Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “As we learned yesterday, your father’s adoption of your brothers doesn’t make them heirs as he’d hoped. So, the only way Thomas could ever take your place permanently is if you died. And you’re so young, he has no hope. But he’s going to do everything he can to find a way to undermine you. And he’ll have sixteen years to do it,” he says.

  “What can I do to stop him?” I ask.

  “Nothing. I think he’s going to ask me to resign as the trustee of the family foundation where all the money sits,” he says.

  “But you won’t. Right?”

  “No. And he can’t remove me. But son, I’m eighty-two. I’m not going to be here forever. And he’ll have complete discretion to pick the next trustee,” he says, and I feel a surge of worry.

  Each word stings like they’re wrapped in shards of glass. My stomach dropped when they read the will yesterday. I didn’t expect to become chairman right away. I’m only fourteen. But to have no say—at all—over anything completely surprised me. What was I going to do for the next sixteen years?

  “Okay, so what happens now?” I ask.

  “Well, that’s what I want to talk to you about. Your father made plans right before he died.” His voice is grave, and he stops and watches me while his words sink in.

  “What plans?”

  “You’re going to live with your aunt Gigi. In Positano,” he says.

  “Who?” I ask sharply, sure I hadn’t heard him correctly.

  “Your father has an older sister, Georgiana, but everyone calls her Gigi,” he says again, and I sit back. A cold weight spreads in my core as I look at Swish with eyes that go from wide with shock to narrowed in suspicion.

  “No, he doesn’t,” I insist.

  “Yes, Hayes, he does,” he says softly. He watches me solemnly, and I realize, with real horror building in my chest, that he’s telling the truth. But … my father wouldn’t hide his sister. Would he?

  “How come I’ve never even heard her name before?” I ask, the demand in my voice softened by the quaver in it. My entire body is shaking. My mind is whirling. I don’t understand.

  “She was disinherited before you were born,” he says, and I blanch at the idea.

  “Are you serious?” I ask rhetorically—the answer is obvious from the look on his face.

  He just nods.

  “But-why?” I stutter on my question because I can’t imagine that there’s an answer that would help me understand.

  “She chose a man over her family, and that was that. Your grandfather wrote her out of the will, out of the family Bible, out of the family tree, and for him, she hasn’t existed in almost sixteen years,” he says.

  “His own daughter?” I ask. My grandfather was not a kind or loving man, but he behaved like family was paramount to everything. And he liked control. Over everything. I can’t imagine him having a child out in the world whom he couldn’t rule over with his iron fist.

  “It was her choice. Your father stayed in touch with her—secretly. The week before he died, he asked her to be your guardian,” he says.

  “He did?” I ask dumbly. But I’ve stopped thinking. What else don’t I know about my family? About my father? Part of me wants to know. The other part hopes I never find out.

  “I would have rather he’d let me be your guardian, but he insisted. He wants you to live with her. And she agreed. So, she’s coming to get you, Hayes.” His big body heaves with his sigh like he’s relieved to have said it.

  “Coming from … where’d you say? Post what?” I ask. My head is spinning; I don’t even recognize my own voice.

  “Positano,” he says with a weird accent.

  “Where the hell is that?” I ask.

  “Italy,” he says.

  “What’s she doing there?”

  “She lives there,” he says slowly, his face contorted like he’s bracing for a strong gust of wind.

  “In Italy?” I ask.

  “Yes. She got married and moved there with her husband. They’re not married anymore, and she stayed after they got divorced.”

  “Is she moving here?” I ask hopefully.

  “No,” he says that and nothing else.

  “You’ll leave with her in two days. And you will take care of yourself and your name,” he says.

  I look at him, confused and in denial about what he’s saying and shake my head as it starts to settle.

  “But—I live here. I just made the JV team. I have a girlfriend,” I say and my life flashes past my eyes like a movie. But the reel is withered, burned, incomplete. My heart races as panic starts to set in.

  I scramble to my feet. The chair scrapes against the floor as I push out of it.

  “I’m in the middle of my freshman year. I just—”

  “There are no options for you to stay here.” He cuts me off brutally.

  “But …” I shake my head helplessly. How, in the span of two days, can my life go from one thing to something completely different? “I don’t even know her. We’ve never even met,” I say.

  “You will get to know her. She’s already here,” he says. I surge out of my seat and turn around to scan the room.

  “What I mean, Hayes, is that she’s in Houston, at the St. Regis. Not here at Rivers House. She got in very late this evening,”

  I sink back down in my seat, disappointment ripe in my chest. I sit, my head bowed, my hands dangling from my knees and only half listen to what he’s saying.

  “Now, she’s going to do her best to make sure that you’re ready for the chairmanship when you turn thirty. Chairman of the board at Kingdom is a figurehead mainly, but there’s also power and discretion that comes with that role. So, just because you’re not an executive making decisions, you need a good understanding of the company’s business model. Every year the chairman, with the advice of the board, revises or reaffirms the platform and goals. The foundation and the family have had decades of solid leadership. I’m sure that when you’re ready to take over, you’ll continue that legacy. For now, it is up to your uncle to act in your stead.”

  I drop my head into my hands.

  “I know … I know. Since his last divorce, he’s taken an advance on his income from the trust nearly every month,” he says sadly but with growing conviction in every word. “As the trustee, I have discretion over what happens to your money. I’m going to make gifts to you from the trust every year. It will be a lot of money, and you can’t touch it until you’re ready to assume the chairmanship. But at least this will keep it out of Thomas’s reach.”

  I don’t say anything. I can’t. And what would be the point? I have no say in anything.

  “And Gigi will take good care of you. You listen to her. You father trusted her with your life. I do, too.”

  “My life?” I ask.

  “I mean that you are your father’s only child. If you die without children or a wife, your uncle inherits,” he explains.

  My jaw drops. “Die?” I ask in horror.

  “I’m not saying he would try to kill you,” he says dismissively.

  “Just that if something happens to you, the entire family’s future will be in his hands. And he is not fit to hold it,” he says in a display of temper that is rare and telling.

  “I don’t know. None of this makes any sense,” I mutter and drop my face into my hands and try to think.

  “One more thing,” he says, and I don’t even look up. One more thing—a million more things. I don’t think things could feel any worse.

  “By virtue of being a Rivers, you’ll have people who try to get close to you just to use you for money or access to something they perceive you as a gatekeeper of.”

  This speech, at least, is familiar. My father drilled that into me from an early age. Not because he didn’t want me to have friends but because it could never be at the expense of the family. It was first. For him and for me. He married Eliza after a very short time dating. She was a recent widow. Dare, my youngest brother, hadn’t even been one year old.

>   They never loved each other. He married her because she was young, from an old family, and had her own wealth to bring to the marriage. Just like my mother had been. He told me that the woman I chose had to be someone just like that. “Love grows where there’s commonality of purpose. And if it doesn’t, at least you will always have that to hold you together. But you must never yield your family duty to anything else.”

  “All of this is your legacy.” Swish waves his arms around the vast room that’s been his seat of power for the last forty years. “You have to come back and make sure the Rivers name, mission, values, and ethics remain intact. Your family isn’t respected just because it’s wealthy. It’s because they use that money to do good, to create opportunity. They have been to Houston what the Medicis were to Europe during the Renaissance. And you’ve got to remember everything your father taught you. Gigi will do a good job keeping your feet on the ground.”

  “What does she know about running a business?” I ask bitterly. I resent her already.

  “The running of the business isn’t your role—the stewardship of the family’s foundation and money is. Your father died too young. You’re not ready, but I’m going to make sure that when your time comes, you are,” he says. There’s a calm in his voice that tears at me. How can he be calm? In less than two weeks my entire world has been ripped to shreds, and I’m being sent halfway across the world to live with a woman I don’t know.

  “I don’t want to go,” I say, and I wish again that my parents were here.

  I think about my brothers. They’re still so little. Stone, the closest in age to me, is only ten. But we’re close. Despite their mother’s attempts to put distance between us, we have always gravitated toward each other.

  “I bet Eliza will be happy,” I mumble to the floor.

  “Sadly, I agree. But even more reason why you should go.”

  I listen to everything he’s saying, and with each word, a piece of my world goes dark. I promise myself that when I have the chance, I will be ready. I’ll do what I must. Go where I need to and when it’s time, I’ll come back and make my father and Swish proud.

  Part I

  Chapter One

  Hello

  Hayes

  “Can you hold the door, please?” a voice calls from down the hall. This is the third time the doors have attempted to close and someone has stopped us. I’m standing by the button panel and have no intention of pressing the “Door Open” button.

  “Excuse me,” a woman behind me says and then a feminine finger complete with a short, but perfectly manicured, light pink fingernail slips around my side and presses the button just as the door is about to close completely. I was reading emails when I stepped onto the lift, so I didn’t see who was standing right behind me. But, now I can feel her. Her breasts press into the back of my arm and her perfume, something with roses, wafts up my nose.

  If there were a single inch of space in the elevator I would turn around to see who she is. But there’s not. As soon as her finger disappears, I press the “Door Close” button and keep my finger on it.

  “That was rude,” the woman behind me says as the door shuts in the face of the woman who called out for us to wait.

  “Oh, well,” I say in return. I look up at the top of the mirrored elevator ceiling. I can only see the tops of our heads. Hers is crowned by a mass of blonde waves that appear to tumble down her back. It’s pushed off her tanned, delicate shoulders. Each one is bisected by two skimpy black strips of fabric holding up what must be a very lightweight shirt.

  As the elevator stops on consecutive floors and people step off, it becomes less and less crowded. But she stays pressed to my back, and her hand moves, like she’s fidgeting with something between us.

  I wonder briefly if she’s a pickpocket, and just as I start to turn around to ask her what the hell she’s doing, she speaks.

  “Please don’t move. My necklace is snagged on your shirt,” she says with enough alarm in her voice to halt my movements.

  The elevator reaches the next floor and a couple gets off. She and I are the only ones left.

  “Shit, I can’t get it loose,” she mutters. I start to turn again. “If you move, it’ll break the chain,” she says again in her voice which calls to mind smoke. And rain. And sex.

  “Yes, got it,” she says right as the door to my floor opens. She steps back and the rush of cool air between us isn’t refreshing. It’s just a very sharp contrast to the warm, soft heat that had just been there. I step off the lift and turn around. I stop in my tracks. Her eyes are wide set and almond-shaped. Their color is a medley of the same blues and greens of the sea that surrounds this villa. Not clear, but compelling and inviting. They make her face, which is a very nice face, completely extraordinary.

  Her gaze is direct and questioning while our eyes are locked. Then, it travels down my chest, lingers at the waist of my low-slung shorts before they skim my bare legs and my sneakered feet.

  I cough, and she looks back at my face. The muscles in my chest tighten at the naked admiration in her eyes.

  “Hello,” I say and extend my hand. She flushes the prettiest shade of pink and tucks her hair behind her ear.

  Damn.

  She’s got the doe-eyed, sex kitten look down to a science. Her eyes are wide with surprise. Her lips are parted … fuck, her lips are perfect.

  She looks like a fucking snack—the perfect portion of everything I like. But it’s the one thing I know about her that corrals the compulsion I have to find out if that sweet pink mouth is as soft as it looks.

  “Hello,” she says slowly, a tentative smile spreading across those lips. Her voice is even sexier when paired with the vision standing in front of me.

  She holds out her hand and shakes mine. When our palms touch, my pulse jumps and every one of the thousands of nerve endings that run along the surface of my skin wake up. She flushes even darker as our fingers wrap around our hands. We hold hands for a beat longer than necessary before she gasps softly and pulls her hand away.

  “My necklace,” she says as if she’s explaining. She holds her open palm out to me. A delicate gold chain with a pendant in the shape of a raindrop hanging from it sits in the center of her hand.

  “Is it broken?” I ask and cup her hand in mine and lift it up so I can see better. It’s not necessary, but I like touching her. She steps closer to me.

  “No, but I had to unfasten it to get it unhooked from your shirt.” She pulls her hand out of my grasp and drops the chain into my still upturned palm. “Would you mind?” The heat in her voice turns that question into a not-so-subtle ‘come hither.’ The unmasked attraction in her eyes hits me like a fist to my chest, and I have to clear my throat before I can respond.

  “Of course,” I say. She turns her back to me and bows her head. Those tumbling curls spill down to the middle of her back. Her black camisole skims her waist and exposes a bare slice of smooth, tanned skin.

  She’s short, a whole foot shorter than my six foot three—and petite.

  Well, except for that ass.

  Shit.

  I’m an ass man and that is one of the finest I’ve ever seen. Clearly genetics and exercise have been making magic back there because it’s fucking perfect. Her hips flare and then bam! There it is!

  She cups the curtain of hair and sweeps it off her neck and lays it over one shoulder. I step forward and take in the creamy soft expanse of skin that covers her back and neck. She glances over her shoulder at me. Her lower lip is captured between her teeth and her eyes are hooded as she looks up at me through her lashes. “You okay?” she asks when I don’t move or say anything.

  Get your shit together, Hayes.

  “Sorry.” I shoot her an apologetic smile. “Turn around,” I say and she nods before she does. I reach over her and drape the chain across her neck. I look over her shoulder. The teardrop is resting in the middle of her chest. I drag it slowly up and into place. I watch, transfixed, as it glides over her skin like I imagin
e my own fingers would. When it slides into the small hollow between her collarbones, I draw the clasp together at the nape of her neck.

  I fumble with the tiny closure a few times. “My hands are big.” I apologize as my fingers brush the soft skin of her neck. She exhales sharply and gooseflesh ripples over her skin. There’s no air conditioning in the hallway. I smile to myself. Maybe this weekend won’t be as mundane as I’d feared. I manage to close it and she turns around and rewards me with the prettiest fucking smile I’ve seen all year.

  The loud trill of my phone fills the air like a siren, and she jumps back. I glance at the phone in my hand and grimace. “Excuse me, I have to take this,” I say and send her an apologetic smile.

  Her answering smile is the epitome of graciousness. . “Of course. I’m on this floor … maybe I’ll see you later.”

  “Absolutely,” I respond before I turn toward my room and answer my phone.

  “Hayes, honey, you there?” my aunt Gigi asks as I walk into my room.

  “I’m here. How’s my favorite girl?” I ask.

  I flip the switch on the air conditioner, pull my shirt over my head, and go stand beneath the wall unit that’s perched above the south facing window.

  “You sure know how to make your Gigi feel special, Hayes. How was your flight?”

  “It was good. I worked,” I tell her.

  “Of course, you did. Now, before I get down to business, I want you to make me a promise,” she says.

  “That’s not fair. I can’t agree to promise if I don’t know what you’re going to ask,” I cajole her. Even though I know exactly what she’s going to ask.

  “Don’t be smart, Hayes,” she chides me in the way only she can.

  “Pardon me,” I apologize sincerely.

  “I want you to promise me you’re going to try and have a good time. Don’t scowl so much. That face of yours is so handsome when you smile, honey,” she coos.

  “Okay, sure thing. I promise,” I say.