Now that was a romance she could get behind.
Chapter Two
Asher
“I hate this tie.” Asher Lockmore tugged at the blue-and-white flowered tie currently strangling him in the back of the limo.
His personal assistant and go-to gal, Mrs. Morgan, barely gave him a glance out of the corner of her eye. “Then why are you wearing it?”
“Because I lost a polo game to Rio Silcox and his nephew.” He tugged again at the decidedly feminine piece of clothing. “How was I to know the kid was on track for a scholarship at Brown?” he muttered. Not only did he have to wear the tie for an entire week; he had to wear it to a meeting with Adam Moreau, arguably the most influential man in The Cove—seeing how he’d developed the land and created the neighborhood for the ultra-wealthy in Seattle.
And Asher had to meet him wearing a woman’s scarf around his neck.
His humiliation was complete.
Asher was a billionaire, old money just like Adam. And, like the man they called “the Beast,” most of his family fortune came from real estate. However, where Adam had followed the law and developed land as a hobby, land acquisition and development was Asher’s bread and butter.
Hmm, that was quite the phrase. Did people actually eat just bread with butter and not jam or honey or something else? He frowned. He liked crackers more than he liked bread. Crackers with cheese.
“Are crackers considered bread?” he asked Mrs. Morgan.
“Ask Siri,” she responded, typing away on her computer set on her knees. She had a knack for keeping it perfectly balanced, and her wrists never rested on the keyboard. If he had to type for a job, he’d have carpal tunnel in three days flat.
According to Siri, crackers were close to nautical ship biscuits and ceremonial bread. “I still don’t like butter,” he muttered.
“Here.” Mrs. Morgan held out a flat sheet of crisp white paper.
She ignored his ability to have a conversation with himself but somehow always knew right when to chime in. He liked that about her—always had. It made working in such tight quarters less difficult.
He tried to extend her the same courtesy when one of her adult children called to talk, but they were just so fascinating. The oldest was on a reality television show—the host, not a contestant, and he was all over the world. The second was busy with three kids of his own, who were all being raised to play major league baseball one day. Between the coaches and the other parents, there was enough drama to make a teen girl cry at night. And then there was the baby of the family. She was dating a man who was all wrong for her but couldn’t see it. Asher had offered to have him shipped overseas, but Mrs. Morgan was waiting this one out—sure the no-good would show his true colors soon enough.
He hoped so. For all their sakes.
“What’s this?” he asked, eyeing the sheet. It wasn’t like he had a Tony Stark aversion to being handed things, but he’d learned over the years that Mrs. Morgan only put big news—usually bad—in print.
“It’s a personal email.” She shoved it toward him, and he took it out of a sense of self-preservation.
He scanned the letter quickly. Poorly written and sadly misinformed. Although they’d gotten his grandfather’s discharge date correct. “Mrs. Morgan,” he said in censure. “You know better than to fall for these tricks.” He tossed the paper aside. “There was a reason I used just my initials—we don’t need the sob stories.”
Asher was always careful about cyber security. His mother’s father had a different last name, but there were still tricksters and scam artists who did their research—and they knew right where to hit him. He had a soft spot for the old man—a giant one that left him wide open for trouble. When it came time to register with the website, he’d convinced Grandpa to put his initials and use an email that went through a security checkpoint. So far, no one had connected the familial dots from Captain Thomas Ward to billionaire grandson Asher Ward Lockmore.
She looked up from the screen and locked her faded gray eyes on his. “This one’s sincere.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is clumsy.” He shook his head. “She misspelled acquaintance. Lack of proper grammar is a classic sign of a fraud.”
“Or typing on a phone without autocorrect.” She tsked her tongue. “I ran a background check. She’s clean.”
He harrumphed. “Grandfather never mentioned a place called Eureka Springs.”
“You never mention Carrie, and yet she exists.”
He scowled. “Low blow.” Throwing his ex in his face like that. His ex, a socialite, had wormed her way into his heart. Like heartworms. That’s what she’d been: a disease that had nearly broken his family in two. “I’m lucky anyone in the family is still talking to me after what she did.”
Mrs. Morgan bobbed her head in silent agreement.
Before she could get on him about the email again, he said, “We’re here.” Technically, they were at the bottom of the Beast’s driveway, but he acted like they’d be jumping out any second. He checked his tie to make sure that in all the fussing it hadn’t slipped loose, and he tugged his white shirt sleeves down.
Mrs. Morgan tucked her laptop into a shoulder bag and situated herself as well. The conversation about the email had been averted for the time being.
Just as they were about to get out, she reached over and picked up the paper, lifting an eyebrow in challenge. This wasn’t over yet, that eyebrow said.
Fine. They could pick up the sparring match when they got back. For now, he needed to focus on this meeting with a man who could make him a whole lot of money.
* * *
“We’re putting Phase II of The Cove on hold for a while,” Adam explained.
Mrs. Morgan sat in the corner, quietly typing away on her laptop. She’d keep one ear on the conversation and take notes; the other side of her brain was reviewing quarterly reports.
When the Beast had first walked into the home office done in navy blue, cherrywood, and brown leather, Asher had been expecting to see the scars from an acid attack on the man a couple years ago. Instead, there was new skin, baby smooth, that blended into his face almost seamlessly.
And Adam? He was a force to be reckoned with. He shook hands like they were about to start a wrestling match and made eye contact that would pin lesser men to their seats.
It’s a good thing Asher wasn’t a lesser man.
Belle, Adam’s wife, was no pushover, but she had grace where Adam was gruff. She was also stunning with hair that hung in long waves and framed her soft features. Together they were a striking pair, but he was quickly learning that it was their minds that were a match.
“What’s the holdup?” Asher leaned back on the sofa. Maybe this was why the Beast had called him in—he wanted advice on how to proceed with The Cove. He’d read an article about some sort of pushback from a law firm in town. Wolfe and Wolfe, or something like that. But nothing held up in court. There were three homes completed in Phase II: Rio Silcox’s, Jeff Crawford’s, and his own. More were scheduled to begin construction, so pausing now would cost Adam fees.
“The city council just passed an ordinance prohibiting McMansions.” Adam said the last word with a sneer that made Asher grateful he’d never been inclined to public service.
Belle placed a hand on Adam’s knee. “Seattle doesn’t love the idea of building huge homes up here.”
“But they love our millions in property tax,” Adam added.
She gave him an indulgent smile that told Asher they’d had this conversation before. “While we thoroughly support the city council in their decision to allow cottage-building on small lots and increase the opportunity for income for the elderly, we would like to continue developing land. It’s become something of a passion of ours.”
Adam rested a hand on top of hers and smiled her way. Apparently, Belle had tamed the Beast.
Better him than me, Asher thought. The last thing he needed in his life is a woman who thought she called the shots
. Carrie had been like that, demanding more and more and withholding love like it was a currency she could exchange. It’d nearly driven him mad.
“You’re well within your legal rights to proceed. The Cove was approved before the new statute, so you’re grandfathered in. But pausing construction in the spirit of doing what’s best for Seattle is good press,” Asher tossed out.
Adam’s soft smile brightened. “There is that angle to consider.”
Asher laughed.
Belle scooted forward on the small sofa. “We both love this city. It’s home. But we’re not interested in the kind of developing that’s going on. We love the challenge of carving out a place in the world.”
“What’s this got to do with me?”
Adam stood and went to the desk behind him, gesturing for Asher to follow. He did. “I have another small plot of land in the Ozarks.”
Asher wondered how many acres Adam thought was “a small plot of land.”
Belle hopped up and came to his side. “And we have an idea.” Her eyes fairly gleamed.
Asher leaned over the map, checking the location in the square at the bottom right. “Arkansas? I’ve never been there. Because people don’t go to Arkansas,” he quipped.
Mrs. Morgan cleared her throat, the only sound she’d made during this whole meeting, and he was instantly reminded of the email from that scam artist. The woman who’d written it—if it really was a woman—mentioned Arkansas. Some town called Elberta Strings or something.
Adam tapped the table with is finger. “My great-great-grandfather went to a small town there because he had a stomach ailment no doctor could heal.”
“The waters are said to have healing qualities,” added Belle. “His stomach was healed, and he bought a large plot of land on Beaver Lake and built a house similar to this one, only smaller.”
Asher could only imagine what the eccentric Moreau had thought small. They were currently standing in the middle of a castle. A literal castle on a cliff, complete with turrets and spires and a drawbridge.
“I’d like you to go take a look at the land. Decide if we can divide it into lots that will provide privacy vacation homes.” Adam rolled out a plot map. “This is what I have in mind.”
Asher leaned over the map to take a look. It appeared to be a finger off the lake, with plots touching the water. There was another road, High Road, that had lumber; they would be wooded lots.
He flipped the page to scan the elevation chart. If the numbers were correct—and knowing Adam’s reputation, they were—then the development would be stunning. Each lot had enough acreage to allow for giant homes and yet still have privacy. The water was only a half-mile across, so there might be homes facing one another across the cove, but strategic placement could avoid that.
He flipped back to the plot map and found the name of the development written in block letters at the bottom right. “The Mountain Cove.”
Belle nodded. “We’re patterning the way it’s run off this location. Security. Grounds crews. It’ll be seaplanes and helicopter pads instead of a runway, but that’s workable for our target buyers.”
He barely held back a snort. Billionaires in the Ozarks? The idea was absurd. “Why Arkansas?” Wrapping his brain around that was taking a while.
“Because it’s out of the way. Being on the lake will provide water sports and anonymity. And because it’s peaceful and stunning.” Adam took a deep breath, as if he were pulling in mountain air. “I promise, you’ll be hooked.”
“Maybe there is something in the water.” He smirked at the two of them, poking fun at Great-Great-Grandpa’s story of magic springs. “You’ll not sell one lot. And from the looks of this—” He flipped the page over to the elevation. “—you’ll dump a couple million in it just to get utilities in there.”
“Is that your professional opinion?” Adam asked.
Professionally?
Taking on this project would be a hefty boost to his bank account. Not to mention the challenge it presented. A new area. New laws to learn. New politicians to woo. It made his blood pump harder through his veins just thinking about the infrastructure needed for a development of this magnitude. Nothing got him excited like undeveloped land. There was rock—oh, so much rock—on the schematic. Which meant dynamite, which was always fun. Explosives were a hobby of his that he’d love to make use of.
However, he had a duty to tell Adam the truth. “It is. There’s no reason for anyone to buy a house in the backwoods of Arkansas.”
The couple shared a knowing look, and Adam lifted an eyebrow at Belle. She shook her head a little. He grinned wickedly and said to Asher, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll take into consideration your assessment if you agree to spend a month out there. You can stay at our place.”
“A month?”
“We’ll pay you a consulting fee,” Belle offered.
“That isn’t necessary.” Adam jumped right in. “He’ll be begging to take this on the minute he sees the place.” Adam hooked his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her temple.
She laughed. “Yeah, but we have to get him there first.”
Asher ran his hand down his face. He didn’t have much on his docket now that his home here in Seattle was finished. Truthfully, he was looking at a lot of open days and quiet nights. He’d thought he’d earned the rest, but it just sounded … boring. What he really wanted was a challenge. “All right. I’ll go.” If only to prove them wrong. He already had a to-do list building in his head, and it energized him.
He spent a few more minutes going over details with Adam and Belle before climbing back into the limo with Mrs. Morgan.
“It appears God’s hand is on your side,” she said.
He turned to take her in. “I hardly call it God’s hand that I was asked to consult on a project that happens to be my area of expertise.”
“Yes, but now you can look into this Julie person—in person.” She laid the email on the seat between them and smiled.
He groaned.
Mrs. Morgan cleared her throat and lifted her chin.
“If I don’t check her out, you will, won’t you?” It wasn’t really a question. The question of the hour was if he would leave this up to his assistant, or if finding a woman who claimed to be his grandfather’s long-lost girlfriend/fiancée was something he should do personally.
The fact was, he loved his grandfather—respected him immensely. Protecting him from these types of women was exactly why Asher had shrouded him in layer upon layer of cyber and physical protection. The fact that this email had gotten through all of that and to Asher was an oddity.
Perhaps God was playing a role in his life. “I’ll go. Just to prove to you that this woman is a fake and a fraud.”
“Don’t forget scoundrel and ruffian.” She had her computer open again. There were loads of details needed to get him to Arkansas—contacting the pilot, having his things packed, moving appointments …
He rubbed his temple. “I have a headache just thinking about all you have to do.”
She chuckled.
“Give me a job,” he ordered good-naturedly. As nice as it was having someone to handle life’s details for him, he needed things to do to keep him sane.
“Find the address to the Sweet Shoppe in Eureka Springs,” she said without hesitation. “I’m craving rocky road and maple pecan fudge.”
He pulled out his phone and began searching. “Not a word of this to Gramps, understand?”
She zipped her fingers across her lips.
“Good.” He found the shop’s website and looked through the pictures. The place had wood paneling. Quaint, but out of date. The display cases were chest high—not good for children browsing, but classic for the 1970s. The whole thing screamed shabby and in need of a makeover. He shook his head as she closed the browser and pulled up The Screwtape Letters to read on his Kindle app.
He’d get into Eureka Springs and get out without ever having to taste the water or meet a charlatan who would dishon
or his grandfather. There was nothing there for him, and he’d move on before Arkansas even knew he was there.
Chapter Three
Brooklyn
“Bike shows and fudge, the perfect combination,” said a sweet lady in a black leather jacket with zippers everywhere. Her ash-gray hair spiked up in all directions, and she had a red bandana tied around her neck.
Brooklyn smiled. “We certainly think so. Thanks so much for coming in.” Eureka Spring’s winding roads through the Ozark Mountains were a favorite for Harley riders. Even when there wasn’t a bike show on Main Street, they packed the stores on the weekends and there were several repeat customers in line.
“Hey, Mark, what can I get you?” Crystal asked the next guy in line.
“The usual,” he said in his voice full of gravel. His long, gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail Willie Nelson style, and he wore a faded leather vest over his Jack Daniel’s T-shirt.
“One pound of Sweet Mother’s Fudge coming right up.” Crystal headed to the end where the white-and-pink confection waited.
The swirls had come out exceptionally adorable this time. At least, that’s what the little girls who came in after school on Thursday had told Brooklyn. Sweet Mother’s Fudge was their favorite, too. But Brooklyn would never tell Mark that.
“I’ll take a quarter pound of the peanut butter fudge and a half pound of the maple pecan,” said the next customer before Brooklyn had a chance to ask. This woman had on a Sunday hat and a pair of bright white slacks with a navy blouse. Mark smiled at her, and she beamed.
“Coming right up.”
“Oh, and how much are those truffles?” she called.
Brooklyn told her the price as she sliced fudge. The door opened and a biker group filed in, bringing the count in the store to fifteen.
Her Billionaire Mistake (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 1) Page 2