Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (2 page)

New York City, Present Day

With his
head down and mouth clamped shut, Dylan Bradford plunged through the crowd of
paparazzi snapping his picture and pelting questions at him outside his
apartment building.

“Dylan,
where’s Maya?”

“Are you getting
married?”

“How do you
feel about your mother’s death?”

How did the vultures think he felt?
Like planting a right
hook in a reporter’s face. Instead, he plunged into the back of the limo as one
of them asked, “What are you going to do now?” The chauffeur blocked out the
paparazzi’s buzz with a slam of the door.

“What do
they expect me to say?” he asked his sister and brother-in-law. “That I’m going
to Disney World?” He kissed Natalie’s cheek and reached across her to bump
fists with Linc as the car eased into Manhattan’s gridlock traffic.

The asinine
questions probably grated on him worse than usual because he didn’t know the
answers to some of them. If he wanted his personal life to headline the next
edition of supermarket tabloids, he could have announced that his relationship
with Maya—if it ever could have been called that—was toast.

But what
the hell
was
he going to do now? More
of the same, damn it, when what he needed was a diversion or a challenge...
Maybe even a crusade. Some deserving or demanding or hair-raising outlet to
channel all this bottled up energy.

“There
wasn’t a media circus outside our apartment.” Linc stretched his long legs out
in front of him.

Natalie
rubbed the baby bump that harbored her second child and made a theatrical grimace.
“We just have to face it, honey. We aren’t blessed with my brother’s style,
looks, or charisma.”

A stab of
sorrow ambushed Dylan as their mother’s sense of mischief haunted him from his
younger sister’s blue eyes.

Slouching
down in the seat, he pushed the emotion away. God knew the day ahead would be
long and difficult enough without breaking out the tissues just yet. “Some
blessings carry a curse, you know.”

“It’s being
named one of
People Magazine’s
ten
most eligible bachelors that draws all the attention.” Her smile revealed her
dimples. “If you really want the press to lose interest, you could marry Maya.”

“Don’t you
start on me, too. It’s bad enough when
they
do it.” Dylan jerked a thumb toward the photographers keeping pace alongside
the car.

He loved
Natalie and Linc, but he was in no mood to be teased about his pseudo-celebrity
status. Especially not by them.

Not their fault they have everything I want
. He was happy for
them, really, with their successful careers, loving marriage, two-year-old son,
and baby girl on the way.

He’d set
the same goals for himself once upon a time, but nepotism at its finest meant
gaining a partnership in his maternal grandfather’s stock brokerage hadn’t
taken much effort. His boredom with the dating scene had him doubting the right
woman would ever come along. And that little detail left his hopes for marriage
and fatherhood exactly nowhere.

“When
Bradfords marry,” Grandfather Bradford used to say, “they marry for keeps.”
Because there had never been a divorce in the long Bradford history, Dylan had
been encouraged to sow his wild oats—like his father and grandfather had—before
settling down.

But now,
with his mother’s death weighing on him, Dylan felt trapped in a meaningless
lifestyle and critical of the self-centered women he dated—like supermodel Maya
Griffin. He wouldn’t mind the idea of settling down with someone cool,
confident, and capable. Someone smart, stylish, and sophisticated. Like his
mother and sister.

But women
like them were few and far between on the party scene.

He stared
out the window as they left Manhattan, concerned that the all-show,
no-substance women he dated reflected the kind of man he’d become. His gray
mood darkened even more, like the stormy sky overhead.

“My cousin
from Houston will be here next month.” Linc broke the silence with studied
casualness. “Remember meeting Victoria last Christmas?”

Oh, God,
save him from matchmaking friends and relatives. “I think so. Tall? Blond?
Interested in horses and...” He searched his memory. “Decorating?”

“Fashion
design. That’s why she’s moving to New York.” Natalie exchanged a
conspiratorial look with Linc. “And since we’ll have our hands full with a new
baby, we’re hoping you might show her around.”

A knee-jerk
refusal nearly exploded from his mouth, but he hauled it back in. Although
Natalie had been trying to fix him up for years, it was unlike Linc to
interfere. They must like this girl, and clearly, Dylan wasn’t having any luck
finding the right woman on his own. He sighed and slouched lower. “Let me know
when she gets here.”

His
brother-in-law reached around Natalie to pound Dylan’s shoulder. “You won’t
regret it.”

“If I do,
I’ll make sure you do, too,” he warned. “Don’t prepare the pre-nup just yet.
I’m only agreeing to meet her, that’s all.”

Following
an elbow to the ribs and a speaking look from Natalie, Linc backed off with
raised hands. “I understand.”

She
snuggled closer to her husband and turned to Dylan. “Why do you think Lawrence
wants to see us after the will’s read today?”

“Maybe he
intends to advise us on investments or tax issues.”

“You’re the
financial whiz kid. He’s more likely to ask for your advice.” She rested her
crossed arms on her tummy and studied him. “You know more than you’re saying,
don’t you? Tell me.”

“Go ahead,”
Linc urged. “You know she won’t let up until you do.”

“Mother
warned me that Karen Hammonds—”

“Dad’s
publicist, before he died,” Natalie explained to Linc.

“—has
penned an exposé of life on the campaign trail with Dad. You know how
protective Mom was of his reputation.”

“That
witch!” Natalie bit out. “Who cares what she has to say after all this time?
Anything she knows about Dad is more than twenty years old and probably a lie.”

“If there
was any dirty laundry lurking around out there, someone would have aired it a
long time ago. So Lawrence’s request to meet with us may not have anything to
do with Karen.” Noting the circles under his sister’s eyes, he wished he hadn’t
speculated. “How are you holding up? If you want to skip out on this
appointment today, just say so. I can handle it alone. Or Lawrence will wait,
if we ask him to.”

She crossed
her eyes at him. “Dylan, I’m pregnant, not incapacitated.”

Sympathy
would fail beneath her hormonally rampant mood swings, but he gave it a shot.
“Yesterday’s funeral has worn us all down, especially after the strain of
Mother’s illness. Pregnancy must increase the pressure.”

Natalie
pursed her lips. “Actually, the pregnancy soothes me, the way being with Josh
does. It makes me feel a special bond with Mom and Dad. And kind of proud to
know that I’m extending their legacy.” Tears welled. “Does that sound like the
ultimate conceit?”

“Not at
all, love.” Linc gave her his handkerchief along with a reassuring
squeeze.
 
“It’s sweet.”

And just like
that, Dylan felt that pang again. The one he’d felt a lot lately. The one that
made him feel isolated and alone.

Elegant as
a maestro, Lawrence Sutton arranged himself behind the Louis XIV desk that now
belonged to Natalie—along with the rest of Margaret Bradford’s New Haven
estate. Natalie and Linc sat opposite the attorney in matching Chippendale
chairs. Too tense to sit, Dylan hovered behind them.

All of the
will’s bequeaths and legacies had been announced earlier. No big surprises, but
now Dylan geared himself up for whatever bombshell Lawrence had saved just for
them.

“I can’t
tell you how sorry I am about your mother’s death.” He removed his reading
glasses and pinched the bridge of his aristocratic nose. “I served her
interests to the best of my abilities and pledge to do the same for both of
you, as long as you require my services.”

“Thank
you,” Natalie said. “Mother appreciated your loyalty, and so do we.”

The old man
steepled his fingers together and drew a deep breath. “There are two final
pieces of business your mother wanted me to share with you in private. One of
them is regarding a holding she left for Dylan.”

“What else
is there?” For tax purposes, she’d divvied up most of her personal property
years ago. He and Natalie needed or wanted nothing else. And the Matthew
Bradford Foundation was well-funded.

“The cabin
in East Langden, Maine.” The attorney drew the words out with all due gravity.
“Where your father died.”

Gripping
Linc’s hand with white knuckles, Natalie gasped. “That can’t be right. The
family camp there belonged to the Bradfords.”

“I guess it
belonged to Dad, and she inherited it after he died.” Dylan’s thoughts raced
full speed ahead, but only questions with no answers emerged. “Why didn’t she
get rid of it? It seems like it would have been more appropriate for
Grandfather or Uncle Arthur to have maintained it all this time.”

Natalie
frowned. “And why not tell us about it?”

“As far as
I know, she’d only been there a handful of times, and that was before Dad’s
death.” Dylan rubbed his temple where pulsing tension had developed into a
sharp staccato.

“Can’t you
picture Mother dressed in Versace and cooking a gourmet meal in a kitchen that
hadn’t been remodeled since the Truman administration?” His sister threw him a
nostalgic grin.

Propping
his shoulder against an eighteenth-century armoire, Dylan turned back to
Lawrence. “What more do you know about this?”

“Not much,
but I believe it ties in with this other business.” The lawyer squared his
shoulders. “Last year, your mother received a letter of inquiry from a young
man claiming to be your father’s son.”

“That’s
impossible.” Dylan looked to his sister for agreement.

Natalie and
Linc wore matching expressions of disbelief. Linc slipped his arm around her
and pulled her against him.

She echoed
Dylan’s opinion. “Impossible.”

He turned
back to Lawrence. “What type of ‘inquiry’?”

“Yes, and
by whom?” Linc asked.

“What does
the claimant want?” Natalie finished. “Money?”

The old man
opened a file on the desk. “His name is Clayton Harris. He said he’d simply
like to have the matter of his paternity confirmed. Apparently he bears a
marked similarity in appearance to the Bradford men. And it’s long been the
rumor in the town where he was raised.”

“Rumor!”
The word burst from Dylan’s mouth like a curse. “Why the hell would you allow
Mother to be distressed during her last months over a bloody rumor?”

Lawrence
stiffened at the criticism. “She corresponded with the young man without
immediately taking me into her confidence.”

“She
wouldn’t have done that,” Natalie insisted. “She always said that acknowledging
rumors only gave them credence.”

“Apparently,
the gist of her response was that there was no truth to the story and the young
man should look elsewhere for his paternity.” The attorney’s lips thinned into
a disapproving line. “He threatened to take your father’s estate to court if
she didn’t take the allegation seriously.”

Another
recent memory slipped through Dylan’s confusion and clicked into place. “That
explains why Mother asked me to promise not to let anyone dishonor Dad’s name.
I thought she was concerned about the Karen Hammonds tell-all.”

Natalie
sniffed at the reference to their father’s flamboyant ex-press secretary.

“I guess it
was
this
jerk she feared.” Just then
another possibility reared its ugly head. “Wait a minute, who’s his mother?”

Lawrence
flipped through the document. “The woman’s name was Lana Harris.”