The Christmas Bliss Romance Collection

by Jennifer Youngblood

  Two seconds later, a woman hurried in holding a glass of water. She tried to hand it to Houston, but he pointed to Beckett who took the glass and chugged down the whole of the water in three swallows. “Thank you,” he breathed, handing it back.

  The woman looked at Houston. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Thomas?”

  “Thank you,” he drawled. “That’ll do for now. Close the door when you leave, would ya?”

  “Sure,” she said, doing as instructed.

  “Are you all right?” Houston asked.

  Beckett nodded, noting the sympathetic expression on the older man’s face. “Why would Milton McQueen draft a will, leaving everything to me?”

  Houston held up a finger. “Not a will, but a living trust.”

  “Okay, is there a difference?”

  “A very significant difference. A living trust remains private as opposed to a will, which is public. There won’t be any court dates, etc. Everything will transfer to you immediately.”

  Beckett had the feeling of the floor falling out from underneath him as he gripped the arms of the chair. “I don’t want it. Any of it.”

  Houston sat back in his chair. “Milton was afraid you’d say that.”

  “You keep acting like Milton knew me, but I never met him. I tell you, this is a mistake. Maybe he meant to leave everything to another guy named Beckett Bradshaw.”

  Houston laughed, stroking the sides of his mustache. “You have met Milton, on several occasions. You probably just didn’t realize who he was.”

  He turned to the credenza behind his chair and reached for a framed photo, handing it to Beckett.

  Beckett went bug-eyed. “That’s Steve from the park.”

  “See, I told you. You did know Milton.”

  “No, his name was Steve.” He heard a chortle, saw the smirk on Houston’s face. “Steve was really Milton?” This was crazy. About a year after he came off the streets, before he became a firefighter, he worked as a server in a restaurant while trying to plan his future. He’d spent a lot of time at a park near the restaurant. It was there where he met Steve. Their conversation had been mostly superficial. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.” He handed the photo back to Houston.

  “Milton followed your career. He told me how you saved that little girl from a fire last year.”

  “Yeah, but that’s just part of the job description. Any other firefighter would’ve done the same.” Beckett and the crew had responded to a fire in an apartment complex. They’d searched the units and thought everyone had been removed. Then, a frantic woman came running up to Beckett, saying her daughter was still inside on the third floor, apartment 312. Without a second thought, Beckett rushed back into the complex and rescued the girl. The media got wind of the story, touting him as a hero.

  Houston tipped his head thoughtfully. “But your colleagues didn’t rescue the girl. You did.”

  Beckett rubbed his jaw. “Yes, because I happened to be the one the woman approached.” He paused. “At any rate, that’s not a valid reason for leaving a person your fortune. Doesn’t Milton have any relatives?”

  “Yes, I was just getting to that. Milton had a son, daughter, and granddaughter.”

  “All right. There ya go. Let them have it.” He stood. “I have all that I need. I’m happy with my life.”

  Houston chuckled dryly. “Just like that, you’re giving it all up?”

  “How can I give up something that I never had?”

  “Sit back down. Please. Just hear me out.”

  Beckett blew out a breath. His teeth ground together as he leveled a glare at Houston. “All right. Spill it. You’ve got thirty seconds before I’m out of here.”

  “Milton wanted his company and assets to go to someone who would manage them responsibly.”

  A hysterical laugh bubbled in Beckett’s throat. “Then you’ve definitely got the wrong man. The last time people trusted me with their money, well, it didn’t go very well. If Milton knew my history, then he wouldn’t have picked me.”

  “He knew everything about you.”

  Beckett was at a loss for words as he raked a hand through his hair.

  “Milton knew exactly what he was doing,” Houston asserted.

  “What about his kids? Did he just cut them off cold turkey?”

  “No, he gave them each a sizable inheritance—five hundred million dollars.” Houston gave him a significant look. “Here’s the clincher. There’s a no contest clause written into the trust.”

  “What does that mean?” A headache was making a punching bag out of Beckett’s forehead. Maybe this was all some crazy dream … or nightmare. In another life, he might’ve thought it was a dream come true to inherit a fortune, but not with his past. All that glitters is not gold. Beckett had the urge to laugh uncontrollably. That’s what the Fruitcake Lady told him. Was that what she meant? How in the heck did she know this was going to happen to him? Yes, this had to be a dream. Hopefully, he’d wake up soon.

  “It means that if any of the relatives contest the trust … if they lose in court, they’ll forfeit their inheritance.”

  “What provision did Milton make in the event that I refuse to accept the inheritance?”

  “He didn’t. He was sure you’d take it.”

  “But you said Milton knew I wouldn’t be pleased about it.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And yet, he still thought I’d eventually go along with it?”

  A sly smile spread over Houston’s lips, the tips of his mustache turning up. “Yep.”

  Beckett scrunched his brows. “Why?”

  “I guess it’ll all eventually come out in the wash. Until then, the best thing you can do is not make any rash decisions.” He propped his elbows on his desk, his fingers forming a triangle. “Think of all the people you could help.”

  The warm glow that spread through Beckett caught him completely off guard. Hadn’t he just thought about the waste of the piano player and the lavish executive suites? He, of all people, knew the suffering of the homeless. Could he really turn his back on these resources without at least attempting to help others?

  Houston’s face lit up. “Ah, I see you’re thinking about it. That’s good.” He stood and came around the desk. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the executive team members.”

  “I didn’t say I was going along with this,” Beckett countered, not liking how he was being corralled.

  “I know, but you’re here. It’s as good of a time as any to meet everyone. Come on now,” he urged. “Stand up.”

  Beckett got to his feet. He couldn’t believe this was happening. What was he supposed to do with a real estate company worth 2.2 billion dollars? That kind of wealth was unprecedented, staggering. Like a lamb going to the slaughter, he followed Houston to the office next door. Houston rapped his knuckles a couple times on the door before opening it.

  A thin-faced man with sharp features looked up from his computer.

  “Hey, Ted,” Houston said pleasantly. “There’s someone here I want you to meet.” Houston turned to Beckett. “Ted is Milton’s oldest child and the CEO of McQueen Capital Group.”

  Ted stood, irritation clouding his features over being interrupted. “What is this?” he asked suspiciously.

  Maybe it was an unfair assessment, but Beckett took an instant dislike to Ted. He represented everything in his former profession that Beckett had gladly left behind.

  Houston’s eyes lit with amusement. “Ted. Meet Beckett Bradshaw … the beneficiary of the trust.”

  Talk about walking in and pulling the pin on the grenade! In another situation, Ted’s reaction would’ve been comical. However, Beckett was also peeved that Houston was spilling the beans so brashly. “What’re you doing?” he muttered.

  “Well, I reckon you can pick at the Band-aid all day long or just rip the dang thing off,” Houston mused.

  Ted’s face turned blood red. “This is outrageous!” His voice rose, the veins in his neck po
pping like ropes. “Do you really expect me to believe my dad named some stranger the beneficiary of his trust?”

  “Yep,” Houston said proudly.

  “W—what?” Ted’s jaw went slack and Beckett noticed his hands started to shake. A second later, he threw his hands in the air, his venom aimed at Beckett. “Who is this Bozo, anyway?”

  Beckett straightened to his full height. “The name’s Beckett Bradshaw.” He thrust out his hand, looking Ted in the eye. “Nice to meet you.”

  Ted grated out a shrill laugh, looking in disdain at Beckett’s outstretched hand.

  “I’d shake the man’s hand, Ted. He’s now your new boss,” Houston said amiably.

  “No!” Ted roared. “I won’t allow this!”

  Houston’s eyebrows shot up. “You need to get control of yourself,” he warned. “It won’t do any of us any good if you cause a ruckus.”

  Ted grunted, shooting Houston a venomous look. “You think you’re so superior, don’t you, old man? Working your little schemes. You’re the reason Dad and I didn’t get along.”

  “Nope, that had nothing to do with me, Ted. You did that all on your own, because of your selfishness and greed. Milton gave you and Libby plenty of opportunities to change. When you didn’t, he made other plans.” He looked at Beckett.

  Beckett dropped his hand to his side. Everything felt surreal. Sure, his first impression of Ted wasn’t great, but he could hardly blame the guy for being upset. Houston seemed a little too happy to rub Ted’s nose in it. Beckett figured there was some bad blood between the two. He wasn’t sure what he thought about Houston, but he liked him better than Ted.

  “Libby and Bill won’t stand for it either!” There was a crazed look in Ted’s eyes.

  “Libby is Ted’s sister. Bill is Libby’s husband and the CFO of McQueen Capital Group,” Houston explained. He stroked his mustache looking thoughtful. “Well, Ted, I reckon y’all will have to ‘stand for it’. Milton put in a no contest clause. You fight it in court and lose…” He let out a low chuckle. “Well, then you forfeit every dime of your inheritance.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking forward on his boots. “The trust is ironclad, I guarantee you that. I drafted it myself. Oh, and in case you think you wanna go for the Milton not being of sound mind angle, you should know that he had psychiatric evaluations by a dozen renown psychiatrists.”

  Ted’s face had turned an ugly purple as he balled his fists. Beckett feared he might have a heart attack or aneurysm. It would be the ultimate irony to have to jump into medic mode and try to save the man’s life.

  Ted glared at Beckett, the words dripping like poison from his mouth. “Let me guess, you’re some real estate guru, a shiny new toy that caught my dad’s eye.”

  Beckett glanced at Houston, caught the amused flicker in the older man’s eyes. It kindled something inside Beckett, bringing with it an ember of fire in his belly from his previous life. “Actually,” he said, straight-faced, “I’m a firefighter.”

  Ted made a gurgling sound like he was choking. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  Houston scratched his head, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Naw, I can attest to the fact that Beckett is indeed a firefighter. I visited him at his station this morning.”

  “What a freak show!” He pointed at Houston. “You won’t get away with this, old man!” Ted seethed, storming out.

  Houston tipped his head and shrugged. “Well, that went better than expected,” he said cheerfully.

  A humorless laugh rumbled in Beckett’s throat. Houston was either cool as a cucumber or putting on one heck of a show. “I don’t know what your definition of good is, but that wasn’t mine.” He tightened his jaw. “Further, I don’t appreciate you using me as leverage against Ted to settle some past score.”

  “That’s not how it went down at all, Beckett,” Houston said conversationally. He paused, his next words holding significance. “If you’re gonna have any hope of taking charge of the mule, you’ve gotta show a firm hand. Remember that.”

  Beckett didn’t want to show anything right now. He rubbed a hand across his aching forehead, longing to get out of this place and go somewhere quiet where he could process everything. Life had thrown him a doozy of a curve ball this time—the enticement of riches at the risk of losing himself down the dark, slippery path of his demons. Did he really have it in him to go down this road again? He couldn’t believe he was thinking this, but he was actually tempted to give it a shot. Obviously, Milton McQueen had seen something in him. The last time, he’d been the underdog, trying to prove himself. Now, he was holding all the power. It boggled his mind to think someone he hardly knew would trust him enough to leave him his fortune.

  Houston put an arm around his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to a couple more people.”

  Chapter 10

  The next office door was open. Houston strode in with Beckett close behind. From the minute they entered the room, Beckett could tell from the wary expression of the man sitting behind the desk that he’d heard Ted’s outburst. “Bill,” Houston said ceremoniously with a flourish of his hand. “This is Beckett Bradshaw, Milton’s designated beneficiary to his living trust and the new owner of McQueen Capital Group.”

  The man’s ruddy complexion turned as red as his hair as he stood and gave Beckett a limp handshake.

  “I know this is a lot to take in,” Houston continued, “but it’s how Milton wanted it.”

  Bill had a deer in the headlights look. “Does Libby know?”

  “Not yet, but I’m sure you’ll do the honor,” Houston said.

  “Of course,” he uttered. He looked at Beckett. “Do you even know anything about commercial real estate?” His voice was laced with condescension.

  Before Beckett could answer, Houston piped in, “If he doesn’t, he can learn. You did,” he added dourly.

  Bill jerked, his eyes hardening with resentment.

  “Sorry to interrupt you,” Houston said, signaling the end of the conversation. It was impressive, how Houston navigated effortlessly through all the volatile personalities, the helm of a boat cutting swiftly through treacherous waters.

  “Uh, okay,” Bill stuttered.

  “Nice meeting you,” Beckett said, holding the heavyset man’s eyes. Bill seemed okay. He’d obviously gotten the job as CFO because he was married to Libby, but how was his job performance? That was the determining factor, the one Beckett would be examining. Well, that is, if he accepted the inheritance.

  “Yeah,” Bill mumbled, looking down.

  When they got back out to the sitting area, Houston smiled. “See, that wasn’t so bad. Once the dust settles, everything will be fine.”

  Beckett highly doubted that.

  “The next person I want you to meet is Wesley Howard, the marketing director.” Houston pointed. “This way.”

  As they entered Wesley’s office, the man stood, a ready smile on his face as he extended his hand, giving Beckett’s a hearty shake. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

  Houston looked puzzled. “How did you know?”

  “Ted told me, a few minutes ago.”

  “Ah, Ted’s been busy, I see.”

  Beckett took an assessment of Wesley. He appeared to be in his early thirties with wavy blonde hair and in-your-face good looks. Beckett’s first impression of Wesley was that he was a little too polished and accommodating, like he was trying to kiss up to the new boss. He’d seen Wesley’s type too many times to count—shake with one hand while stabbing you in the back with the other. Instantly, Beckett felt guilty for judging Wesley so harshly. He didn’t even know the man. He needed to give him a chance, rather than lumping him in with past stereotypes.

  Houston’s phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket. “I’d better get this.” He held up a finger. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

  An awkward silence stretched between Beckett and Wesley. “Have a seat,” Wesley said.

  Beckett sat down.

  Wesley sat back in hi
s chair, lacing his fingers together. “So, you’re the fireman.”

  Something about the way Wesley delivered the statement sat wrong with Beckett. “Yes, I am,” he said proudly.

  “You must be on top of the world right now.” Wesley snorted a derisive chuckle. “One day you’re a regular, blue-collar guy, out fighting fires and saving the neighborhood. The next, you’re named the beneficiary of a multi-billion-dollar trust. You won the jackpot, not to mention the girl.”

  Beckett’s breath froze as he tipped his head. “What did you say?”

  All pretense of friendliness vanished as a scornful smile twisted over Wesley’s lips. “I wondered what Ava saw in you.”

  Beckett punched out a startled breath. “What’re you talking about?” he growled, scooting to the edge of his seat.

  “Oh, you didn’t know?” Wesley laughed. “Let me guess, you thought Ava loved you.” He shook his head in mock sympathy.

  Beckett felt like he was being swept down a raging river, trying to keep his mouth and nose above water. “What does Ava have to do with any of this?” His pulse throbbed out a hard, fast beat against his temples.

  Wesley shook his head, his voice taking on the taunting edge of a tiger toying with its prey. “The girl’s good, I’ll give her that.”

  Beckett’s blood boiled. “You’d better explain yourself right now before I jump across the desk and rip that smirk off your face!”

  “Ava is Milton McQueen’s granddaughter … and my fiancée,” Wesley added triumphantly. “You probably didn’t connect the two because Ava goes by her mother’s maiden name instead of McQueen.” He held up his phone, showing Beckett his screensaver—a picture of Wesley and Ava together. Wesley’s arm was slung around Ava’s shoulders, and she was looking at him with adoring eyes.

  The air left Beckett’s lungs as the room began to spin. Wesley’s voice seemed like it was coming from far away.

  “It’s a hard break, man,” Wesley added.

  All this time, Ava had been playing him. No wonder she didn’t want him to know where she lived.

  Wesley grunted. “Ava’s the smart one in the bunch. Ted will kick and scream and Libby will pout, but Ava …” a look of admiration came over Wesley, along with a cruel smile “… Ava went with the love con. Brilliant! The one who controls you, controls the trust.”