The Illegitimate Billionaire

“Exactly how long is your vacation?” she asked, brow furrowed as they moved a few steps away.

He feigned a guilty expression. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make.”

She waited.

He’d rehearsed his lines. “I’m more than just an ordinary tourist.”

She looked apprehensive. “Who are you?”

“I’m thinking of relocating to Charleston.”

The words seemed to put her off guard. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“It’s complicated. There were things to check out, arrangements to make. I didn’t want people to know I was considering the city.”

“Considering it for what?” Now she seemed annoyed and distinctly suspicious.

He realized he was messing this up. “I’m a partner in a national transportation company.”

The claim was an exaggeration, but not a huge one. He was a minor partner, and they were more regional than national. But it was true enough to get by.

“We’re based out of Virginia,” he continued. “But we’re looking to expand. We’d need a lot of land, commercial industrial land. If the real estate community knew we were in the market, well, funny things happen to prices when a large corporation expresses an interest.”

He stuck as close as he could to the truth. Mobi Transport was always looking to expand. It could as easily expand into Charleston as anywhere else. And local land prices did get jacked up when the real estate community knew a big corporation was in the market.

“You’re saying dishonesty was in your best interest.”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I wouldn’t call it dishonesty.”

“You’re keeping Charleston citizens in the dark about the value of their property.”

“I’m keeping the value realistic.”

“By lying about your intentions.”

“I’m not—”

“That’s how market forces work, Deacon. When something is in demand, it becomes more valuable.”

He was surprised the conversation had taken this turn.

At the same time, he was curious about her immediate leap to skepticism. Honest people were trusting. Devious people looked for deceit in others.

“I don’t want to have to pick another city,” he told her. “I like Charleston. If land costs too much here, we’ll choose another city where it costs less.”

She gave a little shrug, as if the easiest solution in the world was at hand. “Just tell the people that’s the case.”

“That’s one way to approach it.”

“It’s the honest way to approach it.”

“Are you an honesty-is-the-best-policy type?” He watched her reaction.

She hesitated, her expression flinching ever so slightly. “It is the best policy.”

She hadn’t exactly answered, but he didn’t press.

“Check out the Mobi Transportation website. See if you think it would be good for Charleston.”

The Mobi website was slick and professional. It was designed to encourage sales by making the company look bigger than it was.

“We do long-haul trucking. We have six terminals across the northeast.”

Her expression relaxed a little. “That sounds...interesting.”

“In the internet age, goods transportation is primed for expansion. There’s a whole lot of opportunity in the sector.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hank Watkins making his was toward them.

Deacon gestured to the refreshment table on the other side of the room. “Would you like a coffee? A cookie? They’re okay, but not as good as yours.”

“Flattery, Deacon?”

“The truth, Callie.” He didn’t have to exaggerate there. “Your cookies are the best I’ve ever tasted. How long have you been a baker?”

She made a move toward the refreshment table. “I worked in a café from the time I was fourteen.”

He fell into step beside her. “That young?”

“We didn’t have much money when I was growing up. I did whatever it took. I lied about my age. I bused tables at first, but then I was promoted to waitress.”

He was starting to form a picture of her. She was a survivor. He could relate to that.

“Did you grow up here in Charleston? Decaf?” He reached for the labeled pot.

“Decaf would be best.”

He poured them each a cup.

“It was a small town in Tennessee, Grainwall.” She flinched almost imperceptibly as she said the town’s name.

He kept watch on Hank’s progress. “You didn’t like it there?”

“Nobody likes it there. My husband, Frederick, and I chose Charleston because it was so beautiful.” A look of sadness passed over her face.

“I was sorry to hear about your husband.”

Deacon was genuinely sorry about Frederick’s death. Frederick had seemed like the nicest of the entire Clarkson clan. He was certainly the most honorable. Neither of his brothers seemed to ever stand up to their father, who—if employees of the company were to be believed—was an ill-tempered, self-centered control freak.

“Thank you,” Callie said, her expression pinched. “We miss him. He was a wonderful man.”

Deacon silently acknowledged that she played the delicate widow very well.

“I met him at the Fork ’n’ Spoon,” she said.

“You worked somewhere called the Fork ’n’ Spoon?”

“It was aptly named, since we provided both forks and spoons.” She gave an engaging smile. “It was mostly burgers and chili—not the best clientele. I don’t know how Frederick found it, but he kept coming back.”

Deacon wasn’t surprised that Frederick kept coming back, and it sure wouldn’t have been for the burgers. Callie was enough to draw any man back again and again. Like Hank, who was slowly getting closer.

“He said he liked the chili.” Callie held her coffee mug in both hands, but didn’t take a drink.

“Was it good?”

She laughed lightly. “I’ve seen it bring down a man twice Frederick’s size. He may have been in a wheelchair, but he had the stomach of an ox.”

Deacon decided to let the wheelchair comment slide. “So you moved to Charleston together?”

“That’s when we opened the bakery. We had no idea what we were doing. But Frederick had a little bit of money.”

A little bit? Deacon couldn’t help but be curious about her definition of a lot of money.

“I knew something about the café business,” she continued. “And I wanted to work somewhere nice, somewhere pleasant, somewhere that customers were happy. Desserts seemed like a good idea. When Hannah came on board, we managed to make it come together.”

Hank was closing in, only one persistent senior citizen holding him back. Deacon glanced at his watch, wondering how he might get Callie outside.

She followed suit and glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a babysitter waiting.”

Perfect.

She set down her cup and started for the door, and he went along.

“You’re interested in city beautification?” he asked as they walked.

“I am now.”

He held open the door, taking note of Hank’s frustrated expression. “Well, that answer has me intrigued.”

“I...” She looked flustered.

He couldn’t imagine what would fluster her about city beautification. Had she joined the committee to get close to Hank?

“I thought...I should...get engaged and support my community.”

Well, that was the worst lie Deacon had ever heard. She was all but begging him to call her on it.

“Will you tell me the real story?” he asked, assuming that’s what she expected him to do.

Her face flushed under the community center’s porch lights. “It’s embarrassing.”

“We all do embarrassing things. I promise, I’ll understand.”

Deacon was ready for her to walk to the parking lot. Instead, she turned the opposite way down the sidewalk. That worked for him.

She took an exaggerated breath, as if she was about to own up to grand larceny. “I joined the committee to butter up Lawrence Dennison.”

The unexpected answer threw Deacon. “Isn’t Lawrence pushing eighty?”

“Downright Sweet is in the historic district. My deck needs repairs, or I’ll have to close it down. I can’t do the repairs without the permit. Lawrence is holding up the permit. And the beautification committee is Lawrence’s pet project. I’m buttering him up by joining the committee.”

Deacon was impressed. By guiltily confessing to such a trivial lie, she looked like the most honest woman in the world.

If Deacon didn’t believe she was using the story to manipulate him, it would have been enchanting.

* * *

For the next three days, Callie glanced up every time a customer walked through the bakery door. She thought Deacon might stop by Friday. He’d walked her all the way to her door Thursday evening.

He hadn’t judged her for joining the committee. He’d understood. He’d even told her his own story about planning a lavish party when a particular state politician was in town, with the aim of getting an introduction to him in order to help Mobi Transportation expand. He couldn’t say for sure if it had worked, but he’d definitely put out the effort.

They’d laughed and talked for ten blocks. She would have invited him in, but she had to tuck the boys into bed. She’d found herself hoping he’d kiss her. But he didn’t.

Then she’d fully expected him to show up at Downright Sweet and ask her out again. He didn’t do that either.

By Monday, she feared he’d left town. Maybe the right land wasn’t available. Or maybe taxes were too high. There were a hundred reasons why he could have decided against Charleston.

“Callie?” Hannah came out of the kitchen with a phone in her hand. “It’s for you. Lawrence Dennison.”

Callie didn’t know whether to be optimistic or worried. Was Lawrence calling to thank her for joining the committee, or had he seen right through her ruse?

“Does he sound annoyed?” she asked Hannah.

“Not that I could tell.”

“Happy?”

“No. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Callie took the phone. She steeled herself. “Hello?”

“Hello, Callie.” Lawrence sounded happy—maybe too happy.

“Hello, Councilman Dennison.”

“Please, please, call me Lawrence.”

She couldn’t help but think the invitation was a good sign, but she didn’t want to hope. “All right. Lawrence.”

“I’m calling to thank you personally.”

She felt a wave of relief. “For joining the committee.”

“For the donation.”

“The donation?”

Hannah, who was watching, cocked her head in curiosity.

“Two-thousand dollars was very generous of you.”

Two-thousand dollars? Had Callie accidentally signed something, or agreed to something? She couldn’t afford to donate two-thousand dollars. “I—”

Lawrence didn’t seem to hear her. “The beautification committee will definitely put the money to good use.”

“Lawrence, I think there’s been—”

“And on your building permit, I’ve reviewed the architectural drawings, and I’m optimistic it can be approved this week.”

“Approved?”

She knew she should protest. She hadn’t made any donation. And if she had, would it have been a bribe?

Hannah’s brown eyes went wide as she whispered. “The permit?”

Callie wanted to nod, but she was afraid to jinx it. Could this really be happening?

“You should hear something by Wednesday. If the office doesn’t call, feel free to contact me directly.”

Hannah touched her arm, pointing to the bakery door.

Callie turned to see Deacon walk in. He looked tall, handsome and crisply cool in a pair of designer jeans and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the collar open.

“I...uh...” Her gaze met Deacon’s secretive, self-satisfied smirk, and she immediately knew what had happened. “Thank you, Lawrence.”

“My pleasure. Goodbye, Callie.”

“Goodbye.” Without taking her gaze off Deacon, she handed the phone to Hannah. “I have to talk to Deacon.”

“Are we getting our building permit?”

“Looks like we are.” Callie wasn’t sure how to feel about that: happy, guilty, annoyed, grateful?

What kind of man would do that for her?

While she wondered, he came to a stop on the other side of the display case. “Hello, Callie.”

“Can we talk?” she asked.

“Sure.” He glanced around at the customers. “Can you get away for a few minutes?”

“Yes.” She untied her apron and lifted it over her head.

He gave an admiring glance at her white, short-sleeved blouse and fitted black skirt. The interest in his eyes sent a pleasant sizzle down her spine. He had a casual, earthy sexuality that reached out to her.

She had to remind herself she was...at least possibly...annoyed with him.

A good person would be annoyed with him.

Wouldn’t they?

Winding her way through the dining tables, she followed him to the door. Her gaze moved involuntarily from his broad shoulders, down the taper of his back, to his attractive rear. He had to be in incredible shape. A good person wouldn’t be watching his rear end either.

She wanted to be a good person.

“It’s a hot one,” he said as they exited to the sidewalk.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” she blurted out.

“I don’t know,” he said easily. “What are we talking about?”

“The donation.”

It was clear from his expression that he immediately understood. “Ahhh.”

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Yes. It was me. Can I hold your hand?”

“What?” Her brain stumbled on the question.

“Your hand. I’d like to hold your hand while we walk.”

“Why are you saying that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“We’re talking about you letting Lawrence think I made a big donation to the beautification committee.”

“We can’t do that while I’m holding you hand?”

“Deacon.”

“What?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he took her hand as they walked beneath the arching oak trees.

She knew she should pull away, but she didn’t seem to have it in her. “Lawrence just called me,” she persisted.

“Good.” They took a few more steps. “Right?”

It was definitely good holding hands. In fact, it was great holding hands. His was strong. It felt manly. It was a manly hand, and she liked that.

“Callie?”

“Huh?”

“What did Lawrence say?”

“Oh.” She put her focus back on track. “He said my permit will be approved on Wednesday.”

Deacon squeezed her hand, lifting it to his lips to give it a kiss. “That’s fantastic!”

She let his action sink in for a moment.

He’d kissed her.

It was on the hand, sure. But he’d kissed her, and she’d liked it. Her lips tingled as she thought about the kiss. They were jealous of her hand.

She ordered herself to get a grip. She got a grip, tamping down her wayward reaction.

“You bribed him,” she said, making sure she sounded disapproving.

“That wasn’t a bribe. It was inspiration.”

“It was money.”

“A bribe would be if you called him up and said ‘I’ll give you two-thousand dollars if you approve my permit.’”

“I didn’t do that.” Her brained clicked through the implications. “Did I break the law?”

He chuckled. “You’re too much.” Then he lifted her hand to kiss it again.

He held it still against his lips. He stopped walking, and she stopped too.

He turned to gaze into her eyes. She felt a wash of helpless desire warm her body and flush her skin.

He wrapped his free hand around her upper arm, urging her gently backward into a narrow, cobblestone alley.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered. “I want to kiss you.”

She didn’t even think to refuse. “Yes.”

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