Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OTHER BOOKS BY MELISSA MCCLONE
THE WISH MAKER
The Billionaires of Silicon Forest, Book Two
by
Melissa McClone
The Wish Maker
The Billionaires of Silicon Forest (Book 2)
Copyright © 2019 Melissa McClone
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.
Cover by Elizabeth Mackay
Cardinal Press, LLC
December 2019
ISBN-13: 9781944777388
DEDICATION
To all the wish makers out there.
Never stop wishing!
Special thanks to:
Julie Trettel for being keeping me going when I wanted to stop and telling me I could finish the book when I had my doubts. Las Vegas, Houston, I can’t wait to see where we end up together next!
Shari Bartholomew for answering my hospital questions.
Jennifer Niles for helping figure out foundation donations.
And to my team for being so flexible when life got crazy and in the way: When We Share, It’s Your Story Content Editing, Rebecca Hodges, Judy’s Proofreading, Deaton Author Services, Finishing Touch Editing, The Word Fairy, The Beta Buddy, and Essentially Chas. You all are the best. Thank you so much for all you do for me!
CHAPTER ONE
In his office, Weston E. Lockhart IV sat behind his desk. Considering his company had a paperless environment initiative, he hadn’t expected to be handed a stack of manila folders. “Going old school on me?”
Sadie Sanchez’s smile spread to her warm brown eyes. The savvy woman who ran his philanthropic foundation was as intelligent as she was dedicated. “I figured you’d want to read the actual thank-you cards and letters instead of digital copies.”
Each week, she forwarded emails from those receiving donations from his foundation, both non-profits and individuals. Wes enjoyed reading what she sent, but the cards were his favorite because those took more effort and time to send. As his late grandmother and he sipped tea when he was growing up, she’d instilled writing thank-you notes during one of her many etiquette lessons. He’d smiled then, laughing to himself at the practice, but now, he understood. Physically holding on to something connected him to the foundation’s recipients in a way words on a screen couldn’t.
Wes grinned. “You know me well.”
She patted her round stomach. “Which gives me job security despite baby number three arriving in January.”
Each pregnancy, Sadie showed sooner, and her belly got bigger. Not that Wes would say either of those things to her.
“A few included children’s drawings,” she added. “You should be proud of yourself. You made a huge difference in these people’s lives.”
“You and your team did the legwork.” These days, Wes preferred to stay in the background, sending others to attend charity events in the foundation’s name. “I just signed the check.”
“You’ll have more to sign soon. The first batch of holiday disbursements is almost ready for your John Hancock.” Sadie’s expression softened. “Quadrupling the Christmas donations this year is an amazing gesture. Next to you, Santa will look like a slacker.”
Emotion clogged Wes’s throat. Not amazing. His gesture was one hundred percent selfish. He’d stared at his reflection in the mirror and not liked what he saw—thirty-five years of entitlement and selfishness.
But he wanted to change that.
Was trying to change.
Twelve months ago, his life had been in flux—in turmoil—because of the cancer. Hodgkin’s lymphoma was treatable, yes, and his had finally—thankfully—responded to treatment, but that didn’t mean the diagnosis hadn’t terrified him or that he could stop worrying the cancer would return. He’d gone from thinking of growing old to thinking of his life expectancy in five-year increments.
But he was in remission.
Remission.
He enjoyed saying and thinking that word.
Wes had been given the opportunity to do more and be a better person. He regretted being known as a businessman who didn’t care who he trampled on to get what he wanted, but he would change that. Step one was to make the holidays merry and bright for others. Many needed a second chance, too. Sometimes a third and fourth one. He could provide that.
“Thanks.” Wes forced out the word. “Just doing my part.”
“You do more than that. We did good work before, but the foundation is making a profound impact these days. Which is why I love my job even more.”
Sadie was the driving force behind the foundation, and no matter how many kids she and her husband had, the job would be hers for however long she wanted it. “I’ll miss you while you’re on leave.”
She swished her hand through the air as if brushing away his words. “My team is the best. You won’t know I’m gone.”
“At least not until a member of your team emails digital copies of the thank-you notes,” he joked.
“I’ll tell them to pass on the actual letters to you.”
Without Sadie and the foundation, his reputation would be in far worse shape. “Appreciate it.”
Her smile wavered.
That was unusual. “What?”
“You won’t like what I have to say.”
Probably not if she was warning him, but… “When has that stopped you?”
“Never.” She took a breath and then exhaled loudly. “Chairpersons keep calling. They want to know if you’ll be representing the foundation at their Christmas events and galas.”
Wes sighed. Sadie had a master’s in public administration. She didn’t need to be acting as his social secretary. “If anyone calls again, refer them to Eliza.”
Eliza Culpepper, his personal assistant, had worked for his father before Wes took over as CEO. Behind her grandmotherly voice and twinkling blue eyes was a hard-nosed, take-no-prisoners executive assistant who had kept Wes and his company from falling apart after his diagnosis.
“I don’t mind,” Sadie replied sincerely.
“I do.” He shook his head. “They only want to appease their curiosity about my post-cancer appearance and who I’m dating now.”
Sadie’s brows drew together. “I thought you were taking a break from dating.”
“I am, but they don’t know that.”
Wes wanted to keep it that way. His private life used to be splashed across the internet and society pages, but he guarded his privacy these da
ys. A hard lesson learned.
“You should attend one event,” Sadie encouraged. “People would love to see you. They miss you.”
“They miss my checkbook and credit card.”
“The foundation takes care of that whether or not you’re at a function,” she countered.
True, but… “They’ve survived without my sparkling personality for two years. Another won’t matter.”
Amusement gleamed in Sadie’s gaze. “You mean your grizzly personality, right?”
He growled.
She laughed. “If you go, you’ll have your choice from a bevy of beauties wanting to be your plus-one for the evening.”
Those women were only interested in one thing—his money. Which was why Wes would rather spend time at his lodge in Hood Hamlet on Mount Hood or in Portland with friends.
In the past, he hadn’t cared why a woman had wanted to go out with him. The time together had been mutually beneficial. Until Annabelle…
Nope.
Not going there.
The memories—and the emotions they dredged up—belonged in the past.
Or forgotten completely.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“No, you won’t,” Sadie teased. “But I had to try.”
“Duly noted.” He glanced at the folders. “Anything else?”
“Not until the next batch of checks is ready.”
“See you then.”
Sadie rubbed her lower back.
Worry shot through him. Wes jumped to his feet. “Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”
She massaged the same spot. “I’ll be fine once this soon-to-be nine-pound bowling ball is out of me. At least this one doesn’t kick as hard as the first two. Those feet and elbows against internal organs caught me off guard more than once.”
Wes cringed. He didn’t even want to imagine that.
Telling Sadie to go home was on the tip of his tongue, but if he did, she would lecture him on pregnancy not being an illness. “Take care of yourself.”
“Always, boss.” She left his office, closing the door behind her.
Wes returned to his chair, sat, and opened the folder on top to find an unopened envelope. That was odd. Sadie’s team usually sorted through the mail. His name had been handwritten on the front. The return address was local, but one he didn’t recognize.
After opening the envelope, he removed two sheets of paper and unfolded them. The letter was handwritten, not typed.
Dear Wes,
It was so nice to put a face to your name at the funeral, though I wish the circumstances could have been better. Zeke mentioned you so many times over the past two years. My husband never thought a fellow patient he met in Dr. Regis’s waiting room would become a friend, but that is what he called you. His friend. One who understood what he was going through as no one else could.
I can’t thank you enough for paying Zeke’s funeral costs, his medical bills, and establishing education funds for our two kids. No matter how much you plan for a worst-case scenario, it’s never enough.
But thanks to you, I have less to worry about now. I know Zeke is smiling down from heaven with a told-you-it-would-all-work-out smirk on his face.
A thank you can never describe my appreciation and relief knowing the twins can now attend whatever college they want. Maybe they’ll end up wearing your Cardinal red or perhaps they’ll follow in their dad’s footsteps to become a Duck. Though if I have my way, they’ll be in Pullman. Go Cougs!
I’m so grateful for all you did for Zeke and now for us. I hope your generosity and kindness are repaid tenfold. And that good health and happiness are showered upon you.
Zeke worried about you. He thought you might feel guilty when you went into remission and he didn’t. I hope that’s not the case, but please know, he was so relieved you beat this thing. Truly. You being in remission gave him hope that the same might happen for him. And he needed that hope. We all did.
This letter has gone on far longer than I intended. But thank you from the bottom of my heart. My husband was a man of few words, but I know he would say the same thing, too. I hope you have the merriest of Christmases, Wes, and that you find whatever you wish for under the tree on the twenty-fifth!
Thanks again,
Melanie Dwyer
Wes’s hands trembled. His eyes burned. He blinked before rereading the letter. Zeke, an engineer for a local semiconductor company, had become a good friend, albeit an unexpected one. No wonder Sadie and her team hadn’t opened this letter. The foundation wasn’t involved with this gift, only Wes.
He rubbed his face and then slid the letter into the file. He would put this one in his office at home.
As he opened the next folder, his desk phone buzzed. He picked up the receiver. “Lockhart.”
“Henry is on his way in,” Eliza announced in her no-nonsense tone. “He promised to be brief.”
Henry Davenport, an eccentric billionaire extraordinaire, had a different definition of the word than most people. But if anyone could make Wes smile, Henry could. The guy was thirty-three, but at times acted more like a thirteen-year-old. They’d known each other for as long as Wes could remember, but became close friends after Henry, two years younger than him, graduated college. Both were the only sons of two old-money families in Portland. But for as much as Wes worked, Henry played. “Make sure I’m not late for my next meeting.”
Even if the last thing Wes wanted to discuss was the acquisition of NanoNeu.
“I’ll drag you out of there even if Henry wants to play tug-of-war with you as the rope.”
Ouch. That would hurt, but Wes could see both people enjoying the battle. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Three, two, one…”
The door to Wes’s office flew open. Henry entered, carrying a black garment bag and bringing with him a high energy that could either be contagious or draining. He wore a gray plaid suit that was more appropriate for Fashion Week in New York, London, Paris, or Milan than a Wednesday in Portland. Typical Henry. The guy could be a model, but that would mean showing up for a shoot on time. Not possible because setting an alarm took too much effort.
“It’s such a beautiful December day in the Pacific Northwest.” Henry approached the desk. “And yours just got brighter.”
Wes leaned back in his chair. “Why is that?”
“Because I’m here.”
He should have realized that. In Henry’s mind, the world revolved around him. That included friends and strangers. Still, Wes was curious about the impromptu visit. Henry only dropped by if they were meeting for lunch. “It’s early afternoon, so I’m sure you’ve eaten already. Why are you here?”
Henry grinned like the Cheshire cat. “I have something for you.”
His gifts ranged from the extravagant to the exotic, but they were always heartfelt. Henry had no family except the one he’d created with his friends, and he cherished each of those people, Wes included.
Wes figured he had a fifty percent chance of guessing correctly. “In the garment bag?”
“I can’t pull anything over on you brainy tech guys.” Henry unzipped the bag and pulled out a…
Wes did a double take. Blinked. No, he hadn’t been seeing things. “Is that a—”
“Yes, it is.”
Scratching his chin, Wes stared at the Santa suit hanging from a wooden hanger. The thick pure white trim, luxurious red velvet fabric, and wide black leather belt screamed top-of-the-line quality. Not that he expected anything less than Kris Kringle bespoke from his friend, but his you-know-why-I’m-here expression irritated Wes, who hadn’t a clue what Henry was up to this time.
The guy was most likely being his irreverent self—a fun-seeking, man-child—and nothing serious was wrong, but Wes had to ask. “What are you doing here with a Santa suit?”
“This is not ‘a’ Santa suit. It belongs to me. Custom-made.” Henry picked a piece of lint off the sleeve. “I’m n
ot sure the big man at the North Pole has one as nice as mine.”
Wes rolled his eyes. No doubt Henry’s multibillion-dollar net worth without having worked a day in his life made him believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. Given he threw a birthday party for himself each year on April Fools’ Day and made a big deal out of others who had holiday birthdays, it wouldn’t surprise Wes.
He leaned forward. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“I’m getting there.” Henry’s mouth slanted. “I brought the suit for you to wear. I’ll want it back, of course. Sweet little Noelle will expect her godfather to wear it on Christmas morning.”
Of course, but what Henry said clarified nothing. Very Henry.
“It may be December,” Wes said. “But red isn’t my color.”
“Funny, Lockhart.”
Wes pushed up his cuff to check the time on his watch. “I have a meeting in ten minutes. Tell me why I need your Santa suit.”
Lines creased Henry’s forehead. “Because of what you said at Blaise and Hadley’s wedding.”
“I was the best man. I said a lot.” Especially after a few glasses of champagne.
“It was after Dash caught the garter.”
Another mutual friend of theirs Dash Cabot, aka Wonderkid of Silicon Forest, had worn the garter around his bicep like a badge of honor. The one who’d been the most thrilled, however, had been his plus-one, Raina. Diamond solitaires and platinum wedding bands had shone in her eyes the rest of the reception.
“That was a month ago.” The thirty days had passed glacier-forming slow for Wes.
Dash was still dating Raina, but he appeared to be in no hurry to take the relationship to the next level. Typical for Mr. Status Quo, another one of Dash’s nicknames, but a bummer for Wes that Dash wasn’t getting serious more quickly. Once Dash married, Wes would win the last-single-man-standing bet he’d made with his friends years ago. The prize—an investment fund now worth over five hundred million dollars and bragging rights. The latter meant more to him, but everyone—well, the five other men in the bet, Henry, and another mutual friend Brett Matthews—assumed Wes wanted the money.
The Wish Maker (The Billionaires 0f Silicon Forest Book 2) Page 1
