Tempting the Billionaire (21 page)

I
t’d been two long weeks since the Townsend party.

Crickitt gave an award-worthy performance at work. Unaffected, easy-breezy, happy-go-lucky. Until she got home and nearly collapsed under the weight of the lies she had to tell herself to make it through a day.

She left work a few minutes before five o’clock each day to avoid running into Shane in the halls. She couldn’t risk being alone with him, but not because she was in danger of being seduced. Oh, no, quite the opposite. Shane borrowed a page out of Henry Townsend’s playbook. Rigid and professional, he rarely smiled or cracked an off-color joke. Nor did he lean casually on her door frame in the morning or sit on the corner of her desk and steal candy out of the crystal dish she filled for just that reason.

Instead, he debriefed her with the efficiency of an army general. Like this morning, when he’d popped his head through the door and said, “I’m going on vacation. E-mail the proposal for Mayfield Furniture over to Stephanie.” And when he wasn’t busy
not
giving her an ETA, he ignored her completely. Yesterday, she’d found herself alone with him in the break room, and Shane pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen as he walked by.

And here she thought he couldn’t hurt her worse than he already had.

She found herself wishing her parents hadn’t interrupted what she’d come to think of as “The Breakup Speech.” If Shane had dumped her that morning, maybe she would be on the road to recovery. Or on the road
leading to
the road to recovery. Anything would have been better than his pretending she was never anything more than the assistant across the hall.

Crickitt took off work Friday. She was particularly tender, as if the bruise on her heart had spread to her entire body. She’d uncorked a bottle of white wine and was arranging crackers on a plate when Sadie burst through her front door.

“I’m here!” she announced. “You call, I come. Oh, good, I’m starving.”

Sadie dove into the bowl of fresh strawberries, taking a juicy bite. “I’ve had such a rotten week,” she said, chewing. “Mickey Dodd completely stole an account out from underneath me. I worked with that customer for almost a whole month—”

Sadie stopped midsentence, and Crickitt met her eyes expectantly.

“You look awful.” Sadie dropped the green stem into the trash can.

“Thanks,” Crickitt grumbled, tipping the wine bottle over her glass. She splashed in an inch of liquid and drank it down in one swallow.

“I don’t mean awful. I mean you look like something’s wrong.” Sadie moved to the counter to stand in front of her. “I should probably know what it is since I’m your best friend. But I don’t. ’Cause I’m a selfish, shitty person.” She touched Crickitt’s arm. “What happened?”

Crickitt opened her mouth to explain, but a sob came out instead.

Sadie snatched the bottle from the counter and filled Crickitt’s glass to the top. Then she grabbed a second glass and corralled her into the living room.

An hour and a half later, two empty wine bottles sat on Crickitt’s coffee table. Sadie was at one corner of the sofa, knees to her chest, Crickitt at the other, legs folded beneath her. Crickitt had finished speaking at least thirty seconds ago.

Sadie had yet to comment, her mouth hanging open in stunned silence. Finally, she said, “That’s horrible.”

“I know.”

“How could his father blame him for an accident?”

“I know.” She’d felt the same disbelief when Lori told her.

“And to take the man in when he was dying?” Sadie shook her head. “Shane’s a better person than I am. He’s incredible.”

Tears burned Crickitt’s throat, but she managed a nod. The truth was the truth. Shane was incredible.

“Oh, honey,” Sadie said. “I didn’t mean that. He’s not incredible. If he was, he would have held on to you with both hands.”

She appreciated the support, but couldn’t agree. It may have been easier to be angry with Shane, but how could she fault him? He’d been transparent from the start. Crickitt told him to give her what he could, and that was exactly what he’d done. She was the one who became disappointed when it wasn’t more.

“We agreed to keep it casual,” Crickitt explained. “I was the one who changed the rules.”

“Yeah,” Sadie said, “I know what you mean. I did the same thing with Aiden.” She quirked her lips. “I was so sure I wouldn’t fall…” She shook her head, unable to finish her sentence. Resting her chin on one knee, she stared at the sofa cushion between them. “The night I met him, we spent the entire night talking.”

“Talking? Is that what you kids call it now?”

“Ha-ha.” Sadie gave her a good-natured eye roll. “I told him things I never tell anyone. We talked about my crazy family, about Trey marrying Celeste.”

Crickitt raised a brow. Sadie never talked about her ex-fiancé. Never.

“I know, right?” Sadie said, noticing Crickitt’s silent reaction. “Aiden’s mother is dying and here I sit, unable to feel anything but jealousy because he’s pretending to be married to his scumbag, cheating ex-wife.”

Crickitt’s stomach clenched. “And he believes lying to his mother is better than telling her the truth?”

Sadie shrugged.

Crickitt considered the blessing of having both her parents alive. Sadie didn’t have her father. Shane didn’t have his father or his mother. And Aiden’s mother was terminally ill. “It must not be easy for him. To balance obligation, duty, and grief.” Realizing she was on the verge of defending the man who broke Sadie’s heart, Crickitt added, “Oh, my gosh. Sadie, I’m sorry.”

Sadie shot her a remorseful smile. “No, you’re right. I’m being selfish. Which is nothing new. He’s going through this horrific family turmoil, and all I can think about is how he didn’t even give me a chance to step up.” She pinned Crickitt with a look. “I would’ve.”

“Of course you would’ve,” Crickitt said, meaning it.

Tears ran down Sadie’s face for the second time tonight. “I don’t understand how I got in so deep so fast.”

“Oh, honey.” Crickitt moved to hug her best friend, but Sadie held up a hand. “Right.” Crickitt resettled against the back of the sofa. “I forgot.”

An earlier hug, when Crickitt ’fessed up about Shane, reduced them into a puddle of wailing sobs. They agreed not to touch each other for the rest of the night.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t know how to stop loving Shane, either. I’ve tried hating him, I’ve tried ignoring him. Nothing works,” Crickitt said. “Maybe I can ask Ronald for some pointers.”

Sadie laughed, pressing her fingers to her lips as if surprised by the sound. “You are so strong, Crickitt.”

“No, I’m really not.”

“I play strong on TV, but you, you’re the warrior of the two of us.”

Crickitt was going to argue, but the truth was, she felt strong. “Thanks, Sadie.”

“I love you, you know.”

She couldn’t help smiling at Sadie’s rare display of affection. “I love you, too.”

Sadie smiled wistfully for a moment before hopping off the couch and reaching for the empty wine bottles. “Enough of this Mush Fest,” she said, heading for the kitchen, bottles clanking against one another. She turned in the doorway. “I assume you’d like more wine.”

Crickitt grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

Shane couldn’t believe he was in Mexico, and not just because he had to board a plane to get here. When he found out Angel was dating her co-designer, Richie, he couldn’t have been more surprised. Then they announced their nuptials, and suddenly, he was.

As instructed, Shane wore an all-white linen suit and stood in the sand at Aiden’s side to witness Angel’s whirlwind romance advance to the next level. Shane glanced at Angel’s flat stomach, recalling Crickitt’s made-up story about Angel wanting to be a stay-at-home mom and wondered how close that dart came to hitting its target. Then he pushed the thought away, preferring not to think of Crickitt at all.

Aiden watched his sister say her vows, his smile wide and genuine. How did he do it?

Harmony had returned along with Kathy’s cancer diagnosis, but she didn’t stick around. Aiden opted not to tell his mother, allowing her to assume Harmony was at work, or make up some other plausible excuse, whenever the topic came up.

Aiden had every right to be angry, but nothing in his relaxed posture or easy expression suggested he was anything but happy for his sister.

Shane couldn’t say what he’d do in his position. He glanced over at Aunt Kathy, as frail and pale as the white folding chair she sat in. She watched her daughter with unshielded pride, her eyes filling with tears. And suddenly, Shane understood why Angel and Richie rushed to the altar. If he were in Angel’s position, he may have done the same.

After the wedding on the beach, they went back to the couple’s cabana for a reception that was more of a cookout. Pulled pork, an array of salads, and plates filled with colorful fruits decorated a long table on the deck. The expanse of white sand and a sparkling ocean made for a gorgeous backdrop.

Shane’s aunt had been ushered back to her room to rest. Uncle Mike approached him as Shane reached into the ice for another Corona. He offered the bottle, ice sliding down its label. “Beer, Uncle Mike?”

“You know it.” A salty breeze sent his gray hair flying. Burly, tanned, and with a jagged scar running the length of one cheek, Mike had been Shane’s hero for as long as he could remember. He reminded him of some world explorer: adventurous, daring, and brave. But ever since Aunt Kathy got sick, he’d lost some of the fire that burned like a green torch in his eyes.

“How is she?” Shane didn’t need to qualify who he was talking about.

Mike shook his head. “She’s exhausted but won’t admit it. Wild wolves couldn’t have kept her from this wedding.” He gestured to the scar on his cheek. “Trust me, I know.”

Shane chuckled. Mike had a thousand different stories about how he’d gotten that scar. He never tired of hearing his newest tall tale.

“How’s your love life, Studly?” Mike grinned.

Shane took a pull from his beer bottle.

“That good, huh?”

The two men stared at the ocean for a moment before Shane turned to his uncle. “You make it look easy, you know that?” At Mike’s questioning glance he added, “You and Aunt Kathy have been married, what? Thirty-some years? And you make being together look as easy as breathing in and out.”

Mike’s mouth twisted into a comical grimace. “She’d laugh you off this deck if she heard you say that. But you’re right. Being with her is as easy as breathing in and out. It’s the big life-altering stuff that knocks you for a loop. Having babies. Working your butt off to make sure they have everything you didn’t. Watching them grow up, break bones, get married. That stuff is the test that, ironically enough, you wouldn’t pass without one another.”

Mike squinted at the sunset, an orange ball descending into the clear blue water. “The cancer should have made it harder, our lives,” he said quietly. “And it has, but it also made her easier to love. Easier to appreciate. Easier to be with. Every second is a blessing. I wouldn’t change a single bit of it.”

They moved on to shallower topics after that: football, food, Mike’s last hunting trip. A few hours later, Shane excused himself to wish Angel and Richie well.

Afterward, he found Aiden at a bonfire on the beach and strode out to say good-bye. Shane didn’t leave right away, settling in for a few beers. Eventually, the beach emptied and just the two of them sat in front of the embers.

“I wish you’d reconsider staying. We have a whole block of rooms reserved,” Aiden said.

Shane understood what he meant. It didn’t make much sense to leave in the wee hours of the morning. But, with any luck, Shane would sleep through the flight home. “Thanks, but I’ve got a ton of work to do,” he said. It was an exaggeration, but it was the truth.

“All right, but I hate to see you go.” Shane could see he meant it, but Aiden didn’t press him further. “Have a safe flight.”

It was those last four words he’d later recall, and laugh at. Because, really, how much control did Shane have when it came to having a safe flight?

As it turned out, none. None at all.

S
hane set aside his empty glass, glad he’d decided on having a drink after all. The plane hit another bump, and he clasped the arms of his seat, wondering if he’d ever get over the idea of shooting across the sky at six hundred miles an hour.

“Done, sir?”

He nodded at the attendant, a service he didn’t think twice about adding on to his private flight. While it was a little embarrassing to need a chaperone, he still felt better having someone on board who knew what to expect.

The young man took Shane’s empty glass and straightened his own pristine business attire before hustling out of the cabin again. Shane had even insisted on the poor kid going over safety precautions even though it wasn’t protocol for a personal jet. He wasn’t sure if the tutorial had made him feel better or worse about his travel accommodations.

He leaned his head back and sank into the seat. The alcohol flowed into his limbs, relaxing him. His thoughts bounced from Angel’s and Richie’s genuine joy at their wedding to Aiden’s steadfast outlook and sheer determination to be happy regardless of what life threw at him. He thought again of Uncle Mike’s stoicism as he spoke of his wife. Shane hoped against hope a miracle would occur, allowing Aunt Kathy to live a long life after all.

He was blessed to have the Downeys. With his parents gone and no siblings, Shane had become accustomed to being alone. Being around his aunt, uncle, and cousins reminded him he wasn’t.

His seat gave a violent jerk, and it took Shane a few seconds to realize it wasn’t only his seat but the entire plane that was vibrating. Then came another, more forceful drop, followed by the attendant swooping in like some waifish superhero.

His voice studiously calm, he said, “Buckle your seat belt, Mr. August.” No sooner had Shane snapped the clasp on his belt than the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling. Shane fumbled, hands shaking as he slid the mask on.

The attendant—Charlie, Shane remembered in a rush—strapped into the seat across the aisle. “Air pocket!” Charlie shouted through his plastic mask.

But before Shane could respond, the plane tipped, angling in a decidedly less favorable direction.

This was it. He was going to die.

A thousand thoughts lined up and paraded through his head, maybe the most amusing of which being his relief at having changed out of his cardboard beachwear before boarding the plane. If he was going to go down in a ball of flames over the ocean, he’d rather not be dressed like an islander. It was somehow disingenuous.

The screeching of the plane in full dive took over his thoughts as fear carved a serpentine path in his gut. The horizon slanted at an awkward angle outside his window, and Shane forced himself to breathe, sucking in oxygen in greedy gulps and musing how he wished it was nitrous oxide instead.

The seat belt ate into his waist as the plane nose-dived, anchoring Shane to a seat that would more likely double as a diaper than a floatation device. Despite that terrifying and slightly humorous reality, Shane’s next thought came as certain and as strong as his heart slamming into his breastbone.

If he was in love with Crickitt, why were they apart?

Without warning, the plane stopped its earthbound descent, leveling with all the abruptness of a tilt-a-whirl coming to a halt. Panting, Shane took in the view outside his window at the now level horizon, as if the last several seconds had been nothing more than an imagined scenario.

He turned his head to find Charlie giving him a shaky smile from his seat. After a few moments, he tentatively lifted his mask from his face. “We seem to have lost altitude,” he said, Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck. “I’ll just check in with the captain.”

Shane nodded, yanking the mask from his face and wondering if Charlie was about to run to the adjoining cabin and puke his guts out. It’s what Shane would have done if he was in the kid’s shoes.

By the time it’d become apparent that Shane, Charlie, and the captain were no longer in danger of becoming grease spots on the plane’s little black box, Shane’s heart rate had regulated. Charlie returned to give an impressively calm synopsis, explaining what had happened with a pile of technical jargon as Shane nodded numbly.

Now left alone to nurse his second Scotch and soda—he didn’t recall needing a drink more badly in his life—he replayed his near-death experience in his head. With it came his last lucid thought.

If I love Crickitt, why are we apart?

It hadn’t been his life flashing before his eyes on the way down, not memories of his childhood, his parents, or even the business that had become an extension of himself over the last decade. No, what flashed before him like the reel of a never-before-seen movie was a future. A future that would never happen if he died.

Opening his eyes in the morning to find Crickitt next to him in his bed. Her laughter, rolling through him like thunder coming from miles away. Crickitt at the end of a long white aisle in a simple, clean dress. Crickitt pressing his hand against her round stomach. Crickitt asking what names he liked for their child.

Grief choked out his next breath as the glass rattled in his hand. He set it aside, covering his face with a shaky hand. He cleared his throat, sucking in a stuttering breath. Loss unlike any other radiated through his limbs, stronger than when he’d lost either of his parents. Pain sliced him open, left him feeling raw. Empty.

How could he mourn a life that never was?

He thought of Uncle Mike’s words, how he said the hard stuff brought him and Aunt Kathy closer together, made them stronger. Shane had worked hard to avoid that kind of closeness, to avoid the pain of loss should something tragic happen. If Crickitt was taken from him, the way he and his father lost his mother, how would he survive?

But now, he considered another option. Maybe she’d live to be well into her eighties like his grandparents. Maybe they’d grow old and gray and hard of hearing together. They could retire to the cabin in Tennessee, be surrounded each holiday by a dozen grandkids. And their children didn’t have to be scarred and distant. Maybe they’d be impressive adults, with his mind for success and Crickitt’s unshakable character.

What if a long, abundant life stretched out ahead of them? Another fifty-plus years filled with amazing memories… How many days was that? How many hours? How many minutes?

Minutes like the ones when he’d last lain across from Crickitt in his bed. Minutes that lingered, endured, stretched out seemingly endlessly before him.

It was a future that could’ve gone down in a ball of flames. He dropped his hand, felt an unsteady smile spread across his face. But it didn’t. Because he was still alive. Still breathing.

And he was going to put every next breath to good use.