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CHAPTERTEN
Deacon was used to working late. In high school he’d worked late cleaning offices. In college he’d stocked shelves at a grocery store. And recently he’d be the last person to leave his land development offices each day. With no one there to interrupt, the hours after everyone had gone home were always the most productive. And this evening had been no exception. He’d spent his time researching French Kiss’s financial situation and now knew the extent of Olivia’s problems.
They weren’t going to be fixed by a new line of men’s underwear. The company had been losing money for the last five years. And not from corporate fraud. The skimmed money Jason had found was only a drop in the bucket compared to the money being lost through mismanagement and lost sales. Returns and customer complaints were up. Along with employee dissatisfaction.
The last, Deacon had witnessed firsthand when Kelly had taken him on a tour of the corporate offices. Everyone seemed jumpy and distracted. No doubt they were worried about Michael’s death and what it would mean to their jobs. They were waiting for someone to take charge. And somehow Deacon couldn’t see Olivia doing that.
He swiveled the chair and glanced at her diplomas hanging on the wall. For a woman who had a master’s degree in business, she wasn’t much of a leader. And after hearing the story about the purple raincoat and galoshes, he had to wonder if she’d chosen her major based on her interests or her love for Michael.
Deacon released his breath and scraped the hair off his forehead. What was he doing? What kind of an idiot would hold up a deal for millions because of some story about a kid’s raincoat? And maybe it wasn’t the story as much as the way Olivia had told it—like a walk in the fog with Michael had been some monumental, life-changing moment.
If that was the case, then her life had sucked much worse than Deacon’s. At least Deacon had had his brothers, a loving mother, and a part-time dad. It sounded like Olivia had had only her gold-digging mother until Michael showed up. And if Michael had been as much of a workaholic as the press had claimed he was, he couldn’t have been that great a stepfather. From nowhere came another question. One that Deacon had spent the last twenty years of his life trying to avoid.
Would Michael have made a better father to his son?
Deacon’s gaze drifted down to the photo on the bookshelf. A photo of Michael and Olivia cutting the ribbon to a new French Kiss store. Both were smiling, but Michael’s didn’t quite reach his eyes. Had he ever regretted leaving Deacon’s mother? Had he ever regretted leaving his son?
His hand shot out and knocked the photo to the floor. The glass didn’t break, and Michael’s vacant brown eyes continued to stare up at him. Thankfully, Deacon hadn’t gotten his father’s eyes. He’d gotten his mother’s. A mother who had gone to her grave with the secret that her firstborn belonged to her husband’s brother.
She had told her sons about her college graduation trip to Paris. Had told them about seeing the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. She had even made sure Donny John taught them French, and cooked them beef bourguignonne and French pastries on special occasions. But she had never shown them the pictures. Deacon had found them by accident. He’d been looking for a screwdriver to tighten the wheels on his skateboard in the mess of boxes and tools his father kept in the garage when he stumbled on the small photo album. It held pictures of a man standing in front of small shops, looking out at a river, laughing in the rain. At first Deacon had thought it was his father, but then he’d looked closer and discovered that the man had darker hair and harder features.
Deacon had never met his uncle Michael, but he had seen pictures. Of course all he had to do was look in the mirror. Deacon was the spitting image of Michael Beaumont. Something his grandfather had mentioned time and time again before he died. With a sick feeling in his stomach, Deacon had shuffled through the pictures until he found one of Michael and his mother kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower. And one glance at the date on the back of the picture had confirmed Deacon’s worst fears.
The date was exactly nine months before Deacon had been born.
The cell phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him. Angry with himself for letting his thoughts wander, he answered without looking at caller ID.
“Beaumont.”
“Right back at you, big brother,” Nash’s voice came through the receiver. “So how goes the contract signing?”
Deacon swiveled in the chair. “I’m taking care of it.”
“That’s what you said when I talked with you last. You said you were going to take care of it ASAP. Which I thought meant ‘as soon as possible,’ but now appears to mean ‘as soon as you please.’ It’s been two days, Deacon. Just how long does it take to write your name?”
“I’ll be home tomorrow.”
There was a pause. “So is that what you’re doing in that big office building on this foggy San Fran night? Packing?”
He glanced at the door. “Where are you?”
“Grayson and I are standing outside, waiting for our big brother to finish signing the damned contract so we can go celebrate.”
Well, hell. Deacon tossed down the pen and massaged his temples. He could’ve done without his brothers showing up.
“So are you going to let us in?” Nash asked. “Or did I interrupt something other than contract signing?”
“Hold on,” he said. “I’ll call down to security and meet you by the elevators.”
“You do that,” Nash said before he hung up.
On the way to the elevators, he couldn’t help noticing the light coming from beneath Jason’s door. When he peeked his head in, he was surprised to find Jason and Kelly sitting in front of his computer.
“Sex with me would blow your mind,” Kelly said as she used the mouse to scroll through the document.
“More like bore my mind.” He pointed at the screen. “Go back. That total isn’t right.”
She scrolled back and squinted at the screen. “You’ll never know until you try. I’ll let you be on top.”
