Accidental Billionaire (9 page)

They drove to the middle of the strip and left the car with the valet. The Bellagio looked like a palace, golden cream-colored stone, thousands of windows, set behind an enormous pool. The pool was easily the size of the grocery store back home. Out on the street, tourists lined the front, groups posed with selfie sticks, others faced the water anticipating the show. It reminded her of how the day had started out. Their original plans. “Wow. You said Bellagio … and we’re at the Bellagio.”

Logan gave her a sideways look, with a hint of apology in it, and they headed over to the outdoor veranda where Mr. St. John was speaking with the hostess.

Music boomed on, making her go over to the rail to watch. Water jetted upward in time with the tunes. Logan leaned against the waist-high rail and spoke in her ear. “I was trying to help.”

Baylee stayed facing the jets. The air-conditioning came down from overhead vents, dispersed by fans, chilling the hot outdoor air. “You should have told me.” His family drama coupled with the fact that she’d exposed his whereabouts stole some of her outrage. “What made you meet up with your family instead of taking me to the New York?”

“They knew I was here.” Logan frowned. “Most of my friends from school are in town by now. Someone must have mentioned seeing me.”

Guilt kept her quiet. She never should have given him away.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She sighed. Her father was pressuring her. Logan was tempting her.

“I broke up with my girlfriend a year ago.” Logan ran his hand through his hair. “Well, she broke up with me.”

His ex was an idiot. Baylee closed her eyes at the instinctive thought. No. No. No. Logan was not for her. Why was he bringing this up? Didn’t he know not to talk about exes while on a date.

“Not that we were good together.”

“Is that why you broke up?”

“I don’t know why. Don’t you hate that?”

She’d never dated anyone seriously enough to have to break up over it. But she could see how that would be annoying. “Is she—”

“Come on, kids.” Mr. St. John waved.

What had he tipped to get them into this busy place without a wait? The entry was massive, the dining room even larger. Though it looked like all the candlelit tables were occupied, the host was motioning for staff to put a table together, dead center with a great view of the fountains. The tip must have been bigger than a twenty.

A waiter came by with a tray of lemonade while they waited. Baylee took a sip of the chilled drink and didn’t want to be there. Logan was looking at his brother with concern. His brother was avoiding his gaze. It all made her feel responsible. The tension was as thick as the perfume from the lilies. It made her drink taste like lily.

As she took her seat in the cushioned white wicker chair, she wondered why she was torturing herself. She could grab a sandwich back at the penthouse. She could get out of here. Twisting sideways, she reached for her handbag and eased out her cellphone out. She’d set off the ringer and say it was a call from home. So sorry but she had to leave. Looking down revealed Logan’s clenched fists. Her gaze flew to his face. His expression was neutral, his eyes blank and more gray than blue.

What was behind the other faces? His brother Tate was looking down, his stepmom Cleo smiling too brightly, the father too stiffly. She reached for Logan’s hand, laid her cold fingers over his warm ones and squeezed – moral support. She withdrew, but Logan turned his hand over and entwined their fingers.

Baylee was holding hands with Logan while lying about telling his family he was in town, while they fought about letting Tate work, their divorce, and Logan’s company. Lies, evasions, and undertones weren’t good for the appetite.

“They’ve got a ranked course here,” Mr. St. John said. “You up for a round of golf, Logan?”

Logan nodded. “Sounds good.” Tate and Cleo rolled their eyes. Cleo’s eye-roll landed on their linked hands with an assessing stare. Baylee made to pull back, but Logan held tighter.

They made small talk about the weather, drawing out the details of the hundred degree, sunny day. Baylee toyed with the strap on her purse, wishing she’d brought a sweater against the chill air-conditioning. She stretched out her foot and kicked Tate, who looked up fast. “I saw a video online of a fluffy gray cat climbing into a glass jar.” He stared at her. Logan stared at her. She arched her eyebrows.

Tate swallowed. “I saw a video of a cat hiding under a bed. He wiggled out to swipe at another cat.”

Baylee felt her grin ease into something real.
There we go. Normal
. “I graduated in May. You’re a freshman?” It was a guess.

Tate nodded and rubbed the side of his jaw with the back of his knuckles. He really did look like Logan, but thinner, younger, shyer.

A waiter hovered by her shoulder. He held up tongs over a silver tray, offering her a selection from the rows of bite-sized hors d’oeuvres. She didn’t recognize any of them. “What are they?”

The waiter pointed the tongs. “Skewered tofu infused with miso, potato croquetas with saffron aioli, crispy polenta with Comte cheese.”

Huh. That didn’t help. “One of each. Thanks.”

Mr. St. John took the same. “Tate should be in boarding school.”

“His grades are fine here.” Cleo waved off the appetizers and turned to her. “Tate attends private school here in Vegas.” Her voice was a touch loud and heads turned. One lady bugged her eyes, elbowed her husband and snapped their photo. That drew the attention of a few other people who did the same.

Baylee swallowed and hoped she didn’t have croquetas in her teeth. How awful for the St. Johns. They didn’t seem to notice the attention. Logan swiped his thumb over the back of her hand and her attention drew back to the table.

Mr. St. John broke apart his own croquetas with his fork and dug in. “Tate’s math skills would be better explored at a West Coast school.”

Cleo drank more wine. “He’s near the music scene. Here. He can make a name for his band and then do gigs while he’s in college. Here. There are places to perform. Here.”

“Tate’s going to look at West Coast schools, too.”

“The schools are better. Here.”

“Meh.” Everyone looked at her. “Ever been to Texas, Tate?”

“No.”

“There you go.” She pointed between his parents. “Compromise. He’ll go to school in the middle. Texas.”

“Why would he even consider that?” Disdain lay in Cleo’s voice.

When he was having such a great time here? Baylee resisted the urge to take the bait. “How can you appreciate this fine, dry weather if you don’t experience the heat and humidity of the Gulf Coast?”

Mr. St. John shook his head. “He’s not interested in oil or agriculture.” Music boomed behind him as the fountains sprayed the sky.

“Austin has a killer music scene.”

“South by Southwest.” Tate named a popular music festival.

“There you go. General Custer’s troops partied on Sixth Street after the Civil War. Why not?”

“Thank you for the suggestion, but no,” Mr. St. John said.

“Absolutely not,” Cleo said.

She had them agreeing. Baylee took another bite of the cheesy potato starter. She liked it. “Unless Tate has a special someone he doesn’t want to leave.” Relationships, another parental attention grabber.

Tate flushed and glanced away.

Cleo motioned for more wine. “He doesn’t need some gold digger distracting him at this stage.”

Harsh.

“Words to live by.” Mr. St. John de-skewered his tofu.

“See. Another vote for Texas. We send all our gold diggers away. That’s how Logan found me.”

Logan touched her jaw with his fingertips. She turned toward him, hoping to see his eyes a little less tense, a little happier.

His gaze searched hers, trying to read her, a hint of appreciation in his cloudy eyes.

“Logan needs to make a decision,” Cleo said. “Help his dad out.”

Mr. St. John frowned. “Don’t pressure Logan. He has ‘til Friday. He can take ‘til Friday. He’ll likely sign the shares to me and I’ll handle it. Or, he’ll wait until Saturday, let his options expire, and the board will hand the company over to me. I’ll make the decisions.”

The music roared its final note and the fountains burst into the sky and settled.

Behind Logan, a guy their age dropped a hand on his shoulder. He was tall with tailored clothes, dark, wavy hair and an attitude that screamed privilege. “Why it’s the St. John family.” The words sounded like the guy was pleasantly surprised, but his expression said he knew they’d be there.

Logan rose and shook his hand. “Rawlings.”

Mr. St. John rose and offered his hand. “Rawlings. Care to join us?”

Rawlings shook his head. “Oh I wish. But I’m organizing a small club event and want to stir up guests.” Rawlings greeted Tate and Cleo and turned to her.

Logan did the introductions. They shook hands. Rawlings’ eyebrows raised and a slow grin crossed his lips. “Baylee.”

Baylee couldn’t read him. She smiled. “Rawlings.”

Cleo twirled her wine glass. “You two haven’t met?” Her face scrunched up and then smoothed out. “Baylee is Logan’s
friend
.”

“Logan met Baylee through Tyler, not through his social club. You know that,” Mr. St. John said. Logan looked at his dad as if wondering how he knew that. Baylee’s face heated. She knew his dad and stepmom had read that in her email.

“Why don’t you bring Baylee to dinner?” Rawlings turned from Logan to her. “Thursday night. Just a small gathering. Say you’ll join us?”

“Um.” She looked at Logan.

“If she likes.”

“Sure.”

“Terrific. Well, I won’t delay your lunch.” Rawlings motioned for the waiters, who’d been holding back. They came forward. Rawlings left and the politeness at the table left with him. Cleo and Logan’s dad argued like no one was watching, and neither noticed the rest of them grow quieter and pick at their food.

Baylee and Logan took off as soon as they could, leaving a mostly untouched lunch and by mutual agreement went through a drive through.

They parked in the desert and were drinking fast food sodas on the hood of the fancy car when the topic rolled back around to Logan’s little brother and his career. Baylee took a sip of the bubbly drink. “What do you mean you haven’t heard Tate play?”

“He’s not the kind of kid who sang around the house a ton.”

Baylee tilted her cup between the hood and windshield and lay back against the slanted roof of the car. The sun was setting now and the desert was cooling off. Any earlier in the day and they couldn’t have touched the metal on the car, much less lay on it. “So. What about his band? Who’s in it? Is it other freshman? Older kids? Younger?”

Logan flushed. “It’s just not something we bring up. Dad said ‘no’, his mom went ahead with whatever. I stay out of it.”

That would never happen at her house.

Logan frowned. “But if I continue to stay out of it…”

“What?”

“Dad will get the company and shut Tate down.”

“Is that the worst?” Baylee held up her palm. “Wait. Think about it a second before you answer.”

Logan stared out beyond the desert, past the beige burnt ground, and the scraggly shrubs and cacti, to the sunset, the explosion of colors that were more powerful than the neon lights on the strip. In contrast to the epic vista, his voice was hushed. “My mother left it to me.”

Baylee wasn’t certain how to touch that. She’d never lost anyone close to her, well, she’d lost dad in the divorce, and her family, but that wasn’t loss like he’d faced. She thought back to that time, how her family had changed. In some ways, it had been better, and in some ways worse. “Sometimes a whole different future than the one we imagined can be right.”

“I don’t know.”

“Picture this.” Baylee waved out to the sprawling desert. “You’re out of college. You’re scouring the web for a job.”

His mouth quirked. “I’d hope to get an internship at the end of grad school, not blindly search the web.”

Was that how it worked in his world? Good to know. “This is just a way to look at it, go with me for a minute. Ten years from now, they’re throwing a celebration in the conference room.” She lowered her voice to fake a masculine tone. “Mr. St. John, come in here, please, we want to celebrate your first huge success. You managed to top everyone else when you…” She trailed off, leaving him to fill in the blank on his dream job.

He full on smiled, and then he chuckled. He chuckled like he knew something she didn’t know. Baylee reached over and poked his arm in warning. “What?”

“I already have.”

“How?”

“I discovered
the
Sax Grayson.”

“No.” Logan never used Tyler’s stage name. This was a good story. “Tell me.”

“Has Tyler told you how we met?”

“Nope.”

Logan’s expression grew more serious, and he toyed with the cuff on his shirt, pulling at the fabric, and Logan wasn’t a fidgeter. “It was a bad day. The first time I’d been back by the label since Mom…” He swallowed. “Since she passed. And I was upset.”

Baylee sat up and scooted closer. That was no doubt an understatement, losing his mom had to be terrifying. Baylee squeezed his arm in sympathy. “Understandable.”

“Tyler came in, confident as hell.” Logan’s grin came back up, the sadness leaving. “We were the same age as my brother is now. I was supposed to be in the offices with Dad, but I hadn’t made it past the lobby.”

“The offices in Vegas?”

Logan shook his head like,
of course not
. “Our California offices. Dad went through to handle paperwork. I waited in the lobby, unable to go in. Anyway, I was waiting there barely holding my shit together, when Tyler strolled in.”

The corner of her mouth quirked; she could picture this.

“Tyler planted his feet apart and crossed his arms over his chest. He took in the guard who wasn’t letting anyone past, the receptionist who was taking these constant calls, and then he saw me. I confess, I may have looked a bit…”

“Blubbery?”

“Not a word I’d use.”

“Less than together?”

“Yeah. That. Tyler said, ‘Your audition must have
sucked
.’” He imitated Tyler’s tone perfectly. “I, of course, didn’t want to tell a stranger my business and did one of these.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Tyler, did this.” Logan jabbed his thumb at his chest. “Then he said some choice words about executives not recognizing talent. Clear as day, they could see he’d arrived and they hadn’t rushed over to sign him.”