The Dangerous Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  Plus, he liked the idea of besting the asshole on his own hill, using his own tactics against him. Start as you meant to continue and all that shit.

  The black-suited man who opened the door was familiar—one of the pricks Van had smashed over the face a couple of nights previously, he could see by the bruise around his eye socket. He gave the guy a feral smile and said, all politeness, “I believe Mr. de Santis is expecting me.”

  A flicker of anger gleamed in the man’s eyes, but all he said was, “Follow me.”

  Van followed him up some stairs and into an office on the second floor. The decor was very old school, lots of wood paneling and library shelving, plus a couple of landscape paintings that reminded him of Wyoming.

  Over by the windows there was a massive oak desk with nothing much on it except a computer screen and a blotter. In front of it were a couple of leather armchairs.

  “I’ll give Mr. de Santis exactly five minutes to show his superiority by making me wait,” Van said, not bothering to look at the lackey. “Then I’m leaving. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” the lackey muttered.

  “Yes, what?”

  There was only a very brief hesitation. “Yes, sir.”

  Excellent. It was always worth showing pricks like this who was boss. Especially in a game of “who has the biggest balls.” “Good boy. Now, run along and pass that message on for me.”

  The guy left the room obediently, leaving Van on his own. Which gave him a couple of minutes to case the office, not that he expected to find anything. There was no way a man like Cesare de Santis, seasoned in the art of corporate warfare, would show Van into his office only to leave something of vital importance lying around.

  Still, it was a little annoying to not spot a memory stick sitting in a drawer with the incriminating footage on it, so that he could simply pick it up and put in his pocket.

  After having another quick look around and not finding anything of any use, Van checked his watch. The five minutes were nearly up. If de Santis was going to push, he’d soon find out what was going on. Van’s presence here was merely a courtesy call and one he didn’t need to make. If the guy was going to screw around, then Van was out of here.

  He turned to the door, preparing to leave, just as de Santis, looking cool, calm, and collected, came through it.

  “Ah, Mr. Tate.” De Santis smiled as he closed the door behind him. “Leaving already? But we have so much to discuss.”

  Van adjusted his cuffs unhurriedly, making the movement as arrogant as possible. “Actually this is only going to take five minutes.”

  De Santis’s smile didn’t waver, but his blue eyes narrowed. “Five minutes isn’t very long, Mr. Tate. I feel sure this interview is going to take longer than that, so why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” He gestured to one of the armchairs near the desk. “We have dear Chloe to discuss after all.”

  Van allowed himself to return the smile, making it a touch feral. “Oh, I don’t think we’ll be discussing dear Chloe at all. Not here and certainly not now.”

  The other man raised one black eyebrow. “I’m not sure you quite understand your position, Mr. Tate. Chloe is—”

  “Chloe is now safely with me,” Van cut him off, resisting the temptation to string him along a little longer since there was nothing to be gained by it. “Also, I suggest hiring a new security detail since the ones you have suck.”

  De Santis’s expression had blanked. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Chloe, Cesare.” Van gave an insulting inflection to the name purely because he could. “A friend of mine found her en route to fuck knows where and was able to secure her. It wasn’t very difficult, hence my suggestion of a new detail. Men who actually know what they’re doing.”

  The older man’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “You’re bluffing.”

  Van lifted a shoulder. “I couldn’t give a shit what you think. I’m only here to tell you that there’s no way you’ll ever get your hands on Tate Oil. Not today, not next week, not next year. Not fucking ever.”

  A muscle ticked in de Santis’s jaw, fury gleaming sudden and blue in his eyes. Without taking his gaze off Van, he took out his phone and punched in a number. “The girl,” he said curtly. “Do you have her?” There was a pause, then he snapped, “No. She left here a half hour ago.… Christ, don’t give me excuses, just find her.”

  “I don’t like to say I told you so,” Van murmured as de Santis hit the disconnect button. “But…”

  “I’m putting that footage up online, where every media outlet in the world will be able to get hold of it.” De Santis’s tone dripped with ice. “Tate Oil won’t survive that and neither will your military career.”

  “By all means try it.” Van took a step toward him, the anger he’d kept carefully in check beginning to strain against the bonds he’d placed on it. This was the fucker who’d taken Chloe. Who’d threatened her. Who was using her as a pawn for blackmail, just the way his father had. The guy was lucky Van had left his Glock behind. “In fact,” he added, “I’m dying to see what happens.”

  De Santis, in no way intimidated, didn’t back away. “You know what’ll happen.”

  Tate shareholders would riot. His military career would go down in flames. Chloe would find herself at the center of a media firestorm and even the ranch she loved would be no haven for her …

  Dad would turn in his grave.

  Yeah, he would. Because he’d wanted the perfect heir to take over his perfect company. But that was the thing. Van had never been the perfect Tate heir, yet he was the heir. And he had a plan for how to deal with all of the above. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best plan he had and he was going with it.

  Van took another step. De Santis was tall but not as tall as Van. “The scandal will hardly be a problem, at least not for the military. And especially not since I’ve decided to retire from the Navy and run Tate Oil full-time.”

  De Santis gave a short bark of mirthless laughter. His posture was easy, loose, not at all threatened. “What? You’d really give up the Navy for a career in business?”

  It wasn’t something he’d wanted, no. But as he’d stood there in Lucas’s apartment, clutching onto that little stone Chloe had given him, he’d realized that there were a lot of things he hadn’t wanted, and most of those things related back to his father. To Noah’s impossible standards and the fear he’d never live up to them. To the knowledge that after Sofia, he couldn’t ever live up to them.

  Far easier to pretend to himself he didn’t want those things, he didn’t care about them, and his father could go fuck himself.

  But he did care. He always had. And it hadn’t been until Chloe had pushed into his life, all fierce passion and determination, that he’d realized it.

  She’d had her issues with Noah, but she hadn’t walked away from the ranch when she could have. She’d stayed and poured her heart and soul into it, so how could he do any less with Tate Oil? How could he let his own failure with Sofia determine the course of his life?

  He was a commander and he could command an oil company as well as he could command a SEAL team. Sure, the weapons in the boardroom were different and the stakes weren’t as high as possibly being killed, but there were challenges to be had all the same. Challenges that before Columbia, he’d been keen to take on.

  No, he could not let Sofia’s death mean failure. Because she, too, deserved more than that.

  And hell, apart from anything else, he’d been in the forces a good many years and eventually he’d need to consider retirement anyway. And getting out while he was still whole was a bonus.

  “Sure.” He grinned at the other man like it wasn’t a big deal. “Why not?

  “You think your shareholders will be happy?” De Santis’s expression was cold. “When they discover you’ve been screwing your foster sister on the side? If you believe that, you don’t know the first thing about business, son.”

  Van took one last s
tep, getting right in de Santis’s face, using his superior height to loom over him. Because it turned out he wasn’t above that kind of thing after all, especially not since this bastard had threatened someone he considered his. “No,” he agreed slowly, “you’re right, they won’t be happy. But don’t worry, I have a plan.”

  It would have been satisfying to tell de Santis what that plan was so he could see the expression on the guy’s face. But he didn’t want to give de Santis a heads-up.

  De Santis’s expression was one of contempt. “I hope it’s a good one, Mr. Tate. You’re going to need it.”

  It was an imperfect one, but then he was an imperfect man. It also happened to be the only way he could think of to neutralize the revelation of that footage.

  Screwing Chloe was one thing. Marrying Chloe was quite another.

  Not only would it make the whole situation more palatable for the shareholders, it would hopefully render the media shitstorm that would follow a whole lot less salacious. It had the added bonus of keeping Chloe safe from the worst of the gossip too, not to mention making the ranch truly hers.

  There were other reasons too. As his wife, she would be given other protections, not to mention having the Tate billions at her disposal—if she wanted them. And having him as her husband would hopefully protect her should de Santis try to pull another kidnapping stunt.

  You also want her.

  Yes, he did. No point in denying it. She was his and had been from the moment she’d risen up on her toes and kissed him.

  Tate Oil wasn’t the only thing he had to claim.

  He would claim Chloe too.

  De Santis had turned away from him, moving over to his desk. “Don’t let me keep you, Mr. Tate. I’ve got a few things to arrange, such as a video to upload.”

  Van bared his teeth at the other man’s back “Have fun. Let me know how that works out for you.”

  De Santis rounded his desk and bent over his computer screen, tapping a few keys on the keyboard. “Don’t worry. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough.” He tapped another key. “Oh, one last thing. When you see Chloe, be sure to get her to tell you how Noah actually founded his fortune.”

  The statement was a strange one since everyone knew how Noah Tate had gotten his wealth. “Why the fuck would I want to do that? There was oil on his ranch.”

  De Santis glanced up from his screen, a strange smile on his mouth. “Yes, that’s what he told you. But we all know what a liar Noah was. Just ask Chloe.”

  There was something in the other man’s words, a veiled threat that sat uncomfortably in Van’s chest. Making him want to press the bastard for answers. But now wasn’t the time. There were things he needed to do before de Santis uploaded that fucking footage. Matters that needed arranging.

  Like getting Chloe to agree to marry him.

  “If I remember.” He moved toward the door. “Oh, by the way, if you ever come near Chloe again, I don’t care who you are, I’ll shoot you in the head.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable, Mr. Tate,” de Santis murmured after him. “I’m not giving up that easily. I may not be a motherfucking SEAL, but I know the business world far better than you ever will.”

  “Maybe.” Van put his hand on the doorknob and pulled it open, turning back briefly to meet the other man’s blue gaze. “And maybe not. Whatever, I could use some fucking target practice.”

  Then without waiting for another word, he strode out.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Lucas took Chloe back to the Tate mansion, much to her surprise. As she slid off the back of the bike, she glanced at him. “Here? Are you sure?”

  “That’s where Van wanted you. Don’t ask me why.” Lucas got off the bike after her, locked it, then headed straight toward the front doors, tugging his helmet off as he went. He didn’t say another word, leaving her to follow in his wake.

  The lack of information was making her feel … uncertain. Which she hated. Lucas might have gotten her away from de Santis, but there was still the issue of that footage. Of that blackmail. Would the bastard release it since she’d been rescued? Was Tate Oil and Van’s military career screwed even now? And what about the ranch? What would happen with that?

  The hunger that had gripped her earlier vanished, leaving nothing but an awful sick feeling washing around her stomach.

  Luckily, once she headed to the nearest bathroom to relieve her aching bladder, she wasn’t actually sick, and a hot shower afterward soon had her feeling slightly better. Then she wrapped herself in a towel and crept down the hallway to the bedroom she’d had when she’d initially arrived in New York. Her bag was sitting on the bed and when she opened it, all her gear was neatly packed inside, the snow globe sitting on top. Either Van or Lucas must have gotten it from Lucas’s apartment for her.

  She took the snow globe out and stared at it for a moment, her little reminder of Noah’s empty promises. Yet for some reason, right now, the anger she usually associated with it was gone.

  She only felt … sad.

  Her father hadn’t been a bad man, she knew that as surely as she knew every inch of the ranch he’d taught her how to manage. But he’d let greed blind him, and the decision to take de Santis’s oil had cost him the relationship he’d had with his best friend and his foster kids.

  Had he once cared about that? Had he ever cared?

  It was a question that would remain forever without an answer.

  Do you need one?

  Chloe shook the globe, watching the snow whirl against the glass, and it came to her all of a sudden that no, she didn’t need one. Because she was holding all the answers she needed in her hand.

  In some corner of his cold heart, Noah Tate had cared enough to buy the little girl he’d disappointed a snow globe. He didn’t have to, yet he had all the same.

  Something tight in Chloe’s chest relaxed and she looked at the globe a moment longer, simply staring at all those glittering flakes. Then she put it carefully on the nightstand beside her bed, before turning back to the bag to find some clean clothes.

  Sadly there were none.

  Irritated, she went over to the closet and slid the door open on the chance she’d find clothes inside. Unfortunately there were none in there either.

  There were other bedrooms in the Tate mansion and she had a poke around though them, trying to find something to wear that wasn’t a blanket and didn’t smell, but it wasn’t until she reached the top floor and Van’s bedroom that she found something she could pull on—a dark gray robe made out of some thick, soft, fluffy fabric that made her instantly warm as she drew it around her.

  The robe was far too big for her, and she wrapped the belt twice around her waist then rolled up the sleeves as much as she could. Then she took a breath and headed downstairs.

  Lucas was pacing around in the hallway when she came down and when he spotted her, he stopped, the look in his silvery blue eyes cool. “All good?” he asked tersely.

  Chloe pushed her hands into the pockets of her robe. “Yes. He didn’t do anything to me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Lucas folded his arms, giving her another of those ice-cold, impersonal scans. He was such a handsome man and all that black leather should have made him even hotter, but all she was conscious of was how his build was more lean than Van’s and how he wasn’t quite as tall. And that gaze of his wasn’t at all warm, the way Van’s could be, and there was nothing reassuring about him in the slightest. He didn’t make her heart beat fast and he didn’t make her want to put her arms around him and hold him. In fact, the way he was looking at her now only made her feel like she was an insect being studied with a magnifying glass.

  It was good to know that it wasn’t just any man who could make her feel the way Van did. Because if it had been, then Lucas would have won hands down simply due to his looks.

  But it wasn’t that at all.

  She wasn’t attracted to him, because he wasn’t Van, period.

  Why are you comparing t
hem? What do you think is going to happen with Van anyway?

  Chloe shook the thought away. “Where’s Van?” she asked instead. “When you said he was dealing with—”

  “He’s coming.” Lucas’s gaze glittered. “A thank you would be nice.”

  “Thank you.” Chloe let his tone slide right off of her. “How did you find me?”

  “Van tracked your phone. We pinpointed you at the de Santis house, so I offered to stake the place out. Saw you come out this morning, so I let Van know I was going to get you while he handled de Santis.”

  A sudden, sharp fear clutched at her, though she fought it down. “What’s he going to do?”

  “It’s already done,” a deep, familiar male voice said.

  A shiver coursed all the way down Chloe’s spine, making her attention shift sharply to the front door.

  Van had come in, shutting the front door behind him, tall and broad in that impeccably tailored dark charcoal suit. A massive, powerful presence.

  Relief flooded through her, along with a different, bigger, more powerful emotion. One she didn’t recognize yet made her feel like she might burst into tears.

  “Finally,” Lucas murmured. “I was wondering when the fuck you were going to get here. I’ve got better things to do than babysitting.” He didn’t look at Chloe as he moved toward the front door, his helmet dangling carelessly from one hand. “How did the meeting go?”

  An urge gripped her, one both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, the need to fling herself into Van’s arms, reassure herself that he was here, that he was okay. Except she didn’t dare, not with Lucas there.

  “It went fine,” Van said casually, but he didn’t look at Lucas. He looked at her, a strange, intent expression in his green-gold eyes. “I need to speak with Chloe alone, Luc.”