A Billionaire Between the Sheets (10 page)

Olivia pulled her gaze away from the faded fly of his jeans and looked in his serious eyes. “She's working with someone? What do you mean—?”

There was a tap on the door before Jason peeked his head in. Upon seeing them, he entered the office and closed the door. “I'm glad you're both here.” Rather than hand the printouts he carried to Olivia, he handed them to Deacon. “You were right. Someone is skimming money. But I won't know how much or where it's going until I have the passcodes.”

“Skimming money?” Olivia felt as if she were in a bad Wall Street movie. Except Deacon and Jason weren't acting. Deacon studied the sheets as Jason leaned over his shoulder and used his pencil as a pointer.

“Here's the discrepancy. Here it is again. And again.” He pointed out a few more places on the sheets. “So I talked with her this afternoon at lunch and did what you said. I looked her straight in the eyes and told her that I wanted to take her to dinner.”

Olivia sat there stunned, not only because someone was taking money from her company but also because Jason was talking to Deacon as if they were best friends.

“So what did she say?” Deacon asked as he continued to scan the sheets.

“That she wouldn't go to dinner with me, but she'd have sex with me—not at the office, though, because you might fire her.”

The phone rang, and Deacon reached down and pressed the speaker button. “Deacon Beaumont speaking.”

“Oh…Mr. Beaumont.” Kelly's voice came through the speaker. “Um…is Ms. Harrington there?”

Deacon glanced at Olivia and waited for her to respond. She couldn't. Someone was stealing money from her company? No wonder they were going under. After only a moment, Deacon answered Kelly. “Ms. Harrington is a little indisposed right now. What's up?”

“Ms. Fontaine is wanting to purchase a diamond necklace, and I didn't think Ms. Harrington wanted me to charge that kind of money. But when I told Ms. Fontaine that, she threw a major fit. I wouldn't care—I mean, if the woman wants to make a fool of herself, I say let her—but the security guard at the jewelry store is about to call the cops.”

“Put Babette on,” Deacon said, and only a second later was speaking fluent French in the soothing tone he'd used before. He paused, then went back to English. “I think Babette's shopping spree is over for the day, Kelly. Besides, I need you to help Jason Melvin with some accounting.” After he hung up, he handed the accounting sheets back to Jason. “You realize that she's using sex as a smoke screen.”

Jason shook his head. “I don't think so.” He took the sheets from Deacon. “I'll make some copies of these and keep digging.” He looked at Olivia. “You okay?”

She wasn't okay, but she nodded anyway.

When Jason was gone, Deacon walked over to the minibar and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. He splashed some in a glass and brought it to Olivia. “Here, drink this.” She downed it in one swallow, the alcohol burning just enough to make her realize that she wasn't in a movie or a dream.

“I'm going to lose French Kiss, aren't I?” she whispered.

“It looks that way.” He took the glass from her and refilled it before handing it back. “And I have to wonder why you care. If you like the lingerie business so much, why didn't you just take the money Uncle Michael left you and start your own company? Why did you want to keep this dinosaur?”

Taking the glass with her, she got up and walked to the window. Fog had rolled in. In the distance thick layers of cotton shrouded the Golden Gate Bridge, giving it the look of some heavenly kingdom rising up from the clouds.

She took a sip of the bourbon and enjoyed the burn, then downed the entire glass. She was halfway through the third glass Deacon had poured her when she finally released some of her pain.

“Michael used to love to walk in the fog. He said on foggy days, he could almost imagine that he was back in Paris, walking along the Seine. For my eleventh birthday, he had the French Kiss designers make me a purple rain slicker with matching boots so I could go with him on those walks. I loved that slicker, but I loved what it represented even more. It meant that I wasn't just a third wheel he'd gotten in the marriage to my mom. Michael actually liked having me around.”

“I'm sure he did.”

“I'm not.” She took another sip. “I'm not sure of anything anymore. I thought he was grooming me to take over French Kiss. I thought he wanted me to continue the legacy.”

“It's a lingerie company, Livy. Nothing more.”

Livy had always been her father's nickname for her. Coming from Deacon it felt wrong…and at the same time so right. She turned. He leaned against the desk, and in the overcast light coming in the window, his eyes looked deep purple.

A French Kiss purple.

“You don't understand,” she whispered. “This isn't just a lingerie company. It's my life.”

D
eacon was used to working late. In high school he'd worked late cleaning offices. In college he'd stocked shelves at a grocery store. And recently he'd be the last person to leave his land development offices each day. With no one there to interrupt, the hours after everyone had gone home were always the most productive. And this evening had been no exception. He'd spent his time researching French Kiss's financial situation and now knew the extent of Olivia's problems.

They weren't going to be fixed by a new line of men's underwear. The company had been losing money for the last five years. And not from corporate fraud. The skimmed money Jason had found was only a drop in the bucket compared to the money being lost through mismanagement and lost sales. Returns and customer complaints were up. Along with employee dissatisfaction.

The last, Deacon had witnessed firsthand when Kelly had taken him on a tour of the corporate offices. Everyone seemed jumpy and distracted. No doubt they were worried about Michael's death and what it would mean to their jobs. They were waiting for someone to take charge. And somehow Deacon couldn't see Olivia doing that.

He swiveled the chair and glanced at her diplomas hanging on the wall. For a woman who had a master's degree in business, she wasn't much of a leader. And after hearing the story about the purple raincoat and galoshes, he had to wonder if she'd chosen her major based on her interests or her love for Michael.

Deacon released his breath and scraped the hair off his forehead. What was he doing? What kind of an idiot would hold up a deal for millions because of some story about a kid's raincoat? And maybe it wasn't the story as much as the way Olivia had told it—like a walk in the fog with Michael had been some monumental, life-changing moment.

If that was the case, then her life had sucked much worse than Deacon's. At least Deacon had had his brothers, a loving mother, and a part-time dad. It sounded like Olivia had had only her gold-digging mother until Michael showed up. And if Michael had been as much of a workaholic as the press had claimed he was, he couldn't have been that great a stepfather. From nowhere came another question. One that Deacon had spent the last twenty years of his life trying to avoid.

Would Michael have made a better father to his son?

Deacon's gaze drifted down to the photo on the bookshelf. A photo of Michael and Olivia cutting the ribbon to a new French Kiss store. Both were smiling, but Michael's didn't quite reach his eyes. Had he ever regretted leaving Deacon's mother? Had he ever regretted leaving his son?

His hand shot out and knocked the photo to the floor. The glass didn't break, and Michael's vacant brown eyes continued to stare up at him. Thankfully, Deacon hadn't gotten his father's eyes. He'd gotten his mother's. A mother who had gone to her grave with the secret that her firstborn belonged to her husband's brother.

She had told her sons about her college graduation trip to Paris. Had told them about seeing the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. She had even made sure Donny John taught them French, and cooked them beef bourguignonne and French pastries on special occasions. But she had never shown them the pictures. Deacon had found them by accident. He'd been looking for a screwdriver to tighten the wheels on his skateboard in the mess of boxes and tools his father kept in the garage when he stumbled on the small photo album. It held pictures of a man standing in front of small shops, looking out at a river, laughing in the rain. At first Deacon had thought it was his father, but then he'd looked closer and discovered that the man had darker hair and harder features.

Deacon had never met his uncle Michael, but he had seen pictures. Of course all he had to do was look in the mirror. Deacon was the spitting image of Michael Beaumont. Something his grandfather had mentioned time and time again before he died. With a sick feeling in his stomach, Deacon had shuffled through the pictures until he found one of Michael and his mother kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower. And one glance at the date on the back of the picture had confirmed Deacon's worst fears.

The date was exactly nine months before Deacon had been born.

The cell phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him. Angry with himself for letting his thoughts wander, he answered without looking at caller ID.

“Beaumont.”

“Right back at you, big brother,” Nash's voice came through the receiver. “So how goes the contract signing?”

Deacon swiveled in the chair. “I'm taking care of it.”

“That's what you said when I talked with you last. You said you were going to take care of it ASAP. Which I thought meant ‘as soon as possible,' but now appears to mean ‘as soon as you please.' It's been two days, Deacon. Just how long does it take to write your name?”

“I'll be home tomorrow.”

There was a pause. “So is that what you're doing in that big office building on this foggy San Fran night? Packing?”

He glanced at the door. “Where are you?”

“Grayson and I are standing outside, waiting for our big brother to finish signing the damned contract so we can go celebrate.”

Well, hell. Deacon tossed down the pen and massaged his temples. He could've done without his brothers showing up.

“So are you going to let us in?” Nash asked. “Or did I interrupt something other than contract signing?”

“Hold on,” he said. “I'll call down to security and meet you by the elevators.”

“You do that,” Nash said before he hung up.

On the way to the elevators, he couldn't help noticing the light coming from beneath Jason's door. When he peeked his head in, he was surprised to find Jason and Kelly sitting in front of his computer.

“Sex with me would blow your mind,” Kelly said as she used the mouse to scroll through the document.

“More like bore my mind.” He pointed at the screen. “Go back. That total isn't right.”

She scrolled back and squinted at the screen. “You'll never know until you try. I'll let you be on top.”

“I'd rather kiss my grandma. And get a pair of glasses. You're as blind as a bat.” He pointed at the line of figures. “Right here.”

“I see it,” she said, and then clicked on the printer icon. As the copy came out of the printer, she laughed. “This is fun. We're like corperate sleuths.” She picked up a doughnut from the box on the desk and took a big bite before offering it to him. “And you want me.”

“Not even a little.” Jason took a big bite of doughnut.

Before they could spot him, Deacon moved away from the door and continued down the hallway, wondering if he'd created a bad situation that Olivia would have to deal with. Hopefully Jason was professional enough to keep things platonic in the workplace. Kelly certainly wasn't.

When Deacon reached the elevators, he found Parker talking on his cell phone. He didn't like the guy. He didn't like his prissy name. Or his designer suits and the perfect knot of his tie. Or the possessive way he'd been kissing Olivia. And his phone conversation only added to Deacon's dislike.

“No, I'm not imagining things, Olivia,” Parker said, completely oblivious to the fact that Deacon stood behind him. “The man is interested in you as more than just a business associate.”

Deacon leaned closer and whispered, “But as the boss, isn't it my job to be interested?”

Parker jumped, and the phone slipped out of his hand. He turned and stared at Deacon with a look that went from surprise to annoyance. “Mr. Beaumont. I didn't realize that you were still here.” He picked up the phone. “I'll have to call you back…sweetheart.”

Stifling the urge to grab him by the front of his starched shirt and shake him the way his mother used to shake the dust mop, Deacon waited until he hung up before asking, “So what has you working so late, Mr. Calloway?”

“I had some last-minute sales reports to check.”

“Hmm? So do you have access to all the accounts?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean do you have passcodes for all accounts?”

“Why would you ask?”

The elevator pinged as Deacon pinned Parker with his gaze. “As the boss of French Kiss, I don't need to give a reason for anything I ask…or do. Something you need to remember, Mr. Calloway.”

The elevator doors opened, and there stood Nash and Grayson. Parker's eyes widened as Deacon's bearded, camo-dressed brothers stepped out. Before they could say anything in front of Parker, Deacon dismissed him.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Calloway.”

With his eyes still pinned on Grayson and Nash, Parker sidestepped into the elevator. Once the doors were closed, Nash spoke.

“By the looks of things, I'd say you haven't made any friends, Deke. Who is that guy?”

“I'm starting to think he's the guy that's skimming money from the company.” He headed to Parker's office to see if he could confirm his suspicions. Unfortunately, a cleaning lady was there emptying a trash can into her cart. When she saw all three of the Beaumonts, she released a squeal and dropped the can. Documents spilled to the floor as she held up her hands.

“I have no money!”

Deacon tried to calm her. “It's all right. As much as my brothers look like outlaws, we're not here to rob you. We're the new owners of the company.”

Her eyes widened before she made the sign of the cross. “Trouble.”

Nash laughed. “That's probably putting it mildly.”

After Deacon apologized for scaring her, he and his brothers helped her pick up the paper, then headed to Olivia's office. When they stepped through the door, Grayson released a long whistle.

“Damn.”

Nash glanced around the opulent room. “I guess I can see why you're not in a hurry to come home. This is pretty much your dream, isn't it, Deke?”

“And this is an original Monet,” Grayson said as he studied the impressionist painting behind Olivia's desk. “Do you know how much this is worth?”

Nash ignored him and continued to study Deacon. “But it's not the office you want, is it, Deke? It's the power that goes with it.”

It was surprising how quickly Nash had hit the nail on the head. In the last twelve hours, Deacon
had
enjoyed the power that came with being the boss of a billion-dollar corporation. It was a nice change of pace for someone who had spent his life powerless. Powerless to stop his mother from dying. Powerless to stop his father from gambling and womanizing. And powerless to stop life from crapping on the Beaumont brothers. Now, for once, he had the power. He was in control. But only if he was willing to throw away millions on a failing company.

Walking over to the desk, he opened the top drawer and pulled out the contract. He picked up a pen and had started to sign when Grayson noticed the design drawings in the drawer.

“Holy shit. What are those?”

Deacon looked at the drawing of a man in a leather corset and shook his head. “Olivia's idea to save the company.”

Grayson walked over and pulled out the stack of designs. “You've got to be kidding. These are ridiculous.”

“That's what I told her, but she obviously refused to listen. You should've seen the first set.”

Nash sat in the chair across from the desk. “She really thinks men's lingerie is going to sell?”

“I think she's willing to try anything to save the company.” Deacon sat down and released his breath. “But after looking at the financial statements, it will take nothing short of a miracle to save French Kiss.”

“That's too bad,” Grayson said as he flipped through the sketches. “I like Olivia.” He stopped flipping. “Now this is more like it. This is what lingerie should look like.”

Nash crossed his booted feet on the desk. “Which only supports my theory that you've become a little sissy girl since I've been gone.”

“Shut up, Nash.” He turned the sketch. “Tell me that you don't think this is hot.”

The sketch was of a woman. A woman in a wispy bluish-purple nightgown that left little to the imagination. The drawing wasn't as good as Babette's, but the design was twice as hot.

Deacon sat up. “Where did you get that?”

“It was at the back of the other sketches.” He flipped to another page. “And there appears to be more.”

Deacon took the sketches from his brother, tossed Babette's crazy creations on the floor, and spread the rest across the desk. Or at least what would fit. There had to be around thirty.

“Damn,” Nash said, “how can French Kiss be going under if they sell stuff like this?” He picked up a sketch of a woman in a black studded bra, satin garter belt, and silky thigh-high stockings. “I'd pay a fortune to see a woman in this.”

“You've always liked your women dark and edgy, Nash,” Grayson said. “I like my ladies in something a little softer.” He pointed to the sketch of the sheer pink bra and panties, then tipped his head as he studied it. “But the models need a few more curves to really show off the excellent design of the lingerie.”

Deacon stared at a drawing of a purple-and-silver corset. “Whose are these?”

Grayson pointed to the scribble in the corner of the sketch. “I'm not positive, but that looks like an
O.H.
to me.”

Olivia had drawn these designs? If so, then why hadn't she chosen these for the new collections? The answer came quickly. Because she didn't think they were good enough. Just as she didn't think she deserved to be the boss of French Kiss—or the daughter of Michael Beaumont.

Deacon sat down in the chair. “She's going to hide these in a desk drawer and walk into the boardroom tomorrow with Babette's pile of crap that will make her the laughingstock of the company.”

“And isn't that what you wanted, Deke?” Grayson asked. “I thought you wanted to get back at Olivia for getting you kicked out of Michael's.”