by Reese Ryan
“As in we enjoyed the beach and each other’s company, but nothing happened.” She couldn’t help the sadness in her voice.
“But you wanted something to happen?”
“I wouldn’t have been opposed to it,” Annabel admitted after a long pause.
“Then Roarke, evidently, was. Did he give you a reason?”
His long list of reasons why he felt they were a bad match scrolled through her brain.
“Lots, actually.” She laughed, bitterly.
“Like?” Frankie asked.
She recounted the case Roarke had laid out, starting with their fathers’ mutual hatred.
Frankie whistled. “That’s a hell of a list. And if I’m being honest, I agree with a few of those.”
Annabel didn’t respond. She wasn’t angry with Frankie for being honest. She was more upset with herself for being so taken with this man.
“Annabel, are you still there?”
“Yes.” Her voice was quiet. “So which ones do you think he’s right about?”
“It’s so soon after your breakup with Mason. You were together for two years. I’m worried that you’re not allowing yourself a chance to properly grieve that relationship.”
“You think this is a knee-jerk reaction to being dumped by Mason?”
Now Frankie was the one who was silent. Finally, she answered, “It’s a possibility. One you should consider.”
“I appreciate your honesty. And you’ve given me something to think about. But I’ve never been the kind of girl who needs to be in a relationship. I handle being single quite cheerfully. Maybe you’re right. Maybe the timing is suspect here. But what if Roarke is the one? Life isn’t always so convenient. In fact, in my experience the timing usually sucks.”
Frankie laughed. “Hashtag facts.”
“So what else do you think Roarke is right about?”
“How will your father take the news if you suddenly become involved with his enemy’s son?”
Annabel shrugged. “He’s handling his involvement with his enemy’s daughter just fine.”
“Excellent point,” Frankie admitted. “But I thought the two of them broke it off.”
A faint smile kissed her lips. “A bump in the road if you ask me. I think he really likes Angela Perry. I haven’t seen him this googly-eyed over anyone since my mom.”
“You okay with that?” Frankie asked. “Your brother seems pretty ambivalent about it.”
Xander was her older half brother. His mother, Penny, was their father’s first wife. But they were a poor match and the relationship had ended after a year and a half. And though her father had remained in Xander’s life, he’d been raised by his mother in a separate house. Her brother would probably never admit it, but she knew it chafed him that their father considered her mother, Elinah, the love of his life.
Her brother had moved to the ranch full-time when he was fifteen. His mother had died of flu complications just a few years after Annabel lost her mother to cancer. It had been an adjustment period for all of them.
“I know that Xander’s mom and your dad weren’t together for very long. So it’s probably different for him,” Frankie continued, filling the awkward silence.
“My mom was the love of my dad’s life. Not many people get that even once. If my dad can find true love and happiness a second time around, I certainly don’t begrudge him that.”
“That’s a very mature outlook,” Frankie noted.
“Then trust me when I tell you that my attraction to Roarke isn’t a rebound/revenge thing. I really, really like this guy, Frankie.”
“Then I hope you get him.” She could hear the smile in her friend’s voice.
Annabel was grateful for Frankie’s understanding and encouragement. Now she just needed to find a way to convince Roarke.
Ten
Roarke removed his gold-rimmed Maui Jim aviator sunglasses, strolled up to the maître d’ station and inquired about Mason Harrison.
The man immediately turned his nose up, as if he’d smelled something as putrid as rotting fish. His demeanor shifted and he regarded Roarke differently. As if by being an associate of the man, he was worthy of a sneer.
“The gentleman—” the maître d’ emphasized the word in a way that made his disdain for Mason clear “—is at the booth in the back. His regular table.” The man indicated the general direction without looking up from the guest list where his attention had returned.
“Thank you.” Roarke nodded as he slid his sunglasses into his jacket pocket, then followed the man’s directions.
He couldn’t blame him for having such a low regard for Mason Harrison. After just a day of learning about the man, he had the same opinion of him. He wondered how Annabel, who seemed to be a generally good judge of character, could’ve been so wrong about the guy.
Roarke went to the booth near the back of the restaurant. The one that afforded the most privacy. Mason Harrison had his arm draped over the shoulder of a busty blonde.
Roarke stood there, his arms folded as he rocked back on his heels, waiting for the man to notice him.
Mason finally did. He looked up at Roarke menacingly. “Can I help you with something?”
“Why, yes, you can. Thank you for asking.” Roarke sat at the opposite end of the curved booth and smiled as good-naturedly as he could manage, given whom he was sitting across from.
“Okay, I’ll play.” Mason sat back and folded his arms as he stared at Roarke. “What is it that you want?”
“I would like for you to pay your fair share of the expenses from the wedding you abruptly canceled.”
“You work for Annabel?” The man’s face registered no emotion.
“I’m her attorney, Roarke Perry.”
“As in the son of Sterling, The Ponzi Scheme King?” Mason sneered.
Roarke’s hands balled into fists beneath the table. He willed his expression to remain neutral. He wouldn’t allow this piece of trash to rile him up and cost his client her claim.
“He’s the man falsely accused of running a Ponzi scheme,” Roarke replied calmly. He shrugged. “That mistake I’ll overlook. But what I can’t overlook is the fact that you had the audacity to ask a woman as sweet and kind as Annabel Currin to marry you, given that you’ve been seeing three other women during the course of the engagement, including Naomi here.”
“Mase, is this true?” The blonde turned to Mason, her gray eyes filled with anger. “You have other girlfriends? And you were engaged to be married? When was this?” The woman turned to Roarke for the answer to her last question.
“He was seeing my client for two years and they were engaged for nearly a year.”
“You jerk!” The woman shot to her high-heeled feet and poured the oozy red frozen concoction in her glass over Mason’s head.
To his credit, he didn’t flinch. Nor did he beg the woman’s forgiveness or try to explain. “I never said we were exclusive, Naomi,” he said matter-of-factly, as if she were the one in the wrong.
“Well, let me tell you, exclusively, that you can kiss my ass.” The woman grabbed her purse from the table, turned on her heels and stormed off.
Mason picked up the woman’s abandoned napkin and wiped as much of the drink as he could from his hair. Almost as an afterthought, he turned to Roarke, who waited patiently for him to notice him again.
“Proud of yourself for causing this little scene?” Mason kept wiping at the mess in his hair. “I’ve already given my notice with Currin Oil, so threatening my career isn’t an option.” Mason smirked. “But I suppose that’s why you came here instead. So what’s your plan? To stalk me and pull a repeat performance with my other female companions?”
Roarke shrugged. “That’s up to you, Mr. Harrison. My client has made a reasonable request. Settle with her quietly and you need never see me or her again.”
Mason laughed bitterly. “You think a couple of bimbos are worth that kind of money to me?”
“I doubt that they are,” Roarke said. “However, I do believe that your reputation is important to you. Both professionally and romantically. You’ll need both intact when you target the next heiress whose father’s company you’d like to rise in.”
Mason scowled.
With con men like Mason Harrison, it was all fun and games until their endgame was jeopardized.
“I’ll think about it.” Mason wiped the sticky sweet drink from his face and tossed the napkin on the table.
“I wouldn’t think too long, Mase,” Roarke stood and buttoned his jacket again. “I’m not sure how generous Annabel will be feeling once she learns exactly what you’ve been up to behind her back. I took the liberty of emailing my client’s formal request for complete reimbursement of all wedding-related expenses and an apology. You have seven days to respond. On day eight, we file a lawsuit to recover damages in the full amount, plus pain and suffering.”
He walked a few steps away, then turned back. “Juries are particularly sympathetic when the defendant is a philandering jerk, trying to get his paws on the inheritance of daddy’s little princess. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
When Roarke approached the maître d’, the man, who was all smiles, cheerfully wished him a good day.
* * *
Roarke didn’t bother removing his sunglasses as he took the elevator to the eleventh floor of the high-rise building that housed the offices of Perry Holdings. It’d been at least four years since he’d stepped foot inside the company’s executive offices.
He made his way down the long, marbled hallway and turned toward his sister’s office rather than the large executive office where Sterling typically held court.
Angela’s assistant waved Roarke in, informing him that she was waiting for him.
“Roarke.” His sister hugged him. She seemed much happier than she’d been the night of the gala. “How are you? I hope you enjoyed your short stay at the beach.”
“I did, thanks.”
“You really ought to go out there more often.” His sister echoed Annabel’s admonition.
His mouth pulled into an involuntary smile at the thought of her. “So I’ve been told.”
Angela narrowed her gaze at him as she returned to the seat behind her desk. “Look, I know you’re here to talk about Dad’s case, but there are a couple of things I’d like to talk to you about first.”
He sat in one of the guest chairs facing her desk and crossed an ankle over his knee. “Okay. Shoot.”
Angela sighed heavily, a pained expression on her face. “I know you don’t believe you should have to show Dad the paternity test, but I disagree. If we can erase this ugly lie he’s been harboring all these years, we owe it to him to do it. Not to mention that you’ve always deserved better, little brother.”
He rubbed his jaw and sighed. “He could’ve asked me for a paternity test at any time. Hell, he could’ve had one done without my knowledge or Mom’s. But he didn’t. That tells me that he already knows the truth. It’s just an excuse he’s been using all these years to be an asshole.”
Angela came around the desk and sat in the chair beside him. She placed a hand over his.
“Maybe he’s just been terrified to find out for sure. Suspicions are one thing. Having indisputable proof of a betrayal like that...” She sighed. “Maybe it was more than he was prepared to handle.”
“I don’t really care either way. If he wants proof that I’m his son, he should have the guts to ask me.” Roarke frowned, his jaw tight.
Angela removed her hand from his and sifted her fingers through her hair. “If you won’t do it for you or for Dad, please do it for me.”
“What do you mean?” He turned toward her more fully.
“I mean, Ryder and I stayed up talking all Saturday night and most of the morning. We both really want to make this relationship work. And things would go a lot easier for us...for me, if—”
“If you could prove to Sterling that I’m not Ryder’s son.” Roarke put both feet on the floor and dragged his fingers through his hair. He shook his head. “Fine. But you tell him. I don’t want any part of it. Nor do I expect him to suddenly feel a twinge of conscience about being such a crappy father to me all these years.”
“I know that he was tough on you, Roarke. But you willfully think the worst of him. Unfairly so. He might not have been the very best father to you or any of us, but I honestly do believe he tried to make each of us the best we could possibly be.”
Roarke gave his sister a look that said they’d simply have to agree to disagree.
“What’s the other thing you wanted to talk about?” he asked, eager to change the subject.
Angela’s expression softened as she moved to sit on the edge of her desk. “Ryder mentioned that Annabel didn’t come home Saturday night after the gala. She said she was going out to the beach with a friend. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
His cheeks heated. “I didn’t sleep with Annabel Currin, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Angela shrugged. “I wouldn’t expect you to tell me if you did. I’m just saying...she’s the daughter of the man I’m seeing. And an incredibly sweet girl who has already experienced her share of heartache. So for God’s sake, Roarke, if you’re not serious about this girl—”
“Believe me, Angela, I’m fully aware of the risks here. Which is why I’ve already made it clear to her that we shouldn’t get romantically involved.”
Roarke didn’t feel comfortable discussing his love life, or lack thereof, with his older sister. Especially not in light of her connection to Annabel’s father.
“Oh, my God...” Angela’s eyes suddenly widened.
“What?” He sat taller in the chair.
“You really like this woman. I thought you two just met.”
“We did, essentially. And those were your words, not mine. Annabel Currin is a client. I’m representing her in a civil matter. That’s the extent to which I’m willing to discuss this, Ang.” Roarke straightened his tie and pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to discuss Dad’s case.”
“So would I.”
Roarke and Angela both turned toward the unfamiliar voice.
A tall woman with short dark hair and brown eyes stood in the doorway wearing a dark gray suit.
Two other men hovered just outside the door behind her. All three of them flashed their badges.
“Angela and Roarke Perry, I’m Detective Zoe Warren of the Houston Police Department.” She put her badge away. “These two are Special Agent Dalton and Special Agent Rodriguez of the FBI. There’s been a break in the case.”
“You mean you know who is really behind the financial losses sustained by Perry Holdings’ clients?” Roarke stood.
“We’re still investigating various leads regarding the Ponzi scheme,” Special Agent Rodriguez said. “But that isn’t why we’re here today. We got a break in the other case.”
“What is it?” Roarke leaned forward in the chair.
“We identified the body found at the Texas Cattleman’s Club building site,” Detective Warren announced. “The victim was Perry Holdings employee Vincent Hamm.”
“That isn’t possible,” Angela objected. “We received a kiss-off text message from Vincent well after the body was discovered. He’s in the Caribbean, living out his surfer dream.”
“That’s certainly what whoever sent those text messages wanted us to believe.” The woman studied his sister more closely, gauging her reaction.
Roarke folded his arms. “Vincent Hamm didn’t send those messages?”
“That’s correct,” Detective Warren confirmed.
The detective produced a folded sheet of
paper from the inside pocket of her jacket. “You’re the lawyer, right?”
Roarke unfolded the paperwork and carefully reviewed the parameters of the search warrant before handing it to his sister.
“They’re searching for the phone that was used to fake those messages from Vincent Hamm.” Roarke sat on the edge of the chair.
“Here? Why?” The color drained from Angela’s face.
“The messages were sent from a device registered to this organization, Ms. Perry,” Detective Warren supplied before he could answer.
Angela’s eyes widened and she pressed her fingers to her lips.
Roarke shook his head subtly, indicating that she shouldn’t volunteer anything further.
“We’ll try not to make a mess.” Detective Warren pinned Angela with a silent stare. “Ms. Perry, you’re the highest-ranking official on the premises. Please remain available in case we have questions or need access to restricted areas of the building.”
The woman turned to leave but called over her shoulder, “By the way, I know he isn’t here now, but in light of this new information, we’ll need to speak to your father again.”
“Why?” Angela’s voice was strained. “You don’t really believe he had anything to do with this, do you?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Detective Warren said before she disappeared on the other side of the doorway.
Roarke shut the door behind them once the law enforcement officers left.
“They’re going to try and pin this all on Dad, aren’t they?”
His heavy sigh and lowered gaze was all the confirmation she needed.
Angela’s eyes filled with tears and she hugged him tight. “I don’t know what’s going on or who is trying to frame Dad, but you have to help him, Roarke. Please.”
He sighed as he patted his sister’s back. “I’ll do whatever I can, Ang. I promise.”
Eleven
Annabel stood on the sidewalk outside of the soon-to-be Fairy Godmother building in worn cowboy boots, tattered cutoff jean shorts and a faded graphic T-shirt, awaiting the arrival of the next contractor. He would be the third she was meeting with that morning.
