Forever Branded (Billionaire Love Series #1)

by Jessa Eden

  I tried to stop in every week and see Pops, but I only saw Dad on occasion.

  He’d gotten more unpleasant as the years had rolled along. I could hardly stand him. But he was still my father and I needed to check on him once in a while.

  “Afternoon, Bubba,” he called from the front porch as he smoked his pipe. “Want a Mint Julep?” he asked, still wearing a blue suit.

  Just as formal as ever.

  “No, thanks. I just stopped by to see how you were doing.”

  He took a sip of his drink. “I’m doing good. How’s the Arsenal deal going?”

  I was taking on my biggest project. A dilapidated pre-Civil War hotel that had fallen into ruin. I had bought it and was renovating it into a luxury hotel with modern amenities.

  No easy task.

  However, I took one look at the spacious lobby with its ornate corbels and knew I needed to bring it back to life. I hadn’t done a remodel project like this hotel in a long time, but I was ready for it.

  What I wasn’t ready for was the red tape and nightmare logistics to consider. This hotel had ninety-seven rooms, which meant ninety-seven bathrooms. There was a large lobby, along with elevators to put in and outside work to be restored.

  Everything had to be approved by the Historical Society, from structural changes to decor. Modern sensibilities did not always jive with the past. It was a damn big headache, but I had a soft spot for old places that needed to be brought back to life.

  It was a tough project, but I loved it.

  “It’s slowly coming along. We’re in the midst of getting our plans approved by the Historical Society,” I said.

  “This deal could seal the Shepard legacy,” he pointed out as he rocked in his chair. “I talked to Senator Blackwood the other day. He inquired about your Arsenal project on the waterfront. He’s willing to make the process easier on you.”

  My father meddled; even at sixty-two, he still had his finger on the pulse of the city. He lived off the millions my grandfather made in oil while dabbling in different deals around Baltimore.

  “What does that mean?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t good.

  He shot me an annoyed glance. “You know what it means.”

  “I don’t know, Dad. This isn’t the way I like to do business.”

  “He’s just looking for a kickback, Bubba. Pad into the budget. It’s the cost of doing business. You should know that by now.”

  “Yeah, if I’m willing to bend the rules and commit a little fraud along the way.”

  Our ethics varied greatly. My dad was always of the opinion that the end always justified the means. No matter what.

  I wasn’t so sure. I liked to play things straight, but I would bend once in a while, like playing dirty to get even with Marla.

  “You just need to grease his palm a little and he in turn, will make sure you get all those permits you need from the pesky Historical Society,” he offered, as if it wasn’t illegal.

  “It doesn’t seem right.”

  “You want to get your hotel restored?”

  “Yeah, I do. But I don’t want to have to sacrifice my soul to get it.”

  “Oh, fiddlesticks. Stop being so goddamn dramatic. Pay Senator Blackwood and be done with it,” he snapped at me like I was five years old. “Oh, and I’ll need a consultant fee for this little meeting.”

  This is why I didn’t see my dad very often. He was an asshole of the third degree and didn’t give a damn about anyone else, but himself.

  I learned a long time ago to hide my true emotion from my father. “So I gotta grease your palm, too?” I asked acting like his curtness didn’t bother me.

  “Like I said, the cost of doing business, Bubba,” he said coldly, taking another sip of his Mint Julep.

  *****

  Marla:

  I have always been a sensual creature, a woman of primal and wild sensibilities. It was partly the reason I was so connected to the earth.

  I liked to dig in the dirt, get sweaty, and dive head first into a project. Even as a kid, when we lived out in the country, I would run barefoot down to the creek and look for frogs.

  Wading into the creek bed, I would feel the mud squish between my toes, savoring the lovely way the soft silt pillowed under my feet as I searched for life beneath the water. Every time I caught a frog, I would whisper, “Be well,” and throw it back in the stream.

  I have always been concerned about the welfare of all God’s creatures and I wasn’t afraid to walk in the gritty intimacies of life. A sad face, a look of worry, an overburdened heart all caught my attention. I found it unbearable to pass someone in pain, let alone inflict it on others. It was my calling to help, to provide comfort to those in need.

  I knew I inherited that legacy from my mother. She taught me so much before I lost her. She constantly had me exploring and learning about the world around me.

  She was the one who introduced me to the world of plants and herbs. I was about seven when she took me on my first foraging trip in a nearby forest close to our house. She held my hand as we walked the trail, exploring Mother Nature. I constantly asked her questions and she patiently answered each one of them.

  “What’s this one, Mama?” I asked, pointing to a pink, fluffy stalk.

  “Oh, that’s just some grass, doodlebug.”

  “It’s a fun color.”

  “It is. Check out this one,” she directed as she got down on her haunches in front of a plant with spiky, yet delicate leaves.

  I studied the plant carefully. “What is it?”

  “This is lavender. It has beautiful purple flowers when it blooms, but more importantly, it’s great for healing just about any infection.”

  “Really?”

  She gave me an affectionate smile, her brown eyes warm with love. “Yes, doodlebug. Mother Nature takes cares of us. We just have to know what she is offering.”

  “What is Mother Nature offering?” I asked my curiosity piqued.

  She’d closed her eyes, savoring the gentle breeze that had kicked up. “Oh, so many wonderful, amazing gifts.”

  I shut my eyes too, trying to figure out what other mysteries she was privy to as we sat there, listening to the birds and stalks of grass whispering to each other.

  I remember her glancing down, smiling at me as the sun glinted off her honey blonde hair.

  She was so beautiful.

  Every chance my mom got, she taught me something new. I learned to harvest at sunrise, to thank a plant before cutting it and to appreciate the incredible healing power of Mother Nature.

  I dried herbs and made oils, perfected my lotions, and dabbled in beauty treatments. That training lasted until I was fifteen, when my mom was too sick to do much of anything.

  I watched her wither and suffer, but somehow she remained brave and dignified as she battled for her life. We’d only moved to the city when my mom went into John Hopkins Hospital for treatment. However, even the best in the country couldn’t save my mom from the ravages of brain cancer.

  After she died, I thought I would never enjoy life again, let alone be excited for the future. But when Beau came around, I started seeing the world in color again.

  It was as if he brought me back to life as buds of hope bubbled up inside me whenever I was around him. I couldn’t help myself as things really started to heat up with him.

  A couple of nights after going to his house for dinner, we met at the public library. I shouldn’t have been excited to see him or to spend time with him, but I was.

  “Hey, Sunshine,” he said, grabbing a seat next to me.

  My curiosity got the best of me. “Why do you call me that?”

  He didn’t even hesitate. “Cuz the first time I saw you, I thought you were a ray of sunshine.”

  “You are so full of crap.” I laughed, knowing he had pulled the explanation out of his ass.

  He gave me a thoughtful stare as he grinned. “Yeah...you’re right. I don’t know...the name just fits you.”

  “Oh,”
I said, surprised by his simple honesty.

  “Why would you ask?”

  I cleared my throat, trying to find my voice.“Just wondering. Did you bring your paper?”

  “Yeah, it’s right here.”

  He threw a couple of yellow ratty papers filled with his hand written scrawl down on the wooden table.

  “Umm.” I rubbed the back of my neck as I looked over his introduction. “You see right there. You want active voice versus passive.”

  “Active, huh?” he grinned.

  I twirled a wisp of my chestnut hair. “Yes. It will make your paper stronger.”

  “Can you give me an example?”

  “Sure, instead of saying the passion Jane has for Master Rochester...you could say Jane’s passion for Master Rochester....”

  “Ah, that’s active, huh?” He stared at me like a hungry wolf looking for a meal.

  I didn’t mind it.

  I should have.

  But I didn’t.

  And that’s when things got a little wild.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Beau:

  I took a limo from the office directly to the tarmac to get to a meeting with some investors in New York City. It was a quick trip, just a couple of hours. But I brought my whole team, so we were prepared to answer any and all questions.

  We settled in as the captain informed us we would be departing in a few minutes. The plane taxied down the runway and took off. After it leveled out, we gathered around the spacious table located on the far side of the cabin.

  “So what issues are we encountering on the Arsenal project?” I asked, looking around at my kick-ass team.

  The Arsenal’s contractor, George, was the first to speak up. “The electrical union is demanding we pay time and a half.”

  “For what?”

  “They say there’s too much work and they can’t get it done in an eight hour day.”

  “That’s bullshit,” I fired off. “They just want to gouge us on our deal. Tell them I’ll fly in my own goddamn crew and fire them all, if they can’t get their work done in an eight hour day.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  “Where are we on the revised budget?” I asked the team.

  “We’re coming in twenty percent higher than projected,” the project accountant, Jeri informed me.

  “Why?”

  “These old historical places just suck up the money. Every time we dig into somewhere we encounter more issues.”

  “Keep a close eye on that bottom line. Inform me of any major changes.”

  “Got it,” she said, taking a note of my instruction.

  “How are the permits for the exterior coming?” I asked George.

  “I don’t know. Every time I call the Historical Society, they give me a different answer. Last time, they said more time was needed to go over blueprints again.”

  “Damn it. They’re fucking around with us.”

  My dad’s bribery plan came to mind. I needed to investigate it more.

  “Get me Senator Blackwood on the phone. We need to have a little chat,” I asked Donna, my secretary, as she reached for the satellite phone.

  She dialed the number and asked for the senator. “One moment.” She handed me the phone as we raced through the air.

  “Hey, Senator Blackwood, how are you today?” I asked in a polite voice I used only on people I detested.

  “I’m good. How are those Gators doin’ in the standings?”

  “They’re hanging in there. I’m happy to report we’re up in the series against Texas.”

  “Good, good. What can I do for you today?”

  He reminded me of Boss Hogg from the Dukes of Hazzard TV show, my favorite program growing up. He was round and always wore a white suit with a cigar clinched between his yellow teeth.

  “I’m calling to talk about those permits I need for the Arsenal project,” I offered.

  “So you talked to your daddy?” he drawled in a heavy Southern accent.

  “I did indeed, sir.”

  “I’m happy to help, son.”

  Condescending bastard.

  “Good to hear. How would you like to do this?”

  “A generous campaign donation to one of the PAC’s supporting me would be much appreciated.”

  “Why don’t you send those figures over to my office and we can go from there.

  “Much obliged, son.” His voice was so full of bullshit.

  I hung up the phone, done talking to the old codger as I sat back in a chair.

  “Apple or banana, sir?” the flight attendant asked, holding out a basket of fruit.

  “Sure,” I said, taking a shiny Red Delicious from her basket.

  I held it in my hand for a second, running my finger against the smooth skin.

  I bit into it, the sweet flesh reminding me of Marla.

  Back in high school, when we were in the library and I was having a tough time writing my paper, she tried to help me. But we weren’t really getting anywhere and I was getting frustrated.

  “You want to paint a picture with your words,” she said as she pulled out some lip gloss from her purse.

  “Oh, yeah?” I watched as she pushed her lips out and moved the wand across her pouty mouth.

  Damn, I wanted to be that lip gloss hugging her mouth.

  “Take this apple for example,” she said, picking up the Gala apple resting on her notebook. “When I hold it, I feel the smooth skin. I see specks of red and green mixing together to form a mosaic—“

  “Mosaic?” Another big word.

  “Yeah, like chards of pottery that come together to form a bigger picture.”

  “Ah, I learn something every time I see you, Sunshine.”

  Her soft glance danced with teasing. “Well, keep up, Shepard.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Now, watch me.” She bit into the fruit as the crisp sound of apple flesh breaking filled my ears.

  Her full lips moved lusciously up and down as she chewed for a second and then swallowed, closing her eyes as she concentrated on the tastiness of the apple. “Mmm, I love the juicy sweetness that explodes in my mouth. The skin separating from the flesh, divine.”

  I gulped, getting seriously turned on by her description.

  Her eyes popped open, warm and full of life. “Now, I want you to close your eyes,” she demanded gently, lulling me with her soft voice.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Shut your eyes for me.”

  I shut one eye, still trying to watch her.

  “Both eyes, Shepard.” She smiled sweetly, so I was willing to do whatever she wanted.

  “All right. All right.” I sighed as I shut my eyes.

  “I want you to think about something in this room.”

  Her full, buttery lips instantly filled my brain.

  “What does it look like? Soft? Hard? Light? Dark?”

  Hot, juicy, pink lips.

  “What does it smell like? Fruity, sweet, sour, musky?” The words licked at me like she was kissing my neck.

  Yummy strawberry.

  “Sound like?”

  Suck, groan, gasp.

  “Taste like?”

  Fire, heat, sweet.

  Her words blistered through my brain, painting a hot picture, my mouth on hers as my cock pumped into her sweet puss—

  “Dude, dude…psst!” I opened both eyes to see my friend Jeremy, approaching the table like an out of control oxen as he slammed into it, jostling the entire table along with all of our papers.

  What the hell?

  “Dude, are you done yet?” he asked loudly, ignoring the fact he was totally interrupting us.

  “No, I’m not done. Just go on without me. I’ll catch up.”

  “Come on, this looks boring. Let’s go.”

  “Are you always this rude?” Marla asked, unable to contain herself.

  I smiled at her as I spoke. “Don’t get Marla riled up, man. She’ll make you pay,” I teased, trying to break the tension be
tween the two sudden enemies.

  His eyes roved over Marla. “No girl scares me.”

  I didn’t like that. “You don’t know, dude. Marla’s pretty fierce.”

  He scoffed. “Whatever...are you comin’ or not?”

  “I told you. I’ll catch up.”

  “Fine,” he huffed and took off.

  “Is he really a friend of yours?” Marla asked as she stared at Jeremy lumbering away.

  “Yeah, we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

  She shuddered. “He’s creepy. He just tried to look down my shirt.”

  I tried to brush off her comment. “Nah, he’s just a horndog.”

  “I don’t know, Beau. There’s something off about that guy.”

  “He’s not that bad. He just doesn’t make a good first impression.”

  She just shook her head and picked up my paper again.

  Looking back, I should have listened to her.

  If only I had listened to her.

  *****

  Marla:

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  A round of firecrackers went off somewhere close to my house, making me jump as I arranged some fresh purple hydrangeas in a glass vase.

  Fourth of July.

  Food, fireworks, and fun.

  One of my favorite times of the year.

  I was getting ready to go over to Micah and Emma’s barbeque. The peach pie was made and all I had left to do was get dressed. I threw on a pair of tan shorts and a peach silk camisole which breathed through the hot, humid Baltimore air. Then I tossed my long hair up into a loose bun, letting tendrils fall softly along my face and neck.

  Perfect for spending the holiday with my family.

  I grabbed the pie, hopped in the car, and headed over to my sister’s house. They lived about ten minutes away, but it might as well be another planet in their ritzy neighborhood.

  Their home was amazing, a beautiful Tuscan-inspired mansion that floored me every time I saw it. Made of light colored stone, it had major curb appeal with terracotta accents, a bubbling fountain, and lush oak trees.

  I knocked a few times, but no one answered. Finally, I just tried the door and walked in. A welcoming vibe hit me. Not an easy feat in such an overwhelming space. Cheery neutrals were on the wall with pops of bold colors, like red and purple, abounded in comfortable furniture scattered across the house.