Deception_A Secret Billionaire Romance

by Lexi Whitlow

  “I know!” she cries. “I’m so sorry!”

  I look over to the other side of the room to see Darryl gesturing furiously at Justin. The panic in Darryl’s eyes is unmistakable as the satisfaction in Justin’s. I can only imagine what bombs have just been dropped.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to Millie. “I know this has been hard for you, but you know you’ll have to leave the company. We’ll buy your shares—maybe that will help to replenish your savings. And we’ll keep this all to ourselves.”

  “Unless Darryl starts blabbing,” says Jenna. “In that case, we’ll call him a liar to his face. This doesn’t go beyond us four.”

  She nods and wipes at her eyes and nose with a tissue. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

  Linda Davies is pounding the gavel again, calling the meeting back to order. That could be a chore, considering the fact that we’ve seen a proposal, an outburst and a physical assault all in the last ten minutes.

  As we had back towards our seats, I see Darryl storm out the back door of the room. Justin sidles up to me and puts his hand in mine.

  “That was interesting,” he says. “I convinced him to sell me his shares.”

  My world tilts again for the second time in ten minutes.

  “You what?”

  “I told him that if he sold them to me, I’d back off on my takeover of his company. He wasn’t too keen on that, so I said if he didn’t sell them, I’d hand over the evidence I dug up showing that he was the one who handed over the user data to that broker, and that he was conspiring with Millie to commit fraud, and we could let the FBI work it out.”

  “Wait, what evidence?”

  He grins, and suddenly I’m looking at Justin the shark again.

  “The only evidence I needed was a stupid man’s guilty conscience,” he says. “Daryl’s under incredible pressure; the slightest poke and he falls to pieces. Plus, I’m sure the inevitable investigation will back me up.”

  Jenna and Candice join us and we bring them up to speed.

  “That’s incredible,” says Candice. “I—I don’t know how we can thank you.”

  “I know how I can start,” says Jenna. She wraps an arm around Justin’s neck and pulls him into a hug. “I was wrong about you, and I’m sorry.”

  “You weren’t wrong,” he says. “I was everything you thought I was.” He turns to me. “But then I met Sarah.”

  My heart melts into a big old puddle, and I feel tears prickling at my eyes. I change the subject to keep from being the CEO who lost it at the emergency shareholders meeting.

  “Justin thinks an investigation will prove that Darryl was behind everything, including the data breach. I didn’t have the heart to ask Millie if she had a hand in that.”

  “Do you think he’ll go to jail?” asks Candice.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “He does have some powerful friends.”

  Justin grins at the three of us.

  “Maybe,” he says. “But they’re not as powerful as mine.”

  I’m about to roll my eyes and tell him I won’t fall for corny lines, but Jenna cuts me off.

  “Hey, wait,” she blurts. “I totally forgot: did you say yes?”

  I’d almost forgot myself. Before I can speak, Justin answers for me.

  “She said no. But I’ll keep working on her.”

  Jenna slaps my arm. “Are you crazy?”

  “Crazy like a fox,” I say, my grin a mile wide.

  26

  Justin

  Do you want mustard?” she asks.

  “Don’t you mean, ‘do you want mustard, Mr. Chairman?’”

  “I knew it,” she sighs, handing me my hot dog. “Power would go to your head.”

  I chuckle and slip my free hand in hers. It’s a beautiful summer evening in Central Park and we’ve got the best meal in the city, as far as I’m concerned. And, of course, the best company.

  “We both know where the real power lies,” I say. “Too bad Linda Davies didn’t have the brains to recognize it, too. She’s going to regret losing faith in PinkBook.”

  “Out of everything that happened, I think that one hurts the most,” she says. “Linda was a mentor. To find out that she had that little faith in us is hard to take.”

  “Harder than Millie?”

  She sighs. “People are human. She made a huge mistake, but she owned up to it. And I think she can make things right; she and Tim are going to counselling, and I’ll give her a good recommendation for her next job. Things can never be the same between us, though.”

  “It’s been my experience that people do stupid things when large amounts of money are involved. They make decisions that they otherwise would never make.”

  She looks at me coyly. “You mean like asking women to marry you in front of a roomful of strangers?”

  “Exactly like that,” I grin.

  “Well, it worked. Not only was the crisis averted, we’ve managed to shore up our stock prices already and the new content rollout has been even bigger than I’d hoped. I guess everyone really does root for an underdog.”

  “Especially when that underdog is a brilliantly run company,” I say. “That’s a key part of this, remember.”

  “That’s something we should really talk about. Are you going to be a silent partner?”

  “My lips are sealed,” I say, pulling her into a kiss.

  “Don’t change the subject,” she says as our lips part, and I see a glimmer of the little girl who never backed down from an argument. “Do you intend to have a hand in PinkBook?”

  “No,” I say seriously. “Do you know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know how to run a successful company.”

  She frowns. “What are you talking about? Of course you do.”

  “No, I know how to make lots of money. They’re two different things. I used to think the same thing—obviously—until I met you and your friends. You showed me how good companies run. Any meddling I did in PinkBook would just screw things up.”

  She squeezes my hand. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Justin.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” I grin. “This isn’t false modesty. I’m still the cleverest guy in just about every room, and I can take turn a quarter into a million dollars through sheer willpower.”

  “If you do say so yourself,” she giggles.

  “But I don’t have the soul of a businessman just yet. That’s what I need to learn from you and others like you. Once I do, I’m going to make some changes.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, first of all, I’m going to see if I can get a Nigerian petroleum refinery running again and put about a thousand people back to work.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Are you serious? That’s amazing! Could we go there together?”

  “If it’s feasible. There’s no guarantee that I can make it happen.”

  “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

  “And I’m going to take a couple hundred million that I have set aside and put it into a charitable foundation. I was thinking of maybe getting Margot’s fiancé Bryan to run it for me.”

  “Oh my God, she will plotz when you tell her that! A stockbroker his age taking over a $200-million portfolio? You’re essentially buying them their first house!”

  I shrug. “He’d be buying it himself. And if he doesn’t make enough of a return on my investment, I’ll fire him. I’m not Santa Claus.”

  She leans into my arm. “Keep eating my cooking the way you have been and you’ll be as fat as him.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I chuckle. “Would you kick me out of bed if I was?”

  “I think it’s safe to say I will never kick you out of bed.”

  We walk in companionable silence for a while, drinking in the warmth of the air, the summer smells, the sounds of people enjoying themselves. This is something no amount of money can buy.

  “Come with me,” she says finally, tugging on my hand. “There’s a nice little spot over here
.”

  We end up under a wide weeping willow that creates a canopy around a spot about thirty feet in diameter. It’s cool in the shade and the grass under the umbra is particularly lush.

  “I wanted to be somewhere that there was soft ground,” she says.

  “What for?” I give her a leering look. “You want to make out right here in public?”

  She locks her eyes on mine, and the look on her face is as serious as I’ve ever seen.

  “Ask me again,” she says.

  I frown, puzzled. “Ask you what again?”

  She squeezes my hands in hers. “Ask me again.”

  My pulse quickens as I finally catch on to what she’s saying. My mouth is suddenly dry and I almost stumble dropping down to one knee.

  “I don’t—I mean, I left the ring—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she urges. “Just ask me.”

  I take her hand in mine and look into those eyes that are bluer than the sky above us. Just like last time, we’re surrounded by strangers, and I don’t care.

  “Sarah Bauer,” I say, my mouth suddenly dry. “Would you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

  I’m expecting a giddy grin, but the look she gives me is as stern as a Brooklyn traffic cop’s.

  “I’ll say yes on one condition.”

  Conditions? What is this, a negotiation? I don’t know, I’m still knew at this romance stuff!

  “Uh…name it?” I ask.

  Now she smiles, and it’s like a sunrise I want to see every morning for the rest of my life.

  “Next time,” she says, “I get to rescue you.”

  Turns out Sarah is a pretty tough negotiator herself.

  27

  Sarah

  Will you please get off your laptop and help?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you,” he says, not taking his eyes from the screen. “If you three can’t do something on your own, hire someone to do it. That’s the whole point of being rich.”

  Jenna snickers. “So you’re telling us to hire someone to help us choose the napkin patterns?”

  “Sure. How much could that cost?”

  “Just get over here!” I growl. “This thing is in two days, buster. And we still have to get everything to the park tomorrow.”

  “All right,” he sighs. “I guess you’d rather not hear about Darryl Lawrence’s arrest.”

  The three of us stop in mid page-flip and turn to gape at him.

  “What?” we say in unison.

  He flashes us his patented smug grin. His cable knit sweater makes him look like a fisherman who just reeled in the catch of the day, if that fisherman had just stepped off the pages of a catalog, of course.

  “So you’re saying you want me to tell you?” he asks, feigning confusion. “Or to come pick napkin patterns?”

  I pitch a plastic spoon at him and it bounces off his shoulder.

  “Okay, okay,” he says. “Sheesh, you ask for a little clarity and what do you get?”

  “Justin!” Candice barks.

  “Right!” he says. “So you remember when we were talking about the FBI investigation into the data breach? Well, it appears our man Lawrence is now a prime suspect. Sources tell the Wall Street Journal that the scope is expanding to include multiple fraud cases that were similar to what happened to PinkBook.”

  The girls and I stare at each other in awe. “And they arrested him?”

  “That’s the best part,” says Justin. “It says he was trying to board a flight to Hon Kong with a fake passport when they picked him up.”

  “Oh, well, that doesn’t look guilty in the slightest,” Jenna says dismissively.

  The rest of us have a giggle over that as Justin continues to peer at the screen.

  “I can’t believe this,” says Candice. “It’s like karma itself is giving you two a wedding present.”

  Justin finally looks at us. “That’s a reminder of what we said to you guys, right?”

  “Yes,” Jenna sighs. “No gifts, we remember.”

  I lean in close to her ear. “You damn well better have gotten me a gift, woman.”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to?” she whispers back. “We’ve known you for a decade. Of course we got you a gift.”

  We burst into giggles again until Justin interrupts us.

  “Whoa,” he says. “Some interesting stuff on Twitter about this. Seems like a lot of lawyers have been waiting to collect on a lot of money owed by the Lawrence family. Apparently, they’re big on borrowing, not so big on paying back.”

  I wander over to him and drape an arm over his shoulder.

  “I guess sometimes people do get what they deserve,” I say, looking at a photo of an indignant Darryl blocking his face from the camera.

  “Not always,” says Justin.

  “What do you mean?”

  He looks up at me. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Awww…” the girls sigh.

  I give him a big, wet smack on his lips and flash a wide grin.

  “As my father would say, you’re so full of horse manure, your eyes are brown.”

  “Maybe he’ll say that when he gets here tomorrow,” says Justin.

  “Oh, I’m sure he will,” I groan. “And he’ll probably say it right in front of Diane Preston.”

  I don’t care how much of a power broker you are, every woman is nervous on her wedding day.

  That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway. I do not want to be the only female CEO bride who ever felt like this.

  I take one final look in the long oval mirror that our wedding planner had placed in my dressing tent, about twenty yards from where everyone is gathered for the ceremony. It’s modelled after Meghan Markle’s Stella McCartney gown, for two reasons: first, I thought it was magical and it made me cry when I saw her wearing it last spring, and second, it looks deceptively plain, which means my family shouldn’t be offended by it.

  Jenna’s smiling reflection appears at my side. She’s equally stunning in her matron of honor dress, which is done in fall tones to match the season.

  “Everything’s perfect out there,” she says. “Everybody’s in their seats, the string quartet is waiting, your dad’s ready to walk you down the aisle. How you managed to choose the exact day that the willow Justin proposed to you under was changing colors is beyond me. And the weather is perfect: 63 degrees and not a breath of wind.”

  “I’ve got connections,” I say. “It’s all in who you know.”

  “One last thing: your mom is outside asking if she can come in.”

  My heart skips a beat. “Of course she can! I just assumed she wouldn’t want to.”

  “I’ll send her in,” she says. “Then I’ll meet you next to your new husband.” Her smile is giddy. “Can you believe it? Your husband!”

  We clutch each other and do one last ridiculous, girlish jig of excitement before composing ourselves.

  “Thanks, Jenna. For everything.”

  “Stop it or I’ll cry, and then I’ll have to beat you. I’ll send your mom in.”

  She leaves through the flap, and a second later my mother walks in. She’s wearing a plain blue dress and snow white kerchief, as she always does. But that’s what I expected. What I didn’t expect were the tears in her eyes. I place a hand on her shoulder and ask her what’s wrong.

  “Nothin,’” she says quietly. “Everythin.’ A mother shouldn’t only see her daughter every five years, Sarah. It’s not what God intended.”

  “You’re right. I promise to do better.”

  “I know we’re not yer fav’rite folks,” she says. “But we’re yer kin, and we love you with all our hearts. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t have bothered to ask the Bishop for special permission to travel here. We just—well, we just don’t understand you.”

  I wrap an arm around her and pull her close so that we can both see ourselves in the mirror.

  “We have the same eyes,” I say, “even though we don’t always see things th
e same way. That’s something, isn’t it?”

  “Course it is, love.” She sniffles back tears. “And it’s somethin’ to know yer marryin’ a man who loves you, and who’ll take care of you the way your father does me. Justin is a good man.”

  “I know he is,” I smile. “I’m glad you and father approve.”

  “We’d have preferred a nice local man, a’course, but if we can’t have that, then he’ll do. He’s strapping, that Justin. Built for barn-raising.”

  I cover my smile with my hand and give her a powerful hug.

  “Your father’s happy for you, love,” she whispers in my ear. “He won’t say it out loud, but he is. He only wants what’s best for you.”

  “I know. Justin is what’s best for me, Mother.”

  “It’s in God’s hands,” she says. “And I believe He doesn’t make mistakes, so take that for what it’s worth.”

  “I will.”

  The opening strains of the wedding march waft through the fall air from the little gazebo bandstand, and Mother adjusts her dress. She takes my hand and leads me out of the tent, where Father is standing stoically in a dark shirt with a black, flat-brimmed hat. For the first time, I see the small group of guests gathered under the willow, and it makes my heart swell.

  On the left is my clan: brothers and sisters, in-laws, nieces and nephews, all dressed in virtually the same outfit. All the girls in kerchiefs, all the men in hats. You can tell the married men from the single ones by their beards, or lack thereof.

  On the other side of the aisle are the Prestons of East Hampton and their group. Tuxedos for the men, of course, and gorgeous fall gowns for the women. I’m guessing the cost of the clothes alone on that side was more than my family farm brought in last year. And that’s okay.

  I catch Craig winking at me, so I smile and raise a hand in return. The glare my father gives me would freeze a waterfall solid.

  “He’s just a friend, Papa,” I soothe. “We do that here.”

  “Ah,” he says quietly, lifting his head. “Well, it’s passin’ strange, but I suppose I have to expect that from the English.”