Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  Comfort clothes.

  It had been another tough day at work. The board had finally settled on a CFO candidate that they could all stomach. All except for Elliot. He’d stormed out of the meeting like a child having a tantrum. Their father ignored the show of temper and moved on to the next agenda item.

  They’d all been far too lenient with Elliot, ignoring his absolute uselessness. Uselessness Aiden could deal with. He didn’t like it but could accept it. However, the willful harm his half-brother was committing against the family and their business? That was a different story. Kilbourns were a lot of things. Manipulative bastards, cold-hearted sons of bitches, competitive enemies. But they never turned their back on family.

  Aiden had broached the subject with his father after the meeting. Ferris had shut him down with a “Not now, son,” and ushered him out the door.

  As much money as he made Kilbourn Holdings, as much value as he added, his father still thought of him as a child to be guided.

  But the unease that had settled into his gut had less to do with work and more to do with Franchesca. She was holding back with him everywhere but bed. It irritated him to extend invitations only to be consistently shut down. She acted as if she couldn’t care less about his life. Yet when they were together he knew she felt it. That magnetic pull that had them orbiting around each other. There was a connection and while she seemed only interested in exploring that connection when he was shoving his cock into her, it wasn’t enough for Aiden.

  And that unsettled him.

  He padded into the living room, his gaze settling on the decanter on the side table. It had become his habit to have a glass as soon as he walked in the door. And another one while he worked for another hour or two in his home office cleaning up what he hadn’t gotten to during the day. And a third while reading or catching the game.

  He didn’t drink to get drunk. He drank to numb himself. It wasn’t pain that he felt. It was something more nebulous. Dissatisfaction? Emptiness? Loneliness?

  Looking around the rest of the room, was it any wonder? He’d hired a designer. People of his stature didn’t choose their own furnishings. The company had done a reasonable job filling the place with things that he mostly liked or at least didn’t have to think about. The leather couch was a little too modern, a little too hard. But it looked right in the space.

  His father always commented that the wealthy didn’t have time to sit around on their furniture. They were too busy making money.

  Aiden’s mother had always rolled her eyes at the sentiment and insisted that Ferris sit and talk. They’d usually get five, maybe ten, minutes out of him before he heaved himself out of the silk upholstered wingback chair and headed back to work. Everything to his father was work. Success was defined by the number of hours a man put in and the number of zeroes in his portfolio. It was a cold way to look at the world. And Aiden had fallen into the same trap.

  He traced a finger over the marble surround of the fireplace he never sat in front of. The leather club chairs flanking the fire had never held guests. The fully stocked bar built into the bookcase served only one.

  He’d considered this place to be his sanctuary, but today it felt like a two-dimensional replica of a home, a life.

  Aiden’s gaze flicked back to the scotch. There was no siren’s song coming from the crystal. Only a habit. He hated weakness, and the fact that he’d managed to develop a crutch without noticing it was embarrassing. He’d confessed to Frankie that he thought he drank too much. Why had he told her that? Why had he given her that weapon?

  He scraped a hand over his face and wandered over to the piano he didn’t know how to play. He didn’t feel safe sharing things with her. Not when she’d clearly marked it as a one-way street. But he couldn’t stop from offering up pieces of himself to her. Sacrifices to a cruel goddess, he mused.

  Only she wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t disinterested. She was… careful. And maybe she had the right idea to remain distrustful.

  The buzzer to his door sounded, and Aiden frowned. Very few people were cleared to this floor. His mother would have called first.

  He crossed to the door and found his father on the other side of it.

  Ferris Kilbourn strolled inside, hands in his pockets in a deceptively casual stance. Ferris and his wife, Elliot’s mother, lived two blocks over in a stunning two-story penthouse. But despite the proximity, they rarely made social calls.

  “This is a surprise,” Aiden said, closing the door behind him.

  “I thought it would be good to talk away from the office,” Ferris told him, perusing the space as if he were a bored guest in a museum.

  “Would you like a drink?” Aiden offered.

  “Macallan?”

  “Of course.”

  Aiden led the way into the living room and poured a glass. He hesitated and then poured a second. He handed one to his father and deliberately took a seat in one of the club chairs.

  Ferris unbuttoned his jacket and sat down on the couch, stretching his arm across the back of it. Aiden had gotten his looks from his mother, all dark hair and blue eyes. His father had the gingery hair of his Irish heritage, most of it gone now. What remained was trimmed short. He was clean shaven and always, always in a suit. His father was the type of man who wore a tie on Christmas morning. And not a silly Santa tie, either. He preferred Hermès.

  Aiden waited while his father gathered his thoughts. Neither appreciated the banality of small talk, and there was power in silence.

  “I’m thinking of retiring,” Ferris announced without preamble.

  “Thinking about?” For his father to verbalize such a bombshell, he’d gone past the considering stage and into planning and implementing. But retirement shouldn’t be in Ferris’s vocabulary.

  Ferris eyed his glass. “I’ve given my life to this company. We’ve achieved something your great-grandfather and grandfather couldn’t have envisioned.”

  “And you’re comfortable just walking away from it?” Aiden asked. He sat his untouched drink on the walnut side table and rested his elbows on his knees. His hands dangled between his knees.

  “Jacqueline and I are getting a divorce,” Ferris said, dropping the next boom as though he were casually commenting on the weather.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve met someone else. My relationship with your stepmother has run its course. We’ve already spoken to our attorneys and are letting them hash out a settlement.”

  “Dad, what the hell is going on?”

  Ferris sipped his scotch and sighed. “It might be a mid-life crisis, but son, this is the most fun I’ve had in my life. I think it’s time I had some.”

  “I’m happy for you,” Aiden said. He probably was. He wasn’t entirely sure. He’d never developed more than a superficial relationship with his stepmother. And she’d rightfully favored her own son over Aiden. He couldn’t say that he’d be sorry that he would no longer suffer through her incessant to-do lists that she nattered on about.

  “I have to go to the salon and then the dermatologist. Then it’s lunch with so and so’s club. Soul Cycle afterwards. Then there’s the board meeting for such and such. I don’t see how I’m going to find the time to have dinner. People ask me how I do it. They just don’t realize that I’m hanging by a thread!” Always a martyr.

  “Her name is Alice, and she’s a clothing designer. Not high fashion but outdoorsy, athletic lines. Smart, vivacious. We’re going to take the boat down the coast and cruise the Bahamas this spring and summer.”

  Aiden made a mental note to contact the family law firm immediately and have an iron clad prenup drafted before Alice became a Kilbourn.

  Aiden stared at the man who looked like his father but sounded like a complete stranger. However, as Ferris had taught him, it didn’t pay to show surprise or confusion in any situation. Even if his father was losing his damn mind.

  “Congratulations,” Aiden said.

  Ferris raised his glass in a toast. “I�
��ve built an empire. I think it’s time I started enjoying the perks.”

  Mid-life crisis? Or perhaps an undetected brain tumor? Maybe a visit with the concierge doctor his father favored was in order.

  “You certainly deserve to use your time as you see fit,” Aiden responded.

  “I wouldn’t be doing any of this if I wasn’t one-hundred percent confident in your ability to step into my shoes as CEO. You’ve been groomed your entire life for this, Aiden. I know you won’t let me down.”

  “What about Elliot?” Aiden asked.

  “I know you’re not pleased with how I handled him over the Barbados situation—”

  “He abducted someone, Dad.”

  Ferris at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. “It was a family matter that got out of hand.”

  “It was a felony no matter where it happened.”

  “He’s always wanted to be you, son. And, unfortunately for him, he’ll never be. You can’t blame him for being rash with his decisions living in your shadow. He acts out because he’s not you, and I can’t see punishing him for that fact.”

  “Elliot does not put this family first. He doesn’t put the business first. He puts himself first.”

  “And that’s why I’m counting on you to lead him. Groom him into a Kilbourn man. I’ll be the first to admit that he’s an embarrassment.”

  An embarrassment? Aiden suddenly wanted that drink, but he forced himself to ignore it.

  “He’s not just an embarrassment. He’s a danger. He wanted to put Boris Donaldson in our company for a reason.” A reason Aiden had yet to discover.

  “Elliot is harmless and misguided. I need you to take him under your wing. I need you to do this for me, Aiden. I know it’s not easy. But when my father stepped down, I had to make tough choices, too. It’s part of passing the torch. Someday you’ll ask something of your son.”

  Aiden bit back a reply. He was forty fucking years old. His girlfriend wouldn’t even consent to meet his parents, not that he could blame her now. Building a new generation to carry the weight of a family legacy was not on his to-do list.

  “I’m about as far away from having a family as I can be,” he told his father.

  “Aren’t you seeing someone?”

  Aiden lifted an eyebrow. His father always had his fingers on the pulse whether it was business or family. “Where did you hear that?” he asked.

  “I know you’ve been spending time in Brooklyn.”

  “And?”

  “Defensive about her,” Ferris mused. “Just make sure you’re making the responsible choice for the family.”

  Aiden bristled. “Dad, you walked in here and told me you’re leaving your socialite wife for a woman who makes cargo pants.”

  “I’ve served my time. I’ve made every decision for the last fifty years with family and responsibility in mind,” Ferris said coldly. “It’s your turn now. And we both know this Baranski woman isn’t the kind of wife a Kilbourn needs by his side.”

  Aiden shook his head in disbelief. No, Frankie wasn’t a woman to stand quietly in the wings. She belonged on center stage.

  “I’m asking you to give me this, Aiden.” Ferris wasn’t a man who wasted time on please or thank you. “I’m asking you to choose family first.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Aiden stared at the glass on the side table. His father had gone home to get ready for some event or another with Jacqueline. They’d decided to continue their appearances together through the end of the month before quietly parting ways. Jacqueline would go to the no-longer family home in Provence for a few weeks. Ferris would announce his retirement and then whisk Alice away to the home in St. Barths. Everything would blow over while they were gone.

  And Aiden would be left to pick up the pieces.

  He picked up the glass and took it into the kitchen. It was all dark wood and white marble. A room he rarely if ever used. Every once in a while, if he couldn’t sleep, he’d whip up a grilled ham and Brie. He had a feeling tonight would be one of those nights.

  His father had lost his sense of familial duty. The man had confessed that running the company had killed his soul and then turned the keys over to Aiden without a thought as to the effects on his son’s. There was no “there’s more to life than business, son.” No “you’ve done so much for us, you deserve to take a step back and focus on something you care about.” But that was his father: selfish with zero self-examination. Why would Ferris think about others when he paid them to think about him?

  He had assistants getting him his afternoon almond toffee snack. He had a personal chef that made his favorite meals in a specifically choreographed rotation. He had a wife who organized his social calendar to include only the most advantageous events. And he had a son who would run the family business while he abandoned all responsibility for a new girlfriend who made fucking windbreakers and cargo pants.

  He glared at the glass, channeling all of his anger into the crystal and McCallan. He didn’t feel much better after he shattered the glass in the sink. But at least he hadn’t felt some overwhelming desire to drown his sorrows.

  He thought of Frankie. Of the departure from this life that she offered. She was a respite from Kilbourn business. From the constant battle for success. Maybe there was something more productive he could do with his time.

  He left the mess for later, grabbed a water from the refrigerator, and headed down the hallway into his private office.

  The file was where he’d left it, front and center on his desk. He opened it and propped his bare feet up on the corner of the desk. One of their holdings was a small security firm that did an excellent job quietly digging into people’s lives.

  Frankie had twenty-one thousand dollars in student loan debt. Not bad considering the fact that she’d returned to NYU for her MBA. He could make that disappear within hours. He planned to. If he could get the slightest inkling of interest out of her. It was a point of pride that he could take care of those closest to him. But when one of those select few did everything she could to shut him out, he would tread lightly.

  Perhaps there was another gift that would be more beneficial to them both? He picked up his desk phone and dialed.

  “It’s Aiden Kilbourn. How soon can you make a delivery for me?”

  * * *

  Aiden pushed aside the contract his team of very well-paid lawyers had spent weeks dissecting and moved on to the newest candidates for chief information officer at another holding. For a software firm, their management was woefully antiquated. He fired off an email to the current CEO saying he found it hard to believe the only candidates for the position were white men over the age of fifty. He suggested they restart the search with a more “interesting and energetic” crop of candidates.

  The Knicks game was on in the background, drawing his attention more often than usual as he’d found himself added to the text message conversation between Frankie’s brothers about the game.

  It was after ten, not nearly late enough to consider turning in. He slept on average five, possibly six, hours a night. But the day, the evening, had taken its toll.

  His phone vibrated from under a stack of papers. Reflexively, he checked the TV to see what was happening with the game, but it was a time out.

  Frankie: Why are there three men with a mattress at my front door at 10:30 at night?

  Aiden: Your bed is a disgrace to beds everywhere.

  Frankie: It’s my bed!

  Aiden: Well, you’re not the only one sleeping in it now.

  Frankie: Don’t you think you should have run this by me?

  Aiden: And this is how that conversation would have gone. You: No. Me: Yes. You: Fuck you, Aiden. Me: Fine, but it’s going to be on this nice new king-size. You: *has several orgasms on new bed* Okay, we can keep the bed.

  Frankie: You’re insane.

  Aiden: You’re welcome.

  A few seconds later she sent another text. It was a selfie on the new mattress.

  Fran
kie: I’m willing to give this bed and the aforementioned orgasms a shot.

  He laughed despite himself. He knew what she needed. He was eager to give it to her. But everything with Frankie was a battle.

  He started to type a reply and changed his mind. He’d take a shower and read until he got out of his own head, he decided.

  He made it as far as the bedroom before his phone rang.

  Frankie.

  “Hi,” he answered.

  “Hello, secret bed buyer. Where do you even get a king-sized bed and mattress at 10 o’clock at night?” Frankie asked.

  “I have a guy,” Aiden joked.

  “Are you okay? You sound… off.”

  Aiden sat down on the edge of the bed and stretched out. “Nothing I can’t deal with,” he said, flippantly.

  There was a pause on her end. “Wanna talk about it?” she offered.

  Did he?

  “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” he admitted.

  “You’re not just patting me on the head and shooing me away so the menfolk can talk business, are you?”

  It was exactly the kind of behavior Ferris treated his wives to.

  “Gorgeous, you know more about business than I do.”

  She laughed huskily, and it went straight to his chest. “Let’s hope my Corporate Social Responsibility professor thinks like you do. So, what happened?”

  “My dad came over tonight.”

  “Hmm, not enough information for me to make snap judgements and offer unwarranted advice. Keep going.”

  Aiden covered his eyes with his free hand and soaked in the sound of her voice.

  “He announced that he’s retiring at the end of the month.”

  “Holy shit. Stepping down as chairman of the board?”

  “Walking away from everything. Oh, and he and my stepmother are getting a divorce.”

  “Mid-life crisis?”

  “If you can have one at sixty-five. There’s a girlfriend.”

  “Of course there is. Let me guess, a dancer? No, wait, not classy enough. Oh! A museum docent?”