Billionaire's Tragedy (Standalone Book) (Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (7 page)

They'd had a small
ceremony at the New York City courthouse with me as their witness and then two
weeks later, they'd moved to Washington. They'd settled in a cute, red brick,
two-story house a few blocks away from the Capitol and started a family pretty
quickly. Now they were the parents of Jake, who was seven, and Diana, who was
four.

While other people
marveled at Bix's transition from corporate law to homemaker, I knew that it
really wasn't much of a switch. She ran a tight ship and kept everyone moving,
while she still managed to cook gourmet meals at least five nights a week, plan
charity events for her volunteer group, and sew her own clothes. Most people
thought Bix was some kind of over-achieving-Martha Stewart type, but I knew
better. She simply loved order and organization.

I, on the other hand,
thrived on chaos, but frequently sought out Bix when things got too out of
hand. She would listen to my tale of woe, feed me a nutritionally solid meal,
and then send me on my way with a bag full of leftovers with heating
instructions taped to each container. No matter how far I traveled or how long
I'd been gone, Bix was my touchstone and my family.

 
"Aunt Liv!" Diana screamed as I put
the key in the lock and opened the door. "Moooooooooom, Aunt Liv is here!
Mom! Mom! Mom!"

"I heard you the
first five times," Bix said with a smile as she came into the entryway to
give me a hug. She was wearing her signature round glasses, though she'd chosen
a style smaller than those she wore in fourth grade. Her white blonde hair was
styled in a cute, chin-length bob and she was wearing a red cardigan sweater
over a deep green t-shirt, both of which were covered by a green apron with the
words "Merry Christmas" scripted across the bib. "I'm so glad
you're here, Liv. What's going on?"

"I just thought I'd
stop by and see if all the little people are behaving or if I need to have a
talk with Santa about the coal supply," I said smiling at the small
replica of Bix standing shyly to one side of the hall. Jake was as tow-headed
as Bix had been at his age and equally as intellectual. His sister, however,
was a wild child who resembled a ginger tornado, often causing as much damage
as one. "Jake, buddy, how are you?"

"I'm well, thank
you, Aunt Liv," he said solemnly. He wore a smaller version of Bix's round
glasses and resembled a tiny scientist. Lately, he'd taken to wearing a white
doctor's coat and a second-hand stethoscope I'd picked up at a shop in New
York. I'd found an old fashioned doctor's bag full of weird old bottles and
instruments that I planned to give him for Christmas, but I had to clear it
with Bix first. "How are you?"

"I'm quite well,
thank you, Jake," I smiled as I held out my hand and we shook. Jake liked
the ritual of greetings and goodbyes, so I accommodated his need by adhering to
the standards. Meanwhile, his sister hung from the hem of my coat batting my
scarf and alternating between hooting like a monkey and singing Jingle Bells. I
reached down and swung her up into my arms looking into her bright blue eyes.
"And you, Miss Monkey, what are you doing?"

"Nada," she
said suddenly shy. "Necesito el baño, por favor."

"Gotcha," I
said setting her down. I'd had enough high school Spanish to understand that
one and did not want to find out what would happen if I failed to set her down.
Diana made a mad dash for the bathroom as Bix waved me into the kitchen.

"Come in here, Liv,
I've got a project I'm working on and I need to finish it," she said as I
walked into the kitchen and saw that she had somehow managed to bake what
looked like hundreds of small gingerbread men and was in the process of
carefully icing each one and then packaging them in clear cellophane bags
secured with brightly colored ribbons.

"What the hell are
you doing?" I blurted out.

"Little ears,"
she reminded me. I nodded and looked around at what could only be called a
manufacturing operation. "I'm making cookies for all of the kids in Jake
and Diana's school
Each
cookie is decorated like each
individual child."

"You are certifiably
insane," I said, shaking my head. "If it were me, I'd stop at Foggy
Bottom Grocery and pick up twelve dozen of their cheapest cookies and a couple
of gallons of milk. Bingo, instant party!"

"Oh, Liv," she
laughed as she picked up a pastry bag filled with icing and began carefully
decorating a gingerbread kid. "What's going on? Why the unexpected
stop?"

"Did you see the
news?" I asked looking sideways at Jake standing near the counter,
watching his mother.

"Jake, why don't you
go play Aunt Liv a song from your recital?" Bix suggested. She gave him a
knowing look and he nodded before turning and walking into the living room. A
few moments later, the opening notes to “Greensleeves” drifted from the living
room into the kitchen.

"Bix, there were
five senators shot on the Hill today," I said quickly trying to get the
story out before one of the children interrupted our conversation. "I'm
not sure what happened or why, but two teenagers near the park told me that the
guy who'd done the shooting had hollered something about not taking away his
gun or his freedom. And then, I ran into that gun tech nut, Lincoln Redding,
not once but twice today!"

"Wait, back up,
you're out of order here," she said as she continued carefully outlining
the shape of a gingerbread kid before adding decorations.

I told her the whole
story from start to finish, and then waited for her to say something. She
carefully dusted a cookie with colored sugar then looked up at me and remarked,
"Linc Redding is really handsome, isn't he?"

"Bix, did you fall
and hit your head?" I asked as I reached out for one of the cookies. She
slapped my hand before turning and grabbing a plate full of broken pieces and
setting it in front of me.

"Eat those, they're
not useable," she said.

"But they're broken,"
I whined.

"God, you're just
like one of the kids," she laughed as she drew a smiley face on one of the
broken pieces and dusted it with turquoise colored sugar. "There, now it's
pretty."

"Thank you; I don't
like feeling like second best," I said as I bit into the cookie and then
hummed to indicate my approval. "Mmmmm, so good!"

"But back to
Redding," Bix said. "He's handsome, isn't he?"

"What has that got
to do with anything? I'm talking about five senators who were shot, two who are
dead. Why are you focusing on the good looks of a guy who has nothing to do
with the shootings?"

"He might be a good
date for the Christmas Gala," she said as she started on a new gingerbread
kid. "Besides, I do think he has something to do with the whole thing.
Wasn't he on that morning talk show where he and that airbag Davis Russo went
head to head?"

"Yeah, but what does
that have to do with the shootings?" I was always interested to hear what
Bix had to say about things that seemed unrelated because her brain could pull
together information and see patterns quicker than anyone I'd ever met.

"Well, Russo was the
guy who led that Church of the Loaded Pistol or whatever it was down in
Virginia, wasn't he?" she asked. I burst out laughing, spraying cookie
crumbs down the front of my shirt. Bix handed me a napkin and gave me a look.
"You know what I mean. Redding is the guy who developed the smart
technology that would make guns tied to the owners much the same way
fingerprint technology ties smart phones to their owners, isn't he?"

"Yeah, so what's the
point?" I asked as I brushed cookie crumbs into the napkin and deposited
it all in the trashcan Bix had under her workspace. I wanted to tell Bix about
what had happened outside of the florist's shop, but I wasn't sure how I felt
about it, and I didn't want her picking it apart or, worse, encouraging the
silly fantasy.

"Well, isn't Redding
pushing for a bill that would make it mandatory for all weapons to be equipped
with smart technology?" she asked. "If he is, then wouldn't it be
logical that Russo would be fighting it?"

"Those two hate each
other, that's for sure," I nodded. "But why would Russo oppose
legislation that would make guns safer?"

"Because the weapons
manufacturers don't want the added expense of smart technology guns and because
it would limit sales," she said as she finished another cookie and set it
aside so that it could dry. "Think about it, Liv. If manufactures have to
make guns connected to their specific owners, it cuts down on illegal sales,
and as much as everyone is standing behind the idea that legal sales should be
the only sales, we all know that a large portion of the profits in the weapons
industry come from unregulated sales."

"How do you know all
of these things?" I asked as I looked at her. "I'm the damn reporter,
and I don't know all of this stuff."

"It's patterns,
Liv," she shrugged. "Just follow the money and you'll see the pattern.
Besides, if smart technology is made mandatory, it's going to affect millions
of gun owners who have to then equip their weapons with the technology. Like it
or not, it's going to cost money, and that's not going to make people happy.
I'm sure Russo knows his members are not super rich billionaires who have tons
of money laying around, so he's going to fight the legislation any way he can.
You might check into whether those Senators were supporting the bill."

"C'mon, Bix, get
real," I said as I bit into another cookie fragments. "Despite living
in D.C., this is not exactly
House of
Cards
. People don't murder people to get what they want! Not here in the US
of A!"

"Don't fool
yourself, Liv," she said, pushing her glasses up on her nose with the back
of her wrist. "This town is full of people who do things that you and I
would never dream of doing in order to preserve their interests."

"But murdering
senators? Seriously?" I said. "C'mon, that's just insane."

"It might be, but it
also might be closer to the truth than you think,” she said as she looked at
me. There was something in Bix's eyes that told me she wasn't kidding, and that
scared me. I was about to ask another question when Diana came tumbling into
the kitchen and knocked a plate full of decorated cookies off of the counter.
They flew through the air and crashed at my feet where the broken bits mingled
in a rainbow of colors.

"I'm sorry, Mom! I'm
sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Diana cried as she prepared to shed tears to
show how sorry she was. Bix knelt down, gathered Diana in her arms, and hugged
her tightly.

"It's okay,
baby," she cooed as she rocked the sobbing child. "Accidents happen
and broken cookies are not the end of the world. We'll fix them or we'll make
another batch, okay?"

Diana stepped back and
wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as she looked at her mother. Bix
smiled, patted the child's cheek, and then kissed her on the head before
saying, "I love you and I'm just glad you're not hurt, but what's the rule
about running in the kitchen?"

"The rule is that we
don't run in the kitchen unless a monster is chasing us!" Diana yelled as
she jumped up and down.

"That's right,"
Bix smiled. She patted Diana's head and then sent her on her way. After Diana
had returned to the playroom, Bix turned and smiled at me and said, "Some
days..."

"I know, I
know," I said. "Do you want me to break out the wine?"

"Every single
day," she sighed. "Every single day."

We both dissolved into
laughter as Bix set about whipping up another batch of gingerbread kids while I
poured the wine.

CHAPTER
NINE

Linc

"
Another
drink, gentlemen?" I asked
as I raised the bottle of hundred-year-old whiskey. Glasses were quickly pushed
forward and I filled each one as I took note of how each of my poker buddies
were doing. "There are more sandwiches on the sideboard and cigars in the
humidor if anyone needs more of anything."

"You sure know how to
throw a poker game, Redding," said the man to my left. Senator Roy Walker
looked a little farther gone than the rest of them. I'd been watching him
carefully and gauging his behavior, watching as his beady little eyes began to
shine brighter under the influence of alcohol. Despite his portly body, he
moved surprisingly quickly, reminding me of a hamster looking for food.

"Thanks, Roy,"
I smiled as I held up the bottle and offered him another round. He grinned and
nodded as he held out his glass. "It's a good turnout tonight, I'm glad
you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it
for the world, Linc," he said as he continued flashing his idiotic grin.
"You know that. Especially after all that happened on the Hill over the
weekend. I needed a place to blow off some steam."

It had been three days
since the shootings and everyone on Capitol Hill was a little edgy. So far,
three of the senators were dead and two were still clinging to life at
Washington General. I hadn't yet heard from any of the families, but then I hadn't
expected to, really. I knew that things were in turmoil, and I'd watched as
Russo had stood on the steps of his family home, flanked by an enormous
American flag, telling the crowd that he was praying for the victims of the
shooting, but that one crazy man's actions should not allow millions of
patriotic American gun owners to have their rights taken away. I'd shaken my
head as I watched Russo's scripted performance and wondered what it would take
to bring him to his knees.

"I certainly
appreciate that, and I'm glad I provide a space in which you can blow off steam."
I turned toward the rest of my guests and asked, "Does anyone need
anything else?"

"A woman?"
Senator Mason laughed as he lit his cigar and sucked deeply.

"Well, you know the rule
around here, Senator," I said with a half-smile and a friendly chuckle.
"Your wish is my command."

"Nah, I'm
good," Mason said with a nervous laugh. "My wife would kill me if she
found out I'd been boning hookers at the poker game."

Brad Mason was a middle-aged
man who, while still fairly decent looking, was obviously having a mid-life
crisis. In the past two months, he'd bought a Porsche 911 and, unbeknownst to
his fellow congressmen, his wife had threatened to serve divorce papers, take
the kids, and then inform the papers of his penchant for hookers if he didn't
clean up his act.

Mason was from Iowa, a
conservative state that frowned on the kind of behavior the D.C. crowd
regularly engaged in, but that only the ones from more liberal states actually
got away with. He'd come to me for help, and I'd cleaned up the mess for him,
knowing that it would earn me future favors. He was now treading on thin ice
with his wife, so he was erring on the side of caution.

I liked men like Brad
Mason, or rather, I liked having them owe me something because when I held the chips,
I knew I had power. Mason was the leading republican on the gun control bill
and he knew that before the shooting, even without him, I'd had almost enough
votes to get the bill passed. Now, I needed to call in my favors and replace
the five senators who'd been shot.

Mason was visibly anxious
about this, and we'd had a discussion about it before the poker game in which
he'd promised me that he'd convince five lesser senators to step up and take
the place of the votes I'd lost, but that he himself couldn't be one of those
votes. I'd reminded him that if he couldn't round up enough support, I'd hold
him responsible for the final tally, and if it wasn't in my favor, I'd make my displeasure
known.

"Who’s going to
tell?" I asked as I looked around the room. All eyes were averted as I
scanned the crowd of men spread out around the various tables. No one said a
word. I smiled as I said, "Well then, let's play some poker,
gentlemen!"

I'd started hosting these
poker get togethers once a month after I'd left Impact and moved to Washington
to branch out on my own. I'd bought an apartment in the Watergate Complex that I
reserved for my own private use and never invited any political guests to
visit, and then purchased a house near the Hill, which I'd quickly renovated
and turned into a veritable playhouse for grown-ups. It featured a basement
that housed my monthly poker parties, a main floor where I threw all my dinner
parties and holiday celebrations, and an upper floor that was used for a
variety of activities, which I arranged and then asked nothing about.

Brant shot me a concerned
look from across the room where he sat dealing cards to several men who were on
the verge of being too drunk to actually hold their hands. I shook my head as I
turned back to the table and continued pouring. Brant knew that these card
games were more than just a lobbyist's attempts to curry favor with those in
power, but not even he knew my motivation for befriending these men and plying
them with wine, women, and cards. He continued dealing hands until the men all
tossed their cards in and let the dealer take the pot.

I rarely let the house
win, and if it did, then I made sure to provide the losers with some kind of
compensation designed to soothe their loss. Tonight, it was tickets to the
Washington Christmas Ball, the biggest event of the season, and one nearly
impossible to obtain tickets for. Mo was a strict gatekeeper and carefully
determined who would and wouldn’t get tickets and to get my block, I had
offered to bankroll Mo’s charity auctions. As I handed each man an envelope
containing four tickets, they looked up at me as if I were Santa Claus himself.

"Why thank you,
Redding!" Senator Bangor boomed as he accepted envelope. "You're a
good man!"

"It's my pleasure, Larry,"
I smiled as he shook my hand and clapped me on the back. I hated Larry Bangor. He
was everything I thought was wrong with politics – a weak, foul-mouthed
blowhard who spouted whatever hateful rhetoric would get him attention in the
media that week. He'd succeeded in keeping his Senate seat because he'd curried
favor with the rich Gold Coast group of supporters in Chicago, and as a result,
outspent every opponent four-to-one every election cycle. He was a horrible man
with the bad habit of getting a little too rough with the hookers, so I'd
started employing a dominatrix who would often take control and leave him
sobbing at the end of the session. He loved it, and as a result, I knew I had
him on a short leash.

I held out an envelope to
Jeff Graham, but he shook his head and waved me off saying, "Nah, I'm
good, Linc. I've already got my tickets, so save those for someone who actually
needs them." He smiled at me, waiting to see if I'd be surprised at his
refusal, but thanks to Brant's research skills, I had already known Graham had
tickets. I offered them simply as a means of allowing him to think he had the
upper hand. Graham was a new senator from Virginia, and I had a feeling that he
was one of the ones who was firmly in the back pocket of Russo and the AWN. He
played his cards close to his chest, though, so I simply invited him to events
to test the water. He rarely drank, and he never went to the third floor.
Compared to the others, Jefferson Graham was a choirboy.

Around ten o'clock, the
girls descended the stairs and talked with the remaining men. These women were
not your average call girls, instead, they were highly educated students from
surrounding colleges and universities who were looking to make enough money to
pay off student loans or bankroll businesses. They understood the need for
discretion and had no shame whatsoever. I paid them all extremely well and asked
them to sign a non-disclosure agreement while they worked for me. The penalties
for revealing their after-school jobs were substantial, so I'd not had any
trouble with disloyalty. They were a wide range of ages, shapes, and sizes, and
they rotated every few weeks so that the same girls didn't always show up. The
girls liked this because it kept the men from falling for them out of habit.

Tonight, as I watched the
girls work their magic and spirit the men upstairs to the private rooms on the
third floor, I thought of Olivia and wondered what she was doing. I had not
been able to get her out of my mind. Her flaming red hair and her bright green
eyes had made an indelible mark on me and I ached to unbutton her form-fitting,
black coat and find out what exactly lay underneath it. I imagined her wearing
nothing but lingerie under the coat and then pictured myself unbuttoning it to
reveal black lace and thigh-high stockings. I could feel the blood rushing away
from my brain to my lower body while I thought about what she would look like
spread out on my bedspread as I stood over her, admiring her curves and
gleaming skin. I imagined the creamy globes of her breasts almost spilling out
over the top of the lacy bra cups as I pictured myself bending down to run one
hand across her flawless skin. I imagined her eyes closing as my hand cupped
her breast and my fingers tugged at a lace-covered nipple. I'd lower my head
and capture-

"Earth to
Linc!" Brant yelled in my ear, startling me back to the poker lounge.
"Where the hell were you, man? I've been calling you for a full
minute."

"Sorry, I was
thinking about something," I said as I shook my head and tried to clear
the image of a half-naked Olivia Moore out of my mind. "What's up?"

"You know Bangor is
on the committee that is going to try and suppress the bill, don't you?” he
asked. "I've been on the phone with my contacts over at the Hill and they
all say that he has been spouting off about his connections to Russo for the past
couple of days."

"Yeah, he's a jerk,
but I've got him working to round up enough votes to pass the bill without him
having to compromise himself," I said. "We need one good,
self-righteous traitor in the bunch."

"Good thinking,
Linc," Brant laughed. "What a complete douche."

"Yeah, welcome to
democracy at work, my friend," I said with a wry grin. "All I care
about at this point is getting enough votes to make sure that our bill passes.
Whatever these idiots do in their spare time is not my problem."

"But what happens if
he screws us?" Brant asked. "He could say he worked to get votes and
then when the bill fails to pass, he can claim that other people turned tail
and it isn't his fault."

"You completely
underestimate me, Pace," I said, smiling the kind of smile that Brant
always said made him extremely nervous. "I've got so much evidence of his
dirty dealings and his sessions with Dominatrix Mica up there, that if he fucks
us over, I will have his ass out of his office so fast it'll make his head
spin."

"Alright, well, if
you've got enough to make it happen, then I guess we're good, right?" he
said as he turned and surveyed the room. "God, these men are pigs."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens
when you let power go to your dick, my friend," I said, shaking my head
and making a mental note to pay the cleaning crew a bonus next week.

#

On
the drive home
from the poker party, I suddenly had an idea about how I could make amends with
the pesky reporter. I instructed Mick to head back to the florist's; once there,
I picked out the most expensive arrangement I could find. Then, I rethought the
choice and picked out something subtler. Olivia Moore didn't seem like a woman
who would be bowled over by flash and cash; she had more of a classic style and
would probably appreciate restraint. I certainly didn't want to run the risk of
pissing her off again, given her penchant for tongue-lashings.

I watched as the florist
put together the display and then wrote out a note before tucking it in the
envelope. I pulled out my phone and double checked the address for the
Sentinel
and then told the girl to add
the arrangement to my monthly bill. She smiled and nodded as she tied a large
red bow around the box that would be used for delivery, assuring me that it
would arrive first thing in the morning.

I smiled as I walked back
out to the car and got in. I imagined Olivia opening the box and seeing the arrangement,
and then I imagined her opening the envelope. Her response would probably be a
string of swear words cursing me to the heavens. The image made me laugh loudly
and caused Mick to lower the partition and ask, "Everything okay,
sir?"

"I'm fine, Mick,
just fine," I replied as I looked out the window and watched the snow
falling. I wished I could be a fly on the wall in the morning when Olivia Moore
arrived at work.