Billionaire Romance Box Set: The Billionaire's Legacy: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Box Set Page 12

  “Yeah, you know something? I fucking know that!” I snapped into the phone. I immediately stopped, closed my eyes, took a breath. Simon was my greatest ally in the world, and I didn’t need to fight with him. Especially when he was right.

  “When are you going to go to Johannesburg?” Simon asked, ignoring my outburst.

  “As soon as possible. Today, most likely. I need to talk to Cassie, tell her something she’ll believe, then I’ll take the plane.”

  “Are you going to leave her in Morocco?” he asked.

  “Yes, and you’re going to keep an eye on her.”

  “Me?” He sounded surprised.

  “Unless you’d rather go to Johannesburg and deal with that mess,” I said.

  “I’ll guard her around the clock,” he said quickly. “Not to worry. Do you want morning and evening updates, or would you like them hourly?”

  I smiled. “Morning and evening unless it becomes necessary for you to update me more often. I’m hoping that everything will just go according to plan for at least a few days. We’ve earned that.”

  “Indeed,” Simon said, and we ended the call.

  I kicked a rock and thought again about what Simon said about Cassie being a reporter, and my stomach wrecked itself all over again as I remembered her holding Antoine’s picture. If Manuel found out that someone put together the connection that Antoine was my son, he’d have that person killed by sunset. I knew I couldn’t let that happen. Worst case scenario, if Cassie did find out for certain, she’d likely break up with me, which would make it harder to protect her. She’d be open to harm, and, worst of all, the last opportunity for me to get Antoine back would blow away in a puff of smoke.

  South Africa first. Then, I would deal with Cassie and confess the truth to her. The more I thought about it, the more I felt confident that, once all of these other obstacles were removed, she would be able to help me get the information I needed to get Antoine back, alive.

  Cassie

  “You are absolutely, one hundred percent, fucking kidding me!” I yelled, not bothering at all to try to rein myself in. “Are you serious?” I slammed my hand, which had been floating in the air emphasizing my thoughts, down on the kitchen counter. I saw Brad wince, and at least then I knew that he was feeling slightly guilty over abandoning me to go to South Africa.

  “Honey, you know I wouldn’t do it if it was at all avoidable.” Brad’s pleading tone did nothing to diminish my anger.

  “I know that we’re supposed to be on vacation? And I know that you’re not supposed to be working right now? I know those things; do they sound familiar to you?” The counter separated us, and I was glad. The last thing I wanted was for Brad to do what I was coming to know as typical ‘Brad behavior,’ doing something wrong and then wrapping his strong, firm arms around me and somehow, magically, getting me to forget why I was ever so silly as to be mad in the first place. Not this time; that counter was serving as a cock block and I wasn’t going to remove it.

  “I know, I know,” he said, his voice full of regret and exasperation. “There’s a huge crisis in Johannesburg at the property, though, and it’s not something I can handle over the phone.”

  “What crisis?” I demanded. “What crisis is so important that you have to leave me here, by myself,” I emphasized, “and fly there?”

  He ran his fingers though his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration as he did. “It’s a combination of things,” he said. “They’re too complex to explain. Not that you wouldn’t understand,” he said quickly, responding to my snort of derision, “it’s just too stupid and boring to even go over. I basically have to go down there and clean up someone else’s mess, that’s the short of it.”

  “So I stay here by myself on a completely fucked vacation because someone else messed up? You do realize I’m completely trapped here without my passport, right? I mean, do you get that? This isn’t you taking the car to work; you’re taking the plane, my only mode of transportation out of the country, and leaving me here. What if I have an emergency? What if something happens in my life? Or does that not matter to you?”

  I was laying it on pretty thick, and I knew it. I also knew that I didn’t have a lot more leeway before Brad, who wasn’t used to having to explain himself to anyone, especially to a dime-a-dozen girlfriend, would get fed up with my yelling.

  To my surprise, though, he didn’t bite back; he agreed with me.

  “I do realize that,” he said quietly. “And I want you to know that Simon is here; if anything happens, you can text him and he’ll be to you in a minute, and I’ll be back on the plane in an instant. I promise we’re going to get your passport straightened out the second we get back to London; I’ll handle it myself with the Embassy the second we touch down. And,” he looked at me, his hands out, palms up, in a gesture of apology, “I’m sorry.”

  I glared at him. “Whatever,” I said. “I’m going to go get some air.” I grabbed my purse and phone from the counter and I walked out the door. I heard him calling behind me, but I ignored him. I felt my begin to fade as I walked out onto the street and toward a small restaurant I knew was a few blocks away. I figured I could grab some coffee and a snack, calm down, and make it back to the hotel in time to say goodbye to Brad. A voice in my head that was still angry suggested that not being able to say goodbye to him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but the voice in my head that was falling more and more every day for him told me I owed him a big fat apology. That he wasn’t used to having someone else’s needs to consider, and that I was on a fully paid for vacation in Morocco with the man of my dreams, and perhaps I should simmer down on the attitude. That voice almost made me turn around and go back to the hotel, but I kept walking. I did decide to text Brad, though, as a compromise.

  Hi Baby, I’m sorry. I just love being with u. I know u have things u need to do. I’ll be home in a while and I’ll bring u something to eat.

  I thought about clarifying that I would bring him food, but I envisioned him fantasizing about me instead and left it as it was.

  I walked into the restaurant and ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee, then took out my phone. I had thought earlier in the day about contacting my editor, and this was as good a time as any. I dialed her on Facetime and waited as it rang through. When the word ‘connected’ appeared, a surprising amount of relief flooded through me.

  “Hi!” My editor said. “What a surprise! A great surprise! How are you?” Her smile was broad and I could see her office in the background of my phone screen. It made me homesick a little, nostalgic for the Monday morning meetings we would have in her office.

  “I’m amazing,” I said, forcing a smile that was bigger than how I felt onto my face. “I’m talking to you from Morocco!”

  “Seriously?” my editor asked. “What on earth are you doing there?”

  I explained, but I left out the part about Brad going to South Africa.

  “How is the situation going with your passport? I’m dying a little without our Monday staff meetings.”

  I smiled at her being on the same wavelength as I was; that was part of what made us such a great team.

  “It’s going to be resolved as soon as we get back to London,” I said. “Brad has promised to take care of it the second we get back; I’m not having any luck with the Embassy, but I’m pretty sure he has more pull.”

  “Are you sure you can trust him?” my editor asked, laughing at her joke. I paused, and then I laughed too.

  “Of course!” I said. “He’s my boyfriend, after all.”

  “Maybe he’s keeping it from you so that you have to stay with him in London,” she said. “Wants to keep you all to himself.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “I’m sure that’s totally it. You may need to come and get me.”

  We laughed for a while longer; it was so great to talk to a familiar face. When I rang off of Facetime, I sat back in my seat and stared at my blank phone. My editor had asked me point blank if I trusted Brad. Of cou
rse, she had been joking, but the question was a valid one. Did I trust him? It was a question that kept coming up again and again, with a seemingly different answer every time.

  I sighed and flagged down a server to pay my bill and order a sandwich to bring back to Brad. I thought about texting him, but he hadn’t responded to my earlier apology text and I didn’t want to push it. The server thanked me and, about twenty minutes after wrapping up my conversation with my editor, I was back out on the street heading back to the hotel.

  I don’t know what made me turn around to look behind me. Maybe I heard a weird sound—a horn honking, or someone laughing—or maybe I just felt something strange. When I reached the end of the block near the restaurant, I turned around and looked directly behind me, into the eyes of a man looking directly into mine.

  “Excuse me,” he muttered. He ducked his head and shouldered his way around me, bumping me as he went. The sandwich I was carrying for Brad fell to the ground and spilled out of the container onto the sidewalk.

  “Hey, no problem!” I yelled after him. “Asshole!” I groaned as I looked at the sandwich on the ground. It wasn’t salvageable. I picked up the remnants and put them into the cardboard container, then tossed the whole thing into the trash bin at the curb. I turned and walked back toward the hotel.

  As I walked a breeze picked up and I felt goosebumps rise on my arms. I hugged my arms around me and looked ahead for the hotel. A familiar shape caught my eye about halfway up the next block, and I stopped. It was the man who had run into me. It may have been my imagination, but I thought he was watching me.

  Don’t be stupid, I thought. No one even knows you’re here. Except Brad. And Patrick… I walked past the man, keeping my attention on him out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t move, and I relaxed. I was getting paranoid for no good reason. All of the worry I’d had for Patrick, the danger he said I was in, the questions about trusting Brad… it was all starting to play tricks in my head and make me see things that weren’t there.

  Patrick came into my mind and I hugged my arms around myself even tighter. He had called back the other day while I was with Brad, but he hadn’t left a message with any details, and he hadn’t texted since. I knew that he was still in the hospital; I’d checked to see if he’d been discharged, and the nurse said he was still there. I knew I’d get a call from the hospital if anything happened, so he must have been making progress. Why, then, had he not called me back?

  When I got back to the hotel and keyed into the room, I called Brad’s name. He didn’t answer. I walked into our bedroom and his suitcase was gone.

  I had missed him.

  Brad

  The flight to South Africa was roughly ten hours, which was ten hours I had planned to think about how I was going to work with my contacts there to get the goods shipped back up to Morocco as quickly as possible. It turned out to be ten hours I thought about Cassie. She was absolutely right; I was leaving her at a time when I shouldn’t be. She had no idea how right she was, unfortunately. I didn’t blame her one bit for being angry. I hoped that I’d be able to wrap up business in a day or two and get back to her. Simon would, I knew, keep a close eye on her, but I wouldn’t feel completely at ease until she was back in my sight again.

  When the plane landed, my pilot said that he needed to do a little bit of maintenance while we were there. I gave him the green light for whatever he needed, and then I contacted the Johannesburg Legacy property to have a driver come to get me. I crashed as soon as I got to my suite, and I woke up the next morning to a flurry of texts and calls from Simon, assuring me that he was keeping his eyes on Cassie and that she was fine, and from a contact I’d lined up to watch the progress on the Morocco site clean up. According to the contact, the bonus I’d paid the men was paying off; the work was moving even faster than it had been before. The full building would take close to six months to reconstruct, but there was an underground storage area ready. As soon as we had the inventory ready to deliver, the message said, there would be a place for it.

  I spent my first full day at a small café in Johannesburg with my South Africa contact. I tried to explain the urgency of the situation, but it was like banging my head against a deaf wall. Nothing was getting through. After a few hours, I sighed and stood up, excusing myself to go stretch my legs.

  While I was out getting air, I texted Cassie.

  How are u? I’m going to be wrapped up here soon, can’t wait to come home to u. Miss u.

  I clicked send, and waited a few moments, hoping she would text me back right away. She did, but it wasn’t the message I’d hoped for.

  Are u having me followed??

  I paused. Simon had promised to stay under the radar, and he hadn’t texted me to say that she had spotted him. A sharp stab of fear pushed through me.

  Are u being followed? How do you know? No, I am not having u followed.

  I sent the text back quickly, the lie about not having her followed flowing easily through my fingertips.

  Never mind, she texted back. Just being paranoid. When are u coming back?

  I’ll be back soon, I texted. Sooner than planned, maybe. I needed to check in with Simon and find out how likely it was that Cassie had spotted him. Of course, I reasoned, Cassie didn’t know Simon was out of London, and, if she saw him in Morocco, I would almost certainly have heard about it.

  I quickly texted Simon. Has Cassie seen u following her?

  No. The reply was instant.

  Are u sure? She just texted, thinks someone is following her.

  I’ll be on the lookout.

  I had to go back in and work with my contact. Frustrated, I turned off my phone and walked back inside.

  A few hours later, business concluded, my driver brought me back to my suite and I settled in with a cocktail.

  My phone rang; I answered. “Simon,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been keeping close tabs on her. She hasn’t seen me, but there is someone following her. I don’t think he’s been following her for long; he’s not subtle about it and I would have noticed. You need to get back here.”

  Ice ran through my veins as I swallowed the bit of scotch in my glass. It tasted like sand.

  “Who’s tailing her?”

  “I have a description but no other information yet. I’m running what I have through the system.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. Is it one of Manuel’s men?” I was trying to keep my voice controlled, but the sound of the ice rattling against my glass betrayed the shaking of my hands.

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. I heard Simon inhale.

  “I don’t think so, Brad. He’s dressed extremely casually, a hooded sweatshirt, torn jeans. He’s designed to blend in, not stand out.”

  I closed my eyes. Manuel’s henchmen all wore suits. They were impeccably dressed all the time.

  “Then who?” I asked.

  “It’s possible,” Simon began slowly, “that he’s from the same group responsible for the destruction of the Moroccan site.”

  “I’m leaving right now,” I said. “I’ll be there before tomorrow morning.” Without waiting for a reply, I disconnected Simon. Immediately, I called my pilot and told him to prep the plane for take off. “We have to leave tonight,” I said.

  “Yes, Sir,” the pilot said. “I’ll get it fueled up and we’ll be ready to go by the time you get here.”

  The next call I made was to my driver. He promised he’d be there in under ten minutes. I quickly polished off my drink, the scotch a searing, soothing burning in my throat, and I threw the few clothes I’d unpacked back into my suitcase. My phone pinged; the driver was waiting downstairs. I flew to the lobby and got into the car, quickly telling the driver to contact the hotel and explain my early departure. As he drove to the airport, I called Cassie.

  She didn’t answer; my call went straight to her voicemail. I tried to make my voice sound normal. “Hey Honey, miss you. Call me when you get this, doesn’t mat
ter what time.” I opened up my text app to send her a message, but thought the better of it. I didn’t want to scare her, and texting her to see if she was okay immediately after calling her to see if she was okay, well, she might begin to suspect that I thought she might not be okay, and I couldn’t have that.

  Instead, I sat back in the car and closed my eyes. The scotch was roiling in my belly and I knew that as soon as I got onto the plane I needed to get some food into my stomach quickly.

  The driver, a former professional race car driver, got me to the airport and onto the tarmac faster than I thought possible. I got onto the plane, stowed my bag, and got myself settled in for take off. The engines were on and the pilot told me that the ground crew was doing the final safety check and then we would be on our way.

  Relieved, I closed my eyes and tried to let the hum of the engines relax me. When we began to move, I sighed; I was on my way back to Cassie.

  Suddenly, there was a shudder and a huge jolt; the plane listed to the right and my seatbelt was the only thing holding me in my chair. The lights flickered, and the plane came to a stop.

  “What the fuck is happening?” I yelled to the front of the plane. There was one flight attendant, a woman I’d hired years earlier to be the first mate attendant on all my flights. “Marie, what the fuck is going on?”

  “Let me check with the pilot, Sir,” she said nervously, standing up and looking out one of the windows. “But it looks as though we may have blown a tire.”

  “Blown a tire? What does that mean? How does a plane blow a tire?” I undid my seatbelt and stood up, preparing to follow Marie into the cockpit.

  “Sir, please sit. Do you want something to drink? I’ll take care of everything with the pilot; I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m probably wrong about the tire.”

  But, she was not wrong.

  “Debris on the runway, Sir,” the pilot said grimly. “Blew two tires on the right side. We’re grounded for awhile.”

  “Not acceptable!” I roared. “Get another plane. Get another plane right now.”