ways we were going to arrange the posters and mapping out a pattern for the stars. The punishment had happened almost two weeks before, but Lincoln was still limping a little from it.

  "You okay?" I asked as we descended the stairs in search of snacks in the kitchen.

  "Yeah, I'm good," Lincoln said over his shoulder. "I just forgot not to stiffen my legs when he hit. It'll be fine in another few days."

  I nodded and wondered why our father felt the need to punish us so severely over things that seemed so trivial. Once we'd gotten our snacks and taken them out to the patio, I worked up the courage to ask Lincoln.

  "Why do you think Pop does what he does to us?" I asked as I took a bite of a peanut butter sandwich and followed it with a swig of milk.

  "Dunno," Lincoln mumbled through his sandwich. He chewed for a few moments, swallowed, and said, "I think he's stressed out about something, and we're the way he works out that stress. Either that, or he's one sadistic son-of-a-bitch."