A Billionaire Between the Sheets (8 page)

“I didn't give you geraniums.” Doris looked at her husband. “Did you, Hammond?”

“No. Maybe her cousin did. He seems like a helpful fellow.” He directed his next comment at Olivia. “I hope you don't sell your house to old farts who have a problem with loud rock and roll. It would be nice to have a couple living next door who are up for a little swinging.”

The mental picture that popped into Olivia's head had her cringing. “I'll try to keep that in mind,” she said. “Well, thanks again. Now I better get inside and check on Babette.” She turned for the door only to stop when she saw Jonathan Livingston standing on the back of her chair.

“Scat!” She flung out her arms, but this time the bird didn't take flight. Instead he hopped to the table and picked up a flaxseed tortilla chip and ate it whole. And since Olivia had lost all control over her life, she let him.

W
hat the hell are you doing, Deke?” Nash's voice came through the phone receiver before Deacon could even say hello. “And don't give me the crap you gave Grayson and Dad about wanting to make sure the contract got to Olivia. We both know that Michael's lawyers could've easily handled that.”

Suddenly exhausted, Deacon put his brother on speaker before placing the cell phone on the hotel nightstand and lying back on the king-size bed. Kelly had done a good job of picking out a hotel. The mattress was pillow-top and the bedding plush. It was too bad that his brother had to ruin his relaxing evening in the nice room by pointing out his stupidity.

“Something didn't feel right, Nash. And I couldn't sign until I found out what that something was.”

“So don't keep me in suspense.”

Deacon ran a hand through his hair and released his breath. “French Kiss is on the brink of bankruptcy. According to what I could get out of Olivia's assistant and the Parisian designer, the company was struggling even before Michael's stroke.”

He was surprised by how disappointed he felt. As much as he might have hated Michael Beaumont, there was a part of Deacon that had also admired him. Unlike Donny John, he had made something of himself. The only Beaumont who had.

“Well, damn,” Nash said. “Does that mean that Olivia withdrew her offer?”

“No. The offer still stands.”

“So what's the holdup? Sign the contract before Olivia changes her mind.”

“She's not going to change her mind. She's got some harebrained idea about saving the company by selling men's lingerie.”

“Men's what?”

Deacon snorted. “Exactly. You should've seen the pair of rhinestone thongs. I swear, I don't know who is more crazy—the French designer who designed them or Olivia for putting her trust in the no-talent woman in the first place.”

“So I take it that Olivia isn't as business-savvy as Michael was.”

“Not from what I can tell. If she were business-savvy, she would jump ship while she could. Instead she's willing to use all her money to buy the shares of a bankrupt company.”

“I'm sure she won't go broke,” Nash said.

At one time Deacon had been sure of that too. But after seeing the
For Sale
sign at her house, he had to wonder how deep in debt Olivia was willing to go for the company. He massaged his temples. “The crazy woman is gambling on a dream.”

“She wouldn't be the first,” Nash said. “You sold everything you owned to buy the land by the lake.”

“Yeah, but my plan is at least feasible. No man I know is going to buy feathered robes and rhinestone thongs. And Olivia needs to pull her head out of the clouds and realize that. Hell, the woman doesn't even remember to close her garage door. And do you know all the nuts that wander around a big city? When I was leaving her house tonight, I saw some Peeping Tom in a trench coat trying to peek in her windows. The pervert ran off when I jumped out of the car.”

There was a long stretch of silence, and Deacon wondered if their connection had been lost. He had just reached for the phone to check when Nash spoke.

“So that's how it is.”

Deacon took the phone off speaker and held it to his ear. “What? That's how what is?”

Nash released his breath in one long sigh. “Olivia has become a damsel in distress, and you want to be her knight in shining armor.”

“What are you talking about? Have you been drinking some of Dad's moonshine?”

“I'm talking about your Lancelot complex—the one where you feel like you have to come to the rescue of every woman in need.”

Deacon laughed. “You have been hitting the moonshine.”

“You know I don't drink after what happened, Deke. You have issues with saving women. Don't tell me you've forgotten about getting your butt kicked by those bullies when you defended Katie Day? Or giving Rhonda Lyons money until she found a job? Or fixing that single mom's car for free when it broke down on her way through town? I even think you agreed to be Francesca's cougar cub because you felt sorry for her. And there were at least a dozen more times that you've given money and time you didn't have to help some woman in need. But you can't help Olivia, Deke. Not only because you don't know shit about the lingerie business but also because Olivia doesn't want your help. From what I could tell, she wants us to sign the contract and get the hell out of her life.”

Nash paused. “Look, I love you, Bro. You were more of a father to Grayson and me after Mom died than Dad was. And it's not about the money—I don't need much to survive. But this money could help you achieve your dream, Deacon. A dream that you put off because of my screw-up.”

“You didn't screw up, Nash,” Deacon said. “It was a trumped-up charge.”

“Was it?” Nash's reply surprised Deacon—as did the raw emotion attached to the words. He'd thought that Nash had released the past, but it looked like he'd been wrong. “She said no, Deke,” he continued. “Did it matter when she said it?”

“Hell, yeah, it mattered. And the jury thought so too.” He sat up. “You've got to let this go, Nash.”

There was a long pause. “Okay, I'll make you a deal. I'll let it go if you let French Kiss go.”

After his conversation with Nash, Deacon didn't sleep well. He woke up still on Central time with a headache and a firm resolve. Nash was right. He needed to sign the contract. It was what his brothers and Olivia wanted. And it should be what Deacon wanted too. If he signed the contract, he could finish his condos, build a new house, find some sweet little Sunday school teacher to marry, and set his brothers up for life. He didn't know anything about the lingerie business. His life was back in Louisiana. Certainly not San Francisco.

Getting up, he showered, shaved, and packed before paying his hotel bill and heading for French Kiss. When he entered the lobby, the pretty receptionist behind the large art deco desk greeted him.

“Good morning. Are you here to see Ms. Harrington again? Because I'm afraid she doesn't get in until around nine o'clock.”

“That's okay.” He headed for the elevators. “I'm sure her assistant can help me.”

Except Kelly wasn't at her desk. But the door to Olivia's office was cracked open. Thinking he would find Kelly inside, he was surprised when he peeked in and saw a thin blond woman in a red power suit bent over Olivia's desk reading the contract he'd left there the day before.

“It's a contract for hundred and fifty million, all right,” she said into the cell phone she had pressed to her ear. “What an idiot. Who would pay that much for a company that's going under? So now what? You promised me the position of CEO if I helped you ruin French Kiss. I did everything I could on this end—including overlooking the money that was skimmed.”

The woman straightened. Deacon took a step back, but continued to listen.

“Be patient?” she said. “I have been patient. But I'm starting to get the feeling that you're playing me for a fool. And I'm no fool—”

“Good morning.”

Deacon turned to see Kelly walking down the hall, carrying a stack of empty boxes. As she peeked around them, the top two went tumbling to the floor. He hurried over to help her, but kept his eyes on Olivia's office. Sure enough, while he was bent over, the skinny blonde slipped out and moved around Kelly's desk.

“I thought I asked you to take those boxes to my office, Kelly?” she said.

Kelly rolled her eyes at Deacon before answering. “I was planning on it, Ms. Bradley, but then I noticed Mr. Beaumont.”

Ms. Bradley's eyes narrowed. “Mr. Beaumont?”

After what he'd heard, he couldn't help playing the part. “Michael's nephew…and the new owner of French Kiss.”

Her eyes widened before she glanced back at Olivia's office. “But I thought you had…”

“Had what? Ms. Bradley, is it?”

She pulled her gaze away from the door and collected herself. “Yes, Anastasia Bradley. I'm the vice-president of marketing.” She held out a hand, and he shook it briefly.

“Then I guess we'll be seeing each other again.” He stacked the boxes and picked them up. “Let me help you with these. Where is your office?”

“She's moving into your uncle's office,” Kelly said with a gleeful smile.

Deacon lifted an eyebrow at Anastasia. “Really?”

Anastasia quickly took the boxes from him. “Thanks, but I think I can handle it.” Then, without an “It's nice to meet you,” she turned and headed down the hallway.

She hadn't even disappeared around the corner before Deacon turned to Kelly. “So what do you know about Ms. Bradley?”

“Besides the fact that she's a class-A bitch?”

He agreed, but he wasn't about to tell Kelly that. The young woman needed to learn a few basic rules of business. He took note of her inappropriate dress with the plunging neckline. Okay, so maybe more than a few.

“There are certain words that should be reserved for happy hours,” he said. “Which means that I would like you to answer the question without your personal opinions.”

She looked a little taken aback at first, but quickly recovered. “From what I've heard, she came to work here around the same time Ms. Harrington finished college. She graduated cumma sum la-di-da and thinks she should be CEO and not Ms. Harrington.”

“And I'm going to assume that she bullies Ms. Harrington.”

“That's putting it mildly. The woman not only bullies her she also bullies everyone on the board. And I think she's boinking the old guy with—” Deacon lifted a brow, and she rephrased. “Yes, she's a bully. So are you here to see Ms. Harrington? She usually doesn't get here until around nine. Which doesn't seem right, since I have to be here at eight.”

He stared at the door of the office where the contract was waiting.
Don't be stupid, Deacon. Sign the contract and get the hell out of here
.
But instead of doing that, he glanced at his watch. “I guess that gives me a good hour.”

Kelly seemed thrilled. “I'll be happy to get you a cup of coffee while you wait—black, right?”

He smiled. “You read my mind.”

She started to turn when she noticed the opened door of Olivia's office. Her head cocked. “That's strange. I don't remember unlocking it.” She pulled the door closed before heading down the hallway.

Once she was gone, Deacon's mind ticked. If the office had been locked, it meant that Ms. Bradley had done some breaking and entering. He wasn't that surprised. He had met his fair share of women, and men, who were willing to do whatever it took to get ahead in the business world. And it sounded to Deacon like Ms. Bradley wanted to get ahead…but not as much as the person she had been speaking to.

“So did you sign it, Mr. Beaumont?”

Deacon was pulled away from his thoughts by the same man who had shown up in Olivia's office the day before. He was a disheveled-looking guy with messy hair, wrinkled pants, and a grease spot on his purple tie. But regardless of his appearance, he seemed to have some guts.

“Jason Melvin.” He held out his hand. “I'm the one who drew up the contract.”

Deacon shook his hand. “Deacon Beaumont.”

“I assumed as much by Ms. Harrington's reaction yesterday.” He hesitated for only a second. “So did you sign it? Or would you like to do that now?”

Smart man. He had very politely placed Deacon in a corner. Which made Deacon wonder if he had been the one talking to Ms. Bradley on the phone. It didn't seem likely. A lawyer wouldn't have the power to appoint Ms. Bradley to the position of CEO.

“Call me Deacon,” he said. “And may I call you Jason?” Before he could agree, Deacon continued. “Actually, there were a few things in the contract I'd like to discuss. And since you drew it up, I figure you'll be able to answer them better than Olivia can.”

“Of course. My office is just—” His face turned a bright red that clashed with his tie as Kelly walked up with the coffee.

“Be careful,” she said as she handed Deacon the cup. “It's still a little hot.” She looked at Jason and sent him a knowing smile. “Would you like me to get you some coffee, Mr. Melvin, or are you interested in something else?”

Jason's chin lifted. “No, thank you, Miss Wang. There's nothing you can get me that I want.”

“Really?” Kelly's smile was more like a baring of teeth, and Deacon wondered if he should step between them or pull out the boxing gloves. “Because it looked like you were…pointing me out the other day.”

“If I point you out, Miss Wang, you'll know it.” His eyes flashed with anger before he turned to Deacon. “My office is this way.”

With a nod of thanks to Kelly, Deacon followed him down the hallway. “So I'm going to make a guess and say that you're interested in Kelly.”

Jason glanced at him. “What? That overconfident nympho? Not hardly. She's probably screwed half the guys in San Francisco.”

“Doubtful.”

Jason stopped and studied him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I've met very few women who are true nymphos and addicted to sex. But I've met plenty of women who act sexually aggressive as a way of hiding their insecurities.”

“And you think that brassy woman is insecure?”

Deacon shrugged. “It's probable. Kelly is the new kid on the block in a business filled with beautiful lingerie models.”

Jason thought for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Well, it doesn't matter. I'm not interested.” He turned and led Deacon into a small office that was messier than Grayson's room. The desk was cluttered with stacks of papers and fast-food cups, the trash can filled with empty snack cake boxes, and the windowsill crammed with dying potted plants. The only thing remotely organized was the shelf behind the desk. Sports memorabilia filled each level. It was an impressive collection.