The Tycoon (The King Family Book 1)

by Molly O'Keefe

  She meant us. The sisters. And she was right. I tore my gaze away from Clayton and addressed Madison. “Could we please have the room?”

  “There are a few more details…” the lawyer said. “Hank left provisions in the will for Trudy and Oscar and some other staff.”

  “Of course,” Clayton said to Trudy and Oscar, who were looking shell-shocked in their own right. “Your home is here for as long as you care to stay.”

  The kindness in his tone made me want to curl my lip and spit at him. Clayton drained his glass and set it down on the table with a thunk. I braced myself. For what, I didn’t know. Because there was literally nothing I would put past him. He could kick us out right now and I wouldn’t be surprised.

  “Let’s give Veronica and her sisters a second to discuss the situation,” he said, and I blew out a careful breath. I refused to feel gratitude, but I couldn’t deny the relief.

  It’s crazy how effective he was. How he commanded attention. Even the lawyer did as he asked.

  We were all sheep to him.

  Once everyone was out of the room I turned to Bea and Sabrina.

  “Guys…” I launched into a pep talk I never thought I’d have to give. “I know this is shocking. But we don’t need anything from that man. We’re all doing so well without him.”

  “Frank left,” Bea blurted. “He left and he took all our money with him.”

  “What?” The word exploded out of me.

  Bea rubbed her forehead with a shaking hand. “The loan from the bank, all our credit cards, the money I borrowed from you. What Jimmy had invested—it’s all gone.”

  “Where did Frank go?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How long…”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Two weeks! Why didn’t you go to the police?”

  “Because I thought he would come back. Or…I hoped he’d come back.”

  “Two weeks, Bea!”

  “Don’t yell at me,” Bea said.

  “I’m not—”

  “You are,” Sabrina said.

  I took a deep breath and let it out as slowly as I could.

  “How…much?” I asked, quickly tallying up all my bank accounts. I had a maybe fifty grand, sixty if I maxed everything out.

  “Half a million dollars,” she said, and I nearly choked on air. “I’m in serious trouble and without the money from the inheritance I don’t know how I’m going to get out of it.”

  I looked at Sabrina. “Could you loan her what she needs?”

  “I don’t have that kind of money,” she said.

  “What?” I asked.

  Even Bea was staring at her in surprise. “You’re like a…television star.”

  “Uh, my life is expensive?” Sabrina said, as if that explained everything. “I could probably loan you, like, ten thousand? I think I have that in savings.”

  Oh, my God. I put my head in my hands.

  “He can’t just give everything away, can he? To Clayton?” Bea asked. “This was our home. We grew up here!”

  “Unhappily,” I said, though I understood that was not entirely true. But I couldn’t register everything right now.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that we’re owed something,” Sabrina said.

  I had a speech I gave clients who came in and said that to me. About how the world didn’t keep tally like that.

  “Aren’t we?” Sabrina asked.

  “I don’t know what I’m owed,” Bea said. “All I know is I owe a lot.”

  Okay. I took a deep shuddery breath. “Let me think.”

  “Dylan is the answer,” Bea said.

  “Dylan’s the worst possible answer,” I said. “And even if he did come back, who knows what he’ll do? He may sell off everything. Burn the ranch to the ground. Leave us nothing.”

  “That’s true.” Bea shook her head.

  “We don’t know Dylan at all,” I said.

  “Guys,” Sabrina said. “Don’t do that. He might pull through for us.”

  “He’s never been there for us before,” Bea said. “Why would he now?”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “What about Clayton?” Sabrina asked, and I turned death-ray eyes on her. She lifted her hands like I’d pulled a gun. “He’s rich, Ronnie. That’s all. The guy is rich.”

  “We’re not asking the jerk who broke her heart for anything!” Bea yelled.

  Sabrina and Bea both started talking at once. Their voices climbed over each other.

  “Stop,” I shouted and they were immediately silent. “Just…we can figure this out. I know we can.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bea whispered. “I’m so…sorry.”

  “Isn’t this your thing, though?” Sabrina asked. “You date assholes and Ronnie bails you out?”

  “Sabrina! Don’t!” I said.

  “It’s true,” Bea said. “Don’t be mad at her for saying it. We all know it’s true. I have shit taste in men.”

  Sabrina’s phone chirped and she pulled it out of the pocket of her lovely black suit. “The caterers.”

  “Yeah. Go,” I said and waved her out the door.

  But then I wondered who was paying for the caterers? This giant funeral party. The oceans of bourbon people were swimming in.

  Sabrina paused in the doorway, beautiful and polished.

  “I know this sucks,” she said. “But I’m glad you’re here. Both of you.”

  I melted. I did. She was ridiculous sometimes, but she was so sweet underneath it.

  “Me, too,” I said. I tapped Bea’s hand but she was resolutely silent.

  Sabrina left, and it was just Bea and I in this haunted room. “Would it kill you to be a little kinder to her?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Bea said. Not helpful at all.

  6

  CLAYTON

  I watched as the sisters cleared out of the office. Each of them going their own way. Sabrina, no doubt, to handle the caterers. Bea to the barns. And Ronnie…

  Ronnie with her head up and her back straight was undoubtedly going to beg her brother to come and save the day. She went out toward the back porch, her cell phone in her hand.

  The dogs followed her out.

  She’d been using the dogs as a barrier all day and I had to admire the tactic. Though somehow James Court got to her.

  I should have broken his hand.

  Ronnie was not going to take this will reading lying down, of that I was sure. And Ronnie could fight, no one knew that better than me, but she didn’t have the firepower I did.

  “Excuse me,” I said to one of the servers who was walking around with a tray. “Could you bring me a plate with one of each of the hors d’oeuvres into the office? If there’s something with cheese, bring me extra of that.”

  She nodded and walked back to the kitchen.

  I turned and found Madison standing at the windows at the end of the hall, looking out at the land. All her drawbridges were up and she looked like an icy-cold island.

  I deeply admired that about her.

  “Madison,” I said, approaching her from the side. “Can you please join me in the study?”

  She nodded and set her teacup on an empty white-clothed table.

  There were actually a lot of things I admired about Madison. She was exceedingly good at her job, she didn’t make small talk or gossip, and she’d worked with Hank King long enough not to be shocked by anything.

  That was all going to come in handy today.

  Once we were in the study I closed the door behind us. I hated this room, but I knew Ronnie wouldn’t come back here unless she had to. I opened up an app on my phone and began to draft a letter.

  “Clayton,” Madison said. “There is, of course, plenty of paperwork, but I’m not sure Hank King’s funeral is the—”

  “Does Dylan know about the will?” I asked while still writing the letter.

  “I’m working on it. He’s not an easy man to track down. His email address is out of service. He shut it d
own after finding out about Hank’s death. But I am trying to notify him through his former unit. I think they pass his mail to wherever he is.”

  “Does Veronica know his email address has been shut down?”

  “I’m not sure. My notifications regarding the will bounced.”

  Which meant that whatever effort Veronica was making to email him was fruitless.

  I finished the letter, read it over and forwarded it to Madison. Her own phone, in the purse hanging off her shoulder, binged.

  “I need you to send him the letter I just sent you.”

  She stiffened. “You have an assistant for that, don’t you?”

  “This is…” What was this, exactly? A bribe, certainly. Insurance. We’d go with insurance. “A different kind of letter. I am offering Dylan King 2.5 million dollars to stay away from The King’s Land.”

  She didn’t even blink. Her mouth didn’t fall open in shock. Nothing.

  “The objective being that he does not come back and stake his claim on the inheritance?” she asked.

  “Precisely.”

  “What you’re asking is…” She couldn’t quite finish the sentence, like she didn’t have the words.

  “Illegal?”

  “No. But it certainly sits in a rather gray area.”

  “Do whatever you need to do,” I said. “And the letter is from me, not the law offices. Not from King Industries. Me. Send me a final copy and I’ll sign it. You can notarize it. Whatever needs to happen.”

  She looked at me long and hard, and if I’d been a different kind of man—or perhaps a man with something he didn’t feel so driven to protect—I might have felt guilty.

  “The inheritance is worth a lot more than two and a half million. He might show an interest when he learns that,” she said.

  “The inheritance is also a lot of work, running an empire he’s never shown any interest in. He can have two and a half million for doing nothing. And I don’t plan on offering him an opportunity to come back.”

  “You understand that I will have to tell him the terms of the will.”

  “I do.” But I also had other plans. She was reading the letter.

  “Part of this isn’t even true,” she said, her cool veneer cracking just a little as she laughed.

  “It will be.”

  “Why offer the money?” she asked.

  “Insurance,” I said. There was a quiet tap on the door and I crossed the office to open it.

  “I don’t know Veronica King very well,” Madison said, “but I believe that if she found out about this, she’d be…upset.”

  “She’d be furious. But she won’t find out.”

  Madison nodded and I felt bad for pushing her into a space where she wasn’t comfortable, but her discomfort wasn’t my first concern.

  I opened the door of the study and Madison walked out with a softly murmured goodbye. And then the server was there with a plate full of food.

  “Thank you,” I said and took the plate. It was piled high with cheese puffs, the tenderloin, and shrimp. It was perfect.

  VERONICA

  Behind the house, in the opposite direction of the stables, there was a pond where we all used to catch frogs and get bitten by mosquitos. The summer Dylan stayed with us, Bea and I used to climb though the long grasses at the edge of the water pretending we were orphans running away from Dylan who was pretending to be a bad guy who meant to do us harm.

  Sabrina used to follow us, pretending to be our pet unicorn.

  At the edge of the pond I pulled up the email app on my phone and took a deep breath.

  Beside me, Thelma rested her head against my leg, pushing me just a little off balance. She was trying to be a comfort, so I just pushed back until we were sort of propped up on each other.

  Dylan, I typed. We’re in a state of emergency around here and I need your help. We all do. Your sisters.

  Pouring it on a little thick, I thought, but these were desperate times.

  Dad changed his will two years ago and Dylan, you lucky guy, you inherit everything. If you’re not here in six months to claim your inheritance, it goes to Clayton. And we get nothing. Bea is in some serious financial trouble and Sabrina isn’t as secure as she needs to be. I don’t have enough resources to keep both of them afloat.

  We need you Dylan. For real. Please email back.

  I hit Send and beside me Thelma growled low in her throat.

  “Veronica?”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  “Clayton,” I said. “Don’t you have anything better to do than stalk me around this funeral?”

  “No,” he said.

  I could smell him in the cool air and took a step away. Thelma practically vibrated beside me.

  “My dog doesn’t like you,” I told Clayton.

  “Your dog doesn’t know me,” he said.

  I wondered in a kind of surreal way if Clayton was a dog person. We’d never talked about that. It seemed like the kind of thing I should have known before agreeing to marry him.

  Yeah. Just one of the seven thousand things I should have known before saying yes.

  He put out his hand for Thelma to sniff but she bared her teeth. Thelma looked completely ferocious, but she was actually a cream puff.

  But I didn’t need Clayton to know that.

  Good girl, I thought and scratched her head.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked and I nearly laughed. Usually I was a champion stress eater, but today was some next-level stress, and I had the feeling I wouldn’t eat for days. “Here,” he said and handed me a plate. There had to be about ten cheese puffs on that plate, which meant he’d picked them out just for me.

  “Thank you.” I took the plate from him and tipped it so all the food rained down on the ground in front of Thelma. I didn’t look away from Clayton’s face while I did it.

  He licked his lips and nodded, as if that were his due.

  “Did you email your brother?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I wanted to say something confident about how Dylan would come riding out of the shadows to help us. But it would be a lie. And we both knew it.

  “You’re not hopeful.”

  No, asshole, I’m not hopeful.

  “Dylan’s made it clear his whole life he wants nothing to do with us.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You can spare me the false sympathy. You got exactly what you wanted.”

  “How do you figure?” he asked.

  “Don’t.” I shook my head. “Don’t play these games with me. I’m not the girl you knew. And you are far from the man I thought I knew.”

  He turned and faced me, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t look away. He was broader than he had been years ago and there was a hint of silver in the sides of his hair. Of course it looked good on him.

  “We should talk about what happened five years ago,” he said.

  “No. No, we shouldn’t. We don’t need to talk about the past at all,” I snapped. “If you have something to offer on present circumstances, I’m all ears. But the past is dead.”

  His jaw clenched, a tic of his I remembered. He was biting his tongue, rethinking his tactics. And I was glad that at least he wouldn’t be making any false apologies.

  “Are you out here because of the land? The land Dad gave me?”

  He shook his head.

  Liar.

  “Why did Dad give it to me?”

  “It was the land I was trying to get from him five years ago.”

  The land he would have married me to get.

  “Oh, that’s… diabolical. That’s rare Hank King.” I couldn’t help but laugh and enjoy the fact that he was probably chewing his tongue off. “What is that land?”

  “It’s nothing. Twenty acres of dirt with a swamp running through it.”

  “And yet?” I grinned. No lie, I was pretty happy. “You wanted it badly enough to marry me. And, right now, it feels like a giant fuck you from a man six feet underground.”

  “I don
’t care about the land.”

  “Yeah, I’m not buying that for a minute. I’ll sell it to you. One million dollars.”

  Enough to get Bea out of trouble and I could make a trust out of the rest for Sabrina. For both of them.

  “It’s worth about a hundredth of that.”

  “Not to a buyer who is desperate. And you…” I twirled my finger in his direction. “Seem pretty desperate.”

  “I won’t pay a million, and if you sell it on the open market you’ll get ten grand. Maybe.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that.”

  “I have another offer.”

  “Oh, this should be good.”

  “It would take care of your sisters, and you, indefinitely.”

  “Let me guess. You’re going to give my sisters a trust. Part of the cash inheritance. And let me have control of my mother’s foundation again.” I had not even thought about the foundation since the will reading. It had been buried under the fallout.

  But God…it hurt that my father had handed it over to Clayton. Because I wanted it. I really wanted it. It was all I had left of my mother.

  And Clayton could tell. Of course he could.

  “You don’t want the company?” he asked.

  The company had never been mine to want. Dad had made that clear from the moment I understood what King Industries was. I’d never let myself even dream of running it.

  But I could. I could run it.

  “I just want the foundation,” I said. “And to take care of my sisters. You can keep the fucking company.”

  “I could offer that,” he said. “But what do I get in return?”

  “The acreage.” Because as much as I would love to keep it and piss off Clayton for as long as possible, I wouldn’t do it at the cost of helping my sisters and getting the foundation. “But, more importantly, you would get the rare satisfaction of having done the right thing. It’s a nice feeling, Clayton. It really is. You should try it.”

  “If I negotiated deals based on feelings I’d be out of a job.”

  I looked away because what I was about to say next was not easy.

  “What do you want?” I asked in a cold, dark voice.

  He was silent for a long time, but I refused to look at him. I had some pride—and a healthy sense of self-preservation.