SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS
Feel-Good Romance
© 2014 STEELE (Billionaire Boys Club) Book 2 by Suzanne D. Williams
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Scenes in this story may contain graphic and/or sexual situations not suitable for younger readers, but are framed by Christian morals and solutions.
CHAPTER 1
The room teamed with diamonds – cuff links, earrings, necklaces, and one large stone on the finger of Atlas Bellamy’s wife that defied description. Calix Steele adjusted the sleeves of his tuxedo and made his way across the room that particular ring in his sights.
He and Atlas had competed against one another on the rowing team, this despite their eight year age difference. Atlas was older, but not richer. The Steeles out earned the Bellamys by some ten million a year. Among friends, however, this wasn’t argued. Having money was as much a weight as it was a pleasure at times.
“When I heard the great playboy of the east had hitched himself to a doctor, I was blindsided.”
Atlas turned a sharp gaze on Calix’s face, his lips curved into a smile.
“Now that I’ve seen her, I don’t blame you one bit.” Lifting Atlas’s wife’s fingers into his, he raised them to his lips. “Calix Steele.”
She assessed him, he had the feeling for morality as well as social status. But she’d find his life surprisingly clean. What her spouse used to be, sleeping with a different woman every night, he found distasteful, but to say so was courting trouble. The Bellamys were less wealthy, but far more powerful. Atlas’s father held sway in monetary and political circles that defied belief. He, himself, tried to keep on their good side.
“My wife, Meghan,” Atlas said. “Good to see you here.” He turned to her. “Calix and I go back to the rowing regattas when he was eighteen and wet behind the ears.”
“This old man was a senior when I was a freshman. He taught me everything I know,” Calix replied. “About rowing, that is.”
Meghan smiled, prettily, and nodded. She was super-attractive, but not his type. He deliberately avoided the intellectual ones. They thought too hard and thus, figured too many things out, and there was his difficulty. His moral life was clean. He dated, strictly hands off, but couldn’t stand to be argued with. So the thought of it coming from a woman, who, in his mind, was meant to be decoration, he simply couldn’t stomach.
“I hope you have your checkbook out,” Meghan said, matter-of-fact. “I know my aunt appreciates every dime.”
“Your aunt?” Calix glanced toward the front of the room where an overweight woman in her mid-sixties flitted back and forth. He’d spoken with her briefly and come under the impression she was dedicated, if a bit spasmodic. “I didn’t realize … I admire her coordination.” He changed his thought midstream, nothing else about the woman forming in his head.
He’d been told to come, his mother brooking no argument about it. He didn’t mind really. Having money sometimes made one incredibly bored, and as of late, he’d had too much time on his hands.
“I wanted to speak with you on another matter,” he said. “An investment.” Calix focused his gaze on Atlas’s wife. “If I might borrow him?”
She inclined her head, and the pair of them slipped away from the crowd toward a more secluded spot by the window. The view of the city was spectacular from here, a sea of lights sparkling bright in the darkness. They both paused to contemplate it before speaking.
“I really should take you to see the investment as it isn’t something well-described. I was wondering if you had time tomorrow for a short drive?”
Atlas placed the weight of one elbow on the back of his opposite arm, tapping his finger alongside his jaw. “Tomorrow?”
Calix nodded. “We’ll be brief if you’re pushed for time.”
“I’m not pushed. Meghan has to work.”
That was the other thing about Atlas’s wife. She insisted on continuing her employment, which for someone now rolling in cash, was decidedly odd. He supposed it pushed her mentally, kept her alert, and maybe that was a good reason. But if he were Atlas, he’d insist she stop.
“But you have reservations …” Calix began.
Atlas lowered his arms. “You and I have undertaken ‘investments’ in the past to considerable loss.”
“True, and I understand your doubts, in light of that. But I assure you this one is sound, and, anyhow, you get to see what you’re investing in before you decide. You are free to refuse.”
Without offending him, he meant.
Atlas was silent a moment longer, then nodded once. “Very well. What time?”
“Is ten okay? I’ll come to your place, and we can drive together in one of your sporty vehicles.”
Atlas laughed. “Like old times, huh?”
Calix grinned. “A return to our youth. I look forward to it.”
“The same.”
And the subject was done, others in the room claiming them both for the duration of the evening. But Calix glanced toward Atlas more than once, hoping he’d set the hook well enough he could reel him in.
The Bellamy mansion, where Atlas lived with his wife, represented them well. It was ostentatious, grandiose, and imperious. Stretching over several acres, the well-maintained house and gardens required a plethora of servants to keep it that way. Money, he supposed, they considered well-spent.
Parking his SUV near the door, Calix exited the vehicle and made his way up the broad marble steps. He knocked firmly on the great, double doors. The man who answered he recognized, though it’d been several years. “Good afternoon, Navy. Atlas is expecting me.”
Navy Powell, longtime family friend and the closest person to the family, who was in their employ.
He received a nod in exchange and was ushered into a foyer with a ceiling that stretched, seemingly, into the sky.
“This way, sir.”
“This way” led down a hall lined with ancient portraits of past Bellamys and into a living area like something out of an African tropical movie. An entire wall of windows let in light filtered through the thick greenery of palms and plate-sized red flowers.
Atlas appeared in the far doorway dressed for a casual afternoon, as much as was possible in hundred-dollar blue jeans. He’d done the same, but more because he’d known he needed to match up than because it was a habit. He could dress well or not and be happy either way. To him, clothing was meant to fit the occasion and the people you were with more than any personal style. He had little pride in it, though he did take care to stay in shape and paid probably too much for his haircuts.
“Nothing’s changed,” he said. “The old place still smacks of the Bellamy pride.”
Atlas chuckled. “Awful stuff, pride. I’ve learned to set mine aside and prefer others. Can you believe that?”
“The influence of your wife, I take it.”
“My wife and God.”
Atlas mentioning God struck Calix mum for a moment. He’d heard, via the social grapevine, that he’d become religious, but hadn’t believed it much. Probably, he’d said to himself, it was solely to entertain his wife. In light of Atlas’s statement, this seemed incorrect.
“It’s always good to better oneself,” he replied, willing the conversation away.
Atlas motioned him toward a door on their right. “If you’re ready, we’ll hike to the garage.”
It was definitely a hike. After winding up and down several hallways, they entered
a warehouse-like space lined with some half-dozen vehicles all in pristine condition.
“Take your pick.”
To have so many fine automobiles at your service was a bit mind-boggling. His father, who’d died when he was twelve, had believed in a Spartan existence. Because of this, their wealth had tripled and quadrupled in a time when most were suffering. After his death, his mother had lifted the mantle onto herself, not giving her son anything you’d think a wealthy boy would have. He’d had to work a menial job to have his first car, and it’d been used. Moving out of his parent’s tiny townhome only happened after he paid his own way through college. He’d learned to appreciate effort and toil, at the same time, hating it.
It was a bit of a catch-22 in his life now. He lived in a moderate-sized condo at the top of a rather-expensive high rise to make himself feel as if he’d attained. He bought things his father would never have allowed, simply because he’d worked to take his place running Steele Enterprises and wanted to feel like he’d done so. Yet he couldn’t quite get away from the idea he should cut corners, nor from his father’s treatment of his mother as no brains and only beauty. She’d been the only reason for extra expense his dad had ever allowed. She could spend whatever she needed to continuing looking like the gorgeous dame he’d married in his youth, as that was her sole purpose.
His death had catapulted her out of that. His mom held the reins tightly, though without ever appearing to do so. From the exterior, she was still idle and superficial. But bump up against her wrongly, and you fought a hard fight. This had solidified his opinion about women and his general avoidance of them. He neither wanted an air-headed ninny or some mental giant constantly putting him in his place.
Calix trailed his fingers down the gentle slope of a Ferrari California and grasped the door handle. “This’ll do.” Falling into the seat, he met Atlas’s gaze. “Not your most expensive purchase.”
“No, but I like the ride.” Atlas cranked the car, and they waited while the great doors lifted. A wash of sunshine bled in.
“Your wife doesn’t drive any of them?”
Atlas smiled and shook his head. “She prefers the car she had when I met, says it’s sentimental, and nothing I manage to say in protest ever changes her mind.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
He was probably pushing it, asking Atlas marital questions, but he didn’t seem to mind or act like it was that unusual.
“I’ve learned to let her be,” he said. “Trying to change her almost lost me the love of my life, and I won’t go back there.”
It was a fair statement and confirmed other rumors he’d heard. That Atlas had chased her for quite some time before she’d agreed to date.
“So, tell me … what’s this investment?”
Aware Atlas needed a direction to drive, Calix waved toward the east. “For that we need to visit the wharf.”
“The wharf?” Atlas’s face clearly said he wondered why, but he didn’t ask, instead taking a turn to the right at the end of the drive.
The drive extended some thirty minutes longer than expected, the city traffic delaying their route through the business district. Snarled at an intersection for quite some time, Atlas gestured toward a building on their right. “There it is,” he said, “Steele Enterprises.”
“You’re jealous,” Calix replied. “You want a building as imposing as that.”
Atlas laughed beneath his breath. “If my father built it, it wouldn’t be modern, though that is my mother’s taste. It’d look like the Palace at Versailles.”
Calix found his own humor rising. “An apt description. How did she get him to move out of the mansion anyhow?”
Helen and Evander Bellamy lived on the entire floor of a building worth a “boatload of cash,” as they say. The Bellamys had a boatload, as did the Steeles, but his mother would never spend it.
“Arm twisting. My father is locked into the old-school mentality, whereas my mother lives on the cutting edge. They are opposites, in many ways, with him appearing to hold the reins when, in fact, she does.”
“My mother would wear sackcloth if it’d save a buck.”
This earned him a curious look. “I’ve never asked,” Atlas said, “because it’s really none of my business, but it seems like that thought is as big of a bondage as spending too much.”
“You’d be right. I am always balancing the good and evil of money.”
“It has more good than evil, but requires prayer and faith to use it.”
Again, the reference to Atlas’s new religion threw Calix off. He had no use for either prayer or faith. Prayer was reserved for little old ladies with nothing better to do, faith for people weak in life. He was neither one. He was interested in Atlas’s thinking on it, however.
“What changed your mind?” he asked, his voice sincere.
Atlas glanced his direction then tapped the gas and headed through the intersection. “A heavenly encounter, truthfully. Meghan believed, and I didn’t. I’d fallen in love with her but couldn’t see past my view of myself to get her to accept it. Then I ran into a man who knew about the state of my soul without even asking.”
“How is that possible?” It sounded far-fetched, yet he knew Atlas as an intelligent person.
“I don’t know except to say God is above all and knows all, so He saw me and thought I needed to hear it.”
Calix fell silent. If that were true, then God had a busy time keeping up with the many people on the planet. He, surely, wouldn’t have any to spare for him.
“It’s made me stronger,” Atlas said, “and lifted a burden from my shoulders. Things that used to bother me don’t, because I can offer them up to God who knows exactly what to do.”
The city buildings became shorter and older the further they traveled. Soon, they, too, changed from a string of mom and pop businesses to rectangular warehouses, and finally, boat slips. Atlas slowed. “Where to?”
“The shipping yard.”
This earned him another strange expression, and when they turned into the gate, a long, low whistle.
“You’ve got to be kidding? A cruise ship?” Atlas asked. His eyes wide, his brows lifted, he stared upward.
Calix waved one hand toward the half-built ship. “Why not? People like cruises. It’s a booming business, and that ship is for sale.”
“It’s not complete.”
“No,” he agreed, “and that will take some time. But can’t you see it? Steele-Bellamy Cruise Line.”
“And us in floral t-shirts and flip flops.”
This made them both laugh.
“At least, let me introduce you to the builder,” he said, “and get the specs. It’ll give you a good idea of dollars. Then, before you say yes or no, I have information on locations it might sail, cost of employment, etc. I promise it’s all above board.”
Atlas angled toward him. “You are serious.”
“Completely. I need to do something that’s me and not my parents. Steele Enterprises runs like, pardon the pun, a tight ship. I haven’t much to do there besides sign papers, and I know you want to be out from under ‘daddy’s thumb.’”
Atlas didn’t respond, but gazed, silent, at the ship, then gave a slow nod. “I’ll look. I’m thinking this will require considerable investment.”
Considerable was the key word. The figures were staggering, but the benefits far outweighed them, and he could think of no one he’d rather undertake it with than Atlas.
“I’m glad to hear you’re willing to listen,” Calix said. “This is, by far, the biggest thing I’ve ever wanted to do, and in my heart, the most important. You understand why more than anyone I know.”
Atlas eyed him, then smiled. “I understand, but you should know I have to run this by my wife.”
His wife. Calix stiffened. The great Atlas Bellamy would kowtow to his wife? What would she say? That he was crazy to undertake it? His mood dipped, but he held his tongue. He needed Atlas’s brain and his money. If he must talk to his
wife, then he wouldn’t stop him. But to think his business venture lay at the feet of a woman was almost more than he could stand.
“I’ll make sure the information is clear then,” he said, “so there’s no confusion.”
Atlas expression never wavered. “Good. But she’ll know what’s best long before I will.”
Calix said nothing.
Calix reclined behind the wheel of his SUV, one hand propped on the window ledge and ran his fingers through his hair. Long strands of it blew backwards in the wind.
All things considered, his business with Atlas had gone well. He’d proven he had a good head on his shoulders and the ship was a sound investment. Now, the whole thing hung on the opinion of Atlas’s wife. Calix felt the old agitation at the thought any woman would be given such power rise in his gut, and for once, stared at it hard. It morphed and took on the face of his mother.
Knowing she was the real issue and dealing with it were two different things. He couldn’t shed himself of his past and thereby remove the effect of his father. But neither could he go ahead without it, and so he was constantly torn in two. He wanted to make sound decisions, felt he was capable, but always became hampered by what either of his parents would say. Having the ghost of his father on his shoulder at all hours had taken its toll.
Calix refocused and came at the issue from another angle. Steele Enterprises hired lots of women, and, as he’d told Atlas, the business ran well. Women were given promotions, held positions of authority. They ran groups of other employees, with men included in that. The difference in his mind was he was above all of them, save one person – his mother.
“And life comes full circle,” he said. A twenty-three-year-old male worth billions of dollars did not go around with “mommy issues.” Yet, he did every day.
He turned his head off and shifted his thoughts to the city instead, admiring the endless parade of businesses on either side of the busy street. Nearing a stop light, he slowed and startled at the rattle and ping of his engine. It gave a strange clunk and threatened to die.
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