Lifestyles of the Witch & Famous

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LIFESTYLES OF THE WITCH & FAMOUS

MIMI RISER

www.mimiriser.com

Copyright 2013 by Mimi Riser

All rights reserved.

Kindle Edition

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Also, this ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

[Disclaimer: This novel is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.]

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Lifestyles of the Witch & Famous

Chapter 1

“Thank you, Ms. Leigh, but I can handle things from here. The sooner the boys learn to accept my authority, the faster they’ll adjust to their new environment. Young children need structure and discipline in their lives to feel secure.”

Meaning?

The implication there, of course, was that “structure and discipline” were the last things someone like Molly Leigh could offer.

Standing by the boarding stairs of a luxury private jet, Molly felt winter’s chill on a sunny summer day. Gladys Patton’s glare slid over her like a glacier. It was obvious Ms. Patton didn’t approve of thirty-year-old women who wore silver pentacles, red peasant skirts, and halter-tops made from tie-dyed scarves.

Molly drew herself up to her full five-foot-five height and glared back. She didn’t approve of narrow-minded Gestapo-styled governesses who smelled like disinfectant and acted like they had a corncob stuck up their butt.

“Considering these kids just lost the last parent they had, and are being ripped out of the only home they’ve ever known, they need my presence right now to ‘feel secure,’ don’t you think?
I’m
the one who’s been raising them.”

And the implication there was that the uncle who suddenly wanted that responsibility had never bothered before to send so much as a birthday card, hadn’t even attended his only brother’s funeral the previous month. As far as Molly could tell, hotshot Uncle Tyler hadn’t even known or cared, until a week ago, that he had any nephews. She was damned if she’d give the boys –
her
boys – to him now. Not without a fight.

“I’m going with you.” She shouldered her purple duffle bag and started to board the jet.

Ms. Patton sidestepped, blocking her way up the stairs. Tyler’s henchwoman moved fast for an old biddy, didn’t she? Not fast enough to ride herd on the “James Gang” though, Molly bet. There were three active youngsters waiting in the jet’s cabin – not to mention the dog, cat, and Myna bird. The entire group sounded way too quiet. A dangerous sign, like the soft ticking of a time bomb. Any minute now there’d be an explosion.

“Mr. James understands and appreciates what you’ve done for his family, Ms. Leigh. As you’ve already been informed, you’ll be amply compensated for your trouble.” Ms. Patton punctuated the reminder with a saccharine smile.

Molly resisted the urge to smack it off her face. This mess wasn’t Ms. Patton’s fault. The silly woman was only following orders. Mr. Billionaire Wheeler-Dealer Tyler James’s orders. A man like him probably thought money solved everything. Hell, with his wealth, it probably did. But not this time. No amount of money could buy love. Especially not hers.

For six years she’d cared for these boys and their crippled father – ever since the car crash that killed one best friend and paralyzed the other. Ten-year-old Steven Jr. hardly remembered his mother. The twins, Jeremy and Josh, never knew her at all. They’d been born by an emergency caesarian seconds after Kara James was pronounced dead. Molly was the only mother they knew. How could anyone put a price tag on that? What kind of sorry excuse for a man would even try?

She’d find out. Since
Tycoon Tyler
wouldn’t answer her calls, was too “VIP” apparently to deal with the peasantry except through his overpaid flunkies, she’d have to confront the corporate lion in his private den. David going up against Goliath hadn’t faced such a powerful adversary. But Molly was pretty good with a slingshot herself, and she had one big stone in her arsenal. She tested it in a practice shot at the gray-haired governess.

“Your employer hates publicity, doesn’t he?”

Ms. Patton’s fake smile soured into a genuine frown. Mary Poppins, she wasn’t.

“Mr. James values his privacy, if that’s what you mean.”

That was one way of putting it, Molly supposed. She’d been researching the enemy this past week. A quick search on the computer had pulled up some great action shots of him dodging reporters and slugging paparazzi. As a matter of fact, it looked like being decked by the elusive Tyler James was worth more than a photo of him was. He seemed quite happy to pay damages after trashing a camera and breaking its owner’s nose. Always settled out of court, of course.

She answered Ms. Patton’s frown with a Cheshire Cat grin. “Then I suggest you let me on this plane. Otherwise, I’ll find my own way to Mr. James’s retreat, pitch a pup tent outside his gate, and camp there until he agrees to meet with me. And” – she paused for emphasis – “I will notify every TV station and newspaper in the country as to what I am doing. And
why
. I think the media would love a story like that, don’t you?”

Ms. Patton paled. “That’s blackmail.”

Molly’s grin broadened. “Yep, sure is.”

Worked like a charm, too.

While the older woman stood sputtering, Molly angled past her and darted up the stairs, her gauzy red skirt billowing about her legs in the airport’s breeze.

The expected explosion hit before she was halfway to the top. Shouts, bangs, barking, and the teeth-grating screech of nails on a blackboard – that last from the Myna bird, who seemed able to mimic any sound known to man or beast. And generally did it at full volume.

She glanced over her shoulder at General…er, Ms. Patton hurrying up behind her. “I think you’ll be glad I’m here by the time we land.”

“I seriously doubt that, Ms. Leigh, and I’ll thank you not to interfere with my duties during this flight. In thirty years of professional service I have yet to meet a child I cannot control on my own.”

The Myna whistled like a teakettle and shrieked “Screw you!” just as the governess boarded the jet on Molly’s heels.

* * * *

“Resigned?” Tyler James stared at his assistant. “She can’t resign. I just hired her.”

“Can and did. Sorry.” Barry Baker shrugged his polo shirt clad shoulders. Normally he’d be wearing a custom-tailored Italian suit, but things were more casual on the “Ranch.” He dropped Gladys Patton’s resignation on the mile-long mahogany desk and sank into the cream-colored leather armchair across from his boss.

Any other James employee would have waited for permission to sit, but Barry wasn’t just Tyler’s personal assistant. He was his best friend. Maybe his only friend.

That didn’t save him from an evil-eyed glare.

“She has a contract, damn it.” Tyler shoved the paper aside without even glancing at it. He wanted to feed it to the shredder. No, scratch that. He wanted to feed
Patton
to the shredder. She’d picked one hell of a time to quit.

Barry answered with another shrug. “Her contract had an escape clause written in. It was contingent on her final approval of the assignment, after she’d met the kids. You know that. The agency that sent her said she’s the best in the business. She can afford to pick and choose where she works.”

“So why wouldn’t she choose here?” Tyler flung out his arms. He paid top dollar with full benefits and built-in bonuses, gave his household staff luxurious living accommodations. What more did the woman want? “I’m the best, aren’t I?”

“You?” Barry snorted. “Frankly, Ty, you’re a pain in the ass to work for. Stubborn, demanding, impatient—”

“You left out egotistical and overbearing.”

“I was just getting to them. Also, unreasonable, ill tempered, and a real fuss-budget,” Barry added.

Fuss-budget?
There was a new one.

Tyler’s spine stiffened. “Since when have I been a ‘fuss-budget’?”

“Since when have you not? You’re the only person I know who lines up his asparagus spears in military formation before eating them.”

“I do
what
? I never line up my… Hell, I don’t even like asparagus.”

“You’re so anal-retentive you—”

“If you don’t like your job,
Beanpole
, you know where the door is.”

Beanpole Barry – not a very original nickname, but it suited his build – leaned back, stretched out his long legs, and crossed them at the ankles. “Shoot, would I do that to you?”

“No.” Tyler sighed. “I’m not that lucky.”

“Hey, man, if you don’t like my performance, you can always fire me.”

“I have. Several times.”

“More like dozens,” Barry corrected. “Or hundreds—”

“But you refuse to go away,” Tyler finished.

Barry beamed him a broad grin. “Only because you’d be lost without me, good buddy.”

“Yeah, probably.” Tyler shot him a wry grin back. Barry was usually right about most things, even his assessment of his boss-buddy’s character flaws. Not that Tyler had any intention of correcting those flaws. He liked himself just the way he was.

The traits that made him difficult to live with were the same ones that made him successful. Since his father’s untimely (but not exactly unwelcome) death thirteen years ago, he’d built the old man’s investment firm into a multi-billion dollar business empire. At thirty-six he had more money and power than some heads of state. He hobnobbed with royalty and gobbled corporate conglomerates whole.

So why did he feel panic stricken at the thought of three little boys?

Like a magnet, a small gold frame on the desk drew his gaze. The frame was a new addition to the room’s décor, but the snapshot inside it was old, a faded view of two other boys, two opposites in coloring and temperament. The older one, devil-dark and tall for his ten years, stood in stark contrast to the six-year-old blond cherub beside him. Both wore shabby clothes. They looked poor, but they weren’t – just born to a cold, miserly man with a heavy hand. Scrooge’s sons.

The older one also wore a black eye, but it didn’t seem to bother him. It wasn’t his first, after all. But it would be his last, he’d decided that day. He stared out of the frame, grim and defiant, and had a protective arm slung around the shoulders of the cherub whose bright smile said that he, at least, felt loved – and God knew he had been. The tall boy would have died for his little brother.

The man no longer had that option.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…

A faint scar ran lengthwise down the center of the photo from where it had once been ripped in half. Tyler had taped it back together – carefully – the night he learned Steve was dead. That had been a week ago, and his brother had already been cremated by then. He’d never have the chance to patch up their torn relationship the way he’d patched this little picture. Sleep had been a scarce commodity ever since.

Wearily, he leaned back and closed his eyes. The inside of his lids felt like sandpaper.

“You look like shit,” Barry said pleasantly. “But I guess you’ve noticed that.”

“Um, yeah. But it’s still nice of you to remind me.”

“Anytime, my man. I live to serve.”

“Good. Then make yourself useful and nab Patton before she leaves. See what she’ll take to stay just until we find a replacement. Offer her—”

“Can’t. She’s gone.”

Tyler’s eyes popped open. “So soon?”

“Like a bat outta hell. Just grabbed her bags, signed her resignation, and flew.” Barry flapped his arms to illustrate. “I told Rick to take her wherever she wanted to go on the jet, but she refused to wait for it to be cleaned.”

Cleaned?
Why did it need cleaning?

Never mind. Tyler decided he’d be better off not knowing. He had enough worries.

“She said she’d feel safer on a commercial flight,” Barry continued. “Karl’s driving her to the Lubbock airport in the Bentley.”

Tyler rubbed his throbbing temples while he digested the news. Shit. Now what was he supposed to do? The boys were here waiting to meet him, and he had no one to look after them.

Or…maybe he did?

Hell, he had a full staff on this estate. There must be someone…

His eyes met Barry’s over the desk, and he smiled. “Hey, you like kids, don’t you?”