Bastard Heir (The Heirs Book 3)

by Brandy Munroe

  With all the construction and hectic schedule of getting the new men’s line up and running, I had no time for a summer romance with one of the young single men who came with their parents for summer vacation.

  My boss, Leona, told me I needed to find myself a tall glass of water to quench my thirst and end my dry spell. Mr. Walsh was anything but. Cool, yes, but a tall glass of water? Hell, no.

  He was nothing less than a shot of bourbon whiskey with a whiskey chaser. The man would burn your lips and you would feel the burn all the way to your toes. I wanted my lips to burn. I wanted my toes to curl—but not today. This was a client and I needed to put my libido aside.

  I put on my best ‘I’m ready to fleece you’ smile and got ready to introduced myself.

  “Haley?” He interjected. Of course he was expecting Haley.

  “Katie Steele.” I held out my hand. A jolt of electricity ran through me and I pulled my hand away. I explained I was going to assist him today instead of Haley. “Follow me please, Mr. Walsh.” He was going to be blown away by the VIP room.

  “Please call me Aaron.” He grinned sheepishly.

  “What can I do for you, Aaron?”

  I was appalled at how seductive my voice sounded coming out of my mouth. I wasn't there to end my dry spell. I was there to conduct business, and I had better start treating this appointment accordingly. I straightened my spine and hoped I was not flushed from heat that was pulsing through my body.

  “I want a pair of Boardroom and Beyond, black, size fourteen.”

  Oh, dear God, did he just say size fourteen—and did I just look at his crotch? This was not how this appointment was supposed to be going. I was supposed to convince him to add on extras to pad the bottom line. I could barely sell him a pair of shoes as it was.

  “Have a seat and make yourself comfortable, Aaron. The espresso machine is ready if you would like something. Shall I pour you a cup before I go get your shoes?” Now that was my professional voice. I just had to keep that up.

  “I don't need to sit. I just need the shoes.”

  “You can't try them on standing up.” What was he going to do, lean against the wall and throw off his boots?

  “I’m not trying them on.”

  Was he getting defensive with me? I had come in on a Sunday for this?

  “You have to try them on,” I said, attempting to explain to him how important it was. “If a shoe is created from the bottom of the bolt, it may not fit the exact same as one cut from the top. You want your shoes to fit comfortably.” That should convince him.

  “They’ll be fine. I only need them for one day.”

  “Who spends a small ransom on a pair of shoes and only wears them once?” Typical over-indulgent ass. Despite how hard I tried to avoid it, I knew my Irish temper was getting the better of me.

  “Is this the famous Van de Graaf customer service I’ve heard about, questioning what I plan to do with my money? Or do you want to see my feet, Katie, to see if I really am a size fourteen?”

  Oh, God, he saw me stare at his package earlier.

  “You’re slouching, Katie. Do you need someone to put that stick back up your ass?”

  If biker bad boy Mr. Aaron Walsh thought he was going to best me, he had another thing coming. No, there was not going to be any add-on with this jerk. The commission would barely cover the time I wasted here today.

  “If you want size fourteen black Boardroom and Beyonds without trying them on, so be it. Wait here. I’ll be right out—and it’s Miss Steele to you.” I turned away from him, certain I was flushed from his comment. Could I be any more obvious? I needed to get him his shoes and get him out of my shop.

  I returned with his shoes packaged in a trademark Van de Graaf bag and watched as he pulled his credit card.

  “I don't need that. Apparently, you are an important enough VIP that you have a platinum account set up. You will be billed, and you can settle with the main office.” I handed him his bag, and his fingers brushed against mine.

  There was that jolt of electricity.

  Get him out now, my brain screamed at me. I began walking toward the door and he followed. Good. He understood this appointment was over.

  “Have a nice day, Mr. Walsh. Enjoy your purchase.” I watched him walk away as I locked the door.

  I returned to the VIP room and made myself an espresso. I sat down in one of the big comfortable chairs and kicked off my stilettos. Why let a good espresso go to waste because some rich guy who was too good to try on shoes didn't want one? I hoped he got blisters on his heels and his toes. It would serve him right.

  I really could have used the commission on the sale I was expecting today. Now I was going to have to listen to my overprotective older brother Braden lecture me about skipping out of church early. The Steele family took their commitment to church seriously.

  I went to confession to ask Father Tim how many Hail Marys I needed to say—not because I was going miss communion, but for the language I would direct at Braden when he called me out on it.

  At least I had money coming in from my work at The Boutique to continue to rent Haley’s house. Getting out from under Braden’s watchful eye was a must do on my list once I started earning my own money.

  Even before his passing, my father signed the family’s security business over to Braden, him being the oldest. He now controlled the purse strings and I decided it was time for me to cut those financial ties.

  As much as I loved all three of my brothers, I had a stubborn streak and an overwhelming need to support and take care of myself.

  All three of my brothers were in town this weekend on hiatus from whatever job they were working on. Maybe I should meet up with them and take a little more of their money by beating them at pool. I wouldn’t mind blowing off a little steam after my encounter with Mr. Walsh.

  I shouldn’t have let him get to me, no matter how hot he was. Who was this Mr. Aaron Walsh, anyway? I took out my cell, pulled up Google, and typed in Aaron Walsh. I sat and waited to see how good my search engine was.

  It didn't take long. Aaron Walsh, corporate raider, self-made multi-millionaire.

  Fudge sticks, I was right, he was a bad boy. He tore companies apart for a living. He didn't just look the part, he lived it. He looked much younger when he was clean shaven and in a suit.

  The pictures did not fool me. He was every bit a man—nothing like the college guys I had dated. He was masculine, and if he was a size fourteen, he was way out of my realm of experience.

  He was a VIP, and just not any VIP. No, I had to insult a platinum VIP. I was going to have to explain to Haley tomorrow how I had blown the appointment. Not that he didn't deserve it. He was quite insulting himself. I pulled my shoulders back, indignant. Stick up my ass? Good posture was an asset!

  I never asked why he needed those shoes today—why he couldn't wait until Monday morning like a normal person? It wasn't my business, but it would gnaw at me that Mrs. Van de Graaf would agree to it.

  What was so important about Mr. Aaron Walsh?

  Chapter 3

  Aaron

  I arrived at my rented apartment and threw the bag with the shoes in the corner. I didn’t need to try them on. I always wore a size fourteen, and that crap about shoes being different sizes because of where the leather was cut was just a ploy to keep me there and sell me other crap I didn’t need.

  Maybe I should have let her take care of me. What would it have hurt to let her play with my feet? It might actually have been nice to have Katie touch them. I did enjoy seeing her lose her composure, however minimal had it been.

  How much of my time would I be spending at the storefront? I assumed my duties would keep me in the main office. Then again, I might have to find a reason to spend a little more time at The Upstairs.

  Leona ran The Boutique and Haley ran The Upstairs, so where did that leave Katie? Could she be one of those interns on the new program initiated by Aleksander’s wife? If so, was she a designer in the new men’s
line? Was that why she was working for Haley today?

  “Fucking gingers,” I swore under my breath. Why was I spending so much time wondering about some uptight future trophy wife? She no doubt was working in the upscale Boutique to get her claws into some unsuspecting trust fund baby. Hell, she barely looked legal herself.

  I didn’t do one-night stands. I was very careful about my liaisons. I doubted a small town like Tranquility could provide anything near the high-end call girls I enjoyed. The discretion that came with using a reputable firm appealed to me. I didn’t plan to be here long. I could go three weeks without sex, and if I couldn’t, the city was not that far. I doubted my escort service delivered out of town.

  I remembered I had turned my cell phone off during church, and I had better turn it back on. I still had my own company to run, after all. I had a great second-in-command. If I chose to stay in Tranquility, I might consider selling my company outright to my competitor. Or I could always keep it and let my right-hand man run it.

  My phone pinged alerting me to a text message. It was someone I wasn’t in the mood to deal with.

  Stop stalling and do the right thing, the text screamed at me in bold letters.

  The text was from Beth. The daughter of a someone I had considered going into business with. She didn't understand why I had even considered Richard’s proposal. If I merged my interest with that of her father’s company, she would be expecting me to honor every element our business discussions. Those plans no longer suited me.

  Not wanting to close the door completely, in case I choose not to stay in Tranquility, I quickly texted her back. I told you three weeks—and I am doing the right thing for me.

  After a few e-mails and phone calls, I decided to call it a day.

  I was feeling peckish, and opened the fridge. The money I had paid the super to stock it and make sure my stuff got put away when it arrived was worth every penny. She hadn’t missed a thing. She’d even hung up my suits and stowed away my suitcases.

  Maybe I was going to like living in a small town after all.

  The day had taken it’s toll on me and I didn’t feel like cooking for myself. I would take a ride around town. If this was where I was going to reside for the next few weeks, I should scope out the local watering hole. I would grab something to eat at the same time.

  It was a nice little town with lots of local color and quite a few more pubs than I originally thought. I pulled my bike up to one that look like a place I wouldn’t stand out with my attire.

  I had pegged the place correctly. Upon first inspection, I saw the place was clean. There were a few patrons, and it was not too crowded, with plenty of places to sit.

  I chose a spot at the bar.

  “Hello, handsome.” An attractive woman working behind the bar approached me. “What would you like?” She was smiling, her voice was soft.

  I leaned over the counter and whispered, “I would like a light beer, in a glass.”

  The bartender winked. “Because you’re driving and you don’t want to overindulge.

  “Something like that.” I winked back.

  “No problem, handsome. I’m Anne, and over there is my husband Andy—and no Raggedy Anne and Andy jokes.” She pointed her finger at me and then held out her hand.

  “Aaron.” I took her hand and gave it a good shake. I pointed to the sign above the bar. “Nice menu, simple, homemade. I wouldn't mind a burger—loaded.”

  “Loaded?” Anne stared at me with one hand on her hip.

  “Loaded. You know, everything on it,” I informed her.

  She laughed. “Around here, handsome, we call that the works.” She turned her back to me and yelled “Andy, a number three with the works.” She smirked once more.

  I decided I should head to the bathroom and wash my hands before handling my burger. On my way across the bar, I looked up and was surprised to see the back of my choir girl’s head. It was her all right. I recognized those strawberry blonde curls hanging over her collar.

  She had taken off her coat, and she was wearing a long sweater that came just below her ass with knee-high come ‘fuck me boots’ over a pair of skinny jeans. She raised her arms to hang her coat, and her sweater lifted just enough that I got a glimpse of her painted-on jeans.

  I swore under my breath. “Fuck.” I was sure they were so tight I could dry hump her in the corner of the bar and she would cream those jeans right there. I wasn't taking my place at the bar until she turned around—until I saw what my choir girl looked like.

  “Double fuck.” I swore again. That smile, those emerald green eyes—my little choir girl was none other than stick-up-her-ass future trophy wife, Katie. Settle down, boy, I mentally told my cock. This one is nothing but trouble. I took my seat at the bar and waited for my burger.

  I couldn't help but keep an eye on her. I moved to one of the tables when my food arrived. I was still nursing my first beer. I was careful about drinking when I was riding my bike. My plans were not to drown my misery. I only wanted to get something to eat and maybe have a beer or two.

  She had a laugh that resonated. It would have been hard for any red-blooded man not to notice—especially the three burly men surrounding her at the pool table. They looked like a pack of wolves playing with a little kitten. They were letting her win at pool and no doubt getting her drunk.

  Shit, if they managed to get her to take a walk with them, there would be no telling what would happen to Little Miss Choir Girl. What was she thinking, flirting with the three toughest looking guys in the place? She wouldn't stand a chance of defending herself if they decided to have a little fun with her.

  It wasn't my business, but no one else seemed the least bit concerned about what was going on. It looked like she was about to finish off her last game. I could challenge her, beat the pants off her, and show her she was being played. Was she counting her drinks? I certainly was. How many was that now—three?

  Anne didn't look like the type who would serve to minors, so at least she wasn't jailbait, but I bet she wasn't far off. Without all that makeup she had on earlier, she looked even younger than I’d originally thought.

  I walked over to the bar. “Anne, can I have a couple bottles of water, please?”

  “Sure, handsome.” She handed me two bottles of water. I took them and headed toward the pool table.

  “Well boys, it looks like I cleaned house again.” Katie put her hand on the money sitting on the pool table. I placed my hand over the top of hers, preventing her from taking it.

  “I don't think I have been challenged yet.” I deliberately deepened my voice, hoping to intimidate her companions. Before I knew it, I was flanked on all sides by the three men. They were a lot bigger and rougher than they had appeared from across the bar. I was going to get my ass kicked and handed to me on a silver platter for trying to take away their kitten. I was sure of it.

  “Mr. Walsh,” Katie acknowledged pointedly. She pulled her hand out from under mine.“You fancy yourself a pool player, do you?”

  One of the men actually growled and bore his teeth. “Mr. Walsh?” His question was directed at Katie.

  “It’s okay, boys, I got this.” Katie laughed. “I’ll take your challenge, Mr. Walsh.” She announced, “First, rules.” She took out a quarter. “Heads I win, tails you lose.”

  I opened my mouth to protest. Katie put up her hand. “Let me finish. Solids are mine, stripes are yours. I land all my solids, you pay a hundred.” She picked up her cue and applied chalk to the end. “Then when I land all your stripes, you pay a hundred.” She blew the excess chalk from her cue. “When I sink the eight ball, you double up, and if the cue ball follows into the same pocket, you triple. Are you still game?” She stood smiling at me like the cat that ate the canary—or rather, the kitten that ate the wolf.

  Did she seriously think she was going to be able to clear the entire table without me taking a single shot? “And if you miss—at any time?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Then you win, and y
ou take what’s on the table.”

  “Doesn't seem like a fair bet.” I was genuinely concerned she’d had too much to drink and was not thinking straight.

  “I know, but you’re new here, so I’m starting the bet at just a hundred.” Her eyes were gleaming with trouble.

  I handed her one of the bottles of water. She took it and placed it near her empty bottles of non-alcoholic beers. She wasn’t drunk. She was more sober than I was. She nodded to the biggest of her companions. “Braden here will hold the money. You are good for it, aren't you, Mr. Walsh?” she purred.

  I pulled out my wallet and placed the bills on the table. Braden picked them up and shoved them into his pocket. He leaned over Katie and kissed her on the cheek. “Clean house with this one, sis,” I heard him tell her.

  Sis. He was her brother. They weren’t letting her win—she was actually winning. I was fucked. Not that I cared about the money. I just really hated being played, and well, Little Miss Choir Girl had played me royally. Now I knew why she had gone to confession.

  “Your brother?” was all I said.

  “All three of them.” She smiled and practically sang it to me.

  “They're so big, and you’re…”

  “So little?” she finished for me.

  “I was going to say petite, but yeah, let's go with little. And why did that one,” I gestured to Braden, “snarl at me?”

  “You see, I had this VIP customer today. On a Sunday. We never open on Sunday. She broke and landed her first ball. Not for anyone… ever.”

  “Wait, never?” I interrupted.

  “No, never, ever, except today for some reason.” Katie took another shot. “You can imagine my excitement. This must be one hell of a customer for Mrs. Van de Graaf to allow anyone in on Sunday.” She paused and took another shot.

  “You can imagine my brother’s disappointment to find out I had to leave church before communion to set up for this very special customer. My only saving grace was the fact that the commission…” She stopped, picked up the chalk, grazed it across her stick, and slowly pursed her lips and blew off the excess.