The Tycoon

by Molly O'Keefe

  “Your sister has agreed to marry me.”

  The silence fell so thick and so fast it was like I’d suddenly lost my hearing.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Bea—” Ronnie said and Bea turned on her.

  “Tell me he’s kidding!”

  “He’s not…”

  Ronnie glared at me for one second and then looked back at her sister.

  “We’re taking things slow.”

  “We’ve set the wedding date for the day after the deadline for your brother to arrive,” I said.

  “Ronnie!” Bea cried.

  “It’s not…like that,” she said. “Clayton will you stop?”

  “Tell me you’re not really thinking about marrying this guy.”

  “She is,” I answered. “She wrote up the contract herself.”

  “Stop it!” Ronnie snapped at me. “I will answer her questions. You have done enough.”

  I leaned back against the counter and sipped my coffee, admiring Ronnie’s backbone.

  “Clayton has proposed,” Ronnie said, slowly and carefully, as if defusing a bomb. “And we’ve come to an agreement.”

  “An agreement!” Bea cried. “How romantic.”

  “Romantic has nothing to do with this,” Ronnie said.

  “Last night was pretty romantic,” I said. “And this morning.”

  Ronnie glared at me, her face ruby red. “Stop.”

  “Stopping.”

  “You and Sabrina,” Ronnie said to Bea, “haven’t left me a lot of choices. And what he’s offering me will take care of you. Both of you forever. The house and land stays in our name. And I get the foundation back.”

  “What’s in this for you?” Bea snapped at me.

  “What I’ve always wanted. Your sister as my wife.”

  Bea narrowed her eyes and shook her head at me.

  “And the land?” Bea asked.

  “What land?” Ronnie asked. She’d already forgotten.

  “The land I’m buying from you,” I reminded her.

  “He’s paying double what it’s worth.” Ronnie said.

  “Oh.” Bea laughed. “Then it must be love. Do you love him, Ronnie?”

  It was my own fucking fault for waiting for her answer. But I survived that moment of silence. She didn’t love me and I knew that.

  But it was still gutting.

  I put my mug down on the counter and faced Bea.

  “I will care for your sister. And for you. What your sister feels for me is her business.”

  “What do you feel for her?” Bea asked.

  “Bea—” Ronnie whispered.

  “No. I want to know.” Bea got up from her chair. “Tell me, Clayton. What do you feel for my sister?”

  “What I have always felt for her.”

  Bea looked over at Ronnie. “Is that…enough for you?” she asked Ronnie. “Don’t you think you deserve more? Because I do.”

  Ronnie was dimmed, all that light in her gone, and she was doing her very best not to look at me. This was not the time for a fight. At least, not the fight Bea was looking for.

  I drained my coffee cup and walked around the counter to kiss Ronnie’s forehead. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay,” she said and slipped her arm around my waist. It was lame, but I wasn’t about to be picky.

  My trench coat was hanging over the banister of the stairs. I snagged it when I walked by and fished my keys out of the pocket.

  On my way to my car, through the bright-new-day sunlight, I heard pounding feet behind me and I turned, my heart holding out hope for Ronnie. But it was Bea.

  She stopped a few feet from me.

  “You’re not fooling me,” she said.

  “I’m not trying to.”

  “My brother will come back.”

  “That seems unlikely.”

  “My brother will come back and he’ll put an end to this. He’ll claim the estate and take everything. And if he doesn’t, I’ll find the proof I need to convince my sister that you don’t love her. That you never loved her.”

  She would find no proof of that.

  “She’s happy,” I said. “Why do you want to ruin that?”

  Bea stepped forward, close enough she could take a swing at me and I wondered if maybe that was her plan.

  “You broke her, Clayton. Shattered her into a million pieces and took away every single thing she ever wanted. And I was there watching her put herself back together again with half her pieces still missing. And I won’t let you do that again.”

  For the millionth time I wondered if I had made a mistake waiting to get her back. If I’d gone after her that night, or at any moment in the last five years to convince her…of what? I did the terrible thing she thought I did. That my feelings were real made no difference.

  I was the man who’d shattered her into a million pieces because I thought I could have everything. The girl and the business. The land. Her father under my thumb.

  If I kept my mouth shut, only to open it wide enough to tell lies, if I kept myself small inside what I wanted, if I just waited for the threat to pass, I could keep everything together.

  All skills I learned from my childhood.

  “You’re a good sister, Beatrice,” I told her.

  And walked away to my car.

  I could see her in my rearview mirror. Ronnie came out to stand beside her.

  Ronnie lifted her arm in farewell.

  I would not lose her again. And I would not see her hurt. Not by anyone.

  Veronica King would get everything she’d always wanted. And I would be the man to give it to her.

  18

  VERONICA

  “You can’t marry that guy,” Bea said when Clayton’s car was no longer visible.

  “What if I want to?” I asked. Both of us were surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth.

  “You’re joking.”

  “I don’t know that I am.”

  “Have you forgotten? Because I haven’t forgotten—”

  “Of course I haven’t. But…he explained it.”

  “Oh, this should be good.”

  It wasn’t. I mean, I understood his reasons, but they weren’t noble reasons. They were selfish, greedy reasons. I didn’t like them. But I understood. Bea wouldn’t.

  And part of my marrying him now was for selfish and greedy reasons. I wanted the peace of knowing my sisters were okay. I wanted the peace of not worrying.

  And I wanted that foundation.

  Part of me, maybe the dumb part, maybe the horny part—I didn’t even know anymore—but part of me was considering it…for me. Because the sex was outrageous. Because this morning, I’d almost had unprotected sex because the idea of getting pregnant with Clayton’s baby had been beguiling.

  Because I was happy. I really was.

  But I didn’t want to talk about any of that with Bea.

  “I think this has something to do with the land,” she said. “The land you got and he didn’t. I think he’s using you for the land.”

  “He’s paying me for the land. The land is practically his. It’s a moot point.”

  “It’s never a moot point. And you haven’t gone, have you?”

  “To see it? No? Why would I?”

  “To see who is living there! What if this is a Dad situation and he’s got his mistress and, like, ten kids living there. You need to go look.”

  I wanted to laugh the whole thing off as ridiculous, because it was. But she’d brought up Dad and the mistresses, and that had become a surprising sore spot for me.

  “You know, not that I don’t enjoy the third degree, but you’ve been gone for days.” I turned the tables on her. “What happened?”

  Bea’s self-righteous, angry expression cracked and what I saw underneath was ravaged.

  “What happened in Austin?” I asked, stroking her messy hair off her forehead.

  Bea looked away, out over the land and chewed her lips.

  Never a good sign.r />
  “Frank isn’t real. I mean…he’s a real guy. But that wasn’t his name. He’s scammed about five different women out of money. Left them all with debt. The police asked me a bunch of questions and then let me go.” She put her hands through her hair and sighed. “I have to go back. The police might have more questions. But I can’t stay in that town.”

  “Oh, honey,” I said and pulled her into my arms. She let me hug her but that was about it. She was like a limp washrag in my arms.

  “We’ll figure it out,” I said, and she nodded against my shoulder.

  “Have you heard from Sabrina?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I haven’t checked my messages—”

  Because I’d been too busy having pseudo-sex with Clayton.

  “She had to change her number,” Bea said, and I pushed her back by the shoulders. “And she closed down all her social media.”

  “What?” Sabrina’d had her same cell phone number since she got her first phone. And her social media? This was bad.

  “She said she got hacked. And she quit the show.” I knew it was serious because Bea didn’t pull a face or make fun of Sabrina at all. “She sounded…different.”

  “Oh, my God,” I breathed, suddenly overwhelmed. I’d put my burdens down for a minute, and picking them back up again felt like it was too much. Like I couldn’t do it.

  And all I wanted in that moment was to see Clayton again. To have his help, if not with the load of my sisters, then at least to comfort me in the carrying of it.

  Yeah, the King sisters were in some kind of trouble.

  “I need to go call her,” I said, and pulled Bea with me back toward the house.

  “Okay,” she said. “But then you know what we need to do?”

  I didn’t want to, but I knew exactly what she was thinking.

  “Go see who is living on that property.”

  19

  VERONICA

  “Where are we?” Bea asked from the passenger seat of my car.

  “You’re the one with the map!” I cried. Way out here at the west end of the property, it was all oil rigs and dirt roads. It was impossible not to get lost.

  “It’s hardly a map. It’s a freaking Google Earth picture,” she muttered, flipping the picture a quarter turn. Which, frankly, did not instil any confidence.

  “You know something?” I lifted my foot off the gas. “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”

  “Left!” Bea cried. “Turn left.”

  “This is a mistake.”

  “No. I know where we are. Turn left. The river is right over the hill.”

  “Why didn’t we know this cabin was here?”

  “Because we didn’t care? Because The King’s Land is made up of a billion acres?”

  “Fair.”

  I turned left and we climbed a small hill, and sure enough, over that hill was the river, a blue ribbon cutting through the brown earth. And there at the bend was a small cabin with a big covered porch facing the river.

  “There!” Bea cried.

  “I see it,” I said, but instead of stepping on the gas, I braked. Seeing the house made this all very real. “Bea,” I said. “This doesn’t feel good.”

  “Are you joking?” she asked. “You’re considering marrying the guy who kept a gigantic secret from you in the past and you feel bad finding out what this secret is?”

  “It feels like I’m invading his privacy.”

  “Funny, it feels to me like you’re protecting yourself.” Bea turned in her seat so she could face me. “And that’s usually your thing, you know? Women protecting themselves. Taking care of themselves—”

  “I know, I know,” I said, and then, because I couldn’t look at my fierce fuck-up of a sister and say these words out loud, I closed my eyes. “But I don’t want him to be lying to me.”

  “Oh, Ronnie,” Bea breathed. “I get it. I do. But you have to find out now. You know you do.”

  “I could ask him.”

  “You could. Or you could drive three hundred feet and find out for yourself.”

  “You’re right.” She was. She was one hundred percent right. I took my foot off the brake and off we went. Down the hill toward the cottage by the river. “Did I tell you he hasn’t been with anyone in five years?”

  “What? Like, dated anyone?”

  “No. Like, sex.”

  “That’s…fucked up.”

  “I haven’t, either,” I said.

  “Yeah, and that’s fucked up, too.”

  “I thought it was kind of sweet.”

  “Not if it’s a lie.”

  I glanced over at her and it occurred to me that maybe this wasn’t entirely about Clayton. But maybe a little bit about Frank.

  “I don’t think he’s lying.”

  I could feel Bea looking at me. “Because you still love him,” she said, like it all made sense to her now. “And you think the fact he hasn’t banged anyone else means he loves you.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you’re thinking it. I can tell.” Bea was disappointed in me, but that’s nothing new. And I could throw a lot of stones at her relationships, but what would be the point?

  We were in front of the cabin, and both of us stared up at the pretty porch and the closed front door. “Let’s go,” Bea said and opened her door, but I grabbed her wrist. And then I let her go, because the truth was that in the last five years women protecting themselves had been my soapbox, and being scared was no reason not to be smart.

  I popped open my door just as the front door of the cabin opened and a pretty young woman wearing nurse’s scrubs stepped out onto the porch. The wind pushed her long black curls across her face and she reached up to hold them back.

  “Ho. Ly. Shit,” Bea said. “She’s beautiful.”

  She was. She was beautiful. And young. And I could practically feel Bea jumping to all kinds of conclusions.

  A kid dashed out the door after her and the woman reached down and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from running off the porch.

  “This can’t be happening.” I gasped. I’d asked him, hadn’t I? He’d promised. “This can’t be what it looks like.”

  The déjà vu of it was sickening. Heartbreaking. I sucked in air but it wasn’t enough. I felt like I was drowning.

  Bea grabbed my hand. “Ronnie,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No. No. I’m not going to do this. We don’t…know who she is. Or who the kid is. I’m not going to jump to these conclusions.” I put it away. All that irrational jealousy. The fear. I set it aside.

  I climbed out of the car and lifted my hand to wave hello. But in my heart, all I could think was, Please, please don’t be true.

  There were a thousand other explanations, but because my father had made me all too familiar with the worst possible one, I was prone to come to that conclusion. But I refused.

  He’d promised. He’d volunteered to write it into the agreement.

  He’d fucking cuddled.

  He couldn’t do that and have a mistress on my own damn land!

  “Hi!” I said and stopped at the foot of the steps. The woman looked at me with a reserved smile. There was nothing reserved about the boy, who practically radiated happiness.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asked.

  “Yeah, you can,” Bea said, stepping up next to me. I put my hand on her arm. I didn’t need her going junkyard dog on me.

  “My name is Veronica King,” I said. “My father—”

  “Hank,” the woman said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “It wasn’t much of a loss,” Bea said.

  I nudged her with my elbow. “Anyway, I inherited the land and I just wanted to see what was out here.”

  “You inherited this land?” The woman asked with pure skepticism and I nodded. “Does Clayton know?”

  “Of course. We’re in negotiations so he can buy it. But—”

  “Well, it’s about time for that. Pay
ing rent on this place is just plain stupid.”

  “Who are you?” Bea asked, loud and clear.

  The woman looked at Bea like she’d lost her mind. “My name’s Maggie.”

  “You live here?”

  “I work here.”

  “And him?” Bea pointed to the little boy. The woman put her arm around him, tugging him to her side. “My son comes with on Mondays. What the hell is going on?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t actually know what’s going on. What is your job?”

  “Maggie?” a slow voice called out. “What’s the ruckus?” From inside the house we heard a slide and a thump. And then another and another until there was a man with a walker standing at the door, slightly obscured by the screen.

  “Just some visitors,” Maggie said and opened the door so the man could come outside. Her son got in on the action and lifted the front of the walker over the elevated doorframe. This appeared to be familiar work for everybody.

  “Who is he?” Bea whispered.

  “I have no idea,” I whispered back as I watched the old man sit himself down in a rocking chair. Next to a beat-up chessboard.

  The boy climbed up on the seat opposite him and the two of them started to play a game of chess.

  “I’m so confused.” I said.

  “Dale,” Cindy said. “This is Veronica King and—”

  “Veronica?” The old man looked at me with suddenly sharp eyes. “How do I know that name?”

  Dale had clearly had a stroke. The left side of his body was delayed, as was his speech. I opened my mouth to explain that I was Hank King’s daughter, that I owned the land.

  “She’s the woman Clayton told you about,” Cindy said, and you could have knocked me over with a feather.

  “That’s right,” he said, smiling in my direction. “He’s trying to make things right with you. How’s the boy doing?”

  Bea and I shared a look. This was not at all what we’d been expecting.

  “He’s, ah…doing all right,” I finally said.

  “Would you like to come in?” Maggie asked.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, dropping my voice so Dale couldn’t hear me. “I’m at a loss. Dale is the man who lives here? And your job is taking care of him?”

  Maggie nodded. “He was on his own out here until about six years ago when he had his stroke. Clayton pays for care here rather than moving him to a nursing home.”