by Kira Blakely
Nash
I swirled the finger of whiskey around in my crystal-cut glass, and it twinkled when it caught the light from the floor lamps in its ridges. Father was in his usual business suit, even though he probably hadn’t left the house all day. He was sitting across from me, in his spot on the couch, under the portrait of my great-great-grandfather, who had been an English Duke.
“So how do you spend your days now?” Father said, and I swirled the whiskey around some more, taking my time with that question. I was in no hurry to please him.
“On site, helping with the engineering work. On most days,” I replied, after several seconds. I hadn’t seen him in many months, probably four or five, and even in that short span of time he looked like he had grown older. A new woman, this time much closer to his age, who had greeted me at the door when I came to the house.
“So, you’re never actually in the office? Who is looking after the business?” he asked, in a sharp accusatory voice.
“I am. I give the business side of things my equal attention,” I said, taking a sip of the drink in my hand.
My father’s blue gaze skewered me; he was extremely displeased. “But you can’t give up the engineering, is that it? You have all this wealth, the success of the company depends on you, and yet you have to pretend like you’re some kind of blue-collar working-class man,” he said, sticking his nose up in the air and looking away from me.
I shook my head and smiled into my glass. I knew exactly what he was going to say next.
“It’s because of that Bonnie Calhoun. She’s the one who’s gotten you involved in all this,” he said.
I met his eyes, arching an eyebrow. “You’re right, Father. She’s the one who gave me the strength and inspiration to pursue my passion. I couldn’t have done it without her.” I knew that the smile on my face bothered him. He jerked his head away from me again, and this time I nearly laughed.
“So, you’re still cohabiting with her?” he asked, looking up at another one of our ancestor’s portrait. It was like he was praying to the regal old man with his eyes closed. I couldn’t believe I had been so afraid of this man in my childhood. That I had allowed him to affect my life this much.
“Yes, I live with Bonnie. She’s my girlfriend,” I said, placing the empty glass back down on the coffee table in front of me.
“You better watch out, son. Women like her, they’re only ever after our money. She lost her company and now thinks she can just milk the loss out of you,” he said.
My temples throbbed. This was why I’d stayed away from him for so long, because I couldn’t bear to hear him be nasty to Bonnie.
“She doesn’t need my money, Father, and she’s not after yours either. She’s managed just fine without it for twenty-eight years. And she isn’t like the women you cohabit with either. Luckily for me, I have better taste,” I said and stood up.
Father looked up at me, visibly offended by what I’d said. “I worked hard for this company, son. As did my father. We came to this country to establish an empire and we did. And now my own son is going to run it to the ground. I should never have asked you to take my place. I should never have signed it over to you,” he thundered, his voice choking in a fit of coughs. He was getting old and frail, and I felt a pang of guilt for not sympathizing with him.
I clenched my jaws and pushed my hands into my pockets, giving him a few moments to compose himself. If he hadn’t been such an asshole to me all my life, I might even have felt a little sorry for him. But I couldn’t, not after all the ways he had found to make me feel like I was never good enough. The truth was that he wasn’t good enough. At least not a good enough father.
“You didn’t ask me to take your place; you forced me to. You emotionally blackmailed me into giving my career up to run this business. And now you can’t trust me to run it well. It’s mine now anyway, Father, and I can do with it as I please,” I said and, without waiting for a response, I walked away from him, toward the door of his living room.
“You were fine before you met her!” he cried from behind me, and I forced myself to not turn around.
No, I wasn’t fine before I met Bonnie. My father didn’t know how I had felt all my life. He didn’t know how everything had changed when I met her in college. How I strove to impress her, how I studied hard so she would have some reason to look at me, even if it was to pass me a look of contempt. My father had no clue how my life had changed after Bonnie moved in with me.
I didn’t need the approval of my family anymore. I didn’t need to sleep with faceless countless women to numb the feeling of insecurity I constantly felt.
Now that I had Bonnie in my life, I was a satisfied man. I was free to live the way I always wanted to, and I had her by my side.
Chapter 27
Bonnie
I heard Joe opening the front door and greeting Nash outside the living room, and I straightened on the couch. I’d nearly dozed off, reading and waiting for Nash to return. As his footsteps approached the living room, I could feel my heart racing. I couldn’t believe I was still so excited to see him after just a few hours apart. When was it going to sink in, that Nash was my boyfriend, that we were living together now?
He opened the door, and strode straight toward me. I had barely gotten a chance to sit up but Nash was at my side, pulling me into his arms. Our lips fused together in a kiss, like we were still long-lost lovers, meeting after decades of separation. His hands found my nape and he pinned me to him, propping me up like a doll against his body.
When I placed the palm of my hand on his chest, I could feel it throbbing.
“How was your day?” I asked, pulling away from him. When I looked into Nash’s eyes, they looked narrow and dark. He was anxious and nervous. I sighed, expecting a torrent of rage spurting out of him any moment now. The visit to his father couldn’t have gone well.
“It was eventful,” Nash said, releasing me so that I fell back down on the couch with a thump.
He looked handsome in his pinstriped suit, his tie loosened at his neck. His hair looked disheveled like he had been running his hands through it all day. His jaws were clenched, and they looked sharp and rugged. He was standing in front of me with his legs spread apart, concentrating on my face like he was trying to draw some energy from it.
I still didn’t want to broach the subject. “I met Nell for lunch today and she said that she’s bought us tickets to Ibiza for next month,” I said, changing the topic.
Nash’s eyes shot about the room nervously, I was expecting to him to burst into anger any moment now. God! What had his father said this time?
“Oh yeah?” he said, trying to force a tone of naturalness to his voice. I knew him too well by now to know to believe it. “Just the two of you? For how long?”
“Ten days. We haven’t gone away for so long, and now that I’m living at the other end of the city, I think she feels like we don’t see each other enough,” I replied.
“That’ll be nice. You need to get away, catch a break from all this,” he said, his voice finally softening.
Looking up at his face, I wrapped my arms adoringly around his slim chiseled waist. He felt warm to the touch, but now that I was close to him again, I could see that his cheeks were flushed.
“I don’t need a break from you, Nash. That’s not why I’m going away with her,” I said softly and our eyes met.
Nash nodded and remained silent, allowing his hands to rest on my shoulders for a while.
We were staring at each other, like really staring, just silently without a word. And it felt like we could keep doing that for ages.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, breaking the silence after what felt like at least ten minutes.
Nash drew in his breath and shook his head. “About my visit to Father? No, I don’t,” he said, pushing me slightly away from him.
My brows furrowed immediately, and I scrunched my face at him. “Nash, I think we should talk about it. You need to get it out of y
our system. You look wrecked,” I said, a hint of concern coloring my voice now.
Nash shook his head again and walked over to stand in front of the fireplace.
“I’m not wrecked because of him. I’m nervous about something else,” he said, pushing his hands into his pocket.
I crossed my arms over my breasts as I faced him, my brows still furrowed.
“You’re nervous? Nash Preston, nervous?” I said with a laugh, but only a soft smile graced the sides of his lips. He hadn’t found it funny. Shit, he was really nervous! Something terrible had happened.
“Yeah, I always get nervous when I do something for the first time, I’m only human,” he said, and I was shaking my head in confusion.
“What have you done, Nash?” I asked, my terror rising now. I tried to think of all the things I thought Nash was capable of doing. Had he abused his father? Smashed a flower vase? Destroyed one of his father’s prized family portraits? Nash’s calm level headedness dictated that one of those acts would be considered by him to be immensely violent.
“I haven’t done anything yet,” he said, interrupting my thoughts.
I noticed how the look in his eyes was changing now. He didn’t look as nervous anymore, instead he was extracting a hand out of his pocket. And then he was kneeling on one knee. And on one open palm lay a blue velvet box. Still unopened.
“Bonnie Veronica Calhoun,” he said and stupidly, the first thought in my head was; when did I tell him my middle name? I wasn’t thinking straight. My hands flew to my mouth, and not a word came out.
“Will you do me the honor of marrying me? I know I don’t deserve you, but you will make me the happiest man alive,” he continued.
Even before he had completed the sentence, I had hurled myself at him. I was bent forward kissing him, my hands weaving through his hair. I had never been happier.
“Yes, of course, I will! Yes, I will,” I gushed, red in the face and hot tears pricking the back of my eyelids.
Nash stood up, grabbing my chin and pulling it to him so we could kiss.
“How long have you been carrying this around in your pocket?” I asked when I pulled away from him, gasping for air.
Nash popped the box open to reveal a teardrop-shaped pink diamond ring, bigger than any stone I had ever seen. “Not long. I didn’t second guess this decision, Bonnie. The right time to ask you is when I thought of it. Which was right now,” he said, as he slipped the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly, glittering in the dim light of the living room.
“You just bought the ring?” I asked, laughing uncontrollably. This was actually happening, the man who I always thought was out of reach, out of bounds, had just asked me to marry him. I had spent all my college years, and the years after, judging him and judging myself. I should have followed my heart from the start; I should have known that Nash Preston was always the man for me.
“No, it’s my mother’s. It’s been passed down in my family for four generations. I had it in my study, I picked it up before I came in here,” Nash was laughing. The nervousness in his gaze had gone now; he looked like he felt he was finally free.
I stared down at the ring, which sparkled as I moved my finger. When I looked up at his face, Nash was smiling again.
“Before she died, she told me to give it to a girl who Father disapproved of. She knew him better than anyone else,” he said, placing his hands on my waist. Nash kissed me again, tenderly on my lips and then my cheeks.
“So, when Father made it clear to me today that he disapproved of you, I knew it was a sign. I knew it was now or never, and I had finally found the woman I was supposed to spend my life with,” he continued after he was done kissing me. When our gazes locked again, we both knew what was going to happen next. Nash was already unbuttoning his shirt.
Billionaire’s Protest
BOOK 2
Chapter 1
I held my protest sign as high up as I could, but it obviously wasn’t high enough. My friend Marla would have been quick to point out that was because of my slight height, which she, being my best friend, has never allowed me to live down. I clutched the edges of the neon poster board with my hands and held it over my head, aware that the glitter and pink letters didn’t exactly look like they belonged to someone who was twenty-eight.
“You stand tall despite your proximity to the ground, Lily,” Marla would have said encouragingly.
Zoe, Marla’s six-year-old, had helped me make the sign the previous night. She had turned her nose up when I showed her my usual white poster board and black permanent markers. That was my idea for entertainment for a babysitting night. She had brought her own craft kit instead, and what Zoe wants, Zoe gets.
So, it was neon paper, pink letters, glitter glue, and some cartoon cutouts of birds. I had to concede though, it did stand out from the rest of the crowd. Well, the neon sign and the hand-made conch shell earrings. And not to forget, the bulging purple bag hanging across my body, which I had stuffed with extra art supplies and the tons of “emergency” things that I always carried with me. Yeah, I definitely stood out.
These wanderers are lost! was my slogan, with the cartoon birds lining the edges of the protest sign. If I could get noticed, at least I would get my point across.
Now I held the sign up over my head and screamed again, “These wanderers are lost. Don’t build the wind farm!”
I was yelling at the top of my lungs, my voice drowned out by other voices around me. Nothing was going to deter me from standing there; something needed to be done. Argent Energy Systems. It’s more like Argent Enemy Systems. I smirked to myself when I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. We were going to show them. We were going to make sure they heard our voices and knew that we weren’t going to forget about our feathered friends. These bastards were going to hear us and know that we weren’t going to just sit back and watch while the wind farm destroyed the habitat of the Green Gleneagles.
“Stop killing Mother Nature!” a woman beside me yelled, and then turned to me with a sour face and a crude look in her eyes. “I’ve been yelling my throat hoarse, and these fuckers have been cooped up in their offices all day.” She leaned in toward me to make herself heard.
I rolled my eyes in disgust and started yelling again, waving the sign over my head to stress my point.
The protesters had been barricaded by rope so we didn’t block the path between the front entrance of the Argent office building and the parking lot. There were a few cameras covering the protest on the other side, with their lenses turned toward us, just waiting and hoping for the moment when our peaceful protest erupted into violence. I could picture it as a headline in the newspapers the next day: Tree-hugging loonies kick a white-collar human in the balls.
I rolled my eyes again at the scavenging cameras and screamed my slogan aloud.
I had counted ten uniformed policemen already, standing with their arms crossed over their chests. They formed a human wall on the other side of the barricading rope and were glaring us down. I caught the gaze of one of them, who happened to turn his eyes on me.
“Don’t build the wind farm, sir,” I called out to him from my post, shoving some of my auburn curls behind my ears.
The policeman looked away, almost like he was embarrassed, although he knew as well as I did that my shouts weren’t necessarily meant for him. I was just trying to make myself heard.
“Sir. Sir. Sir! Don’t build the wind farm,” I yelled at him, pushing my way through some of the other protesters. I was aware of stepping on other people’s toes as I made my way to the front of the rope, but this wasn’t the time to apologize. The lives of endangered birds were at stake, and the clock was ticking.
“Do you know that only 160 Green Gleneagles are in existence today?” I screamed at him now that I was closer.
I’m still not sure why I decided to lecture a policeman. In that moment, this cross-faced policeman was the only person I could vent my rage at. He was still looking away from me, pretending that h
e couldn’t hear what I was saying.
“The species will die out if we build over their habitat,” I yelled at him, now very close to his face. I could feel the coarseness of the rope digging into the top of my belly, but I pressed myself against it to get as close to the cop’s face as I could. He was much taller than me, and he loomed over me with a look of disgust on his face. What a piece of unthinking meat.
I propped myself up on my toes, with the sign still held over my head, just so I could reach him better.
“Don’t you feel guilty about killing an entire species of birds? They will have nowhere to live,” I screamed.
“Back down, Miss.”
I had finally extracted a reaction, and that made me feel victorious. I held my position, still on my tiptoes.
He whipped his head around to look at me directly. He looked like one of those hardened cops who’d seen a couple of years as an undercover agent in the mafia. Severe scars marred his face, and his lips were set in a firm, thin line. He was at least fifty years old and had no time for some students protesting for the life of birds. I knew his type; I was well acquainted with them, and I detested him just as much as he detested me.
“Back down, Miss. I won’t tell you again,” he said, while I glared into his eyes. He must have seen my nostrils flaring and the way my cheeks reddened with rage.
Marla would have placed a hand on my shoulder and asked me to back off, but I was holding my ground.
“Spill blood now if you have to, Officer. You’re spilling the blood of those birds anyway,” I snarled at him.
To my absolute shock, the man turned to one of his colleagues and laughed like I’d made some kind of joke.
I gritted my teeth and felt my breath catch in my throat from the anger coursing through my veins.
I backed down. Not because he asked me to, but because my toes were giving way, and I couldn’t hold that position for much longer. I clenched my jaw at him and yelled out my slogan at the top of my lungs for good measure. I knew what these guys were doing. They were hoping for a violent reaction from us. Well, they weren’t going to get it from me. Not from me. I was going to take it out on my punching bag later, but I wasn’t going to be violent now.