Torn_An Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Tristan Vaughan

  "Jesus, Lyla, if it's that bad why don't you hire someone to help you?" I raked my hands through my hair. "I'm sure you could find some over-eager assistant or even a full-blown replacement. Go ahead and be a supervisor and check in a few times a week while you're off living your life."

  Her cheeks flamed and she tapped one heel in a hard staccato beat. "Do you really think your family built all of this, cultivated an empire, so you could just pass it off to some random person? Your grandfather and your father gave their entire lives to this place. When are you going to see that you should do the same?"

  I jammed my hands in my pockets. "You didn't know them, did you, Lyla? Think about it. Did you ever really talk with my father?"

  She frowned but finally shook her head. “He didn’t talk to us kids. We were supposed to just run off and play.”

  I didn't let her get away even when a new delivery truck came up the driveway. "We saw each other, you and I. Did my parents ever come with us on those vacations? Do you even remember the last time you saw them before the funeral?"

  She gave another tiny shake of her head.

  "It was the same for me, and I was his son. His only child. He never stopped to enjoy the sunrise here or get to know me. My father worked, the same way his father worked. Like there was nothing in the world more important. You can't tell me you think that’s the noble, right way, can you?"

  I started down the front steps, careful to avoid the red carpet. It was a chaotic day and Lyla was stressed. I should have avoided her at all costs, but I’d been distracted. All I had been able to think about was the few hours that Riley and I worked at The Sand Dollar. It had felt as if my blood was really pumping for the first time in years. The fast pace, the customer demands, the pressure to mix the drinks, and the satisfaction of actual work had turned my head.

  Riley had turned my head. She didn't stand out in a crowd with her average height and light brown hair, but I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her. She had smiled at me from the crowd, and no one else mattered. Not the customers, the gala guests, and especially not the nagging voice of my cousin. For once, all of that had receded into the background and for those few hours, I finally felt like myself.

  Lyla planted her fists firmly on her hips. "Face it, Landon, this is who you are. Call it bad luck if you want, but you were born to this. Creating a charitable fund means protecting the resources that support those charities. This is serious work, Landon, and it is time you started taking it seriously. I'm not in the same position as you no matter what title you give me. And, no, I'm not in it for the money."

  I turned to stare at her brand new Mercedes-Benz in the corner of the driveway. "Surprised you left it there. What if one of the workers scratches it?"

  She refused to let out her frustrated scream, but I saw it behind her tightly pursed lips. "Change the subject like always. Fine. Just make sure you’re ready to meet your guests and do your duty."

  I bounded down the rest of the steps, glad to put some distance between us. "I'll be here, I'll be ready, and hey, I even have a date."

  Anger flooded Lyla's face with red blotches. She marched down the center of the red carpet. I didn't move, even though my instincts were telling me to back away. She looked as if she might explode. Maybe that was the one way to loosen her up finally.

  "Who are you bringing?" she bit out through lips puckered in disapproval.

  "Her name is Riley… Shit! I actually forgot to get her last name." I rocked back on my heels. We had spent hours together but hadn’t exchanged last names. There were just so many other more important things to know. "She's from New York, and she’s heading to Santa Cruz for her friend's graduation."

  "You don't know her last name?" Lyla's eyes glazed over with disbelief.

  "No, sorry,” I said with sarcasm. “While she was telling me about her grandfather passing away, I decided not to interrupt and ask for her full lineage."

  I thought about Riley's eyes. Flecks of gold had shimmered amidst the brown when she talked about family dinners with her mother and grandfather. She had such happy memories, but it was the sadness and loneliness that I’d recognized right away.

  "Oh god, Landon." Lyla reached up to claw at her hair but restrained herself from mussing her perfect ponytail. She tangled her fingers together and twisted until her knuckles were white. "So this poor girl just happens to be cruising along Highway 1 where you accidentally run into her?"

  I ignored where her mind was heading. "Funny you should say 'accidentally' because her rental car broke down, and she had to coast into Michel's Beach. We met at The Sand Dollar. She helped out Andrew and me during the rush last night."

  "Of course," Lyla laughed in a harsh burst. "She's a waitress. A homeless, poor, and stranded waitress."

  My fingers flexed into angry claws. "Why do you always think the worst of people? Is that why you can't find a date?"

  Lyla’s eyes went wild. "We just talked about why I can't find a date. Namely, my cousin is too busy hanging around in bars and playing in the dirt to actually take care of business. I'm so busy picking up all the pieces that you let drop that I can't even find time for a haircut, much less a boyfriend."

  "That explains the ponytails."

  She covered her mouth with both hands. After a long, slow exhale, she asked, "Do I really have to remind you what has happened the other times you picked up some random woman you met at a bar?"

  "I'm not in college anymore, Lyla. I can handle myself."

  She tipped her head as she thought. "Who was that girl with the pink hair? Marissa. She was really into reggae music. You bought her box seats to her favorite band's arena show plus first class tickets to Jamaica. Then she dumped you the day before the concert."

  I chose to focus on other aspects of that whirlwind romance. "Sorry, Ly. You don't want to know the details, but at the time, she was worth it."

  She tried again. "What about the woman who lied about her name and her family? You flew her to Mexico where she tried to get you blind drunk on tequila and dragged you in front of a minister."

  "I'll admit that was a bad hangover, but again, that was me ten years ago," I said.

  "If you wanted a suitable date, I presented a list to you two months ago. You could have taken your pick." She jabbed a finger into my chest. "I see you rolling your eyes, but those women are educated, well-traveled, and career-focused. Plus, they have their own family money. They would treat you like a normal person."

  "When are you going to realize that this kind of upbringing and lifestyle is not normal?"

  She frowned. "You find these women who you think are normal but as soon as they find out who you are and what you're worth, normal goes out the window. When are you going to stop letting gold-diggers chip away at you?"

  Each woman from my past that had changed faces when my money became a factor hadn't chipped away at me. They had made me harder. I wanted to tell Lyla how my heart felt like a stone most of the time.

  I couldn't even tell her that Riley was different. Something about Riley had made me hope again, and that felt worth the risk. The way Riley let her problems and her emotions surface so easily, I couldn't imagine her hiding some long con.

  I straightened and looked down at Lyla. "I wasn't asking your permission. I was just telling you as a courtesy that I will be bringing a date tonight." I clenched my jaw as I stared at her. I typically avoided conflict. It’s not that I wasn’t up for it. It was that chest thumping, cussing and being the alpha male role model wasn’t always necessary.

  "Now is not the time for this. Do you really want to put yourself through all of that again?"

  I wanted to think my cousin was looking out for me. I wanted to believe she didn't want me to get hurt, but there was something else. "What's wrong with now? There's a party tonight and people bring dates to parties. She's just passing through and I thought while she was stranded here, that she might have fun at the gala."

  Lyla threw her hands up again. "That's just the problem
. Yes, the gala will be fun, but your birthday is coming up. By the time the Michel Fund has another event like this, you’ll be thirty-five years old."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Why does that have such an ominous ring to it?"

  "You’re supposed to be getting ready to take over the business. There’s a lot of work involved in that," she said.

  "I knew it," I snarled. "You don't care about me —you just don't want me to be distracted. If I actually find someone I like to spend time with, I won't be concentrating on your end game."

  Lyla laughed. "Yes, my end game of having enough time for regular haircuts and dating and maybe putting my feet up once in a while."

  "We're on the same side, you know," I said.

  "Then how come it doesn't feel like teamwork?"

  "Don't worry, Ly, Team Michel will be in full effect tonight."

  * * * * *

  I thought our argument had blown over, like the bank of rain clouds that had threatened Golden Bluff Estate while I got ready. When I slipped out through the busy kitchen door, the sky was clear, and I thought I had a clear path to the garage.

  Then Lyla appeared like a referee on the field, and I half expected her to blow a shrill whistle. She was definitely there to bench me.

  "Where are you going now?" she asked. "Our guests of honor are about to arrive, and we're holding a private reception for them."

  "What about greeting the masses that are taking the estate tour?"

  "There's time for both. Didn't you look over the schedule I put in your room?" Lyla almost crushed the boutonniere she was holding.

  "I won't be gone long. I'm just driving down to The Sand Dollar to pick up Riley." I marched toward Lyla, determined to brush past her even if she blocked my way. "I've had enough of this babysitting, Lyla. You just worry about the guests and I'll be there."

  She brandished a pin and halted me by jabbing the boutonniere into my lapel. I had to stop in my tracks or risk getting stabbed. "There is no way I'm letting you get in that little sports car. You’ll get all wrinkled. You have an image to present tonight."

  I put my hands on her shoulders and maneuvered her to one side. "I'm picking up my date. I'll be back in time to greet the guests."

  She snapped her fingers and my driver, James, appeared behind her. He tipped his hat to me.

  Lyla said, "James has agreed to pick up this Riley woman. Why don't you call her and let her know he's on the way?"

  My stomach spiraled into a pit of frustration. Lyla had me trapped, and I couldn't even call Riley to let her know. In the whirlwind of our night at the bar, not only had I missed her last name, but I’d forgotten to get her phone number.

  Chapter Seven

  Riley

  The dress whispered along the hardwood floor of the apartment. I imagined it was telling me elegant stories about red carpets and exclusive parties and how fairy tales could come true. Although I felt like Cinderella in the gold chiffon dress, I still couldn't face the mirror.

  The dress seemed like it was made for me —too bad I was a fraud.

  I had to take a series of long, slow breaths, feeling the tight waist of the dress against my ribs, before I was able to turn and face the antique mirror. At first, I kept my eyes on the reflected view. The windows of the attic apartment were open and the Pacific Ocean glittered with the afternoon sun. Then I peeked at the hem of the dress.

  Tiny crystals winked from under the golden edge. The delicate lace overlay trailed up, accentuating the curve of my hips before it met with the tight waist. The lace gave way to the gathered gold chiffon top and I gasped. My cleavage was shocking after my usual scoop-necked t-shirts. I couldn't help but turn and admire the ripe curves the dress revealed.

  The Versace design simultaneously covered and exposed me. My shoulders were bare, and the backless dress forced me to hold myself up taller. The low-cut halter top gathered in shining gold folds that gave my skin a honeyed glow.

  The vintage earrings caught sunlight and turned it into glittering prisms that reflected across my bare neck and shoulders. I was so pleased with the rainbow brushes that my hair no longer bothered me. I had spent nearly an hour teasing it into an elaborate up-do, but many silky strands had slipped out. Now it was in a messy bun that I hoped captured a carefree and windswept look. Or I just looked like a wild-haired changeling that had no business wearing such a beautiful gown.

  Definitely a changeling, I thought, as I eyed the woman in the mirror. She was poised, stunning, and radiated elegance. Inside, all I felt were butterflies of excitement and panic.

  "There's no courage without fear," I told myself. Grandpa had often told me stories where the brave knights admitted to trembling before they faced the dragon.

  Luckily Landon wasn’t a dragon. He was just a regular guy who’d happened to invite me to a very fancy event. I hoped he'd be just as insecure in his rented tux. The thought of him dressed to impress melted my already liquid insides.

  Maybe, if I was lucky, Landon and I would get to see each other in our finery, enjoy the party for a short while, and end up back at The Sand Dollar before we turned into pumpkins.

  I ignored my recent run of bad luck and headed for the narrow stairs down to the bar.

  When my gold heels hit the last step, there was a shattering crash behind the bar. Andrew stood at the tap, wearing a tuxedo shirt and cummerbund, his empty hand still curved in the shape of a pint glass. I rolled my eyes at his obvious attempt to make me feel better, and then I noticed the other customers.

  A white-haired woman beamed at me, one hand over her heart. Her husband's runny eyes widened. The two middle-aged men Andrew had been serving turned on their stools and smiled.

  I leaned down to gather the train in one hand and felt my cheeks catch fire. It got worse when I stepped toward the bar. Coming out of the shadowed stairwell, I heard two low whistles, and the bar fell quiet. I imagined what they were seeing: a gawky woman with messy hair in a dress ten times too good for her.

  Gold. Why was I wearing gold? How had I let Rosalyn railroad me into the Versace dress? I knew it was vintage, but I had no idea if it was still in fashion. Most of the bar patrons were men in black tuxedos. The few women were in black sequined or black satin gowns. I might as well have chosen a neon sign.

  Andrew cleared his throat. "You look gorgeous, Riley." He blinked and noticed the tense atmosphere. "Stop gawking and drink up, my friends —this pre-party is coming to a close!"

  I moved to the end of the bar and tried to hide behind the video poker game.

  "Sorry about all this,” he said to me. “The locals like to get a drink before heading up. We're all used to each other's finery. It's nice to have a new view."

  I shook my head, careful not to dislodge my bun, and hitched up the dress’s shoulder straps. "It's too much. I mean, I look like a televised award trophy or something."

  "Why is it that women can never give themselves any credit?" Andrew groaned. "I know men have meat for brains when it comes to fashion, but we do have eyes."

  "Was Rosalyn just waiting to unload this gold dress on some unsuspecting fool?" I wondered aloud. "Oh my god, am I going to be the butt of a town joke?"

  "What?" Andrew gaped. "What in the hell is going on in that head of yours?"

  I moved around the bar and chose a stool with my back to the room. "I get it," I said. "You had the chance to put someone in this outrageous dress and that way you can all laugh about it until next year."

  "The only thing outrageous about that dress is how good you look in it," one of the middle-aged men called from down the bar. He lifted the pint glass Andrew had finally re-poured for him.

  "Thanks, but I know when people are just telling me things to make me feel better." I waited until Andrew came back down the bar closer to me. "I know you think I'm this sad stray, but I really don't need your pity."

  "Right about now I'm pitying the next idiot who tries to compliment you," Andrew said.

  That made me laugh. I blew out a deep breath. M
aybe I was acting a little crazy. "It fits perfectly," I conceded.

  "Hell, you don't have to tell any man here." Andrew leaned his arms on the bar and waggled his eyebrows at me. "So, if you don't need my pity, Ms. Riley, just what can I get you?"

  "What's best for a little liquid courage?" I asked.

  Andrew nodded, spun around, and grabbed a low, wide bottle. "Tequila. Without a doubt."

  "She drinks free, right, Andrew?" the men at the bar called. "Least you could do to thank her for improving the view."

  My cheeks burned hotter, then I felt a cool, papery hand on my bare arm. "Don't listen to them, darling. You are an absolute vision. If I was forty years younger, I'd be burning with envy.

  Do an old woman a favor and forget about what you think. You feel good in that dress, don't you? That's all you need to know."

  I put my hand over hers and squeezed. "Thank you."

  Her husband shuffled an arm around her and gave me a wink.

  I watched them head through the bar in their finery, leaning on each other. It didn't matter what I was wearing because seeing their mutual affection was the most beautiful thing in this town.

  "A free shot of tequila for our lady in gold," Andrew said.

  "No. No more free things."

  He cleared his throat. "I can't help but wonder where you're keeping money in that dress."

  I scowled and shook my small leather clutch at him. "I'm paying for the drink, and I'm going to pay you for this dress."

  "Here we go again," Andrew said and poured himself a shot of tequila.

  "Seriously, I don't understand what would possess you to do something like that. I know you probably meant to be nice and helpful, but men don't just go around buying vintage designer dresses for women they don't know," I unloaded. "Did Rosalyn owe you a favor or something? That's the only explanation I can think of."

  Andrew snorted. "As if Rosalyn would ever do me a favor. No, wait, maybe she'd do me the favor of pushing me if I ever got too close to a cliff."

  His matter-of-fact tone threw me off. "I thought everyone around here was close."

  "I didn't say we weren't close," Andrew chuckled. "In fact, that might be the problem. Either way you look at it, Rosalyn did not do me a favor by giving you that dress."