Billionaire Romance Box Set: The Billionaire's Legacy: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Box Set

by Sarah J. Brooks

  “Who is this!” I demanded, but the caller hung up immediately. I called Patrick’s number back immediately and there was no answer. Frustrated, I yelled into the empty air. “Fuck!” I shoved my phone into my pocket and ran to get my purse. I needed a way to get to the hospital, and the only other person in the house was Mrs. Wheeler.

  “Mrs. Wheeler!” I yelled, running into the main entry of the house where I knew she would be able to hear me. She did, and came to the top of the stairs.

  “Miss Cassie?” she said, questioning alarm in her voice.

  “Mrs. Wheeler, I need you to drive me to the tube station, or to University College Hospital, wherever that is. I need to get there now!”

  A look of panic crossed her face. “Mr. White?” she asked, her voice trembling

  “No,” I said, “he’s fine. This is… a friend. Please, I need to go now!” I waited until I saw her begin to move, then I ran back into the kitchen. A moment later, she had her keys in hand and her coat on. We got into her car and she began to drive.

  “Who is your friend?” What happened?” she asked. I knew her questions were normal, but I didn’t have answers and that only frustrated me further.

  “Please just drive,” I said, my head in my hands. “I can’t even think right now.”

  She drove silently for a moment, then I heard her inhale, a warning that she was about to speak.

  “University College Hospital is one of the best in London,” she said, her eyes on the road. “Your… friend… is in good hands.”

  I nodded and looked over at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler. And, thank you for driving.” I knew my voice had chastised her and I felt bad, a glimmer of shame pushing through my worry about Patrick. I didn’t know why I was acting this way; why I was feeling so upset over a man I barely knew, who I had very little connection to. If it was Brad in the hospital, that would be understandable. But Patrick was… well, what was he? A friend? Hardly. I swallowed hard as I realized how deep my panic ran within me and what that suggested about how I truly felt about Patrick. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing myself to get control.

  “It’s someone I met here in London, who also knows Brad.” I added that last bit to show, I hoped, Mrs. Wheeler that I wasn’t trying to keep any secrets. “I’ll have to call him when he’s done with his meetings for the day; he’ll want to be informed.”

  Why was I lying? I didn’t have anything other than a sensation of energy coming off of Mrs. Wheeler that the words coming out of my mouth were the right ones. I had always been a big believer in intuition and feeling, and I knew that the last thing I needed was for Mrs. Wheeler to drop me off and immediately contact Brad.

  “I’m sure he will,” Mrs. Wheeler said. “Would you like me to call him so you can focus on your friend?”

  “No, thank you,” I said sincerely. “I’ll get a feel for the situation when I see our friend and call him.”

  Rather than drive me to the tube station, Mrs. Wheeler drove me directly to the hospital and offered to wait. I managed to gracefully get out of that by reminding her that I didn’t know how long I would be, and Brad would be expecting dinner when he got home from his meeting. Finally, I entered the hospital.

  I was directed to the intensive care unit, where a nurse asked me how I was related to Patrick.

  “I’m his sister,” I lied.

  “I’m going to need to see some identification,” the nurse said. She was severe, her hair pulled straight back. She looked at me as if I was the person who had hurt Patrick coming to finish the job.

  “That I’m his sister?” I said, thinking fast. “Isn’t the fact that we’re practically identical enough for you?” I was grateful for my reporter instincts and the fact that I didn’t scare easily. The best defense being a good offense and all that.

  “Even if you did look identical,” the nurse said grimly, “I’m afraid you don’t anymore.”

  My eyes must have convinced her that, if even not his sister, I was someone who was important to him; I felt my stomach jump into my chest and I nearly burst into tears.

  “Go ahead on in,” she said quickly, looking around. “You have five minutes. Don’t speak loudly to him, don’t startle him, and, whatever you do, don’t touch him for bloody sake.”

  I nodded and walked in the direction she’d nodded. The ICU had only three rooms, and I walked to Patrick’s door, took a deep breath, and walked in.

  My gasp was loud in the room, standing out against the machines, beeping and pumping. I bit my tongue to keep from fainting. The door closed behind me.

  “Patrick?” I whispered. I walked to his bedside. Whoever had beaten him had done it with the intent to kill, and may have very well done it; I had the sense that if I was going to get any information out of Patrick, it needed to be soon. His face was unrecognizable, swollen beyond belief. Black eyes, a jaw that needed badly to be reset, and a nose that I could tell was broken through the layers of bandages. His collar bones were twisted, and I could tell that he would need surgery, perhaps multiple surgeries, to repair the damage.

  He didn’t stir. I reached out to touch his hand, stroking the skin between the blood pressure monitor attached to his finger. His skin was cool to the touch, and stretchy, not at all like the strong, firm hands I realized I’d committed to memory.

  “Holy fuck, Patrick, who did this to you?” My voice was a whisper, but I felt as though it echoed through the entire hospital. I bit my lip.

  Out of the corner of my eye, something moved. I glanced over and nearly screamed when I saw a man sitting in a chair in the corner, so dark and hidden I may have walked out without seeing him at all had he not flicked his watch, catching the light.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I exclaimed. “I’m getting the nurse.” I began to walk toward the door.

  “Stop,” the man said. I stopped in my tracks; his voice was non-negotiable and sent the blood in my veins to chilling.

  “Who are you?” I whispered. I realized I had, unconsciously, stepped between the man and Patrick; Patrick was protected behind my back.

  “My name is Mavin Toller,” he said. “I’m the one who called you.”

  “No, you’re not,” I said. “The man who called me didn’t know Patrick. If you don’t tell me who you are right now, I’m going to get the nurse and I’m going to call the police.”

  “You’ll do absolutely nothing of the kind.” The man made a move to stand, and I jumped, startled. He laughed and shook his head, settling back into his chair. “Easy, there, Cassandra.”

  “Who are you?” I repeated myself like a broken record. “How do you know Patrick? Did you do this to him?”

  To my surprise and shock, Mavin Toller began to laugh. “Did I do this to him?” he sneered. “Obviously not; I expected you to have a little more sense than that.”

  “Well, what are you doing here? How did you find him?”

  “You have a lot of questions for someone in your position,” he said, still sitting, his chin resting on his hands, which were popped up by his elbows on the chair arms.

  I was silent. I wasn’t going to give this man any information. I knew he was telling the truth about being the one who called; I recognized his voice. Also, I could see Patrick’s cell phone—or at least one that looked exactly like his—on the man’s thigh. Its silver case stood out against the darkness.

  We stared at each other for a few moments, the only sound in the room the beeping of Patrick’s heart machine.

  “What do you think Bradley would say about you coming to the rescue of another man?”

  I stared, my mouth open. My mind reached to the ends of itself for an understanding of how Mavin Toller knew about my relationship with Brad.

  “I don’t know who you think you are,” I said, my voice cold, “but my relationships are none of your concern. And I am not here to rescue anyone. You called me, remember? You told me to come to the hospital. So, here I am.”

  “Yes,” he said, a slow grin spreading on
his face. “Here you are.”

  Brad

  When I turned my phone back on, my messages pinged immediately, dozens of them, all from Simon. I sighed and called his number.

  “What the fuck, Brad!” he fumed. “Did you shut your phone off? Do you have any idea what’s happening?”

  I rolled my eyes and tried to stay calm. I wasn’t in the mood for anything to have gone wrong on even the most simple of levels. My conversation with Manuel Brown was still burned into my brain and his words repeated over and over. He had me right where he wanted; he considered me motivated. He wasn’t going to give Antoine back until he was good and ready. And, the more I asked, the worse it would be for me.

  “Brad!”

  “What?” I said sharply. I hadn’t realized Simon had been talking.

  “Did you hear a word I just said? The place burned to the ground!”

  “What?” I stared at the phone. “What did you just say? What place? What burned?” My breath caught in my chest and I could feel my heart pounding.

  “The Morocco site. There’s been a raid. Infidels broke in, stole everything, and torched the place. We have inventory in the open, Brad. In the open!”

  “Does Manuel know?” I asked dully, already knowing the answer.

  “Of course he fucking knows!” Simon swore. “He’s the one who called me, because he couldn’t get ahold of you. Why do you think I was texting you and calling so much? You turned off your phone and now we’ve lost precious time.”

  I struggled to stay in the conversation with Simon as my heart began to jerk in my chest. Antoine. Manuel had assured me that Antoine was safe, and he credited part of Antoine’s safety with the ‘good work’ I had been doing.

  “Who were the infidels? Moroccans? Or foreigners?”

  “We don’t know,” Simon said. “We have a team on its way to investigate, subtly, of course. But, as I said in one of my messages, we have a plane chartered and ready to go. We need you on that plane.”

  “Yes,” I said immediately. “Yes, of course. Do we have a damage report?”

  “The initial observations are grim,” he said. “The inventory that’s still at the site is burned beyond repair. The building itself has been reduced to basically rubble. There’s no way we won’t have to completely rebuild it.”

  “Where is Manuel?” I asked. “Is he going to the site? He can’t beat us there.” I could hear the panic in my voice as the realization of what was happening began to settle in. I felt a mix of urgency and shock blending in my bloodstream, and it was getting hard to breathe.

  “He said we have twenty-four hours to take care of it before he sends in another team. Brad, if he sends in that other team, we’re dead. You know that.”

  I knew it. And I knew that, more importantly, my son would be dead. No use for me meant no use for him. I swallowed. “Yes,” I said. “I know. When does the plane leave?”

  “Tonight,” he said. “I’ve got it all arranged.”

  “We’re dead,” I said suddenly, the thought too large to stay in my brain.

  “Pardon?” Simon asked, startled.

  “We’re dead. Manuel will never understand this incompetence. He’ll never understand how something like this could happen.”

  “Don’t, Brad; Manuel will know that this is not your fault. It was terrorist activity, probably completely unrelated to the project. If anything, Manuel will be watching to see how you fix the situation. If you can fix it properly, he’ll probably reward you.”

  “And if I don’t…” I closed my eyes and shook the thought out of my mind, the images passing through my brain too painful to allow to take root.

  “Don’t do this to yourself,” Simon warned. “You’re savvy and will have this fixed by this time tomorrow. I have every confidence.”

  “Thank you,” I said gratefully. “And I’m sorry; I didn’t realize the severity of the situation.” My apology was useless and I knew it.

  “Don’t let it happen again. We need to trust each other, Brad. You have to trust that I wouldn’t call you unless it was an emergency.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  I hung up the phone and went to the computer to check my email and to look up the blueprint for the Moroccan storage facility. It was one of our older facilities, since Morocco had been one of our first storage sites. Unlike the newer facilities that were equipped with fire retardant paint, Morocco had old paint and a layout that deterred fire rescue. I shook my head, wondering how this site had been passed over for updating. I would need to personally look at each facility, worldwide, and assess its fortitude.

  Several hours passed and it was dark by the time I looked up. I realized I was starving. I checked my watch; it was after eight o’clock. I walked into the kitchen ; a note from my housekeeper said that dinner was being kept warm in the oven. I opened the oven door and sniffed deeply, my stomach growling in response. It was a roast, moist and juicy, with potatoes and carrots. At least one good thing; it was my favorite meal.

  “Hey,” a voice behind me greeted. I turned and saw Cassie standing in the doorway. She looked exhausted; far more tired than she had seemed the last time I’d seen her this morning.

  “Hi, baby,” I said, walking to her and encircling her in my arms. I kissed the top of her head as I pulled her to me. Her sweet scent filled my nostrils and I felt myself pressing against her not just for being attracted to her, but for the stability and support her body offered mine.

  “Hungry?”

  “Starving,” I said. I held her out and looked at her. “Where were you today? What did you do?”

  She looked at me and a shadow crossed over her face. “Nothing much.” She shrugged. “Mostly just hung around the house.”

  “Well, I want you to pack your bags. Right now.”

  Her face brightened, and I plastered a smile on my face. I had to make everything seem believable; I had to make it seem like this was just an ordinary romantic vacation.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her face beginning to flush with excitement.

  “Just… somewhere. Don’t ask questions.” I took the roast out of the oven and began to cut it into slices. “Go pack now; I’ll finish dinner.”

  “Listen,” she said, not moving. “I really don’t know about traveling right now. I mean, I still don’t have my passport. Can I even go anywhere?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” I said. “We’re taking my plane; you don’t need a passport.”

  “You have a plane?”

  I paused, anger boiling up inside me. I needed to stay calm and in control. Antoine’s life depended on it.

  “Yes,” I said. “Now, please, go get packed and ready. We’re leaving tonight. I promise I’ll answer all of your questions on the plane.”

  “Can you at least tell me where we’re going? So, you know, I know what kind of clothes to pack?”

  I sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Morocco,” I said finally. “We’re going to Morocco.”

  Cassie

  Brad’s plane was magnificent, no question. I boarded and was immediately overwhelmed with the… wealth. That was the only word that came to mind. The entire interior of the plane had been gutted and replaced with couches upholstered in cream leather. Two recliners were positioned toward the rear of the plane, angled toward one another, with a chess board sitting between them.

  “Brad,” I murmured, reaching for his hand. “This is…”

  “I don’t try to flaunt my wealth,” he said soberly. “But this is a special occasion. I wanted to treat you. I know you’ve been struggling lately. I don’t know exactly what’s wrong, but I can sense it. I want you to be able to let go of whatever is stressing you out and relax.” He leaned in and kissed me, his lips warm on mine. I kissed him back, wishing that I could be in two places at once. Mentally, I was doing exactly that. One part of me was here, in my body, on the plane; the other part of me was sitting beside a hospital bed waiting for Patrick to wake up. I pushed Patrick out of my min
d; if I thought about him for too long, I would cry; I wouldn’t be able to explain that to Brad.

  “It’s just so amazing,” I said, covering my worry. Before we had left, our conversation at dinner had revolved around my job. Brad said that bringing me to the Morocco Legacy property would give me another angle for a story; he promised that we would sit down for another “exclusive.” I told him that, if I didn’t get back to New York soon with a lot of stories in hand, my boss was going to fire me. It may have been a slight exaggeration, but not by much. My editor had been understanding, accepting my stories via email and holding meetings with me over Skype, but I could tell her patience was running thin.

  If, on the other hand, I could break a story about a big billionaire secret… she might be a little more willing to give me some latitude.

  Of course, that would mean figuring out what, if anything, Brad was hiding. And, now that Patrick was in the hospital, I had no one to help me figure that out. And, what was worse, clearly someone was after Patrick. It had crossed my mind that someone, maybe the same person, could be after me. Given that thought, getting onto a plane had been a relatively easy decision.

  Still, leaving Patrick to fend for his life alone in a hospital bed had not been an easy decision, and I felt my stomach tie up in knots at the prospect of him succumbing to his injuries before I could return to see him again.

  The pilot instructed us to be seated for take off. I sat on one of the couches nearest to where I was standing and belted myself in. Brad smiled and sat beside me, taking my hand in his. As the plane gained speed and lifted into the air, I slid against him and he put his arm around me.

  “It’s all going to be okay,” he whispered. I looked up at him. Something in his tone was strange, as if he wasn’t just talking to me, but to himself as well.

  “It is,” I said. “I know.” I squeezed his hand, offering him reassurance but not knowing exactly why. “How long have you owned the plane?” I asked, thinking I was changing the subject.