Four Simple Words: A Badass and the Billionaires Contemporary Romance (The Sisters Quartet Book 4)

by Mary J. Williams

  "If Hunter wants you—"

  "Yuck," Destry interrupted Calder before her sister could finish the disgusting thought.

  "He thinks he's invincible, the arrogant jerk. What he doesn't realize is, Billie will put up with a lot from a man, but if she thinks his attention has turned to another woman, she'll drop him like a hot potato—baby or no baby." A speculative glint entered Calder's dark eyes. "We could use his interest in you to our advantage."

  "Double yuck." But Destry's pragmatic side agreed with Calder. "Think we could set the stage for a little play acting with Billie as the audience of one?"

  "Hunter isn't a fool," Andi reminded them. "According to what Noah found out about his financial situation, he's desperate to get his hands on the Benedict money."

  Andi's fiancé was a cyber-security genius. After some digging, he discovered Ingo Hunter's fortune was almost gone.

  "Someone pushed him toward some terrible investments and kept pushing." Bryce frowned. "I wish we knew for certain who was responsible. My money is still on Hunter's missing son."

  The elusive Ingo Hunter III. At the age of eighteen, the young man disappeared off the face of the earth. Dee Wakefield, the private investigator they hired to dig up dirt on their nemesis, had tried for months to find proof Hunter's offspring was still alive. If he was in hiding, where? So far, the search had come up empty.

  "I'd like to think Ingo III is out in the world, free of his father's influence, and not six feet under." Destry crossed her fingers. If he were behind his father's potential bankruptcy, all the better. "We can't rule out the possibility he's dead."

  "An accident? Suicide? Murder?" The writer in Bryce always looked for the most dramatic explanation. "Shouldn't Dee have found a death certificate or at least a mention of what happened to him?"

  "Unless Hunter used his money and influence to cover up the incident," Calder said.

  "He's out there." Destry didn't see the world through rose-colored glasses, but she wasn't a complete cynic either. "When we find him, let's hope he has enough dirt on his father to put an end to our troubles once and for all."

  "Amen, sister," Calder breathed.

  "If not, and Dee comes up empty, we still have another option." Destry felt a familiar burst of anticipation. "Hunter's home on Long Island could hold all kinds of goodies. The place is on the market. Now's the time to do some snooping before he moves everything out and someone else moves in."

  Andi shook her head with such force, her long blond hair danced across her back.

  "Last resort, remember?" The worry in Calder's dark eyes echoed Andi's. "You promised."

  "You won't let me slap Billie. I can't break into Hunter's house." Destry gave an exaggerated sigh. "Party poopers."

  "Hit Hunter," Bryce chimed in. "With my blessing."

  "No." Andi's tone brooked no argument. "Until Hunter gets Billie down the aisle and his son is born, we're still in the driver's seat." She gave Destry a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "We know he's desperate for money. Thankfully, our grandfather put some important safeguards into his will. Billie can't remarry until her latest divorce has been final for six months."

  "Good old Granddad was a misogynistic twit, but his misguided ideas about women have worked in our favor. Billie can't touch the principle of her money without the permission of the man who handles her trust fund."

  Destry moved to her vanity table. Taking a pair of delicate gold hoops, she watched her sisters in the mirror as she slid on the earrings.

  "In other words, as foolish as our mother can be over a man, Hunter can't beggar her."

  "Right." Andi straightened. "Let's change the subject to something with less doom and gloom. Anybody hungry?"

  "Does a cow go moo?" Bryce and her endless appetite popped to her feet. "I know for a fact that Mrs. Finch put on a pot of navy bean soup this morning. Should be ready by now."

  "Sounds good." Calder followed her twin from the room.

  "Your hair is shorter," Andi observed as she waited for Destry to slip on a pair of open-toed sandals.

  Straight off the plane, Destry visited her favorite hairdresser for a cut and style. She knew Andi would notice and she had an excuse ready. Simple and to the point.

  "Felt like a change."

  "Suits you. Without so much weight, the natural wave comes out." Andi walked beside Destry down the hall toward the stairs. "Are you going to tell me what happened now and save Mrs. Finch the worry? Or do I have to drag the explanation from you over lunch?"

  "Dirty pool." Mrs. Finch was one of Destry's few weak spots. A fact her sister happily exploited.

  "I rarely ask questions about your adventures."

  Andi and her sisters weren't thrilled with Destry's chosen vocation. Because they let her fly free, she always wanted to come back home. Questions were asked, on occasion. Usually when she showed up with an injury. The cut on her neck wasn't large—barely noticeable. Andi's uncanny instinct decided there was more to the haircut than met the eye.

  "You don't want to know," Destry warned.

  Andi, her smile wry, shook her head.

  "Probably. But humor me anyway."

  "Okay." Once Destry gave in, she was determined to make the story entertaining. "Picture a small town in Washington State, a masturbating felon, a vengeful family of inbred blubber butts, and a pool game that ends in a car chase and wild, uninhibited sex."

  "I'm on the edge of my seat," Andi chuckled. "Please tell me you didn't have sex with a blubber butt."

  "Give me some credit."

  "Then who?"

  Destry grinned, the memory vivid. "A bearded Irishman named Liam."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ~~~~

  DESTRY COULD SLEEP anywhere. When she was a girl, the summers she spent with her father were often fraught with the unknown. On rare occasions when he had money and wasn't on the run, they lived the high life. Most of the time, she never knew what to expect.

  The hard ground and a thin blanket to keep out the cold were often her only option. If her father woke her a few hours—or minutes—after she fell asleep, she better be ready to go.

  As a result, Destry learned to take her rest when and where she could. When in her own bed, snuggled under soft, freshly laundered sheets on a mattress that conformed perfectly to every contour of her body, she appreciated the luxury.

  She allowed herself to relax the way she couldn't while on the road. Though she rarely stayed down for longer than a few hours at a time—harshly learned habits die hard—when she closed her eyes, she slept like the dead.

  Destry woke to the sounds of… nothing. The room was pitch black, the air was fresh, and her pillow smelled like cool, summer rain. With a sigh, she took advantage of the moment to simply be. In a few minutes, she'd head out for a long run. But not now. Not yet.

  Eyes closed, she sighed. Dorothy was right. There really was no place like home.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Groaning, Destry rolled over, determined to ignore the knock on her bedroom door.

  "Ms. Benedict?" a hesitant voice called out, followed by another series of tentative taps. "Hello? My name is Blanche. The maid? I'm new."

  Introduce yourself later, Destry grumbled into her pillow. After the sun is up.

  "Mrs. Finch asked me to get you."

  Why didn't the woman say so? Destry was out of bed in a flash. Mrs. Finch believed in a good night's sleep the way she believed in proper nutrition and exercise—basic principles she'd drilled into the heads of her girls from an early age.

  If Mrs. Finch sent a maid to disturb Destry, she had a good reason.

  "Blanche?" she asked as she opened the door.

  The maid nodded. Thin, taller than Destry by several inches, she wore a simple, light-gray uniform with white trim around the sleeves and neckline. The young woman looked no older than twenty—and about to jump out of her skin.

  Impatient to hear Mrs. Finch's message, Destry reminded he
rself the maid was new and undoubtedly nervous. Her heart—the one she thought of as cold to the problems of strangers—went out to the woman. Rather than add to the maid's distress, Destry smiled and tried to put her at ease.

  "How long have you worked here?"

  "A week." Blanche swallowed hard, licking her lips. "On Friday."

  "Breathe," Destry urged, afraid the poor thing might pass out from lack of oxygen. "We aren't ogres. In fact, the last time my sisters and I ate a maid, we were in our early teens. Mrs. Finch was a bit upset, as you can imagine. Since then, we've been on our best behavior with all the servants."

  Blanche cracked a smile, and finally, as Destry instructed, she breathed.

  "I've met your sisters. They're nice. Very nice. I read Bryce Benedict novels all the time." Once she started, Blanche's words whooshed out like water from a burst dam.

  "If you've met my sisters, why are you so nervous around me?"

  "I worried you might be like your mother or Mr. Hunter. They make me nervous and say mean things and—"

  Eyes wide with distress, Blanche slapped a hand over her mouth. Destry led the maid to the chair nearest the door.

  "Sit." Blanche's wobbly legs gave out, a sob slipping from her firmly closed lips. Destry brought some water from the bathroom and forced the glass into the woman's tightly clasped fingers. "Drink."

  Again, her order was followed without question. Mrs. Finch wouldn't have any problems with Blanche—as long as she could find a way to keep the maid upright.

  Destry knelt as she gently patted Blanche's arm.

  "A bit of advice on how to deal with my mother. Always say yes, Ms. Billie. Or no, Ms. Billie. If her request is too outrageous, agree without hesitation—then go to Mrs. Finch. As for Mr. Hunter…" Destry frowned. She thought about her run-in with the man the day before. "Has he forced his attentions on you, Blanche? Done anything to make you feel uncomfortable?"

  "You mean…" Blanche shook her head, a blush staining her cheeks. "No. He's… No."

  "He's what?"

  "Very cold. Dismissive, if you know what I mean."

  "I do."

  Ingo Hunter projected a superior attitude toward anyone he deemed below his lofty status—which included the majority of the human race. His offhanded disdain wasn't unusual for a man of his background and didn't make him any worse than many of his contemporaries.

  "If he does something inappropriate—anything, Blanche—let me know. If I'm not around, go to Mrs. Finch. Or find one of my sisters. Tell the other maids the same thing. Understand?"

  Blanche nodded. She drained the glass of water, her color back to normal.

  "Thank you, Ms. Destry."

  "Just Destry."

  The maid stood, smoothed out the skirt of her uniform, and would have left if Destry hadn't stopped her.

  "Why did Mrs. Finch send you to wake me?"

  "Oh." Blanche placed a hand to her heated cheek—the young woman was a chronic blusher. "She didn't ask me to wake you. Mrs. Finch said she would have a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls out of the oven at seven o'clock and to let you know."

  The clock read quarter after five. Destry was certain Mrs. F. didn't mean for the maid to deliver the breakfast news until a more decent hour, but she swallowed the reprimand that leaped to her tongue. One more upset and Blanche might not survive the morning, let alone the day.

  "Thank you for letting me know, Blanche. Sweet rolls are a weakness of mine."

  "Mrs. Finch makes the best." Spirits restored, Blanche laughed. "She's determined to fatten me up—her words. I never gain weight. Honestly, she's such a loving person, I don't have the heart to tell her. Besides, why would I complain? The food is amazing. Better than the Burger King where I worked while in high school."

  Chuckling, Destry closed the door behind the maid. Burger King? She made a mental note to pass the compliment on. Knowing Mrs. F., the cook would get a big kick to learn her culinary prowess was rated above the fast food giant.

  Destry grabbed her gear from the closet. Shoes, leggings, a sports bra, and a loose-fitting t-shirt. She strapped her phone to her arm, tapped the screen to start her favorite playlist, and inserted the earbuds.

  Unlike Blanche, Destry put on weight with little effort. If she wanted to keep her curves under control, she needed to exercise. If she wanted to stay in shape to take down the bad guys, she had to exercise a lot. Luckily, she enjoyed pushing her body to its limit.

  Martial arts were Destry's favorite activity, and she had black belts in several disciplines. However, to keep up her interest, she varied her routine on a regular basis. From dance to kickboxing, if something struck her fancy, she jumped in with both feet. Challenging and fun were her rallying cry.

  Fifteen minutes of concentrated stretching and Destry was ready to go. A ten-mile run at a brisk pace should be enough to justify one or two—or three—cinnamon rolls, she decided as she headed out of the house, down the front steps and across the street to the park.

  Destry was certain of one thing. If she ever lost her internal drive to exercise, Mrs. Finch, chef extraordinaire, gave her the perfect motivation to keep her rear in gear.

  The morning air brushed across her face as the sun crested the horizon. Destry never took for granted the start of a new day because she knew how unpredictable life could be.

  Live for the moment, Miller Destry always said. And for once, her father was right. She couldn't predict tomorrow. All she had was the here, the now, and the promise of Mrs. Finch's famous cinnamon rolls.

  Laughing, Destry picked up her pace. Right here? Right now? Life was damn near perfect.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ~~~~

  "Are you free for a fancy dinner on the town? Calder and Adam. Me, Noah. And you." Andi glanced up from a pile of fabric samples. Her green eyes held a teasing twinkle. "Think of tonight as your chance to reintroduce yourself to the world after your recent hermit's existence."

  Since her return, Destry's social life had been non-existent—by choice. A week with nothing to do but eat, read, and lounge around was a gift she rarely gave herself. Seven lazy days, a wonderful break from her normally hectic schedule.

  Destry wouldn't trade the time for anything. She recharged her batteries and let Mrs. Finch do what she loved most—pamper one of her girls to her heart's content.

  Day eight and she felt the old restlessness return. She rediscovered what she'd always known. Destry Benedict wasn't wired to be a full-time lady of leisure.

  "Sure. Why not."

  "Really?" Brow raised, Andi returned the fabric to its designated shelf. Like every other part of her ruthlessly organized home office, nothing was allowed out of place for long. "What's the catch?"

  "No catch," she reassured her sister. "I figure if I say yes now, you won't have time to set me up with a date. A chance to dress up and enjoy a free meal sounds like heaven. You are paying?" Andi nodded. "Then, I'm happy to play the fifth wheel."

  "Great. About the fifth wheel thing?"

  When Andi's guilty gaze skirted around the room, Destry groaned.

  "You didn't." Andi gave a sheepish shrug, and Destry's head fell back onto the pale-blue leather sofa, eyes closed. "You did. Why? Why did you feel compelled to get me a man?"

  "Because I hate uneven numbers?" Andi shrugged. "And who said your dinner companion—not a date, by the way—is a man?"

  "Because, as tempting as the idea is from time to time, my preferences lie firmly on the heterosexual side."

  "True." Andi almost looked disappointed. "Did you know LaToya Bunting is gay? She asked about you the other day. Seems she always had a huge crush. Still does."

  "LaToya came out to me in the seventh grade when she asked me to the school dance."

  "How could I forget?" Andi chuckled. "You said yes because you knew Billie would freak out."

  "I said yes because I wanted to support LaToya. Our homophobic mother's blown top was a nice bonus." The memory sent a wa
rm glow through Destry's body. "However, I made myself clear—no miscommunications. LaToya knew I wasn't interested in her except as a friend."

  "I guess hope springs eternal—especially where the heart is concerned."

  "Please," Destry scoffed. "LaToya was in lust with me, not in love."

  "Who could blame her? You developed early." Andi glanced down at her chest and sighed. "I used to envy your spectacular breasts. Mother Nature wasn't as kind to me."

  "I used to wish I was tall, leggy, and could eat anything I wanted without gaining an ounce." The last part still made Destry wistful. "Luckily, we learned to accept and embrace the assets Mother Nature gave us. Otherwise, I might have grown to hate you, blondie."

  "Never."

  As always, Andi was right. She expected the occasional bursts of frustration, annoyance, even anger toward her sister—she was only human. But hatred? The concept was inconceivable.

  "I made a mistake." The words didn't come easily to Andi. "Noah mentioned he'd reconnected with an old friend and I decided to play matchmaker. I'll call and cancel."

  "You were wrong?" Destry leaned forward in anticipation. "Go on. Say the words."

  "I was wrong."

  "Yes!" Destry jumped to her feet and did a little jig around the room. "Yes, yes, yes!"

  "I'm so happy I could make your day," Andi muttered.

  "My day? More like my week. Possibly my month." Destry chuckled at the sour look on Andi's face. Then, because she liked her sister as much as she loved her, she relented. "Don't cancel. I'll be there."

  "Oh, for—" Andi's gaze narrowed, her mouth set in a thin line. "You always meant to come, didn't you?"

  "Yes. But how often does the perfect Andi Benedict admit she's wrong?"

  "Whenever necessary."

  "See what I mean? Perfection. The fact that you always own up to your missteps, however reluctantly, is a prime example." Destry wrapped her arm around Andi's waist and squeezed. "Makes the rest of us mere mortals look bad."

  Another good thing about Andi? She never took herself too seriously. Slowly, her sister's frown turned into a smile. Laughter followed, lighting up her face until her green eyes sparkled like emeralds in sunlight.