Billionaire's Tragedy (Standalone Book) (Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (35 page)

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

Brooke

The
next morning, I woke up
with Dax on my mind. I'd dreamed about him all night, but it wasn't a good
dream, it was one in which he was chasing me around the city calling my name. I
tried not to hear him, but I couldn't help it. He was loud and there was an
ache in his voice that always caused me to turn around and look. I woke up
feeling exhausted.

As I brewed a pot
of strong coffee, the phone rang. I picked it up and saw that it was my dad, so
I answered. "Hey, Dad, what's up?"

"Morning,
Brookie. How you doing?" he said in the cheerful tone of someone who was
already fully caffeinated.

"I'm tired,
but okay," I said as I tried to unsuccessfully stifle a yawn.

"What were
you doing last night?" my father asked with a hint of concern in his
voice.

"Nothing
illegal or immoral, I assure you," I laughed. "I was just out late
and had strange dreams."

"I hope that
they're not related," my dad said.

"Eh, not
really," I replied as I pulled a mug from the cabinet and filled it with
the dark hot brew. I sipped and then pulled back and blew on the cup hoping to
cool it down enough to drink it. Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Dad,
what do you know about the Apex Club over on 6
^th
and Harlem?"

"Not much
other than the local gossip," he said. "Why, what's up?"

"I'm just
curious," I said. "Jordie and Roger put the guy who owns it on a list
of potential new clients and I'm trying to figure out why."

"Oh,
that?" my dad said. "That's probably because his lawyer was recently
fished out of the drink."

"No, I know
that," I said. "I'm trying to figure out why a guy like that wouldn't
have a huge firm behind him. Why would he be in need of a new lawyer? Who was
Lydia Banks anyway?"

"Why do you
suddenly want to know all of this, kiddo?" my dad asked in a concerned
voice.

"I'm supposed
to meet with him and convince him that he should hire our firm to represent
him, but I can't get a handle on how best to do that when I don't know his
history," I conveniently left out the fact that I'd been on a date with
the guy the night before and that I found myself fantasizing about doing some
very intimate things with him in the privacy of my own home. My dad didn't need
to know everything.

"I don't know
what his story is, kiddo," my dad said. "I know the rumors, but you
know how much stock I put in rumors."

"What are the
rumors?" I asked.

"The usual,
you know, illegal gambling, drugs and prostitution happening in and out of the
club," my dad rattled off the list of standard accusations that every club
owner in LA seemed to have hanging over their head. Most were at least
partially true, but to what extent was anyone's guess. Unless the owners were
arrested, the accusations were deemed unfounded by the paper, so my dad took
everything with a grain of salt. His motto was: Give me evidence of the proof
and I'll believe you.

"Oh, okay,
got it," I said. "Will you let me know if you hear anything about the
Banks case?"

"If there's
any evidence of the proof," Dad said. I laughed out loud as he reminded me
that I was due at the house for dinner over the weekend and that my mother was
anxiously awaiting notice as to when she could deliver my individually prepared
and wrapped meals.

"Tell her she
can drop by any time she likes," I said. "But it'll probably be
easier to find me at the office. I'm headed over there as soon as I mainline
this coffee."

"Ah, you're
truly your father's daughter," Dad laughed.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN

Dax

The
next morning, I woke up
and lay in bed debating whether or not I was going to call Brooke and find out
why she'd bolted. Part of me was pissed as hell that she'd left me standing in
the door of a well-known restaurant with all those people looking on and wondering
what I'd done. The other part of me was worried about what had happened and I
wanted to find out if she was okay. The part that was pissed and embarrassed
was winning, until after I took a hot shower and got dressed.

Once I had a hot
cup of coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other, I felt a
little differently. I switched on the news and saw a reporter standing in front
of the club holding a microphone with a caption that read: Club's Lawyer Dies
Under
Suspicious Circumstances.

"Well, duh,
lady," I said to the television as I turned up the volume and listened to
the reporter.

"Last night,
sources close to the investigation into the murder of LA lawyer, Lydia Banks,
said that police were closing the circle of suspicion and were looking at
Banks’ client list for potential suspects. The murder appears to be an
execution and the body thrown into the Marina
del
Rey
Yacht dock as a means of disposing of it. Police are now looking at those who
own boats that were docked at Marian
del
Rey and will
be pulling those people in for questioning this later this week. One of those
under suspicion is the owner of this club, Dax Malone. Malone was not only a
client of Banks’, but he also owns a boat that has been docked at Marina
del
Rey for the past several years. Sources close to Malone
say that there's no way he could have killed Banks, but police are exploring
all possible avenues. Live from the front of Malone's club, Apex, this is
Action News Reporter, Karen Findlay."

"Dammit!"
I yelled into the empty living room just as my phone started buzzing. I looked
down and saw half a dozen calls coming in, I took the one from Riza knowing
that it would be the one with the most information. "What's up?"

"Boss, we
have trouble," she said. "Beck's gone missing and so has the boat.
And there are a hoard of reporters and photographers here in front of the
club."

"Yeah, I just
saw the news," I said as I ran a hand through my hair and tried to think
about what to do next. "How long has Beck been missing?"

"No idea,"
she replied. "I lost track of him around midnight last night when I had to
come back to the club and deal with a couple of wise guys who thought they were
going to pull a heist."

"What the
fuck?" I shouted into the phone.

"Oh please,
they were flat out amateurs who had no clue what they were doing," she
said. "I taught them a lesson that they won't soon forget and will spread
out into the idiot community. There will be no more heists."

"Tell me you
did not attract police attention," I demanded.

"Nope, no
cops, just my own form of justice applied where needed," she said.

"Who was
it?"

"North side
boys who got a little too big for their damn britches," she replied.

"You sure the
lesson was learned?"

"Abso-fuckin-lutely,
boss," she said and I could hear her smiling on the other end. I knew that
if Riza taught a lesson in justice, then there would be no further incidents
from that crew. She'd learned her methods while in Iraq with the Marines. That
was some hardcore shit.

"Now what are
we going to do about Beck?" I asked.

"I'm gonna
head over to the Marina and see if I can locate him with the GPS," she
said. "I'll have him back in the club by lunchtime."

"I'd rather
have him in rehab," I muttered.

"Can't do it
unless he wants it, boss," she said. "Any other way and it won't
stick."

"I know, I
know," I said. "Just find him, Ri. I don't like having him on the
loose while the cops are out there looking to pin Lydia's murder on someone.
He's too easy a target for them."

"Gotcha,
boss, I'm on it," she said and then disconnected.

I sat on the couch
staring at my phone until I decided that the part of me that wanted to know
what had happened last night was stronger than the part that was pissed. I
pulled up Brooke's number and pushed the dial button.

"Hi, Dax,"
she said when she answered the phone.

"Good
morning, Brooke," I said. "How are you this morning?"

"Embarrassed.
Ashamed. Mortified," she said. "You name it – I probably feel
it."

"Okay, so
I'll bite," I said preparing to jump in. "What the hell happened last
night?"

"Oh man,
that's a loaded question," she sighed.

"Would you
care to answer it or should I just write this off as the most extreme way a
woman has said no to me ever?" I asked. I could feel the irritation rising
in my chest, but I knew better than to go gangster on Brooke.

"I'm not sure
I can ever apologize enough or sufficiently explain what happened last
night," she said hesitantly.

"Try," I
said. "I'll listen, and I won't lose my cool. I promise."

"It's pretty
complicated. Can we meet for a drink later? It'll be easier to explain in
person," she said.

"Only if you
swear that it's not going to end the same way it did last night," I said.

"I do
solemnly swear," she said and I could hear the trace of a giggle in her
voice. "I will not run off like Cinderella when the clock struck
midnight."

"You didn't
even leave me a shoe," I said poking a little fun at her.

"Well, it's
the digital age, you've got my phone number," she laughed. "A shoe
seemed kind of old fashioned and needlessly wasteful."

I burst out
laughing and said, "Very well, then we'll meet later."

"How about we
meet at Dooley's around seven?" she suggested.

"That should
work," I replied. "I'll see you then."

"I'll look
forward to it," she said before disconnecting.

I sat staring at
my phone wondering how one woman could create so much inner turmoil and desire.
I didn't want to answer that question so I turned my attention to how I was
going to deal with the inventory problem at the club.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT

Brooke

"
Good
morning, Alma," I said as I walked
through the door. "How are you this fine morning?"

"Good
morning, Miss Raines," Alma said peering at me from behind her round
lenses. "I'm well, and today's weather forecast appears to support your
assessment of what type of morning it is."

"Very well,
thank you for that information, Alma," I smiled. "Are Jordie and
Roger in yet?"

"The
gentlemen are in the conference room and have been there all night, I
believe," she said in a voice that was very obviously disapproving.

"Are they
doing something they shouldn't be doing?" I asked.

"Miss Raines,
I was hired to be a secretary and a receptionist for this firm," she
replied. Her lips were set in a grim line across the lower half of her face as
she murmured, "I was not hired to mind grown up children who still need a
mother."

"I see,"
I nodded. "I'm sorry that you've been subjected to the boys' bad behavior,
Alma. I'll go see what I can do to get them to change their ways and act a
little more like adults."

She nodded as she
turned back to the letter she had been typing when I entered and I listened as
her fingers flew across the keyboard transforming our words into something
presentable. I didn't want to lose Alma over a misunderstanding, so I walked
straight to the conference room where I found a scene that caused me to drop my
bags and stand staring at the mess.

"What in the
hell have you two done?" I asked as I looked at the walls of the
conference room now papered in post-it notes. It looked like a windstorm had set
down in a paper factory and left a wild random flurry of multi-colored snow
covering every square inch of the room.

"We've been
trying to hash out a way to make the finances work until you land Malone,"
Roger said in a tired voice. Jordie nodded in agreement as he rested his chin
on his hand and almost nodded off. "We got worried that we were going to
lose it all if we didn't come up with a backup plan, but I think we figure it
out."

"What in the
hell did you two do in here?" I repeated. "And what did you take in
order to stay up all night and do this?"

"What are you
talking about Brooke?" Jordie asked.

"You know
full well what I'm talking about," I said in a disapproving voice.
"You two bought something to help you push through the night and work. I
know it, you know it,
we
all know it. So cut the crap
and just admit it."

"Fine,
whatever, we took some uppers we bought from one of the corner boys,"
Roger said throwing up his hands like a kid who'd been caught with his hand in
the cookie jar. "What the hell? We've all done it, Brooke. I don't know
why you're getting all high and mighty on us."

"Maybe
because when I came in this morning our receptionist said she had been hired as
a professional office worker, not a babysitter for adult children," I
said. "But then maybe it's also because you guys know better! We're a law
firm not a frat house, dammit!"

"Sorry,
Brooke," Jordie yawned. "We were just trying to make it all
work."

"I know you
guys mean well, but you're going to sink us if you don't get your shit together
and get out there and help me drum up some clients!" I yelled. "I'm
out trying to convince Malone to hire us as his next legal counsel and you guys
are in here popping uppers and wallpapering the conference room with
post-its!"

"Sorry,
Brooke," Roger echoed Jordie. "We only wanted to help."

"If you two
lunkheads want to help, you need to get your asses over to the courthouse and
figure out who doesn't have representation in their bail hearing, and then
offer to represent them," I said. "You guys are so much smarter than
this. Stop acting like first-year law students and start acting like
professionals who know what they're doing!"

"You guys are
both off today," I said. "Clean this mess up and then go home and get
some rest. Come back tomorrow and we'll work out a plan for how you can
actually help."

"Okay,"
Jordie yawned. "We'll clean this up."

"Jesus, you
two," I said shaking my head as I picked up my things and walked into my
office where I sunk down in my chair and hoped that tonight's meeting with Dax
would offer the solution to our problems.