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CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
The hotel was one of the most expensive in the city, which wasn’t surprising considering the woman who was staying there. As Deacon pulled the Porsche up to the front, a young valet hurried over to open his car door.
Deacon got out. “There’s an extra twenty in it if you keep it parked out front.” He didn’t plan on staying long. Just long enough to find out what was going on.
The kid nodded. As Deacon pushed through the revolving door, he heard the grinding of gears. It barely registered. Even after a good night’s sleep, he still felt jet-lagged. Or maybe what he felt wasn’t jet-lagged as much as broadsided. He hadn’t expected someone to contest the will. And he certainly hadn’t expected someone he knew to contest it.
At first he’d thought it was a joke. But after speaking to her lawyers that morning, he’d realized it wasn’t. Now he wanted answers. And the best place to get them was at the source. Since the person he’d come to see had a penthouse, a bellboy accompanied him up in the elevator. The kid tried to start a conversation, but Deacon didn’t feel much like talking. There were too many questions running through his head. He didn’t even wait for her to finish opening the door of the suite before he started asking them.
“What the hell is going on, Francesca?”
Francesca smiled like a satisfied cat. “Well, hello to you too, Deacon.” She held open the door. “Won’t you come in?”
“Since you wouldn’t explain things on the phone, do I have a choice?” Deacon stepped into the foyer of the opulent room, but refused to go further. “Since when do you have a kid?”
She laughed, a harsh sound that grated on Deacon’s last nerve. “You’ve always been so impatient, Deacon. Something that doesn’t always work in business transactions.” She swept past him in a waft of expensive perfume.
“And this is a business transaction?”
She went to the minibar and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. “I learned from my workaholic daddy that everything is business.” She poured some orange juice in a glass, followed by a splash of vodka. She held up the glass. “Drink?”
He ignored the offer and moved farther into the room. “So where is this illegitimate kid?”
“He’s in New Zealand right now. He lives there with his wife and two kids.”
Deacon snorted. “You’ll have to forgive me if I have trouble seeing you as a grandmother.”
Instead of getting angry, she just shrugged and took a sip of her drink. “You’re right. I’ve never been much of a grandmother. Or a mother for that matter. Which is why he was quite happy to take his inheritance from my father and leave the country.”
“So if he has money, why are you contesting the will?”
Her smile dimmed. “It’s not about the money, Deacon. It’s never been about the money. It’s about setting things right.” She ran her long nails along the back of the couch on her way to the windows. “Do you realize that this is the first time I’ve been here? I’ve always resented the city for taking Michael from his hometown…and me.”
She stood with her back to him, her voice taking on a hard edge. “He wasn’t supposed to go to Paris and fall in love. He was supposed to come back to Louisiana and marry me. I gave him my love, and I gave him my virginity when we were in high school, and how does he repay me? By bringing home his fiancée who he knew for all of two weeks. Two weeks.” She laughed. “What kind of idiot wants to marry a woman after only two weeks?”
Francesca turned. “But then fate took charge. Your mother fell in love with Donny John and broke it off with Michael.”
So his mother was the one who had broken it off. Deacon didn’t know why that made him feel better, but it did.
“So if this isn’t about money for your son, Francesca,” he said, “what is it about? Revenge for Michael not loving you like he did my mother? Because in case you haven’t figured this out, Michael’s dead. You contesting his will makes no difference to him now.”
She downed her drink and refilled it with straight vodka. “As it turned out, Michael didn’t love your mother—he didn’t even return home when she was dying. No, he loved money and power. He loved French Kiss. And as long as it continues, memories of Michael’s betrayal continue.”
At her words, the pieces of the puzzle slipped into place for Deacon. “You were the one Anastasia was talking to on the phone that day. You’re the one sabotaging French Kiss. Let me guess, you own stock in Avery Industries.”
She smiled. “You are just like Michael. Smart and business-savvy. Which is probably why I’m so attracted to you. Of course you won’t be able to prove any of it. Nor will you be able to stop French Kiss from being sold—especially when all Michael’s money will be tied up in a lawsuit.”
Deacon stepped closer. “That’s it, isn’t it? This isn’t about your son. You just want to tie up Michael’s money long enough to buy French Kiss for pennies on the dollar.”
Her smile died. “This isn’t your fight, Deacon. So why don’t you just let it go and take the money Michael’s wimpy stepdaughter offered you? We’re not enemies. In fact, we could still be friends.”
“We were never friends, Francesca.” He turned and walked out the door.
Once he left the hotel, he drove around to clear his head. Francesca was right. Unless Anastasia was willing to talk, he couldn’t prove that Francesca had had anything to do with trying to lower French Kiss’s stock for a buyout. And he couldn’t see Anastasia talking, especially when she would become CEO when Francesca took over. As for the will contest, given Francesca’s connections and money, she could tie up Michael’s assets long enough to cause major problems for French Kiss—especially with the expense of the new collections. Which meant there was a good chance that French Kiss would be sold to the highest bidder.
He needed to tell Olivia—something he should’ve done sooner. Since it was almost noon, he figured he knew where to find her. He headed straight to French Kiss and the design studio.
He hoped to catch her working on one of the designs in his collection—something sexy that she could model for him later. Instead the studio was empty except for Grayson, who sat at Olivia’s table, sketching.
