The Billionaire's Touch (The Sinclairs #3) (2 page)

He promptly shot out a reply, closed the window for the free email site, and forgot all about the issue as he returned his attention to the Sinclair Fund mailbox to see if his donor actually had cause for complaint. Evan didn’t even think about the annoying email again . . . until he got an answer several days later.

Randi gaped at the rudest email she’d ever received, her mouth actually opening and closing like a fish out of water that was struggling to take a breath.

Dear Concerned:

I’m curious as to whether you really expected to receive an answer to your email sent before Christmas. Did you really think one of the Sinclairs was going to read your email, then actually provide funds for a town that isn’t even on the map, and for such a ludicrous reason? We are trying to help solve pressing concerns in both our nation and the world with the Sinclair Fund, not masquerade as Santa Claus. I think it would have been much more appropriate for you to address your email to the North Pole.

However, it is my understanding that you and the citizens of Amesport did get your Christmas wish. Wasn’t this issue completely resolved by Grady Sinclair?

Sincerely,

Unsympathetic in Boston

“
Unsympathetic in Boston
? Oh, my God! What a jerk!” Randi scowled at the computer screen at the Center, completely taken aback by the response to the email she’d sent two months earlier. After so long, she’d completely given up on getting an answer.

The only reason she’d signed in to that email address at all was to contact a parent of one of the children she was tutoring, and she’d been stunned to find that she finally had a reply to the email she’d sent to the Sinclair Fund.

She checked the date and realized her plea had only been answered a few days ago.
Why now?
She’d pathetically checked every single day for over a week after writing her email to the Sinclairs, desperately hoping somebody would respond. And so they did . . .
after
Christmas had passed, and with the snottiest comments imaginable!

Randi’s temper started to slowly simmer as she continued to gape at the snooty response, unable to believe that an employee of a charity would respond so bluntly. Maybe the problem
did
seem small to them, but it was important to her town.

“Condescending asshole,” she whispered to herself even as she wondered at the question in the email, about the situation being resolved. Truth was, the crisis
had
been more than adequately fixed. Emily was now married to Grady Sinclair, and the Center was not only thriving, but undergoing some major renovations.

She closed her email, shut down the computer, and stood up, deciding she’d do progress reports tomorrow. She was too pissed off to do them now.

“
Not on the map?
Amesport?” she mumbled under her breath as she picked up her jacket from the back of the chair. Luckily, she was alone in the computer room, so it didn’t matter that she was talking to herself. Nobody was around to listen. While Amesport was no Boston, it
was
a thriving seacoast town, a place where tourists flocked in the summer to enjoy the beauty of the ocean and a multitude of water sports. “Write to Santa Claus my ass!” She yanked her coat on and picked up her purse from the desk before exiting the room, her brain still trying to process the fact that a Sinclair employee had been that rude. It hadn’t been necessary. The person could have politely declined. Or better yet . . . ignored the email like they already had for months now. After all, Grady
had
rescued Christmas, and her request was two months old. What would possess someone to answer an old email with that much arrogance and condescension?

She paused as she opened the door, remembering the last line of the reply:

Wasn’t this issue completely resolved by Grady Sinclair?

“How do they know about that? Why do they care?” she pondered quietly as she pulled the door completely open. “If this person thinks my email was stupid, what does it matter whether Grady helped the town or not?”

Pushing aside the fact that someone had tried to make her feel ridiculous and small, she wanted to make sense of the last comment in the email. Did this person really expect her to verify the question?

Taking a deep breath, she did her best to ignore her negative thoughts and to reason without anger. She really
shouldn’t
answer the email. Emily was her friend, so she should tell her about the rude employee. Randi had actually come to like and respect Emily’s new husband. But something in her gut wouldn’t and couldn’t leave the situation as it stood. She wasn’t about to go running to Grady just because she could now call him a friend. The email address had been weird, a free service that was unlikely to be traceable. If she was the victim of a bad joke, or an unhappy person, she’d fire back. Some idiot in an office somewhere wasn’t going to insult her and her beloved town without
some
kind of answer.

The Center was quiet as she exited the front doors. Very little was happening tonight, except for the few men still left in the building working on improvements. Randi shivered as the bitter-cold wind did a full-frontal assault, reminding her that she hadn’t bothered to zip her jacket. Tugging the ends of the material together, she sprinted for her vehicle, smirking evilly as she decided on just how to reply to her churlish prankster. She was a teacher, a woman with an education. If there was one thing she was good at, it was finding mistakes and stating facts.

So, that’s exactly what she did the very next day.

Two Days Later . . .

Evan wasn’t sure why he even bothered to check his bogus email address. It wasn’t like he had nothing better to do. He was in his downtown offices, and he had an important meeting in less than fifteen minutes. Checking his notes and making sure he had all of the documents he needed should be his priority at the moment. Nevertheless, he was drumming his fingers on the oak desk in front of him, waiting for the free email page to appear. It came up after a wait he considered way too long, even for a free service, and he logged in impatiently.

This is a waste of time. I have work to do. Why do I even care if some presumptuous person in Amesport answered my email?

He knew for a fact that Grady had more than rescued the Center and the town of Amesport. Evan didn’t need an answer. Still, he wondered if there
was
an answer to his question, and if the sender of the email had felt appropriately sorry they had sent a letter to a worthwhile charity for help with such a small issue.

Frowning as the annoyingly slow mailbox appeared, he noticed that he did indeed have mail. Clicking the mouse efficiently, he deleted the junk that was a prerequisite to signing up for the free service. He hesitated uncharacteristically as he saw that there actually was a response from the same generic email that he’d written to a few days earlier. A haughty, dark brow rose as he saw the subject line:

Proof that Amesport is On the Map!!

Intrigued, he clicked on the response.

Dear Unsympathetic:

Had I known that all of the Sinclair Fund employees were as heartless and arrogant as you appear to be, I would have definitely written to Santa Claus instead. In the future, I’ll direct all urgent email to the North Pole.

You’re also uninformed. Amesport certainly is on the map and is a popular tourist destination in the summer. The town appears quite clearly. Please see the attached.

P.S. Grady Sinclair is a wonderful man with a heart, and the issues with the Center are completely resolved. Luckily, there is someone affiliated with the Sinclairs who actually has a heart.

Sincerely,

No Longer Concerned in Amesport

Evan read the email again, strangely amused by the less-than-pleasant response. It wasn’t often that anyone addressed him with anything less than complete reverence. It was oddly . . . refreshing.

He clicked on the attachment, staring at it for a moment before he truly understood exactly what it was. It was a map of the Maine coastline, with the town of Amesport circled in red and blown up so that it was prominently displayed with a handwritten caption.

The town of Amesport certainly is on the map. It appears quite clearly.

Evan looked from her comment to the oversized area of Amesport circled in red. Then, Evan Sinclair did something he almost never did . . . he laughed.

CHAPTER 1

The Present

“We should be landing soon,” Micah Sinclair mentioned casually as he glanced out the window of Evan’s private jet. “It’s been a while. I’m sure you’re eager to see Hope and your new nephew.”

Evan lifted his eyes from his laptop and looked at Micah, realizing the two of them had barely spoken during the flight. When his cousin had asked to hitch a ride with him to Amesport from New York City because he’d lent his own jet to his brother Julian, Evan had thought he’d welcome the company. Micah had a residence in New York; Evan didn’t, but was there quite frequently on business, so they met whenever possible.

As the eldest of the Sinclairs, Evan had the most in common with Micah. They were both just entering their midthirties, and, unlike his cousin’s younger brothers, Micah was obsessed with business. Granted, his business was extreme sports, but he took his bottom line and his responsibilities to his siblings seriously. As the oldest in their immediate families, Evan and Micah understood each other when it came to what everyone else called “meddling” in the business of younger relatives. He and Micah preferred to call it “guidance,” and neither one of them had ever felt guilty about checking on family. Maybe some people would actually refer to how they handled things as spying, but Evan preferred to think of it as checking on the well-being of his relatives.

Evan shrugged. “It’s been over six months since I’ve seen them, and I want to meet my nephew. I saw pictures. He looks bald. That can’t be normal. No Sinclair has ever been hairless. Our grandfather died with a full head of hair.” Their grandfather had lived to a ripe old age, and his hair had been gray as long as Evan could remember, but he hadn’t had a single bald spot on his head.

Micah chuckled as he fastened his seat belt in preparation for landing. “He’s not bald. His hair is blond, and it’s thin. He’s a cute little guy. Hope sent me a picture to my cell phone.”

Evan checked his seat belt and leaned back in the leather seat of his private aircraft, frowning at Micah, who was seated across from him. “He looked bald to me. And he’s not
cute
. He’s handsome. He’s a Sinclair.”

Micah’s laughter boomed in the cabin of the aircraft. “God, you’re an arrogant prick! But I like that about you. I always have.”

Evan smoothed down the lapel of his custom suit and straightened his tie before replying. “I’m sure the traits are easy to recognize since you happen to have the same attributes.”

If Evan was totally honest—which he wasn’t going to be—Micah probably wasn’t quite as uptight as he was, but he wasn’t going to admit
that
to his eldest cousin.

“Why do you always dress like you’re going to a business meeting or a funeral? Sometimes I wonder if you even own a pair of jeans,” Micah queried, sounding more curious than teasing.

Evan shot him a condescending look, unwilling to admit that he didn’t, in fact, own a pair of jeans or any other casual clothing. “I’m perfectly comfortable in a suit.” Well, at least that was the truth. If he was dressed for business, he felt more in control. His attire reminded him of his goals. He didn’t want to be sidetracked into something frivolous or unimportant.

Eyeing the guy for a moment, Evan had to admit that wearing a pair of jeans and a button-down green shirt didn’t lessen Micah’s aura of power. But Micah was different, normal. He was an expert at several of the sports that he sold state-of-the-art equipment for, and he had no reason to be anything other than self-assured. He might think that Micah was certifiable for participating in some of the extreme sports that he excelled at, but Evan couldn’t deny that his cousin was good at them. Really good. It took intense concentration and focus to do the stunts Micah was capable of performing, and he took his business just as seriously.

“I heard they named the baby David,” Micah said conversationally as the plane continued to descend for landing.

Evan inwardly released a sigh of relief that Micah had dropped the teasing. It wasn’t something he was entirely comfortable with, even from family.

He nodded as he answered. “David was a friend of Hope’s who was killed while chasing tornadoes. An extreme meteorologist. They wanted to pass the name on to their son.”

Evan admired the fact that Hope was paying tribute to a good friend who had died trying to collect weather data, but he sure as hell hoped that his nephew didn’t decide on the same line of work as his mother or his namesake. Maybe it was a good thing that Evan hadn’t known that Hope was chasing tornadoes and every other form of extreme weather before she married Jason Sutherland. However, it still ate at him that he’d failed his only sister, hadn’t protected her from the horrors she’d suffered early in her career. She had hidden her involvement in her dangerous endeavors well, but he should have been better, more involved in her life. He was her oldest brother, and he should have kept her safe. Evan hated failing at anything, but what had happened to Hope was his deepest regret and his greatest defeat. He still hadn’t forgiven himself; he was pretty sure he never would.

“I can’t believe that our sweet little Hope was such a wild child,” Micah mused, his voice sounding slightly awed.

“It was her career,” Evan answered unhappily. “It’s not like she was out seeking thrills for no reason.” He didn’t like her being referred to as
wild
. She wasn’t. Not usually. As Micah had already mentioned, Hope had been a very sweet child and a quiet teenager. Evan had thought she was just carrying on in the same manner in Aspen, living a very sedate life free of media attention in the Colorado Rockies. In reality, she’d been roaming around the world photographing extreme weather events.

I don’t really know her. I don’t really know any of my siblings anymore.

If he wanted to be honest—which he didn’t—he had never really known them at all. They’d spent very little time together as children or adults. Evan hated the fact that there was distance between himself and his siblings, but now that they were all grown and happy, he wasn’t certain how to fit into the Sinclair family or how to fix the situation, or even if he wanted it to
be
fixed. Too much time had passed.

Maybe I feel distant because I’m not happy or content like they are now? We have nothing in common.

No. That wasn’t quite right. Evan had always
needed
to maintain his distance in order to keep his secrets. Now, he wasn’t sure he could or would ever truly be close to any of them. He was fairly certain that all of them saw him as more of a pain in the ass than a brother, simply because he interfered in their lives from time to time. But he was okay with that. As long as they were all safe and happy.

“I still think she’s pretty ballsy,” Micah said with admiration. “And her photography work is incredible.”

“It is,” Evan answered simply. He was proud of all of his siblings, and Hope’s talent was truly astonishing. His home in Boston was filled with as many of her photos as he’d been able to acquire after he’d found out about her secret career path.

Hope was currently working on her nature shots, but Evan loved the very photos that had caused her harm: her extreme-weather photography. Some of them were very tangled and dark, breathtaking in their intense ferocity. Evan knew little about photography techniques, but he didn’t need to know much about taking pictures to recognize that the shadowy images struck a chord in him that resonated through his entire being. Hope’s creations reminded him of his own life, and the uncertainty of life itself.

Neither man spoke as they came to a rather bumpy landing on the runway of the small airport located outside Amesport, each seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Evan noted that his car and his driver, Stokes, had already arrived, the Rolls-Royce waiting just beyond the area where the plane would come to a stop.

“Do you want to stay with me?” Evan offered sincerely. Both Micah and Julian were coming for the party Hope was hosting, which she was calling The Amesport Midwinter Ball, though Evan knew it was really just a reason to get the entire town together to see her new son. It was being held in the Youth Center, and he had no doubt everyone invited would be there.

He unbuckled his seat belt as the plane came to a stop, damn glad he didn’t have to attend yet another marriage ceremony. It seemed like the only reason he usually came to this town was to be in a wedding. If he had to stand up one more time with Randi Tyler, he was likely to lose it. Luckily, he had no more brothers to marry off, his sister was already married to Jason, and he’d never again have to stand across from Randi and pretend he actually liked her as she took his arm with a false smile on her face while he led her down the aisle. Hopefully he could avoid her almost entirely on this trip. It wasn’t like he saw every resident in Amesport on each visit. The town was small, but it wasn’t
that
small. Unfortunately, Evan doubted that he’d be able to avoid Randi completely. She was friends with Hope now, and would inevitably show up at the party.

“Naw. I’m good. Jared is putting me and Julian up in his guesthouse. Now that Mara doesn’t need it for her business anymore, it’s empty. Julian won’t be coming in until tomorrow. He can’t stay long—now that he’s been nominated for an Academy Award, he thinks he’s busy.” Micah smirked as he stood and retrieved his suitcase from one of the spacious closets on the plane. “He’s shooting his next movie in a month, and the award ceremonies are in just a couple of weeks. I guess he’s been bombarded for interviews.”

Evan knew that Micah might be teasing but was actually really proud of Julian. Honestly, Evan was proud of him, too. Julian had tried never to use his power as a Sinclair or his inherited money in his pursuit of stardom. He’d played the small parts, worked his way up in the movie industry. When he’d finally landed a leading role in a film after years of struggling, he’d done it by the merit of his own talent. Being nominated for an Oscar was proof that he’d really made it because of his own abilities.

“I hope he wins,” Evan grumbled as he gathered the rest of the things he’d need while in Amesport. He didn’t need much. His assistant had sent all of the necessities to his home here a while ago.

“Me too,” Micah admitted as they headed closer to the door of the aircraft, pulling on his dark-blue ski jacket. Evan donned his black wool dress coat.

“How’s Xander?” Evan didn’t want to ask the question, but he felt compelled to know how his youngest cousin was doing.

Micah shrugged a little too nonchalantly as he moved toward the exit. “The same. I never know from one day to the next what to expect with him now. He’s not coming for Hope’s party.”

“Is he on or off the wagon?” Evan asked cautiously as he followed Micah’s lead.

“On for now,” Micah replied with a heavy sigh. “But I’m not certain how long it will last.”

Evan’s heart sank, and he hurt for all of his cousins. After a tragic incident several months ago, Xander had abruptly quit his successful career as a musician and had been spiraling downhill ever since. He was drinking heavily, and was addicted to the very drugs that were supposed to help him. It reminded Evan of a period in Jared’s life that he didn’t even want to think about.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Micah.” He really
was
sorry, because he could relate. It was hell wondering if your brother was going to make it through the challenge of facing life again, or if he was going to keep going down until he hit rock bottom and stayed there. Worse yet, would they all get the news that Xander had fallen all the way and would never be getting up again?

“I hate feeling this damn helpless to do anything else. He’s been in rehab, and he refuses any further help. I don’t know whether to give him time, or wrestle him into a safe place where he can’t hurt himself,” Micah told Evan huskily, his voice vibrating with sorrow.

“I know.” Evan followed Micah down the stairs of the plane and clapped him on the back as they reached solid ground. “You’ve done all that you can do. Xander has to want to stay clean.”

The bitter-cold Maine winter wind blasted them both mercilessly as they exited the sleek aircraft, but Micah’s expression stayed grim, as though he was thinking too much to even feel the brutally frigid air. His dark-blond hair ruffled in the breeze, but he seemed totally oblivious to his surroundings. “Have I done everything I can?” he asked quietly, almost as though he were talking to himself rather than Evan.

“You have,” Evan replied staunchly. There was no reason for Micah to feel otherwise. “Let’s get to the car. I’ll give you a lift to the Peninsula.”

“Thanks,” Micah acknowledged gratefully, nodding at Evan like he was silently thanking him for his support, even though neither one of them would voice their emotions aloud. “My car is already at Jared’s place.”

Evan watched as Micah jogged toward the Rolls, shaking his head as he thought about the mess Xander was in at the moment. Thank God those days of worrying about the sanity of a younger brother were over for him, and Jared had finally healed. But Evan couldn’t help but have sympathy pains for his eldest cousin. He’d been where Micah was now, and it had been pure hell just dealing with Jared’s alcohol binge. He couldn’t imagine adding drugs into the mix.