The Billionaire's Heir

by Sierra Rose

  Nick leaned back against the leather seat of the Town Car and shut his eyes. “Yeah, Abby. I was there.”

  The paper rustled in my hands as I gleefully ignored him, turning page after page. “A pair of tennis courts, Olympic-sized pool, drawing room directly beneath his and hers helicopter pads...and a labyrinth-type garden to rival that of Versailles.” With that, the brochure came down, and I swatted my dozing boyfriend across the knees. “Nick, why the hell have I never been here before?”

  He looked up, then glanced blearily out the window, his bright blue eyes failing to show any interest. “You’ve never been here because I try not to come here.”

  It was a simple answer, but it led to a million more questions.

  “You try not to come here?” I repeated, scooting closer to him. “Why? If it’s about your dad, I know for a fact that he’s hardly ever here. He lives in the city full time, just like you do. Plus, even if the two of you happened to be here at the same time, the place is huge. Chances are that you’d never even run into each other.”

  Nick’s lips twitched up in a faint smile, but a sadness lingered in his eyes. His gaze hovered there for a moment, staring almost wistfully into my own, before he tapped me lightly beneath the chin. “You should put on your jacket. We’re almost here.”

  I glanced around quickly and gathered up my stylish trench coat in my arms.

  We had woken up early, around six a.m.; rather, we were woken up early as a horde of Mitchell Hunter’s minions laid siege to the brownstone. I would never forget the look on Nick’s face as he wandered down the stairs in nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs to answer the door.

  The horrified shock of his top-secret lair having been so publically discovered was followed almost immediately by grim resignation as he realized he’d have to procure a new secret New York hideaway. His alias, Eric Silverton, was also a no-go. However, like the proverbial phoenix, it would only be a matter of time before someone new took Eric’s place.

  I listened intently, huddled on the stairs in a bathrobe, as everyone greeted him with a frantic barrage of introductions, all speaking at the same time with the same look of wide-eyed reverence, before pushing past him into the house.

  “Hey!” he called after them, still gripping the door tentatively and not hiding his annoyance with the intrusion. “Who the hell are you people anyway?”

  A man near the front stepped forward. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hunter. Your father said you would be expecting us. My name is Pierre Lacont, and my team was sent to make sure you and your wife arrive in the Hamptons, safe, prepared, and on time.”

  Since I knew no one could see me on the stairs, I ventured a roll of the eyes. Of course, Mitchell wouldn’t trust us to pack a suitcase and call a cab. He has to micromanage everything himself.

  A muscle clenched in the back of Nick’s jaw as his hand tightened on the door, but other than that, he kept his face clear of all emotion, save a chilling smile. “My father sent you to help me pack a bag?”

  Pierre’s own smile faltered for a moment, until he spied me on the stairs. Like a man grasping for a life-raft, he threw open his arms. “Mrs. Hunter!” he said, in warm exclamation, obviously hoping I would be the sweet to temper my husband’s sour. “It’s so wonderful to meet you! Your father-in-law sent us to escort you to the Hamptons manor. We are at your service, milady.”

  I didn’t know what part was stranger, the “Mrs. Hunter” or the reference to “your father-in-law,” speaking of Mitchell Hunter. My eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, and I locked eyes with Nick as he pursed his lips with the hint of a genuine smile and helplessly shrugged his shoulder.

  Sensing that mere words would have little effect so early in the morning, Pierre was quick to bring out the big guns. With a sharp snap of his fingers, four women burst into the room, each wheeling a rack of gorgeous designer clothes.

  My face perked up as I ventured a step or two lower. “All these are...for me?”

  Pierre’s eyes glowed like a viper’s with a mouse in a corner; he knew he had me. When it came to getting a New York woman out of bed, he knew some things worked even better than caffeine, and a new wardrobe was one of them.

  I shot Nick a look of apology for my betrayal.

  “I’ll just be in the kitchen,” he said, chuckling and raising his hands in surrender, “drinking heavily.”

  Now, I realized that was possibly why he had such trouble staying awake in the Town Car.

  “You know, I could smell that whiskey on you a mile away.”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “I’m sure Harold will spritz me with something on my way in,” he said, a fair point we both knew to be true.

  “Why are you so against coming here?” I asked quietly, sticking my arms through the sleeves of my coat. “It’s only for a few days, and I’ll be here with you this time. Besides, the place sounds incredible.”

  Nick slipped his sunglasses on and sighed. “I was raised here, Abby, and it wasn’t all sunshine and games for me.” His shoulders tensed imperceptibly as we pulled off the main road. The light itself seemed to dim in the car with the soft undertones of his voice. “Also, I don’t like being summoned.”

  I understood that feeling. We were so close to freedom, only to have it extended by a week, and that really boiled my blood. Still, I was determined to be positive, an attitude that probably had something to do with the fact that it was my fault our internment was lengthened in the first place. Of course, for me, the allure of the manor and the designer clothes made the whole idea a little easier to stomach.

  I lifted the brochure to read it again, flipping eagerly through the pages as we rolled down a cobblestone road flanked on both sides with tall, majestic trees. It wasn’t until we cleared the lane that I lowered the picture and found myself staring up at the real thing. My mouth dropped as I glanced between the brochure and the building once, twice, then three times. If a picture is worth a thousand words... I can’t even imagine the price of the real thing!

  “This place is...unbelievable,” I said.

  I stared up in sheer wonder, feeling as if we’d rolled into some kind of movie set. More accurately, it felt I’d hopped into a time machine, been whisked back to an era where things like horse-drawn carriages, glass slippers, and wishes really did come true.

  The estate itself stretched as far as my eye could see. Rolling emerald lawns punctuated with the occasional towering oak rose and fell in gentle waves, reaching all the way to the pale, clear sky. The mansion, which was really more like a palace, was something right out of the Old World, with tall, white pillars; sleek, crisp lines; and the kind of turreted roof that made me think Sleeping Beauty might peer around any corner at any given moment. There was even a golden statue sitting in the middle of the curved driveway, one of those ancient Greek champions who looked freakishly similar to the man sitting beside me in the car. The mansion could easily sleep 100 and probably comfortably entertain several times that many. The entire thing looked like something Gatsby would have had wet dreams about before rolling back over with a discontented sigh.

  Inconceivably, when Nick looked up at the grandeur, he just shook his head. “My dad is such a showoff.”

  I nudged him. “Like you’re not.”

  Without another word, he helped me out of the car and led me up the steps to the front door. It opened before we could even reach it, and a small army descended on the car behind us. They emptied it of our luggage and vanished again to the servants’ entrance. We froze for a moment, staring cautiously around the entryway.

  Harold swept down the stairs to greet us. “Nicholas!” He clasped him warmly on the tops of both arms, looking him up and down with delight. “We’ve been waiting for you. I hope the drive was pleasant.” He scrunched up his nose, then, with hands so discreet I almost didn’t notice, he actually pulled something from his pocket and sprayed it onto Nick before slipping it back into his jacket.

  Nick’s lips did not form an answer; instead, they just thin
ned into a line as he cocked his head pointedly to the side.

  Harold followed the gesture curiously, wondering what could possibly be more important than his idle chitchat, and his face soured as it fell on me. The two of us glared at each other for a moment before he glanced back at Nick with and formed a quick smile. “And how is your lovely...wife?” The stutter in his voice as he said it was not lost on me. It was hard enough for him to concede that in the eyes of the rest of the world, I was actually now part of the family, a feat he had made his life mission. Knowing that Nick and I were actually together seemed to only make things worse for poor Harold, so much so that I was fairly certain there was a voodoo doll of me stashed under his pillow.

  “Why don’t you ask her?” Nick replied, clapping the man cheerfully on the shoulder.

  “Abigail?”

  I let him hang for a moment before smiling graciously myself. We’re here to make nice, right? That was my fault, but from the second Nick had discovered we were going to be forced to meet his father’s new bride, he’d been dead set against the entire endeavor. It was up to me to take the lead and to keep the peace. “I’m fine, Harold. Thanks. Should we go change?” I glanced up at the giant arching stairwell, curious to explore.

  He shook his head. “Normally, that would be the case, but Mitchell and Ms. Hart are already waiting on the veranda. Perhaps it would be best for you to make your introductions first.” He spun toward Nick. “I’m sure your father would prefer that.”

  Ms. Hart? Did I hear that correctly? I wondered when I noticed his disgruntled tone at the mention of the woman. Is it possible that there is someone Harold Oates despises more than me?

  Nick, unmoving, had yet to take off his Ray-Bans, and the longer he stood inside his childhood home, the more he looked like a flight risk. “Would he now?” he said, his words clipped and cold. “Well, of course anything for my father.”

  Harold and I exchanged a nervous glance before I slipped my hand firmly into Nick’s. “That’s right, babe,” I said, giving him a pointed squeeze but glancing up with a smile. “This week is all about dear ol’ Dad,” I urged.

  Nick glanced down at me for a moment before flashing a breathtaking, pearly smile, as dazzling as it was fake.

  Harold and I exchanged another glance, this time hiding smiles of our own. “That’s the spirit,” he muttered, gesturing us forward.

  I squeezed Nick’s hand again as we made our way down the corridor, breezing past enough priceless paintings to fill The Met. It wasn’t until we neared the doors to the inner courtyard that I flashed him a sideways glance.

  “You should take off your shades, now that we’re inside. I’m sure your father would prefer that,” I said with a wink.

  “Nope,” he said, not even breaking his stride.

  I let it go and focused on keeping up with him. I had worked with Nick long enough to know that I had to pick my battles. It was enough that we were there, that he was willing to try, despite the fact that all his better angels were telling him to run.

  Now, if I can just keep him from throwing himself off the banister, we might actually have a shot at pulling this whole thing off.

  Chapter 9

  I had attended luncheons with Mitchell Hunter before. They usually involved several hundred people lounging casually in the ballroom of some great hotel, sipping champagne and gossiping amongst themselves about one another whenever anyone was out of earshot. I had been a guest at tea time with Mitchell as well, and that usually consisted of several senators, diplomats, or members of the British Parliament doing the same thing. I’d even been to informal gatherings with Mitchell Hunter, but in spite of the “informal” on the fancy embossed invitations, they were still black tie, catered, and entertained by the latest classical or jazz sensation. The one thing I’d never been to with Mitchell before was a Hunter family gathering.

  Based on what I knew, I expected it to be more of the same. Nick and Mitchell rarely had any contact unless it was in the presence of at least a dozen members of their staff. Conversations were brief and scripted, and I didn’t expect the introduction to be any different. Therefore, I was completely blown away when it turned out to be just the four of us.

  “Nicholas!” Mitchell stood the second we stepped onto the porch. He practically floated across the patio to greet his son with a warmth just as contrived as Nick’s smile. “So glad you and Abby have made it.”

  Abby? I’m just Abby now?

  Nick stiffened as his father clapped him fondly on the shoulder, but his smile remained. “Well, we were, uh...lucky enough to have some help this morning getting out the door.”

  Mitchell froze for a split second before turning swiftly to me. “Abby.” He said my name like we were the oldest of friends, then leaned down quickly to plant a kiss on each of my cheeks. “You look more radiant than ever. Married life suits you.”

  Yeah, well, it’s actually the post-morning sickness glow, Grandpa.

  “It’s good to see you, Mitchell,” I said as sweetly as I could manage, glancing around the gorgeous patio. “This is a beautiful estate.”

  “Thank you, thank you.” He motioned us to the table, where a tall blonde was pushing slowly to her feet. “Please allow me to introduce Claudia.”

  I punched Nick discreetly in the ribs, and he took off his sunglasses with a soft sigh just as the woman turned around and fixed a blinding smile on us.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said in a breathy, feminine voice. “Mitch has told me such wonderful things.”

  For a second, all I could do was stare. I’d seen pictures of Mitchell’s ex-wives before, as part of my job as a publicist. With the exception of Nick’s lovely mother, they all seemed to fall into a certain type: blonde hair, blue eyes, bleached white teeth, and legs for days. They were all striking, absolutely beautiful, with the kind of smiles models had airbrushed on magazine covers the kind of smirks drivers wore when cutting someone off in traffic, and the kind of scowls that sent the house staff running for the hills. Claudia could have easily been their queen.

  Every square inch of her was tan, waxed, and buffed to perfection. Her makeup was flawless, her hair a work of art. No less than three diamond tennis bracelets dangled from each wrist.

  As she stepped forward to shake my hand, I was momentarily terrified she was going to accidentally slice off my finger with her massive engagement ring. I could only stare a moment, weighing the potential consequences before I nervously extended my hand.

  She wrapped it quickly in a pair of ice-cold, perfectly manicured talons.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. We were...” I gulped and tried to start again. “We were so excited when Mitchell decided to have us up for the week.”

  “Oh, that was my idea.” She flashed that perfect smile once again, and I found myself literally counting her teeth; either she had more than a normal human being or she was just flashing them in such a way that I was worried she might take a bite out of me. “I thought it would be good to have a little time to get to know my new family before the engagement party,” she said, then turned her heavily painted eyes in Nick’s direction, “especially to get to know Mitch’s only son.”

  Mitchell visibly stiffened behind her as Nick offered a polite smile.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he said softly, as he had done so many times before. The Ray-Bans were safe in his jacket pocket, and I felt confident that his natural charm and well-honed bullshitting and schmoozing ability would see us through the rest. “My father’s told me great things.”

  She gripped his hand lightly, running her thumb across his knuckles. “Likewise.”

  For a moment, they both stared at one another, as if testing the truth of their words, even though they both knew full well there wasn’t a chance in hell that any of it was honest.

  Finally, Nick smiled again and pulled her chair out for her. Mitchell did the same with mine, and together, the four of us settled around the table.

  Hands down, it
was one of the strangest encounters I’d ever experienced, and I had recently spent time with the infamous Ella Campbell. Perhaps the strangest part was that everyone around the table tried his or her best to act as if the situation was normal, like it was just a casual family lunch when it was anything but. What it was was a quartet of two sets of uneasy diners, virtual strangers, on a $100 million estate, surrounded by a sea of faceless waiters, and no one really wanted to be there.

  “So, Nick...” Claudia hesitated suddenly. “Is it all right if I call you Nick?”

  He flashed her a tight smile and downed his mimosa. “Of course.”

  Mitchell relaxed another inch but snapped quickly for more champagne.

  “Tell me a little about married life.” She grinned enticingly, reaching over to take his father’s hand. “I understand you recently eloped. Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

  A wave of bile rose up in my throat, and I wondered if she realized how disgustingly bizarre her behavior was. They were the same age, she and Nick, just 24, yet she was holding his father’s hand, winking at him, and asking about wedded bliss. Is she fucking kidding?

  For the first time since I’d known them, I noticed that Mitchell was unable to meet his son’s eyes. He stared instead at the linen tablecloth, as if waiting on pins and needles for a response.

  Nick’s face hardened infinitesimally before he forced a smile. “Actually, I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask.”

  During his slight pause, his father and I shared a heart attack.

  Finally, he added, “I’ve only been married about forty-eight hours.”

  Mitchell exhaled silently in relief, and I flashed Nick a quick smile, one that was genuinely returned as he brought the back of my hand to his lips.

  “But, yes, so far, it’s everything I hoped it would be...and more.”

  Claudia watched us carefully before flashing a saccharine smile herself. “Well, I do hope you’ll be around to help us plan our own wedding.” She shot Mitchell a mischievous grin before dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have a hunch your father might invite you to be his best man.” She offered another wink of her perfect lashes again, but I couldn’t tell if it was for Nick or her fiancé.