Billionaire's Unexpected Bride (Slade Brothers Book 1) Page 8

  “Steph, can I ask you something without the whole town knowing about it?”

  “Sure, what’s up?” she asks, leaning against the bar.

  “Did you know Drake when he was in a relationship?”

  Her eyes grow in size. “Oh, yeah. Her name was Casey.”

  “What can you tell me about them?” I ask, leaning in.

  “Well, I was a lot younger at the time, so everything I know is what’s been passed around town, but I guess they were a thing. Like, a serious thing. There was talk of them getting married and starting a family. That’s the pretty typical route for people in this area. This town is small, and when you’re here living the small-town life, you kind of forget that you always have the option to leave and start your own life. Settling down is kind of the only option around here.”

  I nod her on.

  “Anyway, I was told that Casey had big dreams. It was like she suddenly remembered she didn’t have to stay here, get married, and have children. She remembered that there’s life out there. The thought of staying here and never having a life of her own freaked her out. Out of the blue, she packed her things and left to find the life she felt she was meant to have—breaking Drake’s heart in the process. She left and time stood still for him.”

  “That’s so sad,” I mumble, looking at my drink.

  She nods.

  “So Drake has done what since she left? Has he slept his way through town or caused trouble or something?”

  “No, nothing. He just keeps himself locked away. He doesn’t come into town at all. He’s basically a recluse. Why are you asking anyway?”

  I shrug. “I was just wondering. He’s my client and I want to know all there is to know. I have to get him to be a part of this town and wanted to know how stacked the odds are against my plan.” I offer a smile.

  “Miss?” someone across the bar yells for a drink.

  Stephanie leaves me alone and my thoughts swirl. Suddenly, I understand why Harrison said the things he did about Drake. He was being protective of him. He knows that if something did start with us, it couldn’t end happily. In a year, I’ll be leaving, the same way Casey did. Could Drake survive two women leaving him?

  I shake my head clear of these thoughts. All of this is pointless worry, because Drake and I will never be more than business partners. Maybe, if nothing else, I’ll be his friend, and help him see there’s more to life than wallowing in a lost love. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll become his friend and get him to join the town, where he might even find a new love. Then when I leave in a year, he’ll be happier than ever.

  I’ve always been told that I have to stop trying to fix everything, but I feel like it’s my job to fix things. I’ve been brought here to fix this problem for Drake. He needs the town’s acceptance. He needs to expand his business. He needs to be happy. Sure, I wasn’t hired for that last one, but I feel like it’s my job to do so anyway.

  Saturday rolls around and excitement fills me. I pull on a short jean skirt, a white tank top, and my brown cowgirl boots. Spring Fling, here I come! I curl my blonde hair and leave it hanging down my back as I add the finishing touches to my face. I head to the bar a little early, planning on helping Stephanie set up and get things ready.

  When I walk in, she’s running around like a crazy person trying to get everything ready. “Thank God you’re here. Would you please help me in the back?”

  “Of course,” I reply, moving behind the bar and setting my purse on the shelf. I follow her through the door and into a stock room. She bends down and picks up two cases of beer. She hands them over and grabs two more before leading me back to the main barroom. She sets the cases on the bar and opens the cooler to stock up for what I’m assuming will be a busy night. I place my two cases on the bar top and slide open the cooler door to help load in the beer.

  “So, planning on a busy night, huh?”

  Her eyes grow wide. “Last year, we ran out of beer. We sold every case we had and ran the kegs dry. We ended up only being able to sell mixed drinks by the end of the night. And let me tell you, people who are already drunk don’t need to finish it off with whiskey. It was a madhouse to say the least.”

  I smile. “Sounds fun. Back home, we never had things like this. I mean, clubs would have their special occasion nights or whatever, but it was always the same old thing. Techno music, flashing lights, grinding on the dance floor. I’m looking forward to my first country experience.” I laugh and she joins in.

  “You may be surprised by just how closely what you just described will happen here tonight. I mean, other than the techno music. I think people here would have a heart attack if anything other than country music came over those speakers.”

  We laugh and talk as we finish putting the beer away. “Let me make you a drink for helping me out,” Stephanie says as I take a seat at the bar.

  “Thanks,” I reply, looking around and watching as people start to fill up the bar. It’s only two in the afternoon, and there are already more people in the bar than I’ve ever seen before.

  A man sits at my side and shoots a smile my way. I return his smile as I check him out. He has blond hair that’s cut short. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and a tight pair of jeans with brown cowboy boots.

  “You must be new around here; I’ve never seen you before,” he says with that smile returning.

  It’s a nice smile. He’s cute, and I wouldn’t mind getting to know him considering he’s a man who’s not forbidden.

  I nod. “I am. I’m the new lawyer in town, Celeste Teller.” I hold out my hand and he shakes it.

  “Nice to meet you, Celeste Teller. I’m Brock Weston.” He bows his head.

  I smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Brock.”

  He leans closer. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your smile is?” His blue eyes twinkle.

  I laugh out loud. “I’ve been told how charming you country boys are,” I tease.

  He winks. “You ain’t seen nothing yet. Just wait until you see how charming I am out on the dance floor.” He stands up. “Steph, play something for us.”

  He holds out his hand. I look from him, to Stephanie, who’s starting up the jukebox with a big smile, and back. I slap my hand into his. “Okay, show me what you can do.” He drags me to the center of the wooden dance floor and pulls me to his chest. One hand lands on my hip, and the other holds my hand as we begin moving to the upbeat country song.

  I’ve never danced this way before. I find myself watching my feet, trying to copy his steps. His hand leaves my hip for a moment, landing on my chin and directing my eyes to his. “Look here, not at your feet.”

  “I don’t know how to dance this way,” I laugh out.

  “Just feel the music, baby,” he says around a smile.

  I laugh, but try to keep my eyes on his as he leads us around the dance floor. Every time I step on his foot, I laugh and apologize.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m pretty sure dancing with a pretty girl like you is worth a broken foot,” he teases, only causing me to laugh harder.

  By the time the dance is over, I’m out of breath and exhausted. He takes my hand to walk me off the dance floor, but we stop when a man steps in front of us.

  He holds out his hand. “May I have this dance?” he asks.

  Brock smiles over at me but releases my hand as he walks away.

  The man takes my hand and spins me around. “I’m Trevor. Trevor Taylor.”

  “Celeste Teller,” I tell him as we begin to move at a much slower pace than the last dance.

  “How you liking our little town, Celeste?”

  I shrug one shoulder. “It’s not so bad.” I give him a little grin. I’ve never been the type of girl who craved attention from boys. I always kept myself busy with school, studying, and extracurricular activities I knew would look good on my applications. However, now that I’m having my second dance with a second guy, I can see how this could get intoxicating. It’s like I’m the shiny new toy and all the ki
ds want to play with me. Considering the current predicament I’m in with Drake, attention from other men is exactly what I need to keep myself at arm’s length with him.

  Trevor and I talk while we dance, getting to know each other, and when our dance ends, there’s another man waiting for my hand. I giggle as I take it. His dark hair and dark eyes are all I can focus on. This town definitely doesn’t have a shortage of good-looking men!

  Hours pass, drinks go down smoothly, and the men almost never give me a moment to catch my breath between dances. I’m laughing and having a good time, and Stephanie is working her butt off but finds the time to check in on me every once in a while. She makes sure I stay hydrated—and by hydrated, I mean a quick dose of vodka now and then—and she even shoos away a man or two to give me a bit of time to sit down and relax.

  Finally getting to sit down, I feel my muscles burning.

  “So, you said Drake was going to make an appearance for the auction, right?” she asks, wiping down a glass.

  I nod as I lift my glass and take a drink.

  “Well, it’s getting ready to start. Do you think he’ll still make it?”

  I look at my watch and see that it’s already going on 5 p.m. I’ve spent the last three hours drinking and dancing. My mouths drops open. “I can’t believe time passed so quickly. Can you give me my phone? I’ll try calling him.”

  She bends down and grabs my phone from my purse. I look at the screen and see a text from Drake. Sorry, something’s come up and I won’t be able to make it. Maybe next time.

  I hand her the phone. “He’s not coming.”

  She takes the phone and places it back into my purse. “Oh well. I’m sure his donation will help out regardless.” She walks off to wait on more customers.

  Anger fills my chest. Not only am I mad that he blew me off, but I was really hoping to see him. I know it’s stupid and I know nothing can come of it, but I was looking forward to getting to know him—becoming his friend. He promised to make an effort, and he’s not holding up his end of the bargain. I needed a chance to show him that we can be friends without things getting awkward after what happened at his house.

  I finish my drink just as Brock turns to me. “You look like you’re in need of a distraction.” He gives me that smile I’ve really come to like.

  I smile, nod my head, and place my hand in his.

  “Let’s go,” he says, pulling me back to the dance floor.

  6

  Drake

  CHECKING the time on my watch, I see that it’s going on 4 p.m. The auction starts in an hour, and I promised Celeste I’d make an appearance. I’ll need to be leaving soon, so I begin cleaning off my desk. I come across a stack of mail I set down the other day and promptly forgot about. I grab the stack and begin opening it quickly so I can get out of here. Most of it’s trash, invitations to parties and events, invoices that need to be paid, and receipts for invoices that have already been paid. Then I get to the last envelope in the stack. I quickly tear it open and pull out a single piece of paper. When I unfold it, a picture falls out. I study it quickly and find that it’s a picture of my father. A woman is sitting on his lap, but the woman isn’t my mother. On the table in front of them is a newspaper. I quickly grab a magnifying glass to get a closer look. The date on the paper is November 7, 1980. My mother died in February of ‘81. Who is this woman sitting on my dad’s lap? They’re both smiling and looking happy. He doesn’t have a guilty look on his face—not like a married man with a sick wife should. Anger swells in my chest and I toss the picture on my desk as I read the letter.

  * * *

  It looks like dear old dad created more problems for you than you thought. My mother was paid off, but I wasn’t. And I want what’s mine.

  * * *

  “Harrison!” I yell, standing up.

  Harrison walks in quickly. “What’s wrong?” he asks, looking around the office like I’m being attacked and he can’t find my assailant.

  “You know anything about this?” I ask, handing him the letter and then the picture.

  He reads it quickly, then looks closely at the picture. He lets out a deep breath before collapsing in the chair across from my desk.

  “Drake,” he says quietly, not tearing his eyes from the photograph.

  “Just tell me the truth. Who is the woman in this picture?” I ask, a little too loudly.

  He nods. “Her name is Linda Hammond. She was a secretary here back in the ‘80s.”

  “Why is she sitting on my father’s lap?” I don’t know why I even have to ask this question. If the picture had been taken after my mother’s passing, then there wouldn’t be an issue. But my mom has remained the most important woman in my life. I compare every woman I meet to her, and wonder what Mom would’ve thought of them. Knowing that my father was less than honorable to her in her dying days makes me livid.

  “It was rumored that she was sleeping with him. But that’s all it was. A rumor.” His eyes go wide as he finally looks up at me.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like just a rumor now, does it?”

  He shakes his head as his face wrinkles. “I . . . It . . .”

  “You think my father cheated on my mother? My sick and dying mother?” I ask, a little louder than necessary.

  He shrugs. “I never would’ve thought it. He loved your mother. He was devastated when she got sick. She was the love of his life. He’s still never had a serious relationship since then.”

  I thought our family was full of one-woman men. I thought that’s where I got it from—not being able to move on after Casey. My father met and fell in love with my mother when they were still in high school. They dated, fell in love, got married, and had children. When she passed, he vowed that he would never love again, and he’s remained single to this very day. My grandfather was the same with my grandmother. But now I’m finding out that my father cheated on my mother when she was lying in bed sick and dying? And not only that, but he potentially has an illegitimate child out there—a child who wants what’s mine—something I’ve worked for my entire life?

  I shake my head. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.” I take the picture and the note and head toward the elevator.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, standing up and chasing after me.

  “To talk to my father.”

  “What about the auction?”

  Fuck. I forgot about the auction. “This is more important,” I tell him, stepping into the elevator. The doors close between us. As I ride down to the lobby, I pull out my phone and send Celeste a quick message, letting her know I won’t be able to make it after all. It pisses me off that I have to let her down on the first thing I promised her, but I don’t have a choice. My whole world is being turned upside down right now. I have to find the truth.

  I jump behind the wheel of my truck, tossing the piece of paper and photo onto the seat next to me. Twisting the key, the loud motor fires to life and I shift into drive. I stomp the gas and the truck leaps forward. My mind is an endless river of confusion, anger, and determination. My father and I don’t have the best relationship, but I refuse to leave without the answers I need.

  My dad lives far out in the country. He’s basically a hermit, never coming into town for anything. I drive up the long dirt driveway, stomping on the brakes when I reach the end. Dirt swirls around the truck as I climb out. My dad is sitting on the front porch with a glass of bourbon in hand. His shotgun is resting at his side as he rocks himself back and forth in the old wooden rocking chair.

  “Well, what have I done to deserve this visit?” he asks, lifting his glass and taking a sip.

  I sit in the empty chair next to him. “I was going through the mail today and found this,” I say, holding out the paper with the picture tucked inside so it’s not visible.

  He looks at the paper in my hand, but doesn’t move to take it. “So?” His tanned, wrinkled skin looks like leather and his dark eyes hold no welcome. He’s an old, bitter man. Exactly what I�
��ll become if I don’t change my ways.

  “Take it,” I order.

  Instead, he turns and pours himself another glass, not bothering to ask if I’d like one.

  Finally, I open the paper and pull out the picture. “Who is this?” I ask, showing it to him.

  His eyes glance from his glass, to the picture, and back. “No one for you to worry about. That was a long time ago.” He raises his glass and takes another sip.

  “You cheated on Mom? When she was sick?” I can feel the emotions swelling in my chest. That alone tells me that this is no good. I won’t get anywhere with him if I’m emotional. He’s an old man. He was raised—and raised us boys—to be tough, to act like men. In his eyes, being emotional is for women.

  “Back then, that kind of thing wasn’t unheard of,” he says, running his wrinkled hand through his smoothed-down gray hair. “In fact, back then, every man had his wife—the mother of his children—as well as his mistress—the woman he used. You couldn’t treat your wife like you’d treat your mistress. A wife requires respect. A mistress?” He laughs. “Well, they don’t require anything.”

  “Who is she, Dad?” I ask, a little more forcefully.

  He waves his hand in front of his face, dismissing the question. “Who cares? She was a whore who entertained me from time to time when the love of my life was dying.”

  “Who cares?” I repeat. “I care! Apparently, my half-brother or half-sister cares!” I yell, holding up the paper.”

  He lets out a deep chuckle. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, taking another sip.

  “Look at this letter. Who could this be from if you didn’t get your ‘whore’ pregnant?”

  He snatches the paper from my hand and looks it over. “This is nothing more than someone trying to get something for nothing. There was no child. Hell, the relationship only lasted a couple weeks. Once she realized she meant nothing to me, she quit and left town.”