The Illegitimate Billionaire

“His pet project is the City Beautification Committee,” Hank said, a meaningful look in his eyes.

Callie squinted, trying to read his expression. “And?”

“And, if somebody was to...say...join that committee and show a particular interest in city beautification, Lawrence might feel kindly toward that person.” Hank took a forkful of the whipped cream and slid it into his mouth.

Callie found the suggestion unsavory. “You want me to bribe Lawrence to get my permit.”

Hank gave an amused smile. “Joining a committee is not a bribe.”

“It might not be money.”

Hank reached out and covered her hand with his.

It was a startlingly familiar gesture. Her first instinct was to pull back. But Frederick’s words echoed in her mind. It costs you nothing to be congenial.

“Do you have something against city beautification?” Hank asked.

“Of course I don’t.” Who could have anything against city beautification? “But I’m busy, the boys, the bakery, taking care of the house.”

When they’d first moved to Charleston, she and Frederick had bought a roomy, restored antebellum house. It was beautiful, but the upkeep was daunting.

The bakery door opened again, and a tall figure caught Callie’s attention. The man glanced around the room, seeming to methodically take in every aspect.

For some reason, he was fleetingly familiar, though she was sure she hadn’t met him before. He looked to be a little over six feet, with thick dark hair, blue eyes and a strong chin. His bearing was confident as he took a step forward.

“It wouldn’t be much work.” Hank’s words forced her attention back to their conversation. “I’m the chair of the committee, and I promise not to assign you anything onerous. We meet once a week. There are six members. Depending on the topic, there’s usually some public interest, so citizens attend, as well. It’s all very civilized and low-key.”

Once a week didn’t sound like much, but it meant skipping story time with the boys that night, getting a babysitter, doubling up on housework on another evening.

“It’s not a bribe,” Hank repeated, giving her hand a light squeeze. “It’ll demonstrate your commitment to the city, your participation in the community and that you care about the culture and flavor of the historic district.”

“I do care about the culture and flavor of the historic district. I live here, and I work here.”

“I know.” He gave her hand a firmer squeeze. “So join the committee. Join in a little. Make Lawrence happy, improve your city and unblock the permit for your deck.”

When he put it that way, other than the babysitting challenge, there seemed little wrong with the plan. It felt opportunistic, but she wouldn’t call it unethical.

Hank leaned in and lowered his tone. “With Frederick gone, I’m sure you want Downright Sweet to be as successful as possible.”

“I do.”

Callie had grown up severely impoverished, never knowing from week to week how her dysfunctional family would afford food, never mind clothes and electricity. Frederick had pulled her out of all that. He’d been a wonderfully sweet man, vital and full of life. The wheelchair had never held him back.

He’d had enough of a nest egg to buy both their house and Downright Sweet here in Charleston. The business had no capital debt, but it was still a struggle to keep operating costs manageable.

A shadow crossed the table, and a deep male voice interrupted. “Excuse me?”

Callie glanced up, startled to see the tall stranger. She looked into his blue eyes and felt a strange pressure build against her chest.

“Are you Callie Clarkson?” he asked. “The bakery owner?”

“Yes.” She slipped her hand from beneath Hank’s, wondering if the man was a lifestyle reporter or maybe a restaurant critic.

He held out his hand to shake hers.

She took it, and felt a surge of comfort and strength. He was gentle. He didn’t squeeze her hand. But his palm was solid, slightly rough, not too warm, not cool, but an identical temperature to her own.

“Deacon Holt,” he said.

Hank pulled back his chair and came to his feet, putting on his practiced political smile. “I’m Mayor Watkins. Are you new to Charleston?”

“A tourist,” Deacon Holt said, without breaking his eye contact with Callie.

She knew she should look away, but there was something in the depths of his eyes that was oddly comforting.

“Well, welcome,” Hank said in a hearty voice. “I hope you’ve checked out the Visitor Centre on Meeting Street.”

“Not yet,” Deacon said, slowly moving his attention to Hank.

“They’ll have everything you need—hotels, dining, shopping and, of course, the sights.”

“I’ve already found dining,” Deacon said.

Callie felt a smile twitch her lips.

“Well, then I hope you have an enjoyable stay.”

Deacon didn’t seem fazed by Hank’s dismissive tone. He looked back to Callie. “What do you recommend?”

“Everything’s good.”

He grinned at her answer, and the feeling of familiarity increased. “That was diplomatic.”

Hank cleared his throat. It was obvious he wanted to get back to their conversation, to hear Callie’s decision.

She’d made a decision, but it could wait two minutes for whatever Deacon Holt wanted. On the chance he could offer free publicity, she was going to make him feel more than welcome.

“The sourdough is terrific,” she said. “Any sandwich made with that. If you have a sweet tooth, I’d try a cupcake. The buttercream frosting is to die for.”

“Buttercream frosting it is,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Callie?” Hank prompted as Deacon walked away.

“My answer is yes,” she said.

Hank beamed. He really did have an extraordinary smile. He took her hand in both of his. “I’m so pleased.”

“When’s the next meeting?”

“Thursday. Six thirty.”

“I’ll be there.”

* * *

Deacon had been surprised to find Callie in an intimate discussion with Mayor Hank Watkins. Deacon had only been in town a couple of days, but he’d already learned all about the Watkins family. They were the Clarksons of Charleston—all the power, the prestige and the local money.

He’d also been surprised, even more surprised, that Callie was poised, polished and so stunningly beautiful in person. He hadn’t expected that of Frederick’s wife. Frederick hadn’t exactly been suave with the opposite sex.

Deacon had gone to a different high school than Aaron, Beau and Frederick. Deacon had been at PS-752. His three half brothers had gone to Greenland Academy. But there had been enough cross-pollination through sporting events and in social circles, that he’d known the basics of each of them.

He and Beau were the same age. Aaron was a year older, and Frederick was two years younger. Aaron was blond, Beau dark like Deacon and Frederick had ended up with ginger hair and freckles. He was thinner than his brothers and shorter, and always seemed to live in Aaron’s intellectual shadow, as well as Beau’s athletic one.

Even in the best circumstances, Deacon couldn’t see a woman like Callie falling for a man like Frederick. He supposed it could have been the money. It was often the money. Heck, it was usually the money.

For some reason, Deacon didn’t want to think that of Callie. But he’d be a fool if he didn’t consider the possibility.

After first meeting her yesterday, he’d waited overnight, waited through the morning, and now he was eating lunch at Downright Sweet for a second time. He was looking for more information, particularly for information on her relationship with Mayor Hank Watkins.

From what Deacon could see, Callie was way out of Hank’s league. But Hank obviously thought he had a shot. She must have given him encouragement of some kind.

Fact was, Hank had money just like Frederick. There was a chance Callie’s charming personality was an act, hiding a shrewd woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

She was behind the counter now, serving customers and looking as enchanting as yesterday. Her dark blond hair was in a jaunty ponytail. Thick lashes framed her blue-green eyes, and her cheeks were flushed with heat and exertion. Her apparent work ethic didn’t dovetail with a gold digger. Then again, most people had contradictions in their personalities. And he hadn’t even begun to get to know her.

She’d been right about the sourdough bread. It was beyond delicious. Yesterday he’d gone with black forest ham. Today he was trying sliced turkey and tomato. He hadn’t decided on dessert yet. There were too many choices.

His gaze moved from the tarts to the cupcakes to the pastries and cookies. He was tempted by the peanut butter white chocolate. Then again, he could practically taste the strawberry cream tarts. Maybe he’d have two desserts. Maybe he’d have to run ten miles before he went to bed tonight.

He was just about to bite into the second half of his sandwich, when the café door opened. Two young boys rushed inside, followed by a perky teenage girl in a T-shirt, shorts and white runners.

Deacon set down his sandwich and watched the boys with amazement. There was no question that they were Callie’s two sons. The four-year-old was a mini version of Aaron, while the eighteen-month-old looked exactly like Beau.

“Mommy, mommy,” the younger one called out. He trotted through the maze of tables, while his brother followed at a more measured pace.

Callie smiled at her toddler. “Hello, my little darling.”

“We were going to stop for ice cream on Parker Street,” the teenage girl said.

She looked to be about sixteen. Her blond hair had a flashy blue streak in it that swooped across her forehead. “But the lineup was nearly an hour long, so they decided to bring all the kids back to the preschool early.”

“Did you have fun at the waterpark?” Callie asked.

“Sprinkley,” said the compact Beau.

“I went down the big slide.” Little Aaron made a long swooping motion with his hand.

“Ethan squirted everything that moved.” The teenager ruffled Little Beau’s dark head. “He has good aim.”

“Squirted James head,” Ethan sang out with pride. He turned his thumb and index finger into a gun and pointed at his brother.

Deacon watched the interplay with amazement.

“I was already wet,” James said philosophically.

“I’m glad you had fun,” Callie said.

“Can we have cookies?” James asked.

“Since you skipped the ice cream, you can each have one.”

“I want peanut butter,” James said.

“Color candies,” Ethan sang out.

“What about you, Pam?” Callie asked the teenager.

“I’m fine.”

“We just took some oatmeal monster cookies out of the oven.”

Pam laughed. “You talked me into it.”

She ushered the boys to a table by the wall.

Deacon rose and crossed to the counter.

“Those are your sons?” he asked Callie.

The question obviously took her by surprise. “Yes, they are.”

“They seem terrific.”

Her expression stayed guarded. “Thank you.”

“Did I hear you say you had warm monster cookies?” Deacon asked.

“Fresh from the oven,” she said, putting on a professional smile.

“I’ll take one.”

“Coming up.” She pressed some keys on her cash register.

He held up his credit card. “Your advice was good yesterday.”

She looked puzzled.

“You suggested the sourdough bread. You were right.”

“I’m glad to hear you enjoyed it.” She pointed to the small terminal, and he swiped his credit card over the window.

“I’m back today for more.”

“That’s what we like to hear.”

The machine beeped its acceptance of his payment, while another staff member set his cookie plate on the counter.

He knew his time was almost up.

“I was wondering,” he said to Callie.

Her pretty brows went up in a question.

“Would you join me for coffee?”

The question clearly unnerved her. She touched her wedding ring, and her gaze darted to her sons.

“I don’t mean right now,” he clarified. “Maybe later?”

Her forehead creased.

“Or tomorrow,” he hastily put in, sensing her imminent refusal.

“It’s really nice of you to offer,” she said.

“I hear a but in there.”

Was she dating the Mayor? She’d certainly say no to coffee with Deacon if she were dating the Mayor.

“The but is that I’m really, really busy.”

“I understand,” he said, pocketing his card.

Being busy was probably just an excuse. It likely had more to do with Mayor Watkins. But pushing her wasn’t going to get Deacon anywhere—better to regroup.

Not that he’d made a decision to romance her. He was still assessing the situation.

He wasn’t about to take advantage of an innocent woman. But if she was gaming the rich Mayor now, she might have been gaming Frederick before him. And that changed the equation entirely.

“Maybe another time,” he said to her.

“Are you staying long in Charleston?” she asked.

“I haven’t decided.” He gave her an intimate smile. “It depends on how well I like it.”

Her cheeks flushed.

He lifted the plate with his cookie. “Thanks for this.”

“Any time.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She didn’t seem to know how to respond.

He backed off. He’d ask around town. Maybe he’d get lucky and someone would know if Hank Watkins was in a relationship with Callie.

Two

In the small office in the back of the bakery, Callie’s gaze rested on the framed photo of Frederick and the boys. She was struck by how much the boys had grown since Frederick passed away. She lifted the picture into better lighting.

It was the last one taken of her sons with their father. It was on their road trip last September. They’d traveled north along the coast, all the way to Virginia Beach.

Frederick had loved driving holidays. She suspected that sitting in a car made him forget about his disability and feel just like everyone else.

James was patient with the long rides, but Ethan was less than enthusiastic about spending so much time in his car seat. Frederick had done his best to entertain Ethan, who had just turned one that trip, while Callie had done the driving. It seemed like such a long time ago.

In November, Frederick had come down with a cold, just a routine cold that James had picked up in preschool. It settled in Frederick’s chest, which was normal for him. He insisted it was nothing to worry about, since both James and then Ethan had run fevers with the bug, coughed a few nights and then recovered.

But in the morning, Frederick’s fever had spiked alarmingly. Callie had rushed him to the hospital, where he lost consciousness and was diagnosed with pneumonia. They started antibiotics immediately. But his lungs had been severely bruised in his fall as a young teenager, and the scarring had left them weak.

He never woke up, and she’d said a final goodbye to him within hours.

Now she looked at the photo, Ethan grinning on Frederick’s lap, James standing with his head on Frederick’s shoulder. James still remembered Daddy, but Ethan only knew him from photos and video clips. Both boys had changed so much, grown so strong, learned so much. Frederick would be proud of them both.

“Callie?” Hannah poked her head through the open doorway.

“Is it getting busy out there?” Callie set the picture back down.

It was nearing the lunch hour. Pam had the boys until two today. With Frederick gone, Callie had modified her schedule. Pam was a godsend of a babysitter, and Hannah kept the bakery running like a well-oiled machine when Callie had to be at home.

“The lineup’s growing,” Hannah said. “The Spring Berry Cheesecake is still really moving.”

Callie was happy with the news. They’d created the recipe and introduced the new item just this month. It was gratifying to hear it was a success.

“I’m on my way.” Callie rose and followed Hannah through the kitchen to the café.

The lineup was halfway across the seating area. A few tables had just been vacated. Callie moved quickly to clear them and make room for more customers to sit down.

As she freshened the last of three tables, she was surprised to spot Deacon Holt sitting in one of the window booths. It had been a week since he was last in the café, and she’d assumed his vacation had ended and he’d left town.

Since she never expected to see him again, she’d allowed herself to fantasize the past few nights. Her fantasies ranged from hand-holding in the park to kissing under the stars to more, much more. She felt her face warm thinking about it. She knew he couldn’t read her mind, but looking at him now felt oddly intimate.

He spotted her. “Hello, Callie.”

She shook off her discomfort and went to his table. “Hello, Deacon.”

His smile went broad at her use of his name.

“I thought you would have left town by now,” she said.

“Still here in Charleston.”

She glanced at his sandwich plate. “And back for more sourdough?”

“I couldn’t stay away.” His tone sounded flirtatious, and she raised her gaze. “I was hoping you’d reconsider my invitation.”

She wished she didn’t feel the same way. She knew she had to fight it. It would be unseemly to rush out and date this soon after her husband’s death.

It wasn’t that Frederick had been the love of her life. They were dear friends, companions, parents together. Frederick had rescued her from hopeless poverty, and she’d given him the family he desired.

“I wish I could,” she said honestly.

“Something is stopping you?” His tone was gentle, even concerned.

“A full and busy life.” She wasn’t about to get into details.

“Someone else?” he asked.

She drew back in surprise. “What?”

“Are you dating someone else?”

“I don’t date.” She glanced over her shoulder to check the lineup, feeling suddenly guilty for standing and talking while Hannah and the others were so busy.

“Everyone dates,” Deacon said.

“No, they don’t. Case in point, me.” Why was she still here? Why was she indulging herself in something that couldn’t happen?

“Maybe not in the formal sense, but the opposite sex is always checking each other out.”

“I’m not checking you out,” she lied.

There was a gentle amusement in his blue eyes. “Well, I am most definitely checking you out.”

“Don’t.”

“It’s not something I can control. But to be clear, I’m only suggesting coffee and conversation.”

She gestured to the lineup. “I have to get back to work.”

“Okay.”

“I can’t go out with you. I don’t have time.” The excuse was perfectly true. Between the bakery and her sons, she had no time for a social life.

“Okay.” He gave up easily.

She didn’t regret saying no. She wouldn’t allow herself to regret it.

She gave him a nod and firmly turned herself around, heading behind the counter.

“What was that?” Hannah asked in an undertone.

“Just a customer.” Callie wished she didn’t feel overheated. Then again, she was in a bakery, and it was May. It would be odd if she didn’t feel overheated.

“He was in last week.”

“He was,” Callie acknowledged.

Hannah finished ringing up a cheesecake order and handed a customer some change.

Callie took a clean plate from the stack and loaded it up with a slice of Spring Berry Cheesecake, a drizzle of chocolate sauce and a generous dollop of whipped cream. She set it on top of the case, then assembled another identical one.

“What did he say?” Hannah asked.

“Nothing,” Callie answered.

“That was an awfully long nothing.”

“He asked me to coffee,” Callie admitted.

“That’s fantastic.”

“I said no.”

A new customer stepped up. “Two pecan tarts and a dozen peanut butter cookies. Can you make the cookies to go?”

“Cookies to go,” Hannah called over her shoulder.

Callie plated the tarts. “Whipped cream?” she asked the man.

“Only on one.”

She decorated the tart, while another staff member bagged the cookies.

The staff worked efficiently until the lineup disappeared.

Hannah followed Callie into the back, where cinnamon twists were cooling on racks, and the bakers were rolling out pastry.

“Why would you say no?” Hannah asked her.

Callie knew exactly what Hannah was talking about. “I’m not going to date a tourist. I’m not going to date anyone. I don’t have time, and it’s only been six months.”

“It’s been a lot more than six months.”

“Nobody knows that.” Callie and Frederick had never let on that their marriage was anything other than normal.

Hannah’s voice went singsong. “I’m just saying, what’s wrong with a little flirting, a little kissing, a little...whatever with a handsome stranger?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Because the answer you wish you could give is opposite to the answer you want to give,” Hannah said with authority.

“That didn’t even make any sense.”

“Your hormones want one thing, but your brain is fighting it.”

“I have two sons, a bakery and city beautification to think about.”

“Callie, you’re a healthy and vibrant young woman who’s never—”

“That has nothing to do with anything.”

Hannah knew Frederick hadn’t been able to engage in intercourse. James and Ethan were conceived through in vitro fertilization.

“You’re going to have to take the plunge someday.”

“Sex is not the only kind of intimacy.”

“I get that,” Hannah said, backing off.

“It doesn’t sound like you get that.”

“I’m not trying to push you.”

Callie let out a laugh at the absurdity of Hannah’s last statement.

“I’m only saying...you know...don’t write off a guy like that too quickly. Think about it.”

Callie had thought about it. She was still thinking about it. That was her biggest problem. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.

* * *

Deacon recognized a losing strategy when he was engaged in one. Callie wasn’t going to date him. It was probably because of the Mayor, but it could be something else. In any event, if he wanted to get closer to her and find out, he had to change tactics.

He spent another week in town, researching Callie and Hank Watkins. People considered them both pillars of the community. They hung with the same crowd, attended the same functions. People mostly thought the Mayor was a good catch, and a few seemed to have speculated on the two of them as a couple.

When Deacon learned Callie was on the City Beautification Committee, he jumped on the opportunity and showed up at a meeting. He sat in the back, obscured by the shape of the room. But he was close enough to watch her interactions with Hank.

Hank whispered in her ear at one point, and she smiled in return. He touched her arm, and she didn’t pull away. He filled her water glass and offered her a pen. She took the pen and drank the water.

Watching her cozy up to the wealthy, powerful, but much older, Hank Watkins renewed Deacon’s suspicion she’d married Frederick for his money. It also confirmed that Deacon had competition.

He realized he didn’t have the Watkins name and power, and he sure couldn’t tell her he was a Clarkson. But he’d achieved a reasonable level of success in life, and he could make himself sound better than he was—richer and more powerful.

But he was going to take a more subtle approach this time, let her come to him. At the end of the meeting, when coffee and cookies were served over friendly chitchat, he struck up a conversation with a few Charleston citizens. He stood where he was sure he’d be in Callie’s line of sight.

“Deacon?” Her tentative voice behind him said the approach had worked.

He turned, feigning surprise. “Callie. It’s great to see you again.” He cheerfully excused himself from the others.