Wicked Paradise: An Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Tia Lewis

  “So? Are you just going to let this happen?” she asked.

  “No. I’m not. We’re not. Amanda’s already on it. She’s been working night and day, calling in favors, pulling strings.”

  “What if it doesn’t work? What can we do?” Debbie’s eyes were large, sad. “We’ll have to find new jobs. Do you think the new restaurant will hire us back?”

  “It’s not going to get to that,” I assured her in a grim tone of voice. “We’re going to raise the money.”

  “We’re what?”

  I nodded. “I don’t know what the legal repercussions will be—I’ll have to consult with Amanda on that—but I know there are enough people in town who would donate money. Even the littlest bit will help. And I’m sure Tom Kenney, down at the bank, will work with me. I have to do this.”

  “I understand how you feel,” she said with a brave smile. “And you’re right. Everybody will chip up.”

  “First, we need to figure out how to keep the diner standing. But we can start planning for a fundraiser now.”

  There was a knock at the back door. I prepared myself to give the same talk to my cooks and the rest of the wait staff…and then, the rest of the town.

  She came in at eleven o’clock, and I almost missed her in the middle of the rest of the crowd. She waved a piece of paper over her head and jumped up and down to get my attention, then elbowed her way through the mass of bodies waiting for seats.

  “I think we’re onto something,” she said. Her cheeks were bright pink, and her eyes shone. It gave me hope.

  “What is it?” She handed me the paper. “Historical and cultural value?”

  She nodded. “I looked at your books and crunched the numbers. In the course of a week, you serve up to twelve-hundred customers. Even if a portion of those customers are repeats, you’re still serving over half the town every week. Every week! So I asked a friend of mine who works with the US National Trust for Historic Preservation, and he helped me put together a petition to leave this building untouchable. It’s been standing for almost eighty years, Dawson. It’s been the heart of the town since Day One.”

  “I don’t disagree. But if it’s historic, that means I can only do so much with it. Improvements, I mean.”

  “We can worry about that later. For now, when this goes through—and they’re expediting it—it means the building has to stand. So even if it takes a while and the sale goes through, they can’t tear it down.”

  “I can live with that. But what about us? I’m fine, but Debbie and the guys in the kitchen?”

  “Employment law. The staff is small enough that you fall under a law stating you get up to thirty days before employment is terminated when ownership changes hands.”

  “So instead of sixty days, we have ninety.”

  “Well, yes and no. You’ll need to have enough time to make a bid and get the sale process going—if the sale to the restaurant company goes through, that is. Your owner in Richmond might cut it off once I get a hold of him.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Sure thing. And if you can give me a reasonable amount of faith that we’ll have enough money for a comparable bid when the time comes to pay up, I’ll bluff him into thinking we have it.”

  We had company by then. There were at least a dozen, maybe two dozen, people standing around with an ear cocked in our direction, pretending they didn’t hear. I glanced at them and looked at her. “It’s the best idea I’ve heard all day, for sure.”

  She beamed. “I thought so, too. I’m gonna go back to the house and put the financials together.”

  “Hang on, hang on. Have you eaten? Let me get you something.” She looked thinner already, with circles under her eyes.

  “No thanks. No time. I have some munchies back at the house. I think this is the most fun I ever had being a lawyer.” She leaned over the counter to kiss my cheek. “Oh, and speaking of lawyers, Craig’s lawyer wants us to meet at his office sometime next week or the week after. Something about the Will.”

  “The Will?”

  She nodded. “He didn’t specify. I’ll let you know when he confirms.” She gave me a little wave and elbowed her way back through the crowd. I could see her out the window, jogging across the parking lot, jumping into her car. She had more energy than she had when we were kids.

  All eyes turned to me. It was time to start brainstorming ideas for raising the money, since everybody would know our plan in no time.

  Fred was one of the guys standing there, listening. “I don’t know how you managed not to kill that son of a bitch yet,” he grumbled after the rest of them walked away.

  “Who?”

  “That lawyer shithead. The one who was shooting his mouth off at the bar last night.”

  “I know.” I ran a rag over the counter and wished I had taken a swing at the piece of shit when I had the chance. “He thinks he has his sale all wrapped up.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t talking about the case. I was talking about the things he was saying about Amanda.”

  My head snapped up. “What did he say?”

  “Shit.” He took a step back. “I don’t wanna hear about you getting yourself arrested because you killed a lawyer.”

  “I won’t kill him.” Maybe.

  “I’m going out for a minute,” I called into the kitchen before walking around to the side of the building and getting in my truck. It was only a five-minute drive to the four-story hotel at the corner of High and Main Streets. There was a shiny BMW parked alongside the building.

  “Hey, you.” It was Shana’s shift at the front desk. She smiled as I leaned my elbows on the chest-high, fake granite countertop separating the two of us.

  “I need a favor,” I grinned, while I hoped an old friendship would be enough reason for her to do something that could get her into trouble. “I need a little information, and you’re just the person to give it to me. There’s somebody staying here with you. Young-ish guy, flashy watch, nice clothes.”

  “You don’t even have to describe him in that much detail,” she chuckled. “He’s the only stranger we’ve seen around these parts in a dog’s age. You know we usually cater to guys whose wives have kicked them out for the night or couples getting away from their kids when the grandparents take them for a sleepover.”

  “Is he in?” I asked.

  She frowned. “Why do you wanna know?”

  “I need to talk to him. We have a little business to take care of. Old business.”

  “Is he the owner of the diner?” she asked in an awed tone of voice. Damn. I should’ve told her who he was in the first place. That would’ve been the perfect excuse.

  Instead, I was honest. “No. He’s an asshole whose face I’m gonna go up and punch in.”

  She nodded slowly. “Room three-oh-two.”

  “Just like that?” I asked.

  “Just like that. If he’s the sort of man Dawson Holmes wants to punch out, he must deserve it. I’ve known you for more than twenty years, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen you angry.” She turned away. “Now I’m just gonna stand here with my back to the stairs and go over these invoices. I’ll have no idea if somebody who’s not staying here goes up there.”

  “No cameras?” I asked, looking around.

  “You know we don’t have cameras in here. Now, get.” She flipped through a stack of papers, humming to herself, and I followed her instructions. Room three-oh-two. I heard a TV on in the room when I knocked on the door.

  He didn’t have the chance to say a word before my fist made contact with his nose. He reeled back against the bed, sputtering, a hand over his face. I closed and locked the door behind me.

  “You?” he gasped, still holding his nose. “What the hell is this?”

  “I heard you were talking about your ex-wife at the bar last night.” I took him by the collar of his shirt, pulled back my other fist and smashed it into his face again. This time, it was his mouth I hit. The satisfaction I felt was almost too good.

&
nbsp; He cried out in surprise and pain but recovered fast. “You think I give a shit what you think about me?” He took a swing at me which I blocked, though I felt the power behind it. He kept in shape, too. Of course, he did. He had to look good for his girlfriends.

  I grabbed him by the collar again and pulled. He made a choking noise and clawed at my hands, but he might as well have been clawing at solid rock. I didn’t feel it. I got eye-to-eye with him. His were wide, full of fear. Blood trickled from his nose and the corner of his mouth.

  “Keep your filthy mouth shut about her—she already told me what you did to her, and only a piece of shit like you would say what you did. Calling her a slut?” He winced when I cocked my arm like I was ready to throw another punch.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” he choked out. I pulled his collar tighter, and he wheezed.

  “I’m the man who could snap your neck right now if he wanted to,” I whispered. “And I do want to. The only reason I’m not is because too many people have seen you around town. You’re a stranger, so they’ll remember you. That wouldn’t be good for me.”

  “I’ll tell them you did this,” he gasped. His face was turning a deep shade of red, almost purple. I let him stay that way longer than I probably should have. I took him right up to the point where he was about ready to pass out before I let him go. He fell backward onto the bed and sucked in all the air he could, coughing and sputtering.

  “Give it a shot,” I said. “Try telling the people in this town that I came up here and smacked you around a little. When they’re done laughing at you for being such a pussy, they’ll tell you I’m the nicest guy in town and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Which is true, for the most part. But you’re not a fly, are you? You’re a lowlife. A man who cheats on his wife, then does what you’re trying to do here. There’s no excuse for you.”

  “So what are you?” he croaked. He rubbed his throat like I had done serious damage, like I couldn’t have crushed his windpipe without elevating my heart rate. “Are you her guard dog or something? Did she send you here after me?”

  “No. She doesn’t know I’m here. And she won’t ever know, will she?” When he didn’t answer right away, I took a step toward him with my fist raised. He cowered on the bed, one arm over his face.

  “No! No, she won’t know. I won’t tell her.”

  “Good boy. Now get the hell out of town and don’t come back.” I turned around and unlocked the door.

  “I could sue your ass for this.”

  He just had to go and say that. I sighed and turned back to him. His eyes went wide again, and he tried to scramble away before I grabbed hold of him one more time. I hauled him to his feet and held him by his collar again until our faces were inches apart.

  “I have the entire town behind me, and every single one of them would testify that I’ve been at the diner all day long. Witnesses out the door and down the steps of the courthouse if I wanted. But you go ahead and try.” We were eye to eye again. I was practically spitting fire. It would be so easy to end him. Nobody would miss him. It was so tempting.

  He was nothing. He wasn’t even a threat. I let him go. He gasped for air. “Don’t write a check you can’t cash,” I warned. “Leave her alone. Get out of town and don’t come back. You can settle the sale from someplace else—or send somebody else down here instead.” He opened his mouth, but I held up a hand. “Shut your fucking mouth. Just nod your head to tell me you understand.”

  He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, then nodded. I could tell it chafed his ass to give in, but I didn’t give him much of a choice. I was whistling as I jogged down the stairs to the lobby. Shana turned her back when she saw me coming, and I walked out the door like nothing had happened.

  Amanda was mine. Nobody else’s.

  Dawson

  I stifled a yawn, then stretched my legs as much as I could in my cramped chair as I sat and waited for the lawyer to walk in.

  It had been a long two weeks. Lots of late nights. The younger girls were putting together the flyers and decorations with their friends—I told myself I could trust them, since it was their jobs on the line, too. Still, I got the final say in everything. Meanwhile, I went around to the businesses in the area and got donations—raffle prizes, a few kegs of beer, a few local bands to play. The high school had agreed on the use of the gym. And we were selling tickets like hotcakes at the diner.

  It wasn’t just the big fundraiser, either. Some of our customers had come up with ideas to raise more money. A town-wide garage sale, a car wash—though the biting air made that doubtful. Maybe a winter festival before the holidays. We would have enough time for that. I just wondered who had the time to put it all together. I was burning the candle at both ends already.

  Amanda hurried in. “I’m sorry,” she murmured before giving me a quick peck on the cheek. “I was just on the phone with the owner, and I assured him we’d have the bid money together. Did you get in touch with the bank today?”

  I shook my head. “Too early for them. I had planned on calling after the meeting here.”

  She nodded, distracted. “Okay. Cool. We’re so close on this, I know we can do it.”

  “Me, too.” I loved that she thought of us as working together. It wasn’t just my issue. She was in it with me. I couldn’t wait for the two of us to maybe relax and enjoy ourselves at the event the next day.

  The door opened, and we both sat up a little straighter. “Thank you for being here this morning.” He looked at us from over the top of his spectacles. They weren’t glasses. On a man like him, with his little bit of frizzled white hair and liver spots on the backs of his hands, they were spectacles.

  “I’m not used to being on this side of the desk,” Amanda admitted with a shaky laugh.

  “Are you a lawyer?” Mr. Steadman asked.

  “I am. Was. Well, am, but I’m between jobs at the moment.” I squeezed her hand when she let out that shaky laugh again.

  “You’re the only two individuals mentioned in Dr. Miller’s Will,” Steadman told us. “So it’s just the three of us this morning.”

  “I can’t imagine what he would’ve left me,” I muttered for probably the tenth time that day.

  “He obviously thought highly of you,” Amanda reminded me.

  I looked at the lawyer—for what, I didn’t know. Maybe a clue to what I was about to hear.

  He cleared his throat. “It’s best that we get started now.” He opened a folder and cleared his throat again before reading. “I, Craig Jonathon Miller, being of sound mind…” All the legalese and boilerplate stuff went on and on. I couldn’t stop wondering why he would leave me anything. We fell out of close touch for years and years. He must’ve added me when he was on death’s door. When had the lawyer been by the house for Craig to sign the papers? I guessed it had to be when I was at work.

  The old man got to the good stuff. “To my friend, Amanda Greenley, I leave ownership of the house at 523 Sycamore Avenue.”

  She gasped. “His house?” We stared at each other. Her eyes were like saucers.

  “She is free to do with the property as she chooses,” he continued. His house. I watched the wheels spinning in her head. She couldn’t make sense out of it. I, on the other hand, was thrilled. I dared hope that it would mean her staying in town.

  “And to my other friend, Dawson Holmes, I leave my life savings which, at the time of the signing of this document, totals three hundred and twenty-seven thousand dollars. He knows what I think he should do with it. I hope it gives him much happiness.”

  I reeled back in the chair. No way. Not that much money. No money at all. I couldn’t understand why he would do it even if it were completely something he would do. He wanted me to buy the diner, didn’t he? Of course. That was what he meant.

  And I could. Amanda’s hand clamped down on mine. She was thinking the same thing I was.

  The rest of what the lawyer read meant nothing to me, since I couldn’t hear it o
ver the roaring in my ears. None of it made sense. I hadn’t done enough to deserve that kind of money. I hoped he didn’t think I talked about wanting to buy the diner so he would give me the money for it. The thought was so heavy; I could hardly breathe. At the same time, I couldn’t stop thinking about what a miracle it was.

  When it was over, and Steadman went quiet, the silence was thick. Amanda was just as shell-shocked as I was. The old man cleared his throat, and it shook me out of my shock.

  “Thank you,” I managed to mumble.

  “Once the estate is settled, and taxes are paid, you’ll receive a check,” he explained. He turned to Amanda. “And I’ll need you to sign the papers of transfer on the deed to the house.”

  She nodded. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do that.” She wasn’t thinking. She was like a parrot, just saying words. I knew how that felt.

  Minutes later, we walked down the street side-by-side. I was on the phone with the bank while Amanda confirmed with the current owners that I had the offer in place—well, mostly in place. I still needed the check. She stopped, putting her hand on my arm to stop me, too, and her eyes lit up. “Yes? Really? That’s great. I agree—it’s better for the town to keep things as-is. We’ll be up to sign the paperwork on Monday. Thank you so much.”

  I hung up and turned to her. “Yeah?” she asked, nodding.

  “Yes.” She squealed and threw her arms around my neck. We were in business. I picked her up, laughing, and just then it was only the two of us in the world. When I put her down, she pulled my face to hers for a deep kiss.

  “We did it,” she beamed.

  “Craig did it.”

  “You did, too.”

  “We all did.” She took my hand. “We all did it together. One more thing we did together.” I kissed the top of her head when she leaned against my chest. It all seemed unreal, after all that working and planning. It was over.

  Bailey and the other girls got to work on changing the banners from the Save Our Diner event to the First Annual Dr. Craig Miller Fund event. It seemed appropriate—we had already sold the tickets, after all, and everybody who came by the diner to celebrate once the news got out agreed it seemed like the right thing to do. The Fund would help people who couldn’t pay their bills, just the way Craig would when he was alive.