Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (52 page)

Ten percent?
Nick did a quick tally in his head. If he took money from the last few days revenue, he might be able to swing it. Ever since he’d found out what Ginny had done, he’d been keeping the restaurant’s money in his office safe. He couldn’t put it in the bank, they’d end up taking it to satisfy his debt. And right now, they were at the bottom of his priority list. The restaurant had to be at the top. Without it, all the rest would die, including the community center.

A
fter several more phone calls—all to suppliers and all with the same end result as Molina’s Bakery—Nick was able to finally hang up the phone and breathe a sigh of relief, if for nothing other than not having to face another call. At least not today.

All he had to do was triple his customer base for the next month and he might be able to dig his head out enough to catch a breath.

But that wasn’t likely to happen. Nick pushed himself up from the desk. Inwardly, he felt himself sinking further and further down into the abyss. He strolled around to the front of the desk and leaned against it. This financial crisis had wrapped itself menacingly around him. He felt it sucking the air from his lungs and tightening the noose around his throat.

Ginny. How in the world had he been so blinded by her? How did he not see what she was up to?

Carelessness, that’s how. His carelessness was going to teach him a very tough lesson. He’d trusted Ginny. Hell, he thought he was going to marry her. Look where that got him.

Nick grabbed the chair sitting by the door and slammed it against the door frame. It splintered into pieces. The seat landed in the doorway. He kicked it into the dining room.

Bethany, who was putting the finishing touches on the tables, looked up. Uncertainty drained her face of all color. “Nick…?” She barely got the word out. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m a stupid ass. That’s what’s wrong.” He slammed the door shut and glared around the office, considering his next move. Demolishing the chair felt good, but fleeting. Maybe if he broke something else?

He latched onto the coffee table sitting halfway between the door and his desk. Just as he picked it up there was a loud knock on the door.

“Nick?” Dean’s voice bellowed through the wall.

Holding the table in midair, Nick looked at the door. The words,
go away
, flittered through his mind but never made it past his lips.

“Nick!” Dean’s voice was more forceful this time. The door opened.

Nick gave a disgruntled sigh and set the table back down on the floor. “What?” he said, looking back at Dean.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean came inside the office.

“Breaking shit.”

“Why?”

“It feels good.”

“You’re scaring the hell out of your staff.”

Guilt fogged Nick’s brain. He never meant to scare his employees. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Apologize to them. Not me.”

“I will.” Nick raked his hand through his hair. It felt long, nearly to his collar now. He needed a haircut. He looked around the office, then slumped down onto the coffee table. “I feel like I’m drowning.”

“What’s going on?” Dean stepped toward Nick but remained standing over him. “Things didn’t go as well as you’d hoped with your suppliers?”

“No.” Nick avoided looking at Dean. “Turns out, I’m four to six months behind with everyone who supplies anything to Hang Ten.” At that moment he let his gaze travel up to meet Dean’s.

Dean dragged the chair near the door across the floor and sat down in front of Nick. “Okay, seriously man…is there any other area of your life that Ginny could’ve screwed you out of money?”

Nick laughed and took a moment to think about it. Sadly though, Ginny had cleaned him out of every cent she could get her hands on. “This well has officially run dry.”

Nick could see it in Dean’s eyes, his mind was frantically probing for a solution that’d put Nick on top. He hated to tell his friend that it was a futile search. Finally, Dean said, “Maybe you could sue her for breach of promise.”

Nick’s laughter snorted out even though he’d tried to contain it. “Will that get me a quarter of a million dollars?” he said with light sarcasm. “Because that’s about what I’ll need to get out of the hole Ginny’s dug me into.”

“Quarter of a mil?” Dean’s voice went weak. “That much, huh?”

“Damn near it.” And they both knew it might as well be a million, because Nick didn’t have access to either.

“Times like this make you wish you had a rich relative stashed away somewhere.”

A rich relative?
Well, Nick didn’t have that, but he did have the next best thing. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. “Walter.”

Dean looked him straight in the eye. “Walter’s dead.”

“Yes.” Nick stood. “But his foundation is alive and kicking.” He moved toward the office door and closed it. “They know I was in his will. Maybe they’ll give me a low-interest loan.” For the first time in days, Nick felt a spark of hope.

“Could be worth a shot.”

“You’d better hope so.”

“Me?” Dean laid his hand on his chest.

“If I don’t fix this mess soon,” he said. “I’ll lose the restaurant.” He hated to be so blunt, but there it was.
“The new owners might not be so inclined to continue funding the community center.”

Dean’s face went pale. Obviously, he hadn’t thought about the repercussions of Nick’s predicament as it trickled down to the community center. Until now.

Now Dean was finally seeing that Nick’s losing Hang Ten would be a disaster on more than one level. Of course, the restaurant would live on, but it would belong to someone else. Nick would be homeless, and he and Dean both would be jobless. But the thing that stabbed at Nick the most was that the community center—the legacy to his brother’s memory—would wither away.

CHAPTER TWELVE

LECIE KNEW THEY WERE COMING. Even so, seeing Camille and Tasha and the kids with their nanny Velma standing in her living room with Soren’s brother Gerard turned out to be a bit overwhelming. This was starting to feel a lot like an intervention.

Just breathe… Lecie coached herself.
And remember, this is
your
house
. If she could keep that thought in her head she’d be okay. She was the boss here. Not Gerard. And not Camille or Tasha. Although, neither of her sisters-in-law had ever tried to boss her around. Lecie hoped today was not the day they started.

Gerard looked a little like Soren. Same light-brown hair. Same pale blue eyes. Same stature. Similar facial features. The big difference was that Gerard was a little taller than Soren.

“Gerard…” Lecie offered her hand. He shook it. “It’s been a long time. Do you remember me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded subserviently. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance again, ma’am.”

She clasped her own hands together at her midriff and gave him a hard stare. “Rule number one. We have to dispense with the formalities,” she said with a hint of shaky laughter.

“Ma’am?” Gerard grimaced.

“For starters,” she said, “just call me Lecie.”

“Good luck with that.” Tasha chuckled. She’d been trying for two years to get her staff to call her
Tasha
. The best she’d ever gotten for her efforts was
Miss Tasha
.

“If you say so, ma’am.” Gerard nodded and backed up a step or two.

“Come on, Gerard…” Deidra waved after him. “I’ll show you where your room is.”

Gerard glanced around at the other women, and when none of them objected he followed Deidra out of the living room.

Lecie looked at Camille and Tasha. “Shall we sit?” She motioned toward the couch and chairs. Her sisters-in-law nodded and moved to the couch. Lecie chose the chair to their right. “I’m thrilled to see both of you.” She offered up what she hoped was a friendly smile and peered down at her niece and nephew who were hanging on to their mother’s legs, looking up at Lecie shyly. She gave them a big smile and stretched out her arms, saying, “Juliana. James. Come give Aunt Lecie a hug.”

Both children giggled and ran to Lecie, climbing onto her lap. After a moment or two, Camille looked at the nanny, saying, “Velma, would you take the kids outside?”

With an obedient smile, Velma headed for the sliding glass door, coaxing the children to follow. Within seconds, all three were outside, and out of earshot.

Camille looked at Lecie with a quick, pressing nod. Looked like she was here on a mission, probably Julian’s mission, and she’d brought Tasha along for support.

They all, the entire family, thought Lecie was too naïve, and maybe that was true. But she had news for them. She was far from stupid. “So what is it that my brothers have sent you here to tell me?”

Camille and Tasha glanced at each other knowingly, then smiled an appreciative sort of smile that you see on mothers when their child takes their first step or says their first word. That was one of the reasons Lecie liked them both so much. They’d always treated her as an adult. Something her parents and brothers were reluctant to do.

Camille snickered and lowered her head. “You are much quicker than your father or your brothers give you credit for being.”

“Mama, too,” Lecie wouldn’t let them forget. “She still thinks I’m a child.”

“She does give you far more leeway than the men do,” Tasha put in.

“And you two are exceptionally gifted in the art of diversion.” Lecie deliberately raised her eyebrows and took extra care to keep her face stoic, serious. “But that doesn’t change anything. I still want to know why my brothers sent you.”

Camille spoke up, “Well, not just your brothers. Claudette too.” She drew a breath and ease it out in a long sigh. “I’ll just cut to the chase and tell you that Maurice is up to his old tricks.”

One thing Lecie knew, Camille was well-versed in Papa’s “old tricks”. He’d done his best to see that she didn’t stay married to Julian. Fat lot of good it’d done him. Same with Tasha and Andre, except Papa hadn’t been against their marriage, but he had in fact orchestrated it. He’d been so fixated on making sure Andre married Tasha
that he hadn’t realized he’d given Lecie pure freedom in the process—until it was too late.

Lecie was glad her father had been devious enough to know that if she were included in Edouard Renault’s will, Andre would never risk losing the inheritance. He would do whatever it took to make sure Lecie got it, and he had. Papa just hadn’t thought far enough ahead to see that her independence would also come hand-in-hand with that inheritance.

It was a tough lesson, and everybody knew that Papa probably had coming. But if Lecie knew her brothers, they envied her for being the teacher.

Lecie couldn’t help laughing out loud.

“Lecie,” Tasha said, “this is not at all funny. Your father wants you to come home. And we all know…Maurice gets what he wants.”

“What’s he going to do?” she asked, enjoying this a little too much. But they just sat there with these flat expressions. Lecie added with a shrug, “Cut me off?”

“You underestimate your father.” Camille’s tone was loaded with warning. And she meant well, but Lecie was going to show them all that she could get down in the dirt and scrap with the best of them. Just as soon as she figured out how.

“And he underestimates me.” Lecie pumped her words with confidence.

“Yes, yes he does,” Camille said. “And your mother sees that. She’s very afraid that he’s going to push you into doing something reckless.” Truth be told, Camille looked a little worried about that too. “And we’re here to implore you not to lose your cool and do something you’ll regret.”

“Trust me…” Lecie leaned in closer. “Whatever I choose to do to fight Papa…I won’t be the one with regrets.”

“We hope, for your sake, that is the case,” Tasha said.

“You should be prepared though.” Camille’s steady nod supported her words. “Maurice intends to have you deported. Claudette has bought you a little time by sending Gerard over, but it’s only a matter of time. Sooner, rather than later, I suspect you will be forced to leave the United States.”

“But I own property here.”

“You wouldn’t be the first property owner to get kicked out of this country,” Tasha said.

“Or the last.” Lecie laughed nervously. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something to avoid it.”

“We all know there’s only one way to get out of being deported.” Tasha put it out there.

Lecie giggled. “My brothers would be shocked to hear you suggest such a thing.”

“Whose idea do you think it is?” Camille looked Lecie straight in the eye.

“Not my brothers.” Lecie’s gaze ping-ponged between the two of them, waiting for them to crack a smile and say it was a joke. They didn’t. She began shaking her head.
“They would not seriously suggest that I marry someone just so I can stay in the country.”

“You underestimate your brothers.” Camille chuckled. “Julian knows you’re just as capable of fighting fire with fire as he or Andre. Maybe more so.” Camille’s undertone was unmistakable. “Which is why I’m supposed to tell you that Julian has already contacted Davis to draw up the contracts. When you’ve chosen a
groom
, he’ll personalize the agreement. None of us want to see you lose half your inheritance to some unscrupulous parasite, while trying to buy a little more time.”

“Can I trust this Davis?” Lecie couldn’t help but wonder, although she’d always trusted Julian and Andre. She thought she could trust Camille and Tasha. Surely, they wouldn’t allow themselves to become Papa’s lackeys.

Camille nodded with certainty. “He’s Julian’s legal advisor here in the States. He’s never met your father.”

“If you want to avoid being deported,” Tasha said. “You should start looking into that promptly.”

Lecie dragged her hands through her hair, held it back, then released it. “Did you two come here to help me pick out a husband?”

Camille and Tasha’s laughter bellowed out. Camille, whom they all knew spoke for Julian in this case, said, “We are only here to make sure that you come out of this with as little inconvenience to you as possible.”

The notion that Papa might interfere with Lecie’s good time in the States had been bothering her since the last time she’d spoken to Mama. Even so, Lecie hadn’t really considered that Papa could be serious. Until now. Thanks to her brothers and their wives. But Lecie was going to outmaneuver Papa in true de Laurent fashion. Again, thanks to her brothers and their wives.