A Billionaire Gentleman (The Holden Brothers Book 1) Read online

  Maybe the main reason I liked her was because, in our own ways, we were both outsiders through no faults of our own. No one took either of us seriously. Some younger wives and youngest sons might’ve loved the idea that they didn’t need to be responsible for anything important, but that wasn’t us. All we wanted was for people to see us the way we really were, and not what people assumed we were.

  “Is something wrong?” Grandad asked, frowning at me.

  “No.” I gave him a partial smile. “Just thinking about how different it’s going to be, working with Dad and Davin, rather than going to school. It’s been a long time since I haven’t been on a school schedule.”

  “It’ll be good to have you here,” Grandad said. “I’m sure Walter and Davin are looking forward to working with you.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I muttered. When he gave me a look, I explained, “I think they’re more worried about finding something for me to do that I can’t mess up.”

  “We all have our strengths and weaknesses, Deklin,” he said. “Once you find your niche, you’ll excel, just like your brothers.”

  I didn’t mention that I had no idea what my niche would be. No need to shake Grandad’s faith in me so soon.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get something to eat. I’ve got more people for you to meet.”

  Maybe this was actually my beginning at Holden Enterprises. I really hoped I didn’t fuck it all up.

  Three

  Sofi

  Tears burned my eyes as my hands slammed into the door, pushing it open with enough force that, if someone had been on the other side, they would’ve gotten hurt. Normally, that would’ve made me apologize profusely, even if no one was there, but I couldn’t find it in me to care right now. Even the blast of Vegas heat that hit me barely registered.

  I wasn’t naïve or sheltered – far from it – but this many sleazebags in a row had me doubting the entire human race. Halfway to the bus stop, I began to slow. I was already sweating, but that didn’t mean I had to show up to my interview smelling as slimy as I felt. Why was it, whenever I talked to a man, I felt like I needed a thirty-minute scalding shower afterward just to get the filth off me? I’d had men staring at me since I hit puberty, and I did mean men, not only boys. I should’ve been used to it by now.

  Someone on the other side of the street cat called as I ducked into the bus shelter, the shade offering me little in the way of relief from the setting sun. I plucked at the front of my blouse, cursing my decision to wear it. I’d thought it made me look older, more responsible, the way a responsible mother should look, but all it had done was ensure that not a single one of the three lawyers I’d talked to today had looked any further than my chest, as if wondering if the buttons were going to pop off and give them a show.

  I brushed at my cheeks to get rid of the couple tears that had escaped, grateful that I hadn’t bothered with much in the way of makeup today. I was twenty-four but had one of those faces where heavy makeup just made me look like I was a kid playing dress-up. Well, unless my asshole ex-husband had something to say about it. According to him, I looked like a whore with makeup and frumpy without it.

  No, I told myself firmly. I was not going to think about him. This wasn’t about revenge or getting the better of him. This was about our son. My son. I had to get Dallas back, but I was starting to feel like all I was really doing was repeatedly running headfirst into a brick wall.

  I’d been barely nineteen when I met Mead, a college student, and then I’d gotten pregnant a few weeks before I turned twenty. Without much in the way of options, I’d dropped out and gotten married. Mead had wanted me to stay home with the baby, and I’d been happy to do it. He made the money, kept the money, and decided what to do with the money. I hadn’t really let it bother me until I finally left him and realized that I literally had nothing but the clothes on my back.

  My face burned with embarrassment as the series of events that had followed that decision played themselves out in my memory. I looked down, sure if anyone looked at me, they’d be able to read it all on my face. I still couldn’t quite process just how badly I’d messed up my life when I’d thought all of my decisions had been smart ones.

  When the bus pulled up, my stomach twisted, and it had less to do with the fact that I’d barely eaten today and more to do with the attorney ad on the side of the bus. I’d just come from his office, and the meeting had gone the same way as the other two had, but he’d been less subtle about it.

  I couldn’t afford anyone better, though. I’d managed to get a part-time job at a fast-food chain, and that had helped me save enough to put down a deposit on an apartment, so I could get out of the halfway house where I’d been living for the last few weeks. A place of my own had been my first priority since all of my visits with Dallas were supervised, and I wouldn’t have my son visiting me there.

  Now that I had a place, sparse as it was, the next thing I needed was a lawyer to fight for joint custody at the very least. But to do that, I needed a half-decent attorney and that cost money.

  I sat behind the driver without looking at any of the other passengers. Chances were, most of them were decent people using city transportation like me, but even people who looked decent on the outside could be far from that inside.

  Like the guy advertising on the side of this bus.

  I’d wanted to slap him when he’d walked around his desk to put his hand on my shoulder and leaned down to whisper in my ear that he’d happily find an arrangement that would allow him to take on my case, pro bono. The first lawyer I’d gone to had referred to it as “extra company.” The second had used the phrase “whatever you’re able to pay…or trade.” This one, after calling it “an arrangement” had proceeded to give a few lewd examples before I’d shoved the chair back and practically ran from the office.

  He’d been laughing as the door slammed shut behind me.

  Tears threatened again, and I rolled my eyes to look up at the ceiling of the bus, blinking rapidly to keep the damn things from falling. I didn’t remember where I’d learned that trick, but it’d come in handy more than once, and not just with Mead.

  I took slow, deep breaths. My interview was a little over thirteen miles from the bus stop, and I needed to pull myself together before I got there. I was grateful that I had a job at all, but I needed a better one. Better as in higher pay.

  I’d already accepted that I wasn’t going to get much of an improvement in atmosphere. If I hadn’t been terrified of losing my son forever, I might’ve cared about the career path I’d never get back to, but I just didn’t have the energy for more than one focus at the moment.

  By the time I reached my stop, I was composed enough to keep my head up as I exited the bus and headed down the sidewalk to the Diamond Star Lounge. Part club, part restaurant, it boasted ‘showgirls’ rather than strippers, but still wasn’t the classiest of places. I didn’t possess the skills to get hired as a legitimate showgirl, and I definitely didn’t have the time to learn, even if I thought I probably could. They promised no nudity, though, and that was enough for me.

  Since they were only hiring dancers at the moment, I didn’t have the opportunity to interview for hostess, server, or bartender, but if I got this job, I could always keep an eye out for other positions as they became available. Honestly, this place might be the best for me, anyway. Not high-class enough to worry about my past or my ex, and not low class enough for my ex to use against me if he found out about it.

  I kept telling myself all of this as I opened the door and walked inside. It wasn’t as dark as I’d expected, but it was still early in the evening. I supposed it had its own version of dinner lighting at some point. If I was lucky, I’d find out.

  “Here about the job?”

  A tall guy who looked to be in his mid-forties came toward me. Dark eyes, hair that had a reddish tone to it, and a pleasant, if forgettable, face. I would’ve thought he’d be the sort of person who’d be good to work with if I
hadn’t learned at a young age that what a person looked like didn’t necessarily reflect what was on the inside.

  “Is it still available?” I asked, my hold on my purse strap tightening. It was the only tell I still had, the only indicator of how my gut was churning, this need to have something to hold onto when anxiety clawed at my insides.

  “It is.” He held out a hand. “Sanders Flannery.”

  I shook his hand, appreciating that he didn’t linger or take this as an opening to get more…familiar. It was completely, and surprisingly, professional. “Sofi Stafford.”

  “Let’s sit while we talk,” he said, motioning toward the bar.

  A couple men were at the far end, but they didn’t even look at us as we sat down, thoroughly engrossed in whatever was on the television. About two dozen people were scattered around the room, some talking to each other, some watching the dancer who’d just come on stage. The slot machines, however, were full.

  “Dinner and a show starts a little later on Fridays and Saturdays,” he said. “We’re open every day, noon to four – that’s am not p.m. Dancers’ schedules rotate based on seniority. That means you pretty much don’t have a say in your schedule unless it’s an emergency.” He gave me a pointed look. “And I’m the one who decides if it’s an emergency.”

  I nodded, folding my hands in my lap. I didn’t care when I worked as long as I worked. I’d worry about schedules and things like that when I had my little boy back.

  “Some women only want a job during specific hours,” he said wryly. “You’re not one of those, are you?”

  I shook my head this time, then reached into my purse and pulled out a sheet of paper. When I held it out, he gave me a strange look.

  “My resumé.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You brought a resumé to apply to be a showgirl?”

  I flushed and looked down at my hands. “Yes, sir.”

  “Sanders, please.” He skimmed the paper as he spoke. “So, no dancing experience?”

  “No, but I’ve always been athletic and a fast learner.”

  “Never heard anyone refer to dancing as athletic, even though it is,” Sanders said. “Is there anything not on the resumé that you would put on an application?”

  Shit.

  I supposed honesty was the best policy. “I’m on probation.”

  He looked more amused than surprised. “For what?”

  “Drugs. A misdemeanor.” I really hoped he wouldn’t ask for more details than that. I didn’t want to relive it any more often than I already did.

  “We’re a drug and alcohol-free workplace.” The words came out automatically, as if they were part of a script.

  “I’m clean,” I said, hating the words even as I said them. I could tell people I didn’t do drugs, that I’d never done drugs, but it wouldn’t do any good. Once that little five-letter word had inserted itself into my life, no one believed that I’d never used them. The best they believed was that I wasn’t using anymore.

  “We don’t do drug tests,” he said. “But if we catch you using or it affects your work, you’ll be fired.”

  “I understand.” I really hoped the way he was talking meant I was going to get the job.

  “You wear the costume we provide, and you start in the background. When I say you’re ready, I’ll move you to where I think you’ll be best.” He flipped over the paper and wrote a few things on the back. “Are you able to stay tonight to watch the routines?”

  “Yes.” I almost frowned at how eager I sounded. “Yes, I can.”

  “Good.” He handed me the paper back. “If, at the end of the night, you think you know them well enough, you can start tomorrow evening.”

  Well, that was easier than anything had been in a long time.

  I really hoped it didn’t blow up in my face.

  Four

  Deklin

  I really needed my own place.

  It’d made sense for me not to get anything permanent either here or there while I was still in school, but I hadn’t realized how claustrophobic it would feel, being home again and knowing that I didn’t have a set time where I would get to leave, no safe space to escape to.

  I loved my father, but living with him could be…well, it could be a bitch.

  For example, on Sunday afternoons, he always wanted us to have lunch together after church, and he’d always tried to use that to get me to go to a service with him. I had a bad feeling that the longer I was here, the more he’d expect me to go along with how he did things. I didn’t have a problem with him going to church. I never did.

  But I didn’t want to go. That wasn’t how I wanted to live my life. Which meant I needed to establish myself as a responsible adult instead of a college student.

  But before I could start looking for an apartment or house or whatever, I needed to be absolutely certain where I would be working.

  “Is there something wrong with the tuna salad?” Dad asked, his tone telling me he’d asked once all ready.

  “No, no, Dad, it’s fine.” I scooped up another forkful. “I was just thinking.”

  “About anything in particular?”

  I started to shake my head but changed my mind. Maybe, if I was honest with him, I could get some answers. Every time I tried to talk to Dad or Davin about when I’d start at the company or what I’d be doing, they’d brushed it off, telling me I didn’t need to worry about it yet. Telling me to enjoy a bit of a break.

  I didn’t need to take a break. My brothers never had. Neither had my dad or grandad. Sure, Damon didn’t have a ‘regular’ job, but he still worked hard. Why did everyone keep thinking I needed to be coddled? I’d never expected it or asked for it. I wanted to prove my worth. Now.

  “I’m thinking about when I’ll start work. What I’ll do once I begin.”

  “Actually, I was just going to talk to you about that.”

  I would’ve thought he was lying, but Dad didn’t lie. Ever. He hadn’t even done the little white lie thing when we were kids. After Mom died, he’d gotten more involved in the church, stricter about following all the rules. Never abusive or anything like that, but it did make things awkward more often than not.

  “Great.” I smiled at him. “I’m all ears.”

  “Over the next few months, you’re going to be working with your grandfather,” he began.

  Grandad? “I didn’t think he came into the office anymore.”

  “He doesn’t, really, but this isn’t exactly office work. You and he will be doing some preliminary scouting of holdings in different states. He will show you what we’re looking for, the types of properties we buy and sell.”

  I stifled my annoyance. Did he think I hadn’t done my homework? That I didn’t watch and listen? I might not have been in board meetings or know all the inside information, but I wasn’t completely clueless either.

  “We haven’t decided on a specific destination or date yet,” Dad continued, either oblivious to or ignoring my annoyance, “so I have something I’d like you to do while you’re waiting. A special assignment.”

  Okay, that sounded better.

  “An old family friend is moving back to Houston, and I want you to handle showing him the properties I’ve selected for him to look at here.”

  I gritted my teeth and gave myself a moment to think before I spoke. I didn’t want to sound ungrateful. “So, I take this family friend to the addresses you give me, and that’s it?”

  “It sounds simple, but Ronall Kane isn’t just a random family friend. He’s important to our business too. Having him as one of our clients will only help our reputation.”

  I could tell he was being earnest, but it didn’t matter how much he believed what he was saying. He was giving me busy work.

  And I would do it. I’d show everyone that I could follow directions, and I’d absorb everything I could possibly learn. Then, when they finally gave me something real to do, I’d show them that they should have trusted me all along.

  “Sounds good,
Dad. Why don’t you run me through the properties so I can process it all and not sound like I’m reading someone else’s descriptions.”

  “There’s my boy.”

  As he started, I wondered just how much time it would take and what I would have to do to get him to start treating me like an adult, because I didn’t know how well I could work with him if he kept talking to me like I was still a kid.

  Five

  Sofi

  I’d stayed until close last night, sipping water and turning down drinks as I watched one dance after the other. Every so often, Sanders had stopped by to ask if I had any questions or concerns.

  At first, I’d thought he was hitting on me, but he’d never once been anything but a gentleman, and I appreciated that more than he could ever know. He’d been surprised that I’d been taking notes, which I hoped meant he’d cut me a little slack if I screwed up tonight.

  My stomach clenched again, and the little I’d managed to eat threatened to make an appearance. It’d been a toss-up as to whether it’d be better for me to not eat anything and risk passing out if my blood sugar dropped too low, or if I should stick with something light and bland.

  I suddenly regretted using the word “toss-up.”

  Instead of going in through the front door like I had yesterday, I walked around to the back where Sanders had told me to go. The alley was dingy enough that I had to squint, and the faint scent of cat urine made me wrinkle my nose, but the door itself was illuminated by a bright ring of light. That, plus the mountain of a man leaning against the wall next to it, made me feel better about coming in this way.

  Sanders had explained yesterday that most of the dancers preferred to use this entrance to avoid customers trying to talk to them or hit on them when all they wanted to do was go to work and then go home. Some used it only on the off days when they didn’t feel like talking to anyone when they came in to check the schedule or pick up their paychecks.