His for the Summer: 50 Loving States, Florida (3 page)

Only her. He only wanted her. And Plan C more than anything proved just how far he was willing to go to get her.

4

“I’m so sorry, Cera. I thought we’d definitely be able to offer you a teaching position at the center—especially in light of the amazing work you’ve already done for us.”

Cera, who’d just been walking out of the grad student lounge when Nancy Dulcene’s name popped up on her phone’s caller ID, cringed. And then her heart sank as Nancy explained why she wouldn’t able to offer Cera a teaching position at the Lighthouse Center for Autism, even though she was more than qualified for the job.

At least she didn’t bother to lie about strong applicant pools and tough decisions, like the other three autism programs in Florida to which she’d applied. But, Lighthouse, had been where she’d done her Practicum hours for the Special Education part of her dual degree. And Nancy had all but assured her Lighthouse would send her an offer letter before the end of the school year.

“In my opinion your parentage has nothing to do with your qualifications. We’ve really enjoyed having you here over the last semester. Also, I can see from your application that you’ve worked hard to not only support your sister, but also turn your life around after what your father did. But unfortunately, I’m not the only one who has any say in hiring here and someone influential on our board put in a call to the head of the Center…”

She didn’t finish, but she didn’t have to. Basically, someone didn’t want the daughter of Bruce Winslow teaching the children at Lighthouse, no matter how qualified she was for the job. Which was kind of funny, she guessed.

Back when she’d been in high school, non-profits like Lighthouse had fallen all over themselves to recruit her. Back then having Councilman Winslow’s daughter in their volunteer ranks might have meant more funding when their non-profits applied for state grants. Cera could still remember one of the older women at their family’s church telling her quite seriously that she’d only need to go to college to find a husband, because she’d easily get a position at any New Orleans non-profit she wanted.

But that was before her brother died. Before everything about her father’s multiple crimes came spilling out, like a Pandora’s Box cracked open. Before her father, a greedy bottom-feeder until the very end, had seen the writing on the wall and shot himself in the head while under house arrest rather than spend the rest of his life in jail. Leaving yet another mess behind for Cera to clean up.

Nonetheless, she’d been determined not to let her father’s crimes ruin the lives of the two daughters he’d left behind. That was why she’d scrimped and saved and borrowed to get enough money to move to Florida and pursue her General/Special Education dual degree when Dana left for Montana.

She’d thought getting her dream job of working with autistic kids would be easy after school. She’d thought she’d be able to prove—with her hard work, good grades and stellar recommendations—how dedicated she was to improving the lives of kids on the spectrum.

But apparently it hadn’t been enough to pull her out from under her father’s dark shadow. And now Nancy was telling her that thanks to what Bruce Winslow had done fifteen years ago, he’d ruined any chance she had of working at Lighthouse.

“I really am sorry about this unfortunate situation. I think you would have made a valuable addition to our staff and if not for that board member—“

“I understand,” Cera said, not wanting Nancy to feel bad about a hiring decision that had obviously been taken out of her hands.

“Maybe you should think about changing your name. No internet foot print is odd, but it’s better than…”

Again, Nancy trailed off.

And Cera ran a weary hand over her short, natural curls. “That’s good advice. Maybe I’ll look into it.”

Just as soon as another magic check arrived in the mail.

Her rent was paid through to June, as was Dana’s New Mexico program fees. But summer would be here soon enough, and Rise Academy had just sent a notice about yet another incremental tuition increase. Dana started out at the school on a full scholarship five years ago. But unfortunately, the scholarship amount had remained static ever since. Any overspill was on Cera, and tuition had gone up twice since her sister started there. Not to mention she’d have to start paying back her own student loans eventually.

No, she didn’t dare touch the remaining money to pay for a name change. Even though it looked like that might be the only way she was ever going to get a job, thanks to her father.

Somehow Cera found the strength to thank Nancy for her consideration and hang up the phone.

Only to have it ring again. She could see from caller ID that it was Student Account Services.
Uh-oh.

“Hello?” she said, picking up with a frown.

“Hi, Ms. Winslow? This is Jackie Ornell, the Student Account Supervisor. I just wanted to schedule a time for you to come over to our office to sign the papers regarding your student loan payment.”

“Excuse me?” she said, her heart scuttling with panic. Surely they didn’t want her to start paying her loan back already? “The school year isn’t even over yet.”

“Yes, I know, which is why we were so thrilled to receive payment for your loan in full this morning. However, there are some papers you need to sign, so if you could make time to come by our office, I’d appreciate it.”

“Wait, what?” Cera said, shaking her head. Because surely she was experiencing some sort of auditory hallucination.

But she wasn’t. Less than an hour later, she was sitting across from a middle-age bottle blond, signing papers that stated in firm black type that as of this moment, she owed the University of West Miami exactly zero dollars.

She kept expecting someone to jump out of nearby cubicle and yell, “Psych! You’ve been PUNKED, Cera!”

But no one did. In fact, Jackie was nothing but all smiles as she handed Cera her copy of the pay-off paperwork and wished her well in her future endeavors.

Cera walked out of the office, completely shell-shocked. But not so shocked that it didn’t occur to her to…

She picked up the phone and dialed the number for the only other Student Account Services office she had in her contacts.

“Oh, we were just about to call you!” the secretary on the other end said as soon as she stated her name. “You’re on the schedule for after lunch. But don’t worry, I’ll put you right through to Dean Rosen.”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary. I was just calling to—”

Too late. The phone chimed and in the next moment, Dean Rosen, a man she’d never met and whose name she’d only ever seen written in sophisticated cursive on school marketing materials, was on the other end of the line. Positively gushing about how honored the school was by her generous donation. And how of course it wouldn’t be any problem at all for his office to book all of Dana’s travel to and from her New Mexico summer program.

“Are you serious?” Cera asked.

Her phone beeped once, the signal for an incoming text message. But Cera ignored it, too confused to deal with anything more than trying to understand the effusive words coming out of Dean Rosen’s mouth.

“Yes, we’ve already got the travel agency our school works with on it. You have nothing to worry about as far as Dana’s travel is concerned.”

“But I didn’t—I don’t understand how this happened. Could you walk me through it? Like, was there some kind of anonymous donor involved or something?”

“Hmm. Please hold while I check with the bursar,” the Dean answered, now sounding rather confused himself.

He put her on hold, only to come back a few minutes later, sounding even more befuddled. “It doesn’t look like an anonymous donor, Ms. Winslow. In fact, according to the bursar, we received a check for the funds three days ago, along with a note asking us to arrange for Dana’s travel to her program in New Mexico. The note was typed, but the check was issued from the same account we have on file.”

Cera blinked. “You mean, the check you received was written from
my
bank account?”

“Yes,” answered the Dean, sounding as perturbed as she felt. “It looks that way. But if you think there’s been a mistake…well, we’ve already processed the check, but I suppose we could return the monies, if that’s what you would prefer.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Cera rushed out.

At least she didn’t think that was what she was saying. At least not yet.

“I…I have to go. Thanks for talking with me, Dean Rosen.”

“Of course, Ms. Winslow. And thank you again for your generous donation. It’s supporters like you that allow Rise Academy to thrive—”

Cera hung up before he could deliver another batch of exaltations for a check she definitely hadn’t written. Even if it came straight from her bank account.

A chill ran up her back. She had to figure out what was going on. First step: walk to the nearest branch of her bank and find out just how much money was in there now. Because it had to be a hell of a lot more than the remainder of the original check if it was paying for Dana’s tuition with enough left over for the Dean to consider it a generous donation.

She started to pocket her phone as she headed toward the university’s closest bus stop, but then she noticed the forgotten text message on the front of her screen.

It read,
July
… followed once again by the current year.

What. The. Hell.

The number was one of those weird corporate ones. Six digits with a dash halfway through, like the kind JCPenney used to let her know there was stuff on sale this weekend even though she still wouldn’t be able to afford to buy anything on her tight budget. At least not until a month ago.

She typed furiously into the reply box: “
Who are you???”

No answer.

“Why are you doing this???”
she typed again.

No answer.

Yet she felt compelled to try again. Wanting to know. Having to know.
“What do you want from me?”

“WHO ARE YOU???
”

The first message came in while Gus and his half-brother, Max, were showing Max’s other half-brother, Cole, around the construction site for The Sorley Miami.

This being the first text he’d received on the phone Hank had given him, specifically for the purpose of executing Plan C, he pulled it out of his pocket as soon as it vibrated. The hard hat he was wearing tipped down over his forehead, casting a shadow across the phone’s screen as he read the three words.

He stared at the message, studying the first words she’d ever written to him like they were a piece of art he’d been hoping to collect for a very long time. In a way, that was what they felt like.

Then more words came through:
“Why are you doing this???”

His thumb itched to answer her. Even though that wasn’t part of the plan. No texting until May. That was the deal he’d made with himself.

While he was resisting the temptation to answer, another message came through:
“What do you want from me?”

“Hey Gus, what you have going on there? Another hotel looking to poach you?” Cole asked.

Gus looked up to see both Max and Cole staring at him. They technically looked nothing alike. Max was dark like his and Gus’s mother, while Cole took after his blonde mother. But their eyes were exact twins: green and currently narrowed with the same look of shrewd suspicion.

Gus guessed that’s what you got when you left one brother’s employ to work with the half-brother you’d never even known you had. It had taken nearly a year for Cole, his former boss, to forgive him for leaving to enter into a partnership with Max before the ink was barely dry on his hiring paperwork. And even though all three of them were now partners in their extremely profitable enterprise, Benton Brothers Ventures, it would probably be a while before the two other sides of their weird half-brother triangle fully trusted him not to bail. Then again, it had taken Max and Cole decades to start trusting each other, and they’d known they were brothers from the start. So Gus supposed he shouldn’t expect them to start trusting him any time soon.

“No,” he told them. “I’m only about Benton Brother Industries now. Hell, I even took your name. How much more invested could I be?”

That seemed to mollify Max, at least. Even though Gus changing his name had been more of a practicality than anything else. It made it easier for the three of them to walk into business meetings without having to stop and explain why he had a different last name from the other two brothers in the business. Also, being introduced as Gus Benton reduced the chance of some clueless CEO asking him to fetch his coffee because of his obvious Latino heritage.

But as it turned out, he liked being Gus Benton. The high-rises, the hotels, the respect, the money—seriously, the cars alone made the name switch worth it.

Yet Cole continued to squint at him hard as he said, “You stopped in the middle of a sentence to check your phone, which isn’t like you. I’ve never seen you concentrate on anything non-business related like that.”

“Not since my wife showed up at your first corporate retreat,” Max added. Then his eyes widened. “Wait, is it a woman? You finally get serious about somebody other than Pru now, Little Bro?”