The Billionaire Renegade

by Catherine Mann

  Isabeau laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. “And the chemistry between you two lights up a room.”

  Bracing her shoulders, Felicity needed to nip this kind of talk in the bud. She knew how to wield silence as well as words. After giving herself a moment to gather her thoughts, she continued, “Did you bring me here to help or to match-make?”

  Isabeau’s smile faded and she touched Felicity’s wrist. “I would have asked you to come today regardless.”

  “Okay, then,” Felicity said, Isabeau’s words bringing the importance of this meeting back into focus. “Let’s concentrate on that.”

  Voices from the corridor had them all sitting upright fast, heads swiveling toward the new arrivals. Felicity’s skin tingled as she heard Conrad’s deep timbre stroke her senses as he spoke to his brother.

  The two men paused in the archway, immersed in discussion. Felicity’s gaze was drawn to Conrad’s profile. His handsome face was tense, lips drawn taut in a line as his features attempted neutrality. But she’d been trained to read people. She could feel the tension radiating from him over the confrontation to come. But he stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother, head dipped, listening to Jack.

  That show of support touched her. Deeply. The ability to put aside personal pain to help another wasn’t as common as it should be.

  As if he could feel her watching him, Conrad looked up, his gaze colliding with Felicity’s. The emotion in his eyes was so raw, beyond what she’d even suspected. She ached to reach out and comfort him. It was all she could do to keep her feet planted.

  Tally cleared her throat. “Nothing up between the two of you, huh?”

  Felicity glanced at her friend, realizing she wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all herself. How ironic that only moments after she’d insisted her devotion to work precluded any relationship, she was so tempted by Conrad.

  She hadn’t been good about articulating issues to her ex-husband, so she’d been careful to face her problems—at work and in her personal life—head-on since then. But with Conrad, she’d been so certain that he was the problem and kept throwing herself in his path to deal with him. Only to realize Conrad wasn’t the issue so much as her—she was damned attracted to him and there was no escaping that fact.

  She needed to make it clear to the family that, based on how things went today, she would make a recommendation for another counselor to see them through this tense time with Breanna.

  Because in order to get Conrad out of her head, Felicity was going to have to confront the attraction head-on, sooner rather than later.

  * * *

  Brea was sick to her stomach.

  Even knowing this meeting was exactly what she wanted, what she’d planned for, bracing herself to enter that conference room full of Steeles and Mikkelsons rattled her. Having her lawyer at her side didn’t ease the knot of panic in her chest.

  The last time she’d been here, she’d hidden her true identity. She hadn’t relied on her family not recognizing her as an adult. She’d bleached her hair and wore colored contact lens. That disguise had offered a buffer between her emotions and her return, a protective shield. Now, with her real name revealed and her hair dark again, she felt exposed walking into a meeting as...herself.

  Whatever that meant.

  She’d once considered herself a Steele, first and foremost, part of a big, loving family. Then her world had been rocked by the accident. Doctors told her the concussion she’d suffered was severe, a part of what made processing all that happened immediately afterward so difficult.

  But she couldn’t deny the truth that someone connected to her family had killed her mother, and almost killed Brea in the process. She didn’t know whom to trust. She only knew now that her adoptive parents were dead, and she was questioning everything.

  And she couldn’t rest until she had answers, safety and, most of all, resolution. She needed to move forward with her life and she couldn’t do that until she made peace with her past.

  She also needed to make sure the company didn’t prosecute her for leaking corporate secrets. She hadn’t planned on doing that when she’d wrangled her way into the organization undercover. She still wasn’t sure how her better judgment had gotten away from her. She’d been so caught up in a need for revenge and wanting to strike back. That time was still a fog of frustration, betrayal...and heartbreak.

  Somehow, she’d let her emotions get the better of her. Anxiety had her shaking in her ankle boots. Was she sweating? Her whole body felt on fire. But she didn’t dare show her apprehension by dabbing her brow to check.

  Throat running dry, her lips parched, she attempted to find something here and now to anchor her. Finding something here and now in this place though? That was part of the problem.

  Hooking her thumbs into the sleeves of her black turtleneck sweater, she did her best to channel her alter ego, the one who had provided a degree of armor last time she was here. With her family.

  With determination she did not feel, she gripped the stainless steel door handle leading to the Steele conference room. Her lawyer kept even stride next to her. Brea tried to imagine herself like some warrior princess striding into the battlefield with her loyal second in command.

  She worked to keep her eyes off the faces of the people gathered at the long, dark conference table. People she’d once called family. She’d accomplished putting them out of her mind for the years she’d been away. She’d slowly stopped thinking of them in the interim. Her adoptive parents had helped her with that, reminding her that letting go of those connections was important for healing.

  These people were all her enemies, after all. One of them was most likely responsible for the accident that had thrown her life into disarray and killed her mother. It was best not to linger on any good memories. She definitely couldn’t afford to let emotions get the better of her now.

  She continued her measured walk to the table. Chin high. Resolved. She fought down the rise of nerves that threatened to undo her calculated mask of neutrality and power.

  Which became harder with the weight of their gazes on her. Unable to resist, finally, she looked into the eyes of her family.

  She lingered first on her uncle Conrad. The strangeness of the supposedly familial connection chilling her blood. Images of someone else’s life flashed in her mind. Her uncle helping her onto a paint horse, teaching her where to place her weight in the saddle. Her twin sister’s peal of laughter and whispered secrets. Brea knew better than to let her eyes linger on Naomi, the toughest one of all to forget.

  An avalanche of half-formed memories threatened to bury her alive. Right here. In the thick tan carpet of the Steele boardroom. Her eyes flicked away from her family members at the table, searching the visible Alaskan wilderness beyond the glass planes.

  Part of her wanted to spin away and make a run for it. Cast aside all identities, all knowledge. Make her life in a small cabin in the woods. Become a recluse, take up knitting or writing. Avoid people and all the pain they caused.

  But Brea bit down on the impulse to flee, made herself look at each person. But then her gaze landed on her father. His sharp blue eyes full of pain—and tenderness. The tightness in her chest intensified. She would do better to keep her eyes off those from her past.

  She’d seen them all before during her time here working as Milla Jones. But this was the first time they’d really seen her, knowing who she was.

  Would she have ever had the nerve to come back if they hadn’t run the DNA test and found out her true identity?

  She honestly wasn’t sure.

  Stanley Hawkins, her attorney, pulled out a chair for her. With an outward control she was far from feeling inside, Brea sank into the chair. The young lawyer took his seat next to her, and the rest of the group followed suit.

  Her attorney, who’d taken the case pro bono, gave her an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement
before he placed a manila folder in front of him, his green eyes as wild as a jungle. Formidable for someone his age, Stanley did not back down. He cleared his throat after what seemed like years of suffocating silence.

  “I have a statement prepared by my client.” He passed pages around the table. “It details her life after the airplane crash.”

  A flash of pain chased across Jack’s face. Real? Or affected for the others at the table? “Is this really necessary? I had hoped we could talk through what happened, rather than read about it.”

  Her attorney shook his head, as she’d been clear with him about what she wished. “My client is present and cooperating, in spite of her concerns about her personal safety.”

  She tried not to notice how many of those seated winced at his words. Could they really not know that fear for her life motivated her? She’d been so busy protecting herself, she hadn’t really considered that her siblings could have been snowed by their father, as well.

  Jack bristled, his chest puffing out as he held the paper in a white-knuckled grip. He clung to it the way someone would hold on to the edge of a cliff. One miscalculation would mean a tumble to certain death.

  “I don’t know what happened to you in the years we were apart, but I hope with time you’ll remember how very much you were—are—loved by your family. None of us would do anything to hurt you.”

  In the space of half of breath, Stanley leaned forward in his chair, putting his hand on top of the folder. “And yet someone did. Hearing that a Mikkelson could be involved in that long-ago plane crash does little to put my client’s fears to rest. Perhaps it’s time to end this for today.”

  “Everyone, let’s breathe.” A woman in the back corner of the room spoke up. She’d been sitting in the shadows, and Brea had missed noticing her when entering the room.

  Brea leaned to whisper in her lawyer’s ear. “Who is that?”

  Before the attorney could ask, the woman scooted her chair closer. “Brea, I’m Felicity Hunt, a family friend. I’m also a counselor.”

  Brea’s shoulders braced defensively. “If you’re here to force me to change my plan for this meeting, you’re not going to succeed.”

  Felicity held up a hand. “Actually, I think you’re right to handle this in the manner that you’re most comfortable. This statement is a good place to start.”

  Brea eased back into her chair, without relaxing her guard. “All of you went to a lot of trouble to track down Milla Jones.” If only they’d put forth that effort into investigating the crash. “You’ve found her—me. I’m here to cooperate.” For her siblings’ benefit, in the event that some could be trusted, she added, “I don’t want to give the impression that I’m less than understanding of how stressful this is for each of you.”

  Jack held the paper in a tight grip. “Are there questions you would like to ask us?”

  Plenty. But she was shaking so hard on the inside, she feared she would fly apart if she spoke. It was tougher than she realized, seeing them all with the truth out there between them. So many of her childhood memories were a jumble. She loved her adoptive parents...but she’d once thought she loved the people at this table, too.

  Now? She didn’t know what she felt except afraid.

  And determined not to let that fear show.

  Brea did her best to school her features, keeping her tightly linked hands under the table. Anything to mask the whir of emotions and half memories threatening to steal air from her lungs.

  Her eyes slid to Naomi. To her twin. To the bond that felt as real as the grain of the wooden table beneath her palm. As steadying, too. Somehow, despite everything.

  Naomi’s face softened slightly, her jaw loosening as an audible breath escaped her lips. She nodded, her ponytail bobbing.

  Swallowing, Brea readied herself. “I have a question about a memory. Or what I think is a memory, anyway. Naomi, maybe you could shed some light here?” Brea’s voice felt strange in this too-still room. All around the table, her family leaned in.

  “Of course. I’ll do my best,” Naomi vowed.

  Pursing her lips together, Brea attempted to articulate the memory as best she could. “When our mother would tuck us in at night, did she sing us a song about bear cubs that chased the northern lights?”

  Naomi blinked, surprised at the question. There were harder questions floating around Brea’s brain, but for now? Brea needed to find something real to hold on to. While Naomi’s loyalty to the people at this table would be stronger than anything for a long-lost sister...the connection between them was still undeniable. It had drawn Breanna to the hospital the night Naomi’s twins were born, even though going there had been a risk.

  “She did. Then she would turn on a night-light that simulated the colors of the northern lights on the ceiling. We would fall asleep staring at it, talking about all our dreams.” Naomi’s voice was gentle, mournful.

  Brea didn’t trust herself to speak. She couldn’t afford to show vulnerability. She tapped her attorney’s foot with hers in their prearranged cue for when she was ready—or needed—to end the meeting.

  Her lawyer touched the back of her chair, standing. “I want to thank you all for this initial meeting. My client has had enough for the day.”

  Brea kept her eyes forward, letting the room become a blessed blur as she pushed the chair back from the table. Turned toward the door. Stanley again in perfect stride.

  “We’ll be in touch soon,” Stanley called over his shoulder to the murmuring Steeles, who were poring over the written statement.

  Writing that document had been hellish. But it was easier than speaking the details. She’d kept it as factual as possible, telling of the couple who’d saved her from the wreckage, protected her and brought her up as their own in their off-the-grid community.

  Taking a shaky breath, she willed her legs to move faster. Needing to be away from the claustrophobic space of that conference room. From the questions that gnawed at her.

  As they turned the corner near the elevator, Brea’s heart dropped from chest to stomach. She’d caught the figure only in her peripheral vision, but she’d known him from before. From when she pretended to be Milla Jones. A towering, charismatic man who drew her attention by the sheer force of his eyes. A dangerous attraction, given he was a driven power broker. Just the sort of man—like her family—whom she would do well to steer clear of.

  Ward Benally—rumored to be the new CEO of the company—strode past. Brea pressed the button impatiently. Needing fresh air and open sky more than before.

  Apparently, it was business as usual around here, in spite of a meeting that had her struggling not to sink to her knees. She should have known better than to give her so-called family the benefit of the doubt.

  * * *

  Conrad braced his hands against the wet bar in the conference room, not sure how he was going to get through the business meeting with Ward Benally. But it was the only time the CEO candidate had been able to meet. Conrad reached for the crystal pitcher and poured himself a glass of water.

  He was drained. Completely.

  His neck was tight, his whole damn body tense, from the post-Brea conversation. From the pain evident in his brother and his brother’s kids.

  Seeing Brea today knocked the wind out of everyone. Even Conrad, who prided himself as the man who could swoop in with a sincere, well-timed gesture to sidestep tragedy.

  Not today. Not even close.

  It should be so simple. His niece was alive despite all the evidence suggesting otherwise. The family was reunited. But somehow, something so joyous had taken a dark turn. Reopened old wounds for his family and dealt new ones.

  Brea’s decision to end the meeting so quickly had left everyone rocked. Naomi had voiced fears that her answer had triggered the reaction, blaming herself for the way the meeting unfolded. Jack had been deathly silent, reminding Conrad how clo
se they’d come to losing him in a riding accident a year ago. How much more strain could his brother’s body take?

  A hand on Conrad’s shoulder pulled him back to the present. He turned to find Felicity watching him through concerned eyes. He’d wanted her here for his family, but found himself grateful there was someone here who saw this was hell for him, too.

  He set aside his water glass. “Thank you for being here today.”

  Her hazel eyes softened. “I don’t know how much help I was.”

  “After Brea left, you said all the right things to help the family manage their expectations.” The meeting had been frustratingly short, with little from Breanna. He was most grateful for how Felicity had handled things afterward, quietly talking them through the aftermath.

  She took a step closer, her silky brown hair sliding forward along her face. He resisted the urge to test the texture of a lock and tuck it behind her ear.

  Her citrus scent filled his breaths, the flowing bells of the sleeves of her dress brushing the air as she moved past. She was all he saw, despite a room full of family filling chairs on the other side of the room.

  “Conrad, you’re so worried about them, but this has to be difficult for you, too.”

  Her words alone were a comfort, but he needed to keep his focus on his family. “Today was a big step.” He drew in a deep breath. “I need to get to work. Thanks again. I don’t know how to repay you.”

  “You can take me out to dinner tonight.”

  Her offer stunned him silent. He looked at her, trying to read her expression and find a reason for her about-face. Was she simply offering to help him talk through today’s stressful reunion? Or did she want to talk about the hospital dinner party?

  Regardless, it wasn’t an opportunity he would let pass. His day from hell was finally looking up. “Consider it a date.”

  He intended to make this next meeting the shortest ever. In his mind, he was already out the door early, more than ready to spend an evening with the most captivating woman he’d ever met.