Runaway Heir

by Cardello, Ruth

  “I don’t believe that.” He hugged her a little closer. “If not for you, I wouldn’t look forward to each day as much as I do.” He bent to whisper in her ear. “Or each night.”

  She tipped her head back and smiled. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  He kissed her lips gently, and his expression turned serious. “If Alessandro is wrong about this Taunton boy, we’ll nip it before it goes anywhere.”

  “We.” Delinda repeated the word, letting it wash over her. She’d never been one of those clingy women who believed she required a man to be happy, but she had to admit it felt good to have a partner. “Nicolette is already so confused. I just wish I knew how to make things better for her.”

  “We can do many things for our children, Delinda, but the one thing we cannot do is live their lives for them. Make sure she knows you love her; then let her work this through on her own.”

  Sound advice.

  “I’ll try,” Delinda said. Her eyes met Alessandro’s from across the room. He nodded in approval. She was aware that she came across as difficult to please—and at times overbearing. Those who knew her best understood why, and they forgave her for it.

  But can’t I do better than that?

  I’m here for you, Nicolette, and I will support your decisions—even if you do have an aversion to underwear.

  Chapter One

  Nicolette Westerly stepped out onto the balcony of her brother’s sprawling English estate and took a deep breath. Despite how quickly the wedding had been put together, guests had flown in from all over the world. Both the ceremony and the reception had been just as beautiful and well orchestrated as one would expect a Westerly wedding to be. After all, Delinda would accept nothing less.

  I should have found an excuse not to come.

  As soon as the thought bubbled up, Nicolette felt guilty for even thinking it. Eric was her brother, and even if she didn’t know him well, it would have been selfish to give more importance to her insecurities than his feelings. After hearing about his journey through rehab and putting his life back together, Nicolette wanted to be there for him.

  She just didn’t know how to be.

  The evening air cooled her damp skin. A small group of people she didn’t know smiled at her in greeting. She nodded toward them, then placed her empty glass on a tray and walked farther onto the balcony, seeking a corner to hide in.

  “Nicolette,” a male voice called out before she even had time to enjoy the peace of the quiet corner she’d sought.

  “Hey, Jordan.” She forced a smile and turned to greet a man she’d known most of her life, her brother Spencer’s best friend and business partner. Even in a suit, Jordan looked a little shaggy. He didn’t fit in any better than she did.

  Jordan didn’t care, though. She envied that about him.

  He was a good guy who hadn’t let his success in business change him. In the past couple of years, her whole world had turned upside down, but somehow he’d stayed the same. There’d been a temptation to cling to him, and doing so, even temporarily, had brought an awkwardness to their friendship that had never been there before.

  Because given enough time, I can fuck anything up.

  Jordan jogged over to her, then came to a sudden stop. If he were a dog, he’d definitely have been a Labrador. His smile was easy, his manner enthusiastic.

  “I saw you leave the reception,” he said. “You okay?”

  Nicolette couldn’t meet his gaze. She released a breath that was visible in the cold night air. “I’m sorry, Jordan.”

  He leaned back against the railing beside her. “That you dropped off the planet after asking me to marry you?”

  I’m such an asshole. “Yeah. That. I didn’t want to take money from my father, but I was desperate to get away, and fulfilling Delinda’s stupid marriage clause seemed like a good idea—until it didn’t.”

  Jordan cleared his throat. “I didn’t say no to hurt you, Nicolette. I said no because you’ve always been like a sister. I love you, just not in a way that would work with a pretend marriage.”

  Nicolette rubbed her hands over her face. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position. Nothing makes sense to me anymore, Jordan. Not even me.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Look at me. Would the old me have worn this dress? What the hell am I doing?”

  His eyes widened. “Rebelling?”

  She glanced down and dropped her arms the moment she realized how she’d pulled the thin material tight against her nipples. She cringed. “Worse, I’m trying to fit in, but I don’t. I don’t even know how to. And before you say anything about this dress, Delinda has already made her opinion of it clear.”

  “Your family has gone through a metamorphosis. I can see how you’d need time to catch up.”

  From a passing server, Nicolette snatched a drink—a tulip-shaped glass that was filled only about a fourth of the way. She downed it like a shot.

  Metamorphosis was a nice way to describe how everything Nicolette had thought she knew about her family had ended up being a lie. After her mother had divorced her first husband, Dereck Westerly, she’d turned her back on both his money and his lifestyle. It was laughable, really, to hear her mother get so judgmental about him, considering she’d let everyone believe the breakup had been his fault, but she’d been the cheater, the liar, the one with all the secrets.

  Nicolette’s moral compass had been in a tailspin since that revelation. Stephanie Westerly, who had kept the last name, she said, for the sake of her children, had taken her three youngest and built a life for them with another man, effectively dividing the children into two separate families. Those who had stayed with their father—Brett and Eric—had been raised with nannies and limitless funds. Those who’d gone with Stephanie—Rachelle, Spencer, and Nicolette—had gotten jobs early to be able to afford to buy their own school clothing.

  It hadn’t been a perfect life, but it had been one Nicolette understood. Her mother was the innocent, the one to be protected and emulated. Her father was the betrayer, the one who hadn’t wanted any of them enough to fight for them. Brett and Eric were snobbish and money obsessed like their father. Rachelle, Spencer, and Nicolette were hardworking, grounded, and the ones with real family values. Nicolette’s life plan to work as a waitress to fund her photography obsession until it took off into a career had been perfectly acceptable.

  Then Delinda dangled a financial carrot in front of her siblings, and everything changed. All any of the children had to do was get married and invite the entire immediate family to the wedding—including Delinda—and they’d receive their substantial inheritance early.

  Nicolette, Rachelle, and Spencer had grown up believing there was a good chance they wouldn’t inherit anything from their father’s family. Stephanie had drummed it into them that money, that kind of money, would tear them apart.

  Her warning had first been tested by Spencer, who instantly proposed to Alisha Coventry, Rachelle’s best friend, because he needed the money to grow his tech company. His plan might have worked if Alisha hadn’t met their oldest brother, Brett, and fallen for him instead.

  Stoic, formerly reclusive Brett claimed that marriage had changed him. After twenty-something years of ignoring his younger siblings, he acted as if they’d always been close. Was it for Alisha, or was he delusional? Nicolette wasn’t sure, but every time he said he cared, she wanted to call bullshit.

  Spencer had felt the same, until he reconnected with his college sweetheart, and everything else ceased to matter to him. Delinda’s spiteful announcement that Spencer was the product of Stephanie’s infidelity was brushed aside—no longer important. He married Hailey, got his inheritance, and was living happily ever after as a rich Westerly.

  Then, as if life weren’t crazy enough, humble, sensible first-grade teacher Rachelle went to Europe and bagged a prince. Because that happens.

  And now Eric, Nicolette’s dysfunctional movie-star brother, had found the love of his life and was acting as if th
ey were all one big happy family as well.

  Even her parents were attending social events together again. How did that happen?

  Could it last?

  How had everything changed so completely? And where did that leave Nicolette?

  Rachelle now glided across rooms in floor-length gowns as if she’d always been part of this sophisticated life. I’m happy for her, but where is the sister who used to mother-hen me? The one with messy hair and an easy smile—the one I knew how to talk to. Is she gone forever?

  Spencer had taken his tech company up to a whole new level. His face was plastered all over the news, and his software was going mainstream. A husband, a father—so busy with his own life. He used to be my rock. Is that gone as well?

  There is no one I can turn to and say, “Hey, I’m not okay with this.” Spencer was at least given the truth about his parentage. What did my mother say when I asked her if Dereck was my father? She said she didn’t know.

  She didn’t fucking know, but if I want to be sure, I could take a blood test.

  If I want to know . . .

  Nicolette looked around at the other guests on the balcony. Tuxes, gowns, diamonds, perfectly coiffed hair. I’m definitely the only bare bottom here.

  Knowing doesn’t require a blood test.

  Seeking to numb the ache inside her, she accepted another drink from a server and chugged it as quickly as she had the last. It was then that Nicolette realized Jordan was still beside her. To break the silence, she said, “I watched a Netflix special on you. WorkChat is going mainstream. Congratulations.”

  “We’re not saving the world like you are, but we’re doing okay.”

  Nicolette rolled her eyes skyward. “Saving the world? Hardly. I take photographs, that’s it. I’ve found the only job anyone could do that will never be financially profitable. Three projects later, I’m technically still an intern.”

  “Is that what your grandmother said to you?”

  Nicolette sighed. “She didn’t have to. You know that’s what she thinks.”

  I’m the only Westerly failure.

  They’d probably all be relieved if I discovered I’m not one of them.

  Jordan shook his head as if he could hear her thoughts. “Anytime you want a paying job, you know you could come work with me and Spencer. There’s a huge visual component to what we do. You could be part of that.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Jordan, but I need . . . I don’t know what I need, but I know it’s not here.” A server came by with a tray.

  Jordan shoved his hands in his pockets. “You can tell me it’s none of my business, but Spencer said you didn’t end up taking money from your dad and that you won’t take any from him. How are you surviving?”

  “I do side jobs at each site. Someone always needs a go-for.”

  “Go-for?”

  “Go for coffee. Go for something at the store. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s enough to eat, and there’s no guilt when I move on to the next project.”

  “You don’t have to live like that. You’re technically rich.”

  “No, I’m not.” Her friend Kiki had pretty much said the same thing. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else.”

  “I get that.” They stood without talking for a moment until Jordan said, “So wanna see what I’m working on?”

  “Sure.” She did. Spencer and Jordan were renowned for their innovations in merging AI with virtual reality. Although most of their work was for the business sector, they’d come up with some programs that were spreading like wildfire across the globe. Who didn’t want to be able to walk into a 3-D simulation of a memory built from a compilation of their photographs? They created more than programs—they created experiences.

  “Prepare to smile.” Jordan took out his phone, snapped a quick photo of her before she had time to protest, then handed it to her. “This is you in a bikini. It’s accurate, isn’t it?”

  Nicolette blinked a few times at the simulation of her on his phone. She could have thrown her arms around him right then. Everyone else had changed, but Jordan was still playfully inappropriate. “Really, Jordan?”

  “Come on, it’s hilarious. Don’t you wonder what people look like in less?”

  “No, not usually.” Nicolette took a moment to appreciate the sight of herself with perfectly sculpted abs, then handed the phone back to him. “I wish I looked that good. I can’t believe Spencer would okay that app. Didn’t he make you delete your beachball-bunny simulator?”

  “This is different. It’s not just for men.” He played around on his phone, then turned it back toward her. “Look, this is me in a Speedo.”

  If she’d been in a better mood, Nicolette would have chuckled. Instead, she said, “You are so bad.”

  He frowned. “And you’re too serious. Hang on.” He pulled up another photo. “I dare you to keep a straight face when you look at this.”

  It was Delinda in a tiny black bikini. But instead of superimposing her face on a template of a twentysomething body, her skin was wrinkled and sagging in so many disturbing places. “No. Oh my God.” She clapped her hands on her cheeks. “How do I unsee that?”

  “With King Tadeas in a thong?” Jordan asked.

  This time Nicolette did smile. “Please, no.”

  Jordan shrugged. “It’s a great app. Deceptively simple. There were versions of it out there already, but they didn’t factor in a person’s age and body type. My app can use a person’s actual dimensions to come up with a realistic image. It’s good enough at guessing at concealed parts that it might have forensic applications in the future. Right now it’s just for amusement.”

  “You can create anything, and this is what you’re working on in your spare time?”

  With a grunt, Jordan put his phone back in the pocket of his jacket. “You used to be fun, Nicolette. Spencer was like that for a while. I’d show you my other app—but you wouldn’t get it, either.” Jordan sat back against the railing of the balcony, sulking like a child who’d just been told he couldn’t go outside because it was raining.

  Oh, what the hell. “What other app?”

  A smile returned to his face, and he took out his phone again. “I call it my Laid-O-Meter. Upload a selfie, answer some questions, and it’ll predict how likely you are to get laid tonight.”

  “Seriously?” Nicolette rolled her eyes again. “Are you sure that app isn’t already out there?”

  “Not like this. It analyzes facial indicators and body language, then combines it with the data a user provides and kicks out a reliable percentage of probability.”

  “I can tell you that I’m at zero likelihood for this evening.”

  “So test my app. See if you’re right.”

  Simply because, as weird as their conversation was, it was preferable to returning to the reception and having another stilted conversation with her family, she snapped a photo of her face with his phone, then answered the G-rated questions that followed it. Was she alone? Did she want to be alone? Was she drunk?

  Sadly, the answer to the last question was a big fat no. Maybe a little buzzed, but not the oblivion she was seeking.

  Then it kicked out its prediction . . . 0 percent.

  She wagged the phone toward Jordan. “Told you.”

  His smile was surprisingly huge. “See, it works.” Then he frowned. “Zero. That’s a first. That means you’re not thinking about sex at all. How is that possible? I think about sex all the time.”

  “You’re a man.” She handed back his phone to him.

  He whistled. “It’s not a man thing, I think it’s a human-being thing. You’ve had sex, right?”

  “Of course I have.” This was the Jordan she knew. Sexual, but not sexy. Like a golden retriever humping.

  He cleared his throat. “The guys you’ve been with couldn’t have been that good. If you have any questions . . .”

  “Well, this is now officially awkward,” Nicolette said, rubbing her hands briskly over her forearms. Hang on
, maybe the drinks were finally beginning to kick in.

  Jordan flushed, too. “I wasn’t offering to—”

  “I know.” She placed a hand on his arm to stop him. “And thanks. I’m fine, really.”

  After pocketing his phone again, Jordan said, “You’re not, Nicolette. You’re not happy. I hope you find someone or something that brings the smile back to your eyes.”

  She hugged him a little too long, wishing she could feel something for him. Nothing.

  “Nothing?” He stepped back and tapped her on the nose. “I know you didn’t mean to say that out loud. Easy on those drinks, Nicolette.”

  “Oh, shit, Jordan.” She reached for his arm. “I’m such a . . .”

  He smiled. “We’re good. I’m going to head back in—you know, to increase my odds.” He winked.

  She nodded, but as he walked away, her eyes misted over. Lonely was bad. Lonely in a crowd of those who used to be her world was worse . . . so much worse.

  Still, doing anything with Jordan would have been stupid and unfair.

  Tomorrow I’d feel like crap.

  If only there was someone I was sure I wouldn’t see again, then maybe—

  Nicolette noticed a man standing just outside the door. Their eyes met, and her breath caught in her throat. Like him. He’s hot.

  And interested.

  Tall with broad shoulders, he looked perfectly at home in a tux. His dark hair was cut in a conservative style that implied his second-favorite outfit was likely a business suit. The wedding-guest list reeked of dignitaries, royals, and business moguls. Which was he? When he shifted, one of his wrists flashed as light reflected off an expensive-looking watch. Even his hands were sexy. Big. Strong.

  A second wave of warmth swept through her. She’d never had a one-night stand. She could count her partners on one hand with a few fingers to spare.

  Maybe that’s my mistake. She stopped short of a giggle and shook her head to clear it. Or those drinks were stronger than I thought.

  I wonder what Jordan’s Laid-O-Meter would say about that.

  Bryant Taunton’s eyebrows rose as Nicolette Westerly turned away from him. He wasn’t vain, nor was he used to being sized up and dismissed quite so obviously.