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PROLOGUE
JFK Airport, New York
Late Monday night
The British Airways flight from London’s Heathrow airport slowly taxied to the stand and came to a gentle stop. Rising from his seat, Bryce carefully packed his laptop and papers.
The passenger who had been seated across the aisle from him stepped out as Bryce opened the door to his private suite. The plane had just landed, but the guy was already on his phone. “Of course you can get the matching wallet, honey. What’s the point of having a YSL handbag if you don’t get the other pieces. I love you. See you soon, sweetheart.”
The two men exchanged a brief nod in greeting, before Bryce motioned for the other passenger to go ahead of him, toward the exit.
You are in more of a hurry than me, buddy. I hope the girlfriend and money both last.
His younger brother Matthew jokingly liked to call these sorts of guys, baby millionaires. Like all newborns, they had bright eyes and tended to be attention seeking.
A pang of jealousy had Bryce forcing a tight smile to his lips. At least the other guy had someone who was waiting for him at home. It had been many years since a friendly female had greeted him as he walked through the front door.
A senior flight attendant tapped Bryce on the arm. “Mister Royal, I’ve just checked with guest services in the Concorde Suite, and they have advised me your driver will be waiting for you once you have fast tracked through customs. Your VIP personal assistant is already on standby at the gate with your immigration documents ready.”
“Thank you.”
Normally Bryce would have arranged to make use of one of the House of Royal private jets for such a trip, but his father’s email had been clear. He was booked on a commercial flight out of London that afternoon and he was to tell no one where he was going. As far as his team in Edinburgh were concerned, their boss had gone to London to conduct negotiations for a new resort acquisition. Only a small number of trusted House of Royal staff members were aware that Bryce was in fact headed back to the US.
Without the use of one of the company private jets, flying First Class on British Airways was the closest thing to roughing it that a billionaire like Bryce Royal ever got. He breezed through immigration, and his luggage was already being loaded into the trunk of the understated black limousine when he walked through the doors of the VIP lounge a short while later. It had been ten long months since he had last set foot on US soil.
He stopped and sucked in a lungful of air, then slowly let it out.Calm. Calm. His stomach was in knots. He’d been summoned home at short notice, but he still had no idea as to what awaited him when he arrived at the Manhattan offices of Royal Resorts. Whatever it was, it had his father rattled.
“Welcome to New York, Mister Royal,” said the driver.
Bryce stirred from his faltering attempt to settle his nerves.
“Thank you, it’s good to be home.”
I just wish this was a personal trip to see family and friends.
The last time he had seen a member of his immediate family was when his brother Jordan had made a brief, unexpected stopover in London on his way home from Europe some six or so months earlier.
Climbing into the back of the limo, Bryce turned on his cellphone, and hit theRecentlist. He called the number at the top. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when it went straight to voicemail.
“Hi Dad, I’m here. Flight was good. I’ll email you over some preliminary thoughts on the French and Italian quarterly hotel occupancy numbers.” He hung up and ran his hand roughly over his face. “Damn,” he muttered, before calling the same number again. “Dad, if you get this message, please call me back tonight.”
He has to know I won’t get any sleep if I don’t know what’s going on.
He’d been instructed to keep his travel movements a closely guarded secret. He was not to call any members of the family to let them know he was coming. The only person he was allowed to talk to was Edward Royal. But during the brief call he’d had with the head of Royal Resorts USA earlier that morning, his father had simply told him to keep his mouth shut and get himself onboard the next flight to New York.
His cell beeped and a message appeared.
Good to hear you. Talk in the morning. Don’t unpack.
Something big was going down at Royal Resorts, and Bryce had a horrible feeling he was about to be thrust right into the middle of it.
Maybe I should have had a glass or two of the French red on the flight, it would have taken the edge off my nerves. This not knowing is killing me.
Glancing out the window of the limousine, he caught a final glimpse of the baby millionaire standing on the sidewalk. A long legged, blonde bombshell was wrapped up in his arms, and the guy was grinning from ear to ear.
Bryce Royal existed in a world where wealth and power went far beyond money, yet he envied the other guy. Tomorrow morning, Bryce would be the one waking up alone.
That’s if I get any sleep.
