Читать книгу Taming The Tycoon - Kathryn Taylor, Kathryn Taylor - Страница 9

Two

Ian glanced around the office. The old cherrywood furniture he’d dragged up from storage returned the room to the way he remembered it from his childhood visits. No matter how much of the past he tried to recreate, one fact could not be denied. His grandfather was not yet the sole owner of Westervelt Properties again.

In the past few weeks Ian had prepared himself for an inevitable showdown with Shannon Moore. Actually, he had been looking forward to another meeting. Why hadn’t she contacted him or Jenkins? He didn’t believe she would walk away from the inheritance without a fight. At the very least, he figured she would take the money. The only thing he hadn’t expected was her silence.

After twenty years, a two-week wait should be easy. It had been hell. What was her game? Instead of turning over the daily running of the company to his grandfather as he had planned, he had come in every day expecting to hear from her. He had to get back to his own business.

He scanned the mail then tossed it aside. His gaze returned to the pile. The top letter had no return address, but the Walton, New York, postmark struck a familiar chord. He slit open the top of the envelope and removed the contents. Between a folded slip of paper were two halves of a child support check written out to Shannon Moore.

Shannon sucked in a deep, calming breath. Her cream-colored slacks had a bright red stain on the leg and a pile of SpaghettiOs covered one suede pump. The plastic bowl Chelsea had tossed from the table rolled around the kitchen floor. Only yesterday the pasta dish had been the child’s favorite.

“That wasn’t nice, Chelsea. Say ‘I’m sorry.’ ” Shannon kept her voice quiet but stern.

“No.”

“You have to apologize or go to your room for a time-out.”

Chelsea folded her small arms across her chest and pushed out her chin. “No.”

Shannon tried to recall what the book said to do in this situation. Lose your temper and you lose control. Had Dr. What’s-his-name ever worn a bowl of spaghetti? Limit your admonitions to the deed, not the child.

She placed her hand on Chelsea’s shoulder. “I’m very disappointed by your behavior.”

An earth-curdling scream reverberated around the room. Shannon’s jaw dropped. How could such a horrific sound come from a little girl? She reached for the book on the counter and thumbed though the chapter on temper tantrums.

What was she doing wrong? Her every attempt to reach the petulant child had failed. Chelsea shied away from demonstrative gestures and met friendly overtures with wary silence.

Chelsea’s psychologist had assured Shannon that Chelsea would emerge from her introverted shell when she got used to her new surroundings. Was this show of defiance an improvement? During her years as a Wall Street broker Shannon had handled nervous and often angry clients with detached calm, yet one small child reduced her to near helplessness.

She tossed the book in the garbage and fell back on the same strategy she used when dealing with any irrational adult. She walked away for a coolingoff period. A headache pounded against her temples. To make matters worse, the doorbell rang. She had visions of the police breaking down the front door and arresting her on child endangerment charges.

Obviously, parenthood had taken what little sanity she had once possessed.

Just when she thought she had hit bottom, she opened the door to find Ian Bradford leaning against the support beam on her front porch. His deep blue eyes ran an appraising gaze over her unflattering appearance. His laughter topped off an already rotten morning. She glanced over her shoulder at the child, then back to him.

“Is this a family visit?” she asked.

“Are you having a bad day?” Did he have to look so damned pleased?

“No. I normally walk around the house covered in tomato sauce while Chelsea serenades me in the key of C.” Why didn’t those child-rearing experts with their psychobabble warn her to change out of her business clothes before feeding a child? “What do you want?”

“May I come in?”

She waved her hand with a flourish. “Be my guest.”

If nothing else, his arrival put an end to Chelsea’s vocal tantrum. Within seconds, Shannon had a pint-size appendage attached to her leg, hindering her as she tried to show Ian into the living room.

“Have a seat. I have to get changed.” Scooping the child up in her arms, she darted to her bedroom.

She plopped Chelsea on the bed and quickly shed her soiled slacks in favor of a brightly colored peasant skirt. Paired with her ruffled blouse, she looked like a Gypsy. She searched her closet for a better choice, then gave up. Why did she care? It wasn’t as if she wanted to impress the man.

“Who he is?” Chelsea asked.

Shannon ran a brush though Chelsea’s baby-fine hair and for the first time the child didn’t flinch away. “He’s your brother, Ian.”

“Chelsea wants a cookie.” Obviously, the discovery of a big brother was less appealing than Mrs. Fields’s chocolate chip cookies.

“Not now.” Braced for the worst, Shannon was pleasantly surprised when the child shrugged and turned her attention to the crystal perfume bottles on her vanity.

“I sorry,” Chelsea said to the reflection in the mirror.

A little late, but Shannon got her apology. The simple words felt like a major triumph. “I know. Leave that for now. We have a guest.”

They returned to the living room where Ian had made himself right at home in the overstuffed chair. Shannon noted the way he carefully avoided looking at his sister. Any hope that some sense of family obligation or even natural curiosity had compelled his visit faded in a flash. Her niece would continue to live without a male influence in her life.

“I expected to hear from you,” Ian said.

“Did I say I would call?” She pushed a teddy bear out of the way and sat on the sofa. Chelsea scrambled into Shannon’s lap and cuddled close.

“You returned my check.”

“I didn’t know what it was for.”

“Child support for...ah...”

“Your sister?”

He exhaled slowly. “She’s not my sister.”

Shannon tenderly stroked the child’s back, lulling her into a quiet, dreamlike state. “If you don’t consider her family, then there’s no reason for you to support her.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did.”

Ian noted the quiet sorrow in her words. She seemed tired. Obviously the girl was a handful. Although right now, falling asleep m her aunt’s lap, she looked like a little angel. He dragged his gaze away. He had no business feeling anything for this blue-eyed imp.

“Just tell me what you want,” he said.

“Did I ask you for anything, Mr Bradford?”

“No. As a matter of fact, you’ve been conspicuous by your silence. You must have a price. A bottom line?”

“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I have something to sell. The inheritance belongs to Chelsea, not me.”

“And as her legal guardian you make all decisions regarding her money and property until her eighteenth birthday.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “If those decisions are in her best interest, not yours.”

“The money would allow you to afford some help with the child.”

Her golden eyes flashed with anger. “Would you stop calling her ‘the child’? Her name is Chelsea.”

“Fine, Chelsea could have a nanny, you could hire a housekeeper...”

“So, now my house is dirty?” Her whispered words reflected her irritation as clearly as if she had shouted.

He glanced around the room at the assortment of toys that littered the obviously expensive furniture. However, despite the presence of a two-year-old, the pale blue print sofa and chair were surprisingly spotless. “Not dirty, exactly.”

“Perhaps you’d like to take a moment to get your foot out of your mouth.”

Ian rose and paced around the room. Shannon had been right. His communication skills were lacking, but only around her. Normally, he made his point without leaving room for argument.

She carefully slipped out from underneath the child and lovingly tucked a small crocheted blanket around her tiny body. “She doesn’t need nannies, cooks and housekeepers coming in and out of her life.” Shannon stormed into the kitchen.

Ian followed. “Then why don’t you tell me what the chi.. Chelsea needs.”

As she spun to face him, her full skirt swirled around her legs. “Time, Ian. She needs time and compassion and love from what little family she has left. Are you offering her your time in return for her shares in the company?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s not difficult to understand. You can deal with her now or when she’s an eighteen-year-old stranger you didn’t have the time or interest to know.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You want your precious company. Fine.” She leaned against the tile counter and folded her arms over her waist. Her full red lips curved upward in a challenging smile. “For the next twelve months you maintain a regular relationship with your sister. At the end of the year you can buy her shares in the company.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“And if I refuse?”

She shook her head. “I’m not about to make a bunch of empty threats. That’s something you’ll have to fight out with Chelsea fifteen years from now. The only decision you have to make is how long you want to wait for Westervelt Properties.”

“And you believe that blackmailing me into visiting my sister is in her best interest.”

Shannon met his gaze without blinking. Despite the fact that he towered a full head above her, she didn’t show any sign of being intimidated. “First of all, I’m not blackmailing you, I’m bribing you. And secondly, the idea must have some merit, since that’s the first time you’ve referred to her as your sister.”

Ian bit back an angry retort. He still had the option of suing for control of Chelsea’s inheritance, but he had no guarantee he’d win. He didn’t like having his back against a wall. Shannon obviously knew how to manipulate a man She might present a better package, but was she really any different than her gold-digging sister?

“What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing.”

“Given your family history, I find that hard to believe.”

She arched her eyebrows. “And which history is that?”

“Your sister managed to get herself a substantial child support settlement. You mother married her wealthy patient less than a month after she began working as his private nurse.”

“You had my mother investigated, too?” She blinked and he noted an unmistakable sadness in her shimmering eyes. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time and money?”

“I never had any of you investigated. That was Wesley’s doing,” he said, too defensively for his own liking. Where had this feeling of guilt come from? He’d never felt compelled to explain his actions to anyone.

“Oh, your father. That paragon of family values who was seduced and outwitted by his twenty-five-year-old manicurist.”

“I never said he was blameless.”

“They’re both to blame but Chelsea is the only one who’s left to pay.” She pushed off the counter and walked to the Dutch door. “Why don’t you go back to the city and try to figure out what’s in it for me. I have a dirty house to clean right now.” She gestured toward the alcove where the pile of spaghetti stained the white tile floor.

“Listen, Shannon...”

She opened the screen door. “Just go. We’ve both said enough for today. It will only get nastier.”

She was throwing him out! He couldn’t believe it.

Perhaps he should leave. He needed distance. Something inside him responded to her Not in the obvious way, although in different circumstances, he probably would have been drawn to her cool, reserved beauty. She reached him on a different, more primitive level, bringing out the worst side of his nature. The part of him that reacted without thinking. She had the ability to disarm him and that made her a dangerous woman.

If her sister had possessed one-tenth of Shannon’s allure, he could understand how his father had lost his head. And, God help him, if he wasn’t careful, he could end up a casualty of the same fate.

Shannon watched from the front yard as Ian got in his sports car and drove away. When she turned to go back in the house, she saw Wendy sitting on her front stoop with a mischievous grin on her face.

“Now, that was a man!”

“You could have fooled me,” Shannon grumbled.

“Put on your glasses, girl. He’s gorgeous.”

“He’s also Chelsea’s brother.”

Wendy crossed the lawn and met her at the picket fence. “So that’s the mysterious Ian. No wonder you haven’t wanted to talk about him. You’re keeping him all to yourself.”

“You’re a happily married mother of three.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m dead.”

Shannon let out a puff of air. “That man isn’t interested in any kind of long-term relationships.”

“Who cares? That’s the kind of man you have fun with. You don’t have to marry him.”

“I don’t have fun with men.”

“That’s because you don’t have one like him.” Wendy sent her a sly wink. “If you’re not interested, send him over here. I’ll play house with him.”

Shannon pressed her hand to her chest and feigned shock. “You’re destroying my illusions of the demure suburban housewife.”

“I know. You thought we sat around all day watching soap operas and swapping cake recipes while you career women got to eat power lunches and live out all your carnal fantasies.”

“I never thought that you sat around all day and I certainly never lived out any of my carnal fantasies.”

Her last relationship had ended due to lack of interest. The Saturday night dinners and the obligatory Tuesday night sex had been so routine as to be boring. With hindsight, she realized that all her liaisons had been with safe, dull, predictable men. Rather than chance a passionate romance that ended in a bitter feud like her parents’, she chose to take no risks at all.

Somehow, she didn’t imagine Ian would be predictable. Intense, exciting, maybe even dangerous, but never predictable.

She couldn’t believe she was wondering about his male prowess. He didn’t have one desirable quality to attract her in the first place. Except maybe, a body to die for. An involuntary smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and a shiver danced along her spine. This train of thought would land her in the kind of trouble she had successfully avoided up until now. She shook her head and focused on her friend’s knowing smirk.

“Are you telling me that you’re not the least bit interested?” Wendy asked.

“In a relationship with Ian?”

“No. In some pure, unadulterated knock-your-socks-off sex with him.”

The hot flush crept up Shannon’s cheeks. “Is nothing sacred to you?”

“I guess that means you are. Good. You need some fun in your life.”

Shannon changed the subject. “Can you watch Chelsea tomorrow? I have to meet with a client in the city.”

“No problem.” Wendy bent down to pluck a weed from her flower bed. When she rose again, she handed Shannon a yellow daisy and asked innocently, “Doesn’t Ian live in the city? If you decide you want to spend the night, I’ll keep Chelsea...”

“Wendy. Stay out of my love life.”

“You have to have one before I can stay out of it.”

Muffling a yelp of frustration, Shannon stomped back to her house. Wendy meant well with her friendly probing, but Shannon wasn’t used to discussing her private life. Although she had loved Tiffany dearly, they hadn’t been the kind of sisters who traded confidences. They had both lived through the same trying and painful experiences but their lives had taken very different roads.

Shannon had put all her energies into a career so that she would never be dependent on the financial whims of a man. Before she’d received custody of Chelsea, the only commitment in her life had been a car loan.

Her sister, conversely, had begun a quest for a man who would keep her in style. If that man already had a wife, so much the better. When Tiffany began her affair with Wesley, she figured she had hit the mother lode. And for a while she lived very well, but as Wesley’s interest started to wane, she had made sure she had a stranglehold on his wallet in the form of Chelsea.

Perhaps Ian had a right to feel bitter and angry. It must have been a shock to learn he had a sister young enough to be his daughter. Would he eventually get beyond his misgivings and open his heart to Chelsea as family? Did he even understand the concept?

Ian drove his car up the winding driveway that led to his grandfather’s home. The large Colonial house was the only place Ian felt remotely comfortable. He had spent most of his childhood summers with his grandparents, back in the days when Wakefield, Connecticut, was still considered the country rather than an extended suburb of New York City. Despite the changes, he still enjoyed his visits.

Adam Westervelt was on the front lawn tending his prized roses. At seventy-five, his grandfather was more active and fit than many men half his age. Fate hadn’t been kind to the older man. In his lifetime Adam had buried his wife and both his children.

“Come see this, Ian.” As he stepped from the car, Adam waved him over. “The American Beauty rose. Soft, delicate and beautiful. A lot like a woman, eh?”

“Including the thorns,” Ian observed pointedly.

“You’re a cynic.”

“I’m a realist.”

“Living your life alone is not reality, boy. Sharing your life, now that’s real.”

Ian stifled a groan. He wasn’t up for another lecture on the virtues of marriage. There wasn’t much he would refuse his grandfather, but he had no inclinations toward finding himself a wife. “I’m not here to discuss me. When will you be ready to take over Westervelt Properties again?”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do...”

“All I’m doing is returning what is rightfully yours.”

Adam tossed his gardening gloves to the ground. “The only reason I felt bitter about Wesley’s betrayal was because I wanted the company for you. It’s yours now. The circle has come full turn.”

“I have my own work and, quite honestly, investments, insurance and the like don’t interest me. The company bears your name, and you’re going to run it again.”

Adam placed his hand on Ian’s shoulder. Despite the old man’s protests, his eyes contained the first spark of excitement Ian had seen in years.

“Is your sister in agreement with this arrangement?”

“What?” Ian choked. He had not mentioned the specifics of Wesley’s will and had instructed the lawyer not to, either.

“Did you think I wouldn’t hear? That kind of news has a way of making the rounds.”

Ian drew a deep breath. With eighteen exmistresses all receiving cash endowments, he shouldn’t be surprised that some of them were bound to talk. Especially when a couple of the women lived in this very town. “I should have told you.”

“I’m not surprised he had an illegitimate child. Considering the way he carried on, I’m surprised there aren’t more. So, have you met her?”

“Yes.”

“And does she have any interest in running the company?” Adam asked.

“Maybe in twenty years or so.”

“I don’t follow.”

“She’s two years old,” Ian muttered in distaste.

Adam frowned. “Now, that does surprise me.”

“Don’t look so worried. One way or another, I’ll be buying out her shares.”

“I’m only disappointed because I’d hoped she’d be more of a contemporary of yours. You need family. I’m not going to be around forever and you show no signs of settling down to have a family of your own.”

“I don’t need one.” Nor did he want the emotional roller-coaster ride that went along with any long-term relationship. Some women used sex to get what they wanted, and some withheld sex to achieve their goal. But in the end they all wanted the same thing—a ring on their finger and unlimited access to a credit line.

“Then why are you building yourself that freight empire? Who are you going to leave it to? Even Wesley, for all his faults, passed his possessions on to his children.”

Ian refrained from mentioning that his father’s will had been the final insult to a lifetime of injury. He had received the bulk of the cash assets, which he couldn’t have cared less about. Westervelt Properties, which he did want, went in equal shares, but he would be responsible for managing the company. If he were spiteful, he could run the company into the ground, but he would not destroy something that bore his grandfather’s name and was a source of pride to Adam. Also, taking an inheritance from a child would make him no better than his father.

His mind wandered to little Chelsea Moore. If Wesley had left his money to the child and the company to Ian, would he have been so quick to dismiss the blood bond between them? Probably not. She was his sister and no amount of denial would change that fact.

He thought about Shannon. If she did turn out to be like her social-climbing mother and her scheming sister, who would be there to look out for Chelsea’s interests?

Like it or not, he had to assume a role in his sister’s upbringing and keep an eye on Shannon Moore at the same time. When he remembered the golden-eyed woman who’d had the unmitigated gall to ask him to leave her house, he laughed. Did she always give as good as she got?

Ian grinned. This new position he had appointed for himself was beginning to appeal to him.