Billionaire Biker's Secret Baby_A Bad Boy Romantic Suspense Page 17

  But here, now, in the Cape Craven general store, I am having a full-blown PTSD panic attack brought on by an encounter with my baby mama.

  What kind of a man am I?

  I set the wine bottle down and push my way out of the door. The only thing I can think to do is to get away from her, to close my ears to whatever she might be about to say. My steps pick up their pace, and I’m back on Delilah in a jiff, slamming my foot on the kick-start and almost peeling out of the parking lot.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Sabrina opening the door and stepping out of it, her gaze on me. Her expression is stricken, her skin pale and her eyes looking larger than ever. It’s almost enough to cause me to stop, to go back and listen to what she has to say. I can see this is hurting her, and hurting Sabrina is something I never wanted to do.

  Until now, I realize.

  Sabrina hurt me. Hurt me worse than anyone who’d come before her, maybe even more than my own brother. He’d only had me tossed in prison for five years. Sabrina kept my child’s birth a secret from me for almost twice as long.

  She robbed me of a thousand little moments. Changing diapers. Late-night feedings. Giving my daughter her first motorcycle ride. Taking her to her first baseball game. An unending string of firsts that I wasn’t invited to take part in. All of that, she took from me.

  I steer Delilah onto the highway, deciding a trip to the next town over is in order after all. The liquor store has a selection of scotches that approach passable, and I grab as many as will fit in the storage of my bike.

  That night, I help myself forget about all the things I missed. It only takes one bottle to blur everything enough around the edges for the anxiety to start to ease. In the liquor’s warm glow, I convince myself that those things don’t matter.

  Too many things have been taken from me. It’s time for me to settle the score.

  Although there’s no way to get even with Sabrina, as I can’t imagine a punishment that’s stiff enough for what she did to me, I can force myself to ignore her long enough to finish what I came here for.

  Yes, I tell myself, that’s the only plan that makes sense. Since I’m headed back to prison anyway, it’s not like I’ll be able to build a happy little family with my daughter. It’s better to ignore Sabrina and Alexa, to pretend they don’t exist, to wall myself off until all that’s left is my will for vengeance.

  I pass out in a haze not long after, but sleep is fleeting. An endless stream of nightmares assail me, each one blending into the next. In each one, I am left alone to rot, abandoned by the world.

  I wake up in a cold sweat, my chest aching, the alcohol all but flushed out of my system, except for the distasteful coating in my mouth. I gulp a glass of water and stare out at the sunlit woods behind my cabin.

  I’m not sure how much longer I can go on like this, drinking myself into the void each day and running from phantom fears all night. I know it can’t go on for long.

  I devote myself anew to revenge, deciding to set the wheels in motion for the next phase of the plan that will likely take me away from Cape Craven, and my daughter, forever.

  It’s time to get down to business.

  Right after another bottle of scotch.

  24

  Sabrina

  My stomach feels worse than that time I had Indian food at the new restaurant a couple of towns over. They’d closed it down soon after, and for good reason. But even a severe bout of food poisoning had nothing on the guilt currently abusing my insides.

  I went to the general store to grab a few things after I retrieved my car from Jim. He fixed things up the best he could, but he warned me that the rebuild he’d done on my alternator would only last so long, and a new part would be needed soon.

  The impending repair will cost as much as my weekly salary, so it isn’t likely to make its way onto my priority list anytime soon. Like most of the things in my life, it would have to make due on prayers alone.

  Imagine my surprise when I saw Ax standing in the aisle, looking as attractive as ever. I swear, that man could be covered in garbage and painted with mud and he’d still be hotter than any other guy in this town. Or maybe even the state. Seeing him there had hit me like a physical blow.

  Still, Mom always says that opportunity hides in plain sight, disguised like difficulty. Sometimes she’s smarter than she looks, my mother. I wish I could say the same for her daughter.

  I decided to seize the opportunity and risk the difficulty. But when I opened my mouth, Ax shut down. It was like I wasn’t even there. Or worse, it was like I was an offending insect that was beneath even acknowledging.

  Being ignored cut deep, especially from Ax. He’s never ignored me before. Then again, I never kept a secret from him before. Especially one so monumental. I’ve been on edge ever since that day, and not without reason. For one, Lex still isn’t talking to me. She’s decided I’m a villain, and I can’t say I blame her.

  With both Ax and Lex cutting me out, my group of people to interact with is becoming woefully small. And it looks like I can add Ms. Birch to the list of people who refuse to acknowledge my existence.

  I wasn’t sure what she’d do when she found out I’d been rehired by the Cravens. Birch isn’t the type to keep her mouth shut when things upset her. But today she’s done nothing more than give me the cold shoulder.

  Oh well. I know it’s going to be an uphill battle. Like everything else in my life.

  I bury myself in my work, a week’s worth of spreadsheets having lain fallow while I was home with Lex on her suspension. The morning passes quickly, and concentrating on playing catch-up helps push the anxiety from the forefront of my mind.

  It’s still in there, lurking like a spider in the shadows, waiting until I’m home in bed to pounce, leaving me sleepless for another night. But at least for a few short hours, I’m free to push papers from one end of my desk to the other.

  It’s just after lunch when the door opens. We don’t get many visitors to the foundation office, and I half expect to see Tonya coming in with another of her town crier-like announcements. Instead, I’m surprised to see a familiar leggy dark hair woman enter carrying a designer handbag that probably costs as much as my mom’s house.

  “Sabrina,” she coos, coming over to my desk. “It’s good to see you again. How are you settling back into your job? Did you miss it?”

  I crack a sardonic smile. “Not really, but I’d sure miss the paycheck.” It’s an honest response, and I almost regret giving it. As she’s technically the boss’s wife, I should probably watch my tongue more carefully and pretend more enthusiasm for my work.

  Leigh laughs. “You’re adorable.” She looks around, taking in Ms. Birch’s pinched and curious face. “Since I’m here, why don’t you show me around the office?”

  I stand, wondering if she wants the grand tour. The office consists of the main room with a few desks, mine included, a small kitchenette, a restroom, and an office reserved for the resident Craven. A quick sweep while standing in the same spot would allow someone to see it all. Still, I figure I should go through the motions.

  “This is my desk, of course. And over there we have Ms. Birch. She’s the office manager.” I take a few steps toward the older woman who pierces me with a dagger-like stare. Leigh nods her head but makes no attempt to acknowledge Ms. Birch. The older woman deflates quicker than a day-old balloon on a cold morning.

  I gesture toward the kitchenette, grandly calling it a “coffee station and lunch outpost,” then walk her toward the closed office. “And I guess this would be your office since it’s reserved for the Cravens when they are in residence.”

  I open the door, revealing a wide desk made of rich wood and a leather chair. There are a couple of chairs positioned before the desk, and a small table in the corner with a vase of fake flowers that Ms. Birch insists brighten the room. I consider them another thing for the janitor to dust on his weekly rounds.

  Leigh walks past me into the room, then places her purse on
the desk and sits in the office chair. She nods in my direction, motioning me toward one of the chairs.

  I sit, crossing my legs primly and wondering what Leigh has in mind for her visit today. She doesn’t look ready for a hard day’s work at the office, seeing as how she’s dressed in a short linen shirt dress and dripping in diamonds. Not to mention I feel like I’d break both ankles if I tried to walk even a few steps in her towering heels.

  “So,” she says, steepling her fingers, “help me understand what you do here.”

  I swallow, wondering if she’s asking me to justify my position. I decide to give her an overview of our mission statement. “Well, the Craven Foundation is responsible for making grants to deserving charities and institutions around the globe. We’ve supported projects ranging from elementary education to environmental conservation. In the past decade, we’ve awarded over seven million—”

  Leigh waves her hand, cutting me off. “I know what a foundation does, Sabrina. I want to know what you do. And,” she says, pointing a long, lacquered finger in Birch’s direction, “what she does.”

  I nod, trying to figure out a way to express our functions. “I do the bookkeeping, keep careful records of our grantee’s activities, and make sure the people we give money to are using it like they’re supposed to be.”

  I shoot a glance at Birch. Her head is bent over her keyboard, but she’s stiff as stale bread. I know she’s listening to every word we say.

  “Ms. Birch is the office manager, as I said. She makes sure the lights stay on, that the copy machine has toner, and she answers the phones. She’s in charge of day-to-day operations, as well as routing grant applications to the Cravens and assisting in their decision-making process.”

  Leigh already looks bored. Join the club, I think.

  “So which of you is the boss?”

  That’s something I’ve struggled with myself. When I was hired, Mr. Craven took a much more active role in the foundation. As his attention drifted, Ms. Birch seemed to take on more and more of the authority he’d wielded. “Well, Ms. Birch does have the word ‘manager’ in her title.”

  Leigh nods. “I see. She’s the one who fired you, right?”

  “Yes,” I say, my lips pursed.

  “I don’t understand how the lady who answers the phones has more authority than the one who manages the books.”

  I shrug. Leigh looks at me, then at Birch, then back at me. She leans forward and whispers in my direction, but her words have enough volume to carry. “I mean, she looks overwhelmed already, and all I’ve seen her do is type up an email.”

  Leigh’s smile is sharp. I furrow my brows, unsure what she’s hinting at. Why bag on Ms. Birch? Leigh doesn’t even know her.

  “Am I wrong, or is she wearing actual drapes?”

  Birch stiffens, and I feel bad for her for a second. Then I remember all the times she’s come down on me for the most minimal of infractions. Maybe Leigh is karma’s way of making what goes around, comes around.

  “And those shoes,” she whisper-talks, then clicks her tongue. “I’ve seen better footwear on a male nurse.”

  Leigh is putting out a full mean girl vibe, and I wonder what’s motivating it. Maybe nothing more than simple boredom. Young women have a tendency to clique up. Maybe Leigh’s trying to build a clique with the options she has.

  Poor girl. I’m a terrible choice.

  I shrug, not sure how to reply. I find myself in the strange position of considering whether to defend the very coworker who’s treated me like crap since my first day on the job. Ms. Birch did fire me, after all. But somehow it doesn’t seem right to pile on.

  “So, are you familiar with the funding opportunities we provide?” I ask after a moment.

  Leigh levels a heavy stare on me, then laughs, leaning back to lift her long legs to the desk, crossing her ankles and showcasing the red bottoms on her expensive heels. “Are you asking if I’ve done my homework?”

  I crack a smile I hope looks genuine. “I just wondered if you talked to Mr. Craven about the mission statement of the foundation,” I say, feeling an unusual case of nerves crawling up my spine. “Or whether you had any new initiatives to propose—new charities to consider—”

  I trail off as she stares at me, her mouth quirking at the edges like she’s holding back a giggle. “After your little mimosa binge at our meeting last week, I thought for sure you’d be more fun than this.”

  My eyes widen, and I swallow. I wonder when I got so bad at making first impressions. Leigh clearly isn’t interested in the foundation, not really. She’s here for another reason. Either she’s bored to tears on the Craven estate, tired of being shacked up alone with an older man of declining health. Or—it’s something else. Something to do with me.

  For a split second, I recall the overt coziness she’d displayed with Ax. It had bordered on flirtatious when seen through my admittedly drunken haze, as I recall. Is the reason she’s here somehow related to Ax? To our relationship?

  I shake my head to clear it. I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?

  “I’m sorry,” I say, after a pause. “I’m so used to the office being—well, dull. I guess I check my sense of humor at the door.” My sheepish grin should convey my embarrassment. It’s suddenly very important that I please Leigh, for reasons I don’t fully understand yet.

  “No worries,” she says, then pulls out her phone after it pings. Her long red nails scroll over the screen as her brow furrows. “Looks like I have somewhere else to be.”

  Her gaze returns to mine. “Sabrina, I like you. There aren’t a lot of people I truly like, especially in a tiny town like Craven Cove. I thought maybe we could hang together, but I have to tell you, you need to loosen up if you want to hang with me.”

  Hang with Leigh? Me?

  The image of me cavorting with the 26-year-old model-type wife of a billionaire pops into my head, and I have to crush the urge to laugh maniacally. I’m a single mother whose favorite thing to do in her leisure time is eat dark chocolate in the bathtub until I fall asleep, in a town where the handful of traffic lights start flashing yellow at ten p.m.

  Absurd doesn’t begin to touch what this situation is becoming.

  “Loosen up?” I say, tapping my fingers nervously on my knees. “Loose isn’t exactly easy when you’re the mother of a nine-year-old and the daughter of the second most stubborn person on the planet.” The first most stubborn is my own daughter, who is tied with her father in that particular department.

  Leigh nods, her face turning sympathetic. “I know you haven’t had an easy go of things. Ax told me all about it.”

  I feel like ice water was just poured over my head. Ax is talking to Leigh about me? Has he been going to her for solace? Telling her how I hid our daughter’s existence from him? The thought of Ax revealing his innermost emotions to his sexy stepmother makes me acutely uncomfortable.

  “We all make the best out of the hand we’re dealt,” I reply, hoping the tone sounds lighter than I feel. “Your own situation is similar. It can’t be easy, dealing with your husband’s health issues.”

  Leigh stiffens almost imperceptibly, then runs her hand through her thick waves of dark hair. “It isn’t. He was so dashing when we met. Active. Fun. But the stroke has been hard on him. And me.” Her tone is wistful, her eyes far away, and I start to feel bad. Could I have misjudged her?

  “That’s why girls like you and me need to stick together,” she says, taking her legs off the desk and leaning forward to put her hand on mine. Leigh gives me a meaningful look, then stands, swinging her designer bag back over her shoulder.

  “Sorry to run out on you,” she says, her voice as upbeat as ever, “but I’ve got another engagement. I’ll visit again soon.”

  She’s out of the office before I can think to react. Leigh is like a whirlwind, one that keeps me on my toes. “Unsettling” doesn’t begin to describe her ability to knock me off my guard.

  I return to my desk, trying to process what just happene
d. It’s clear she isn’t interested in the foundation. No, she’s interested in something much more personal.

  She’s interested in me.

  Now I have to figure out why, and whether having another Craven personally interested in me is a good thing or a bad one.

  Can I survive being caught between two Cravens? Or are we on opposite sides?

  My head now hurts worse than my stomach. I give up trying to process things and bury myself in my spreadsheets, excited for once by the calm rows of columns and numbers.

  I wish I could be so calm. But it’s not likely, in a town crawling with Cravens.

  25

  Ax

  It looks like all of the major financial outlets agree. Big changes are headed for Craven Industries.

  I pull my face out of the newspaper and toss it to the floor. This news plays into my hand so well. I would bet the farm on my success. But instead of feeling elated, I’m numb.

  Craven Industries in Turmoil: Revolt of the Board Possible?

  No Confidence in the New Craven

  Share Prices Plummet as Craven Industries Cracks

  The headlines are grim, and so I am. I feel no joy in seeing my father’s empire crumble. Suddenly it seems so meaningless. Craven Industries is falling apart, just like my life has been falling apart over the last decade.

  Nothing has gone right since I left this town, and now I’m back, and everything is still all wrong. Except my revenge plot. That son of a bitch is going gangbusters.

  Rock-bottom share prices mean I can gobble up as many as I want for pennies on the dollar. I planned to sink all of my worldly assets into my plans to buy Craven Industries stock, then to orchestrate the appearance of a plan to trade on insider knowledge. I’d make it look like my brother is slipping me information about the company ahead of a major influx of capital. The share price would shoot back up, and we’d make a bundle.