This day would be no different. He was here as the supplicant, begging his father in a way he had promised himself he never would. His father still used the tuition bailout against him in every argument, a source of shame he could never shake. Being here again went against every fiber of his being.
He knew his mother hovered nearby, protective and loving, perhaps more nervous than he was himself. He also knew she had summoned his father nearly ten minutes ago. His father was playing power games, keeping him waiting. Not a good indication of how things would play out.
Finally, the door gave a well-oiled click behind him, moving on its nearly silent hinges before he heard the footfall of his father's perfectly shined shoes on the hardwood floors, then the rug. Would he take the matching chair beside him for a conversation, or sit behind the desk for an interrogation? Tyler would know shortly.
Tyler finally scooted back into the recess the high-backed chair created so that he appeared relaxed and at home when his father assumed the large desk chair across from him. Well, now I know where I stand.
"I know why you are here, and I thought we already discussed this, Tyler. Is there more to be said?" His father's voice, well-modulated, only hinted at his blue-collar, East Coast roots. Emmett Winthrop had surpassed his father's success. His father had risen far above his own father, who had climbed on the shoulders of his sire. Emmett's great-grandfather arrived in Boston and worked on the docks until his hands were raw, and his back was bowed, but finally, he owned four ships. The family had come far, and far up, since then. Young Emmett had been educated in Boston's top schools, his father ensuring that Emmett had access to a stellar education and connections with the right people despite his background. He sold his father's business for a small fortune not long after graduating from law school and moved to the Midwest, leaving his past behind and forgotten. He established himself as a high priced lawyer, purchased a home in the appropriate upscale suburb, married the socialite, Marion Field, and built the ideal upper crust life.
In all the subsequent years, only one incident had threatened to mar Emmett's perfect life and encroach on his elite status. Tyler had created that opening and Emmett's substantial fortune had made it disappear. Until now.
Tyler heard the ambivalence of a wealthy man in the dismissive words of his father's greeting and realized how much of this battle would be uphill. His mother had told him to ask again, in person. She hadn't promised anything, but Tyler had expected slightly more warmth.
“Father,” Tyler inclined his head slightly in greeting, acknowledging his father’s initial salvo. “Nice to see you too. How have you been?”
"Cut the crap, Son, what are you here to discuss? Your poor mother has been pacing all morning," he admitted. “You must be in some serious trouble if you are daring to ask again.”
“I am, Father,” Tyler confessed openly. “I tried to keep you out of this – hell, I have tried to get myself out of it. I don’t blame you for turning me down last month, but I am asking again. I hate to admit it, but I think I have made things worse if that is even possible."
“Well then,” his father said, softening slightly now that his son had relinquished the upper hand. "Tell me the situation. It can’t be as bad as that mess you got into in high school. After all, I don’t see a judge present this time.”
Tyler tried to laugh at his father's feeble joke, but he almost choked on the effort. At that moment, his father grasped the severity of the problem.
"It's the money, right? For a girl? Gambling? Tell me what's going on, and we will deal with it as we did all those years ago."
“It is the money, Father, and a whole lot more.”
“May I come in?” Marion Field opened the door after a quick knock. "I can't wait in the hall wondering any longer." Emmett flashed an impatient but indulgent smile at his wife and motioned to the empty chair next to Tyler. Marion, slim and elegant in unwrinkled linen pants, a soft pink cotton sweater, and peep-toe flats quickly took the chair and grabbed her son's hand in a surprisingly firm grip. She gave it a reassuring squeeze before turning her full attention to her husband.
“Has he told you yet?” she asked anxiously.
“He hasn’t had a chance, Marion. But he was about to start. Tyler, you now need to explain why your mother knows everything and I don’t, after my last warning on the subject, so add that too, please.”
Tyler nodded guiltily, took a deep breath and began. “You would know, Father, if you had been willing to talk when I called." The sharp tone was not lost on the senior Winthrop who scowled at his son. Tyler realized he was off to a bad start and started again in a quiet voice. “It all stems back to that summer after high school, Father. The summer you thought you paid off the right people to make a story go away while you let me rot in juvie. If the story had come out then, perhaps we wouldn’t be here now.”
“That’s not fair,” Marion piped up defensively. “We thought we were teaching you a lesson.”
“A badly needed lesson, frankly,” Emmett added. Tyler felt the bile rising in his throat. He was sick of hearing about his mistake, about needing a lesson. That lesson had inflicted permanent damages his father couldn't imagine. He needed their help too much to fight over blame. Leaning forward in his seat, looking his father straight in the eye, he confessed his problem.
“ I learned plenty of lessons that summer," Tyler continued sadly. "Just not the ones you intended. For example, now I know way more than I ever would have known about blackmail."
“Blackmail?” His father’s formed a perfect ‘o’ as he leaned back in his chair, astonished.
"Yeah, Dad. I've been blackmailed for years to keep our dirty little secret. Only now my blackmailers want me to help them embezzle from LHRE through a software hack or pay them a quarter of a million dollars. I realize now that they won't stop there. If I pay them now, they will just come back again. I am sinking, here. They want payment this week, and I don't know what to do."
Tyler fell back against the leather chair. He looked relieved now that he had finally told his father the truth. Emmett, on the other hand, looked furious.
“You idiot. You paid them all these years and said nothing to me?”
“Emmett, anger management, dear. Our son is coming to you for help,” Marion filled the uncomfortable silence. “Try not to lose your temper with him.”
“I’m not angry at you, Son,” Emmett said, visibly struggling to ratchet down his fury. Impatience remained in his voice as he reiterated, "I wish you had come to me sooner. When I get my hands on those thugs, I plan to rip them to shreds."
“Good luck with that, Father,” Tyler responded with a tinge of sarcasm.
“ What did you tell them? How much time have we got? Who else knows?”
“Father, slow down. I can’t answer all your questions this fast.”
“Marion, get us a drink. We’re all going to need one. Make mine a double, please.”
“Mine too, Mom.” Tyler was astonished. What had caused this sudden change in his father?
"Thanks, Dad. Your support means the world to me." The relief in Tyler's tone was palpable."
"No one, and I mean no one, attacks my family," Emmett announced.
Marion returned with ice and a bottle of Oban. “Did I miss anything?”
Her question made Emmett chuckle, presenting the men with a moment of much-needed levity as they fixed drinks and settled back in their chairs.
“Okay, so we have less than a week to provide some response. That’s going to be tough. I will contact the FBI – they won’t be monitoring our phones will they?”
Tyler shrugged his shoulders. “I only know the blackmailers threatened to bug mine.” They were all business now, working as a team. This man who had almost hung up on him only days ago was suddenly on board to help him resolve a problem that had seemed overwhelming. Tyler felt a vise grip on his stomach loosen. His father was leading the charge. Things seemed less dire; he felt less vulnerable.
“First t
he FBI, then Wyatt, then that lawyer friend of yours.”
“Wyatt,” Tyler gulped in alarm. “Why do I need to bring Wyatt into this?”
"Wyatt's the software guru, and he knows the LHRE systems. We can use his knowledge to trace anything they might do or – god forbid – have already done. He can work side by side with the FBI, speeding things up." Emmett was like a whirlwind of action. With a powerhouse like Emmett on his side, Tyler believed they might beat this thing. "Call him now. Don't tell him anything. Just invite him for a drink."
“Here? He’ll be in the city. He’s not going to come out here now.”
“Damn, I hadn’t thought of that. It’s too late tonight anyway.” Emmett punched the desk in frustration. “It has to be tomorrow. After that, we are out of time. Why did you wait so long?"
“I didn’t wait, Father, I did call you. I tried to solve it myself. I couldn’t. I have been negotiating with them for more time. These shitheads always win.”
"I would tell you to watch your language, but shitheads describe them perfectly. Come on," Marion continued, enjoying the surprised look on her son's face, "let me get us dinner, and we can come up with a plot to beat the crap out of them.”
Chapter Twenty
Regan
“It was incredible,” Regan gushed for the fourth time in as many minutes. “I met people I read about in newspapers. They talked about meetings at the White House. It was incredible.”
“Was it incredible?” Missy laughed. “You hadn’t mentioned that.”
“I’m sorry. I know I am repeating myself, but I feel like… Pinch me, Missy. I keep wondering how I got here. What did I do to deserve this chance?”
“Are you kidding me, Regan? You studied your ass off for six years, worked like a dog climbing your way to the top of a Fortune 500 company, and then you succeeded there. You might be overqualified for this job."
The words were just the reassurance Regan needed. Regan had spent five long hours with undersecretaries and directors grilling her. Since then she had second-guessed every answer she gave them.
“Overqualified? It’s CDFI for heaven’s sake. HUD. We’re talking about the US Government, the Treasury Department. Think about it, Missy, I could be working in a department created by Alexander Hamilton, living in Washington and making a difference in people’s lives all over the country.
“Yeah, you said all of this before, Ree. Come off that cloud now and tell me what the hell you would be doing. I have never even heard of CDFI.”
"It's cool, Miss. They work alongside the private sector in distressed communities to inject investment dollars where they are badly needed and unlikely to be found. Think communities in Chicago where violence is awful, and no businesses want to invest. With my help – me, Missy – we could get grocery stores, drug stores, restaurants, and retailers to open in those neighborhoods and turn them around. It would be amazing."
"That would be amazing, Ree, and you would be perfect for this job. You have the connections in the business world, the philanthropic background, and the financial knowledge. Brandon chose well for you."
“Oh shit, Brandon. Missy, I was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago. I have to run. Love you.” Regan hung up without waiting for Missy’s response.
Running a quick comb through her hair and finding the pumps she had kicked off when she returned from the interview, Regan ran out of the door with her arm already raised to hail a taxi.
Touching up her makeup in the cab, Regan wished she had changed into a more feminine blouse. At least her suit wasn't severely wrinkled, and the Prada shoes were appropriate. It would have to do.
Regan easily spotted Brandon sitting at the bar chatting up a cable news reporter who was hanging on his every word. If this had been a movie, he would have had a dedicated light above his head to represent his aura, to show he was the golden boy.
He had that something special, alright. Regan could feel his pull from across the room. He was better looking than anyone around him, better dressed, more confident. He radiated confidence, wore it like armor. It was magnetic, drawing Regan into his circle just like everyone else.
If she briefly compared him to Tyler – better groomed but less sexy – it was only natural. It had been less than a month since she’d lain in Tyler’s embrace and it would take a while longer to forget him altogether. They had communicated via email and only about business. It helped her stay angry, but it didn't help her let go.
Their eyes meeting, Brandon gave Regan a megawatt smile, extricated himself from his groupie and moved swiftly to her side.
“Well,” he said as he bent to give her a perfunctory kiss on the lips, “are we celebrating?”
“It’s too soon to celebrate, and you know it. But I think it went well."
“And what about you? Do you want the job?”
"It would be tough to turn it down. I could do outstanding work there, meaningful work."
"Let's go to our table, and you can tell me all about it," Brandon said, signaling to the hostess with a nod of his head. She moved instantly to usher them to a table leaving Regan wondering if the young brunette had been watching Brandon the entire time, or was she just good at her job.
Regan rehashed her meetings as Brandon pestered her for details. She consumed drinks and dinner with little awareness, still talking about the different people she met and the opportunities the job would present.
“Do you want dessert?” Brandon asked.
"Oh my god. I blabbed through our entire dinner. How was your day? How mortifying that I have been so selfish."
"Don't be ridiculous. I wanted to know everything. I love your enthusiasm; it's contagious."
“You know me well, Brandon. CDFI was exactly the right place for me.”
"I just made a couple of phone calls, Regan. When I told them who you were, about your background and credentials, you could have had your choice of jobs. You still can."
"Let's just see how this turns out," she laughed.
Brandon took her hands across the table carefully repositioning her wine glass first. “I am sure it will turn out perfectly. And, when it does, Regan, I think you should plan to move In with me. We can announce our engagement right away, now in fact, and you can move into my place. If you prefer, we can house hunt for a new place – a fresh start.”
“Brandon,” Regan pulled her hands from his and began twisting her napkin under the table. Breathe. She was making a big decision. Choose wisely. “Brandon,” she began again, “I don’t even have the job. Maybe we should wait until we know for sure?” It sounded feeble, even to Regan’s ears, and she knew Brandon wouldn’t accept her excuse.
“Regan, I love you. You know I love you. I have never pursued a woman the way I have pursued you. From the beginning, I have known you were the one for me, but I have been patient, friendly, platonic most of the time – which believe me, I hated. I have played the waiting game for you, for my career, and the paparazzi. I am done waiting. I want to marry you, spend my life with you, have dazzling careers and a family with you. I am asking you to marry me, Regan.”
If the napkin had been paper, it would have been in shreds by now. Regan could feel her heart racing, threatening to explode In her chest. Could she pass up the chance to build a life with Brandon, because it was clear to her that he was serious? His timetable was now. He was finished biding his time. She had to commit now or risk losing him forever.
“I thought we would have more time together before this happened. I have only been back in DC three weeks, Brandon. We were going to spend time together, see how it worked out. Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?” Good, put it back on him.
“Regan, you have been in and out of Washington for weeks since Tyler took over, granted not full weeks, but these last three weeks have been virtually around the clock, long enough for me to be sure. I want you by my side, Regan Howe. I want you to be my wife.”
“Well,” she dragged out the word, "if you are sure, then yes, Brand
on, I will marry you.”
Regan sat there in a daze, unsure even now that she was doing the right thing but determined to leave the past behind and greet her future. Brandon was taking her right hand from her lap, tugging it gently until she released the hapless napkin and put twined her fingers in his. Only then did she realize that he was slipping a giant, glittering diamond on her ring finger.
“What the…” Regan caught herself before she said the wrong thing. “When did you? I mean, Brandon, this is stunning." She looked at the large diamond, pear-shaped and heavy, not at all what she would have chosen for herself but it was obviously costly and beautiful. "It's…I am at a loss for words."
"Well, I only need to hear one for the rest of the night. Yes. Just keep repeating yes, and we will do fine. We'll announce it to the press after we call our families."
“Yes.”
“Do you want a new place together?”
“Yes, please. Although you have the nicest bachelor pad of any senator I know, that isn’t saying much.”
“Spoken like a true real estate mogul.”
Finally, Regan felt the fog lifting, so that she was able to laugh and joke with Brandon about planning their futures. So what if the emotions she was feeling didn't jell with what she had imagined as a young girl dreaming of love? She wasn't that young girl anymore. This was logical and smart, just like her. Regan shook off any remorse and admired the giant diamond again, pleasing Brandon enormously.
“It’s a family heirloom,” he explained. “I had it reset to be a bit more modern. I am so glad you love it. I knew you would.”
Brandon had already written a press release – she felt a certain je ne c'est quoi when he told her that. Why had he been so confident in her reply when she was so uncertain? She resented feeling like a sure thing, but she shook it off. They were not kids. He had not taken advantage of her. To the contrary, he was a perfect gentleman. They had been on this path for a while now, and if she had made a brief detour, she learned it was a dead end, encouraging her to turn around and return to the right track quickly. There was no need to bother Brandon with that lost weekend with Tyler.
Besotted (Beguiling Bachelors Book 4) Page 13
