by Nic Saint
“Pretty much. A self-made billionaire, his money primarily in real estate.”
“Ah, yes. Real estate.” She’d heard of the miracle of real estate, though she herself had never gone in for it. The initial outlay was too big, and she never did have the knack of saving her hard-earned nickels and dimes.
“He’s the one who built that monstrosity in Midtown Manhattan. You know the one. Falcone Tower?”
“I’ve seen pictures.”
“Since then he’s disgraced many of the finest capitals with his constructions. Office buildings, apartment complexes, shopping malls, golf courses, hotels, you name it and he’s built it. It has made him wealthy beyond compare, and hated by architects, city planners and environmentalists the world over.”
“Not the kind of people you want to mess with,” she murmured, still failing to see the point of Rick’s harangue.
He looked up sharply, her sarcasm not escaping him. “He’s done a lot more harm than good, actually. On his way to the top he’s used bribery, treachery, threats and all manner of cajoling.”
“Cajoling. That’s bad.”
Rick gritted his teeth. “He’s a very bad man. Just take my word for it.” He patted his briefcase. “And about a thousand pages of notes.”
She whistled through her teeth. “A thousand pages. That’s a lot of notes.”
“It is. And I plan to see this series through if it’s the last thing I do.”
She eyed him wistfully. She always had been a sucker for the kind of man who sees things through. A man full of ideals wanting to take on the world. It was just the kind of the thing Frodo the Hobbit would have done, one of her childhood heroes. He had the look of the hero, she thought. With his piercing blue eyes, his handsome features, the determination clear from his battle ram of a chin to the way his eyes shone when he talked about his mission to take down Chazz Falcone a peg or two.
“I think it’s marvelous,” she breathed. “To be that passionate about something.” She shook her head. “I wish I had that kind of holy fire burning in my soul to accomplish something great.”
“But you do,” he said. “I could see it at a glance when you nailed that guy at Rafi’s Deli. And the way you pelted me with those baby peas, not to mention the skillet.” He clucked his tongue. “You are a remarkable woman, Felicity.”
She eyed him hesitantly, trying to decide whether he was making fun of her. But he seemed absolutely sincere. “You really think so?”
“Think so?” He lifted a lock of hair to show his brow, where the indentations from the baby peas were still visible. “I have the marks to prove it.”
She cringed. “I’m so sorry about that. If I had known who you really were, I would never have attacked you like that.”
“It’s all right. Meeting you has been something of a wake-up call. Before, I was simply wandering here and there, feeling forlorn. Now?” He gave a determined smirk. “I’m loaded for bear and nothing can stop me.”
“All because of those baby peas?”
“The whole episode has made me realize I shouldn’t have relied on other people so much—my editor Suggs Potter not to name names. I should simply go forth and put this little bit of writing out there for the whole world to see.”
“Good on you,” she said, swept up in his enthusiasm.
“Now all I need is a place to work in peace and quiet so I can put the finishing touches on my text, and I think Casa de Amore will just do the trick.”
“How did you ever come to stay there? Do you know the Calypsos?”
“Bomer Calypso and I go way back. We met in kindergarten, and bonded over tag, then later resumed our friendship over our mutual love of the game.”
“Bingo?”
“Baseball.”
“Of course.”
“As a matter of fact he’s staying at my apartment in the city right now. He’s working on some big project for his father, and needed some peace and quiet, just like me. It has often been the way that we found ourselves facing the same trials and tribulations at similar points in our careers.”
He failed to mention that while Bomer’s career highlights had mainly consisted in improving his tolerance for alcohol and discovering new clubs, his had been the kind of steady work ethic that takes a young man and turns him from a budding professional to a success story in his chosen field. Although Bomer would probably argue that he, too, had been successful in his chosen field. He’d set out to date all the girls in New York, and had been going well when he’d run into Charlene.
Of course, Bomer had been playing a losing game, for there are always new girls being born every minute, and one man can only do so much, due to the restrictions of time and biology. That’s probably why he’d decided to marry the girl of his dreams.
Speaking of the girl of one’s dreams, he found his gaze irrevocably drawn to Felicity over and over again. Now here was a woman who could really be called a woman. Unlike most girls he’d known throughout his life, she wasn’t the kind of gimlet-eyed she-devil he’d come to fear and loathe.
No, Felicity was more the salt-of-the-earth type person. Strong and independent but with a kind heart and a keen intelligence that never failed to impress.
“Do you know Bomer Calypso?” he said, just to keep the conversation flowing. He very much enjoyed the sound of her voice, and the easy back and forth of the banter they’d been engaged in for the better part of the last hour.
“Only by reputation. He’s something of a fixture in the Post and Daily News. He seems to have cut quite a swath through Manhattan’s socialites.”
“He has. Though there are signs of improvement. He recently got engaged, so I guess he’ll be settling down now.” He swallowed, wondering if he should tell Felicity all. “He’s getting married to Charlene Falcone.”
She looked up sharply. “Falcone? As in…”
“Yes. As in Chazz Falcone.” He sank a bit lower in his seat. “My best friend is getting married to my enemy’s daughter. You can imagine my surprise.”
“Of course. I didn’t make the connection. How is she? Charlene, I mean. I’ve heard a great deal about her.”
“She’s…probably very much what you might imagine.”
“Gorgeous, with an impeccable sense of style?”
“Haughty, with a surprising sense of entitlement.”
She laughed, a most delightful sound to his ears. Like bells ringing in a wedding chapel. “You don’t seem to like her all that much.”
“You’re right about that. I absolutely dislike the woman.” He’d said it with a vehemence that betrayed the deep feelings he had about Charlene Falcone.
“Oh?” she said, and he detected he’d made a faux pas. You can’t say you hate a girl without intimating there’s more to it than that. He should have been cold and aloof, he now saw. “You know her well, then?”
He shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable. He was treading on perilous ground. “Well enough to know she’s not a good match for poor old Bomer.”
“You…used to date her yourself, didn’t you?”
She’d said it in an offhand kind of way, but he saw the trap which had been laid. He’d laid it himself, of course. “No, I didn’t.”
“So how come you know her so well?”
He sighed. Charlene Falcone was one of those girls half the female population admired with a fervor bordering on obsession, while the other half despised her just as vehemently. He could see that Felicity belonged to the first class. He decided to make a clean breast of it. “Charlene Falcone is my stepsister.”
Felicity jerked the wheel so violently the van almost veered off the road. “But that means…”
He shuffled awkwardly, suddenly feeling hot under the collar. “Yes. Chazz Falcone is my father.”
CHAPTER 29
Chazz Falcone, if he’d known his son was talking smack about him, wouldn’t have minded one bit. As it was, he was accustomed to people talking smack about him. You don’t become one of the country’s richest
men without collecting a few enemies along the way. The man in the street, who had to inhabit the Falcone tenements that sprang up like a rash, felt he was being unfairly treated, as Falcone liked to charge top dollar, while saving pennies on things like insulation, central heating, and wall thickness.
And then there were his competitors. Corporate sharks are a very competitive breed, and when one shark, especially one who looks like a halibut, manages to make a success of himself and land his face on the cover of Time Magazine, other sharks will stop at nothing to tear him down.
And so it was that Falcone had gradually developed an iron front which protected him from the worst of the verbal and other abuses hurled at him.
As a rule, he never opened his own letters. His secretary Suzy Boom dealt with all of that. Or rather the secretaries Mrs. Boom employed on his behalf. They enjoyed reading abuse about their boss, and he enjoyed not having to be faced with it.
Because of this and his extreme wealth, Falcone had often been dubbed Iron Man by the media. How wrong they were. One thing did penetrate his armor, and that was his family. First there was this business about his son trying to destroy his reputation, and then there was Charlene breaking off her engagement with Bomer Calypso.
One of his oldest and dearest friends, Grover Calypso and he had long shared the dream that one day their families would be united by more than the bond of friendship. As time went on, that hope had seemed a pipe dream, as both Charlene and Bomer had adopted quite a strong aversion to commitment.
While Bomer had whooped it up in New York’s best establishments, and had provided the tabloids with a nice income stream, Charlene had gone on to date some of the world’s most eligible bachelors, but without any intention to change her Facebook relationship status. She had developed the cardinal rule never to allow any acquaintanceship to pass beyond the third date, and had stuck to it.
It had seemed like something of a miracle, therefore, when somehow, somewhere, sometime—he didn’t know where, he didn’t know when—the two had started dating and hadn’t stopped since.
The moment the fourth date had rolled around, he and Grover had exchanged excited text messages. And on the occasion of the fifth date, they’d even dared hope against hope that their dream would finally come true.
When the engagement had been announced, champagne had flowed, and for the first time in years, Falcone had actually shed a tear. Since everyone had assumed he was one of those medical anomalies who don’t possess tear ducts, this had taken even his closest relatives by surprise.
And now this. A curt text by his daughter, announcing her engagement was at an end, and the wedding, which had promised to be the social occasion of the season, was off!
He’d been on his way to Long Island when the message came in, and he’d almost landed his Lamborghini in a ditch. Oh, God, he lamented. What had he done to deserve this? Well, he knew the answer to that, of course. For years he’d been so busy building his empire that he’d fatally neglected his family. Charlene hadn’t even known she had a dad until she turned three, having always figured that Nanny Velma who had been raising her was her mother, and Velma’s husband Fred—coincidentally Falcone’s gardener—her dad.
While Charlene was growing up, Falcone had been jetting the globe, or confined to his office expanding his empire.
And then there was Rick. He’d been a surprise gift from his first wife. The young man had often remarked he’d been quite surprised that his father wasn’t the wizened butler he spent so much quality time with, but the sour-faced man who dropped by once or twice a year to hand him an FAO Schwarz gift card.
Like his first marriage, his second had run its course, but Falcone wasn’t the kind of man to be thrown off his game by two failures, and had gone on to marry again, yet again, and then once more. The third, fourth and fifth Mrs. Falcones hadn’t borne him any children, and now at an age where his fortunes were secure, and a man starts thinking about his legacy, he’d belatedly realized he should perhaps have paid a little more attention to his offspring.
When reaching out to Rick, this had proved disastrous. The young man, having adopted his mother’s surname, seemed to have developed some sort of aversion to his father, and had gone out of his way to tear him down, even going so far as to launch a personal vendetta in the New York Chronicle, and gearing up for a series of scathing articles denouncing the well-known billionaire.
And then there was Charlene. He’d managed to make up for the years of neglect by showering her with gifts and everything her little heart desired, and had grown quite fond of the young woman.
Now if only he could marry her off to young Bomer, his deepest wish would be fulfilled.
He rolled into Happy Bays, his mind a whirlwind of emotion, and decided that he needed to tackle this thing one errant child at a time. First he needed to stop Rick once and for all, and then he could start thinking about Charlene, and convince his infernal daughter that Bomer was the right guy for her after all, if only because his last name was Calypso.
CHAPTER 30
“You’re Falcone’s son. And you only mention this now?” She was feeling that Rick was holding all the cards, and occasionally allowed her a small peek at his hand, before whisking them out of reach again.
“I’ve never told this to anyone, and have asked my father not to mention the fact either, so you’re pretty much the first person ever to learn about this.”
This sobered her a good deal. “You mean it’s a secret?”
“Not a secret, per se. More like one of those family skeletons. The kind you want to leave in the closet and never take out.”
“But if you’re Falcone’s son, then why—”
“Am I dead set on exposing him as a fraud, a cheat and a scoundrel? Good question.”
“I thought so,” she said, well pleased. She was starting to think like a reporter, she felt. Pretty soon she would be grilling POTUS about what he and FLOTUS had for dinner last night.
“Well…”
They’d arrived at Casa di Amore, the love nest that Bomer’s father had once built, and Felicity said, “Don’t tell me. It’s a long story, and we just ran out of time, right?”
“Well, it is a long story.” He turned to her, and fixed her with a lively stare, his blue eyes boring into her. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
Her eyebrows rose, and so did the corners of her mouth. “I would love to,” she said before her critical mind had the chance to kick in. “And then you will tell me all about this secret son business?”
“I promise that I will spill all my secrets, as long as you spill yours.”
She snorted. “I have no secrets to spill, I’m afraid. My life is…” She was going to say ‘boring’ but managed to restrain herself. “…an open book.”
“Well, it’s a book I would love to read,” he said earnestly.
For a prize-winning reporter he didn’t stint on the clichés, and it encouraged her. If even the prize-winning reporters of the world were allowed to make a linguistic boo-boo, she had nothing to fear.
“Only if you’ll read my next article and critique it,” she added quite reasonably. Striking while the waffle iron was hot was a Bell family motto.
He smiled. “I promise.”
They stared at each other for a bit, then finally Rick said, “I promise I will go easy on you.”
The moment the words had left his mouth, his cheeks reddened and he looked away. If he hadn’t, he would have noticed that Felicity was blushing too. It hadn’t escaped her attention that the atmosphere in the van had hotted up considerably, and that the butterflies were flitting merrily about in her stomach.
At that moment, her long-cherished beliefs about men and women were nothing but a distant memory, and there flitted before her mind’s eye the appealing prospect of being clasped in Rick Dawson’s arms, being kissed by Rick Dawson, and even being wildly and passionately made love to by Rick Dawson.
Perhaps a good thing for her, then, that Rick Daw
son opened the van door, and after a brief grin stepped from the vehicle and walked up to Casa di Amore.
She was still staring after him when she realized her mouth was ajar. Not an appealing sight. She closed it with a click and, putting the van in gear, drove away from the house, feeling as if the skies had suddenly opened and a fleet of angels with harpsichords had fluttered down, strewing rose petals in their wake.
It took her a while to put a name to the strange sensation she was experiencing. It was love, she was quite sure of it, and it took her by surprise. Having never experienced the elusive emotion before, she was surprised to find it both sweet and achingly painful, like a loose tooth that you can’t help worry with the tip of your tongue.
Rick’s handsome features filled her mind, and she thought how ironic it was that love would finally enter her life in the form of the man she’d despised, then had despised even more, before falling for him like a ton of bricks.
Wasn’t it always like this, though? Just when you think something can’t be further removed from your grasp, and you decide to give up, it suddenly falls into your lap with a soft thud and smiles up at you, gives you a cheeky wink, and says, “Didn’t see that coming now did you?”
No, she definitely hadn’t, but now that love had come to town, she planned to make the most of it. And with a mind filled with possible outfits to wear, makeup to apply, hairstyles to try out, and clever comebacks to practice, she stomped her foot on the accelerator, and headed straight into Happy Bays.
She needed to find Alice and she needed to find her now. She couldn’t pull this off without her best friend giving her moral and logistical support. And she knew just where to find her.
Parking in front of Charlie’s Funeral Delight, she stepped from the van and headed inside.
CHAPTER 31
There is much to be said for a refreshing drive in the country, especially when living in a city as congested as New York. And yet all Chazz Falcone could think about when he arrived at Casa di Vitae, his home in Happy Bays, was how to approach this family business that had been preying on his mind all through the drive over.