Billionaire In Hiding: The Complete Series (Alpha Billionaire Romance Western Love Story)

by Claire Adams

  "I'm fine, Mr. Jackson," Jimmy repeated as he held the door open and waited for me to climb inside. I shrugged and slid into the car. Jimmy closed the door quietly. He went around to the driver's side where he slid in and put the car into drive.

  As we glided away from the terminal, I poured myself a scotch, sipping it as I looked out the window. I watched as Jimmy skirted Brooklyn and headed into Manhattan, and I tried to imagine the scene I was going to walk into.

  My father, Bernard Yates, had been a formidable businessman who'd worked his way up, starting as a boy who'd opened a small diaper service in Brooklyn and moving on to owning and running Baby Steps, one of the most successful baby supply companies in the country. He'd built each rung of the business with great care and attention, and as a result, he'd been beloved by his employees and customers.

  This funeral was going to be difficult for many reasons, not the least of which was that I had not seen my family for almost a decade. I'd been busy building my business, and once I'd sold it, I took off sailing. As much as I could be, I was on the yachts I'd bought with the money from the sale of my company. I spent it before my father could convince me to buy a large portion of stock with the money. I'd been fortunate to enter the market at the beginning of the start-up boom and to have gotten out of it before the market crashed.

  While my father and I had had many disagreements over how I should live my life, the one area we’d always seen eye-to-eye on was money. When I’d made my fortune, he’d suggested that I put the majority of it into a family trust that would pay out a substantial allowance every month. I’d agreed because I could see how the investment would benefit me, and after having my lawyer look it over, I agreed to the set up.

  "Jimmy, do you remember the last time you picked me up at the airport?" I asked as I poured myself another scotch and leaned back in the leather seat.

  "That would have been April 4, 2006, Mr. Jackson," Jimmy replied without taking his eyes off the road. "You were home after you graduated. I took you back to the airport the next day."

  "Mmm-hmm," I nodded as I looked out the window, recalling the trip that had ended after my father and I had disagreed about my post-graduate path. I'd told him that I wasn't going to follow in his footsteps and join the family business, and he'd told me that I was ungrateful—that I could have a year to travel and sow my wild oats, but that if I didn't come back and join the company after that, I would no longer be welcome in his home.

  At breakfast the next morning, I'd told him there was no way I was going to be tied to a business that had no corporate vision and that refused to come into the twenty-first century. He had ordered me to leave. My mother had stood by as I packed my things and waved goodbye as Jimmy drove me to the airport to catch my flight back to Barcelona.

  I wondered if Jimmy remembered the way that visit had ended. I thought about asking, but as I swallowed the last of my drink, feeling it burn its way down my throat, I decided that I really didn't want to know.

  I leaned forward to pour myself a third drink. Jimmy's eyes flicked up to look at me in the rearview mirror.

  "You might not want to do that, Mr. Jackson," he said quietly, staring forward. "Your mother is going to need you to be on top of things today."

  "Good point, Jimmy," I said, feeling the shame rising in my chest. It was like my father was reaching out from the grave to remind me of all the ways I was still failing him. I grabbed the bottle and poured a third drink muttering, "Fuck it. It's not my funeral."

  I felt the alcohol work its magic. It loosened my limbs and relaxed me as it bolstered my courage. I'd go to the funeral, pay my respects, say goodbye to my mother, and then get the hell out of the city and never look back.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Leah

  "Riley! Get down here now!" I yelled up the stairwell. "I've got to be someplace in an hour, and I don't have time for this nonsense!"

  "Leah, don't yell at me!" Riley hollered back as she tossed her backpack over the upstairs banister before racing back to her room for one more thing. I ducked as the pack came flying down the stairs and hit the bottom step with a loud thud.

  "What is in this thing?" I muttered as I lifted it off the stair and carried it to the front door.

  "Leah, where the hell are you going?" my mother yelled from the kitchen. She was hung over from the previous night's drinking and was in a foul mood as usual. "I told you I didn't want you girls making noise this morning! I need peace and quiet!"

  "I'm working on it, Mama," I called as I watched Riley descend the stairs. I looked at Riley and mouthed, "Ready to go?"

  She nodded as she grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. From the back, she looked like a middle school boy. I wondered if she cultivated this image to keep the world at bay or if it was simply the most honest expression of herself. I worried about what was going to happen when she got a little older and the expectations were that she mold herself into a girl, but for now, I did my best to just let her be.

  "Mama, we're leaving now!" I called as I grabbed my keys from the front hall table and shouldered my purse. I took one last look at myself in the hall mirror and shook my head. I was dressed for a funeral and felt frumpy.

  "Who died?" my mother yelled. "I hope it was some rich relative who left us a ton of money!"

  "No, Mama," I called back. "It was my boss, Mr. Yates. You remember him, don't you?"

  "Was he the asshole that refused to promote you because you're an Irish girl?" my mother asked.

  "No, Mama, he's the one who gave me a job when I was in high school," I said as I stepped into the doorway between the kitchen and hallway. "You remember him. He's the nice man who always gave us a turkey for Thanksgiving."

  "Oh, right," she grumbled as she looked up at me. "God, what the hell are you wearing? You look like a slut! You'll never attract a decent man that way, Leah! What is wrong with you?"

  "I'm not looking to attract a man, Mama," I said, biting my lip and hurrying out of the room. "I'm going to a funeral."

  "There are always decent men at funerals!" she yelled as I shut the door and headed to the car.

  I ignored her as I leaned against the door and tried to let go of the pain she'd caused. My goal had always been to protect Riley as best I could, but sometimes it was difficult.

  "She said something about how you're dressed?" Riley asked as I slid into the back seat beside her. She dug into her backpack and came up with a bag of Skittles. I nodded, but said nothing. Riley opened the bag of candy and held it out to me, shaking it as she insisted I take a few. I put my hand out, and she poured the rainbow into my palm saying, "There. That'll fix it for now."

  "Thanks," I smiled as I popped the handful in my mouth and chewed furiously before giving the cab driver the address of Riley's school.

  "See? A mouthful of Skittles makes everything okay," Riley grinned as we pulled away from the curb.

  "Indeed, it does," I nodded as I forced a cheerful smile on my lips and wished it were true.

  "Do you think Gram will ever stop hounding you about finding a man?" Riley asked. Sometimes she was a typical twelve-year-old, and other times she cut right to the heart of things with the wisdom of someone well beyond her years.

  "I don't know," I shrugged as I looked at her and brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. Riley ducked her head and moved away from me. "Sorry, force of habit. I don't know if Gram will ever change. I don't think so, but we can always hope."

  "Was she this mean to my mom?" Riley asked as she stared out the window. "I mean, was it Gram who made her go away?"

  "No, no one made your mom go away, kiddo," I said, knowing that while I wasn't lying, I also wasn't telling the truth. "She made a choice to go, and she went."

  "Mmm-hmm," Riley replied, not looking at me. I watched her closely as she used her finger to draw a smiley face on the window. Then quietly, she added, "Maybe she made the choice because she had to."

  "I don't know why your mom made the choice to leave, Riley,"
I said as we pulled up in front of her school. "I know she loved you very much, and that if she decided to leave, it must have been for a good reason."

  She turned and looked at me for a moment before opening the car door and getting out. I watched her carefully close the door, wave to me, and then head up the sidewalk. Halfway to the door, she stopped and turned around. I waved as the cab pulled away from the curb. Riley saluted me, then turned, and sauntered up the steps and through the front door.

  I wanted to go back and wrap my arms around her and tell her how much I missed Molly, too, but duty called. And I let the moment pass.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jack

  I was finishing my fourth scotch when Jimmy pulled up in front of the funeral home where my father's wake was being held. I knocked back the last of the liquid courage and stepped out of the car.

  I knew my father had been widely respected by his customers and employees, but this was more than I had anticipated. There were limos and town cars as far as the eye could see, and small groups of people gathered together in the parking lot, sharing cigarettes and flasks as they quietly conversed.

  I squared my shoulders and walked through the front door where I was met with a noxious odor. It was created by the hundreds of floral displays lining the hallway leading to the room where my father's casket stood. I kept my head down as I quickly moved toward the spot where my mother stood, shaking hands and receiving condolences.

  "Mother," I said quietly as I moved in behind her.

  "Jackson!" she gasped as she turned and looked up at me. She looked tired. Her face had been ravaged by grief, but she still had an ethereal beauty about her. Her long, grey hair was artfully arranged in layers framing her face, and her makeup had been professionally done in a way that allowed her to cry openly without leaving rivers of mascara running down her cheeks. She was wearing a black hat with a veil, a black knit suit, and black leather pumps. While she looked like the consummate widow, she didn't look like the mother I remembered.

  "I'm sorry for your loss," I said as she threw her arms around my neck, clinging to me. I could feel her fighting back the sobs as she held onto me. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly as I looked straight ahead at my father's casket.

  "I didn't know if you were coming home or not," she choked out as she let go enough to step back and look up at me. There was pain in her eyes. I could see it, but I ignored it.

  "I didn't know if I could," I said without emotion. "But here I am."

  "I'm so glad you came," she said as she laid a hand on my cheek and smiled sadly. "I know your father would have appreciated it."

  "I'm sure he would have," I said flatly as I looked over at the open casket just to make sure it was, in fact, my father lying in it. "He'd have liked one more chance to tell me how much I messed up my life."

  "Jackson, please," my mother quietly pleaded. "Not today. Please, not today."

  "Fine," I said curtly. "Not today."

  "Or any other day," my brother added as he joined the family circle nodding at me. "Jack."

  "Lincoln," I said in the same tone. My older brother was the star of the family. He was the one who had done everything my father had expected and had, for all intents and purpose, been his right hand man for years. He was two years older than me, but people often mistook us for twins. I didn't expect that to happen today, though, since I'd decided to forgo shaving and had left my tie in my suitcase. I'd done it on purpose, knowing that my father would have been appalled by my lack of decorum.

  "Good of you to make it," he said looking me over and then shaking his head. "Couldn't you have dressed properly for the occasion—or shaved, at the very least?"

  "I guess I lack your impeccable sense of dress and hygiene, brother dear," I said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "But then again, I don't have a wife who maps out every minute detail of my life for me and tells me how to function."

  "I wonder why that is," Lincoln said, raising an eyebrow as he leaned forward and added, "It couldn't be because you're incapable of forming any kind of relationship that requires you to stick around longer than forty-eight hours, could it?"

  "No, but it could be because I never had my head so far up my father's ass that I'd let him pick out a woman for me to marry," I shot back in a voice filled with venom.

  "Boys! Please, stop it!" my mother hissed as she grabbed our arms and pulled us to the side of the room, away from the mourners. She looked back and forth between the two of us, and said, "I don't care how you feel about your father or each other or this family, but I will not have the two of you fighting today. I won't have it! Do you understand me?"

  Lincoln and I dutifully nodded as she gripped our arms so hard we both winced. That's how things were done in the Yates family. If you didn't get what you wanted the first time, you used enough force to ensure that everyone eventually complied.

  "Fine," I finally conceded. "I need a drink."

  "No, you'll come stand in the receiving line and talk to the people who are here to express their condolences for the loss of your father," my mother said in a steely voice. "Today you will do what I need."

  She let go of my arm and ran a hand over her skirt, smoothing away the imaginary wrinkles before turning and heading back to the receiving line. Lincoln and I followed her like obedient puppies and then stood guard on either side of her as she received condolences from what seemed like an endless line of people.

  "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Yates," the chubby woman in the midnight-blue velvet dress sobbed as she grabbed my mother and enfolded her in a bone-crushing hug. My mother patted her back and let the woman hug her for a few moments before stepping back and giving her a brave smile.

  "Thank you, Norma," my mother said. "I know Bernard appreciated all the wonderful years of service you gave him. He always said there was no way on earth he could have been so successful without your help."

  "Aww, shucks. He was such a good and decent man!" Norma drawled in a heavy Southern accent. "Y’all know it's not fair that he's been taken from us!"

  "No, it isn't," my mother said quietly. "But there are no guarantees in life, and I think Bernard lived as well as he could have for as long as he was with us."

  "It’s gonna be like biscuits without butter," Norma moaned into her handkerchief. "What are we going to do without him? Who will run the business?"

  "Now, Norma, you know that father had all kinds of things in place in the event that something like this happened," my brother interjected as he pulled the chubby woman away from our mother and propelled her down the line. "It'll all be taken care of, so don't you worry about a thing."

  Norma moved on to my father's casket where she knelt down in front of it and wept like a child as she murmured words into her folded hands that none of us could hear. I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the small brunette standing in front of me.

  "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Yates," she said as she looked up at me with a pair of bright blue eyes, shining with tears. "Your father was kind to me, and I'll miss him."

  "Thank you, Miss..." I trailed off as I stood staring at the spray of freckles that covered her face. She wasn't classically beautiful, but she had a look that was fresh and pretty. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders and curled around her face in a way that made her resemble a Raphaelite angel.

  "Leah Walsh," she said holding out her hand. "I work for your father, well, worked for him. He hired me right out of high school and trained me to take over the manufacturing division. He was a kind man, and I'll never forget him."

  "Yes, well, thank you, Miss Walsh," I said coolly. There was something unusual about her, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it, so I said, "Did you know my father well?"

  "Yes," she said with a puzzled look on her face. "We all knew him well. He was a great man."

  "Ah, so you didn't know him at all," I said flippantly. Leah tipped her head and frowned.

  "Do you have a problem, Mr. Yates?" she asked. "Because it seem
s to me that you just might. No offense or anything."

  "None taken, Miss Walsh," I said grinning. "My only questions are if you've met my mother, Elizabeth Yates, and whether you'd have dinner with me sometime?"

  Leah blushed slightly at my questions. She nodded as she repeated her condolences to my mother, who smiled graciously, thanked her, and moved her on down the line. I watched her as she greeted my brother and wondered what job she held at the company and whether I would be able to convince her to have dinner with me sometime. She was a pretty, young girl—just the kind to take my mind off things.

  "Well, well, well, if it isn't Jack Yates back from his globetrotting adventures," a familiar voice said. I turned and found myself standing face to face with Sloan Morgan.

  "Good God, Sloan? Sloan Morgan?" I asked as I stood staring at the gorgeous blonde in front of me. She was tall and lithe, but she filled out her dress like a pro.

  "Entirely too long, my friend," she said as she stepped forward and ran her fingers through my hair before leaning in and pressing her lips against my cheek. "I've missed you."

  "Have you really?" I asked, eyeing her suspiciously. She was a stunning woman who embodied all of the characteristics of a typical WASP, and my father had been after me to marry her since I was sixteen-years-old. We had history, but I preferred not to let myself think about it. "You look as beautiful as ever."

  "Why thank you, Jack," she smiled, and I felt the blood begin pumping through my veins. She knew she looked good in her black, cashmere wrap dress and stiletto pumps. Always fashionable and always properly attired were two of her mottos. She had been educated at Stanford and Princeton but had found it nearly impossible to get a foothold in the male-dominated business world. Rumors abounded about her sexuality and her involvement with the men she worked with. With Sloan, one never quite knew what the truth was. Despite the rumors, Sloan held her head high and kept working.

  "What are you up to these days?" I asked as she moved past me toward my mother.