Keeping His Promise (Year of the Billionaire Part 3) (9 page)

"The Pump Room used to be about as old school as the Drake Hotel. A couple of years ago, the hotel that it's attached to was sold and the restaurant was completely overhauled. I'm kind of surprised my father still goes there."

"He's not fond of change?"

"That's part of it. But also because it was one of my mother's favorites. They used to go there on New Year's Eve." He smiled. "They took me there for brunch once in a blue moon. The thing I remember the clearest was the midget who served coffee."

"A midget?"

"I'm not kidding. He was a midget dressed in pink satin livery with an ostrich plume on his turban."

"That would certainly make an impression on a kid. Or anyone for that matter."

"I hope you aren't too disappointed. I think they did away with the midget years ago."

The valet took our keys and Tristan led me through the doors as if seeing his father was the most natural thing in the world. When Mr. King rose to greet us
, the resemblance to his son was striking. He had Tristan's regal bearing, the same aristocratic features and an almost identical smile. But where Tristan was golden, Bradley King was dark. His hair was once jet black but now showed silver at the temples. His eyes were dark chocolate and almost unreadable as they took me in. If my presence at the table was a surprise, he didn't let on. Like Tristan's eyes, his seemed to bore right through me.

I found myself appraising his body. Under the pinstriped suit were shoulders every bit as broad as his son's, a chest that looked solid and strong, narrow hips that ended in long graceful legs. I couldn't stop myself from wondering if under those perfectly creased pants was a cock as beautiful and talented as his son's. I mentally pinched myself for even going there.

"Father, this is Raina Harding."

"Brad King," he said as he took my hand. His grip was
more powerful than I had expected but I saw the same elegant King fingers. His smile seemed forced. "I'm happy to meet you, Raina."

The two men didn't embrace or even shake hands. Tristan hadn't told me how long it had been since he had even talked to his father, but I suspected it had been a while. We sat down, Tristan to my right and Mr. King to my left. The two men faced each other across the small table.

Their conversation was bland and all business. But it was plain that they followed each other's exploits carefully. Both men were able to converse about the other's triumphs in different financial arenas with ease. I felt quite irrelevant. Mr. King had forced a few polite questions out at the beginning of the meal--where I was from, where I went to school, that sort of thing--and then turned his frosty attention on his son.

I picked at the meal in front of me and wondered what Tristan's purpose had been in arranging the meeting. Did he want to impress upon me that his reserve was an inherited trait? I didn’t see much value in that discovery. It changed nothing.

Tristan put his hand to his coat pocket and pulled out his vibrating phone. "You'll have to excuse me, I need to take this call," he said as he rose from his seat and left the table. Alone with Mr. King, I felt small and childlike. I wanted to dazzle him with some witty conversation but I drew a complete blank and settled for what probably looked like a stupid grin.

"How well do you know my son?"

Yikes. I felt a twist in my heart and a tingle between my legs. "We've been seeing each other a few months."

He went straight for my heart. "Tristan rarely takes the time to introduce me to the young ladies he sees. I take it there's something serious going on?"

How was I supposed to answer that? I was tempted to tell him that I was the only serious one but thought better of it. "Your son has been very good to me. And to my family."

Mr. King smirked. "I'm sure my son can afford to be as generous as it pleases him to be."

I didn't like the implication. "I care very much about Tristan, Mr. King. He's a fine man."

"He
's a fine catch. Especially for . . . someone like you."

"Someone like me?" I was dressed to the nines, decked with jewels and hadn't mentioned a word about
my family's circumstances. Bennington was a respectable school and I was well spoken enough. So what gave me away?

"Oh, please. You needn't be defensive. I simply meant that Tristan could have any one of dozens of stars or heiresses or even royalty. You seem rather straight forward and down to earth." He took a sip of his wine and continued, "Then again, I hardly know my son. What I know is what I read in the papers. Only not the papers these days. You know what I mean."

"I've seen the pictures, too, Mr. King. I don't imagine myself to be as glamorous as the ladies on his arm on the internet."

"Plastic, all of them. I meet plenty of that variety myself." He fixed me with his dark enigmatic stare. "You know about the girl?"

"You mean Elsa?"

"I had hoped that she would . . .
that she could be the one who healed him. I never met her."

That surprised me. I
felt a selfish sense of satisfaction that I was the one who he'd brought to meet his father. "Tristan has a lot of hurt in him." Then I said something that I thought I might regret. It just came out. "You could be part of healing him, too, Mr. King."

The mask just crumbled in front of my eyes. I saw it as clearly as if he had reached up and peeled off a false face. "I would love to be part of that." To my
utter surprise, he reached over and took my hand. "I'm getting old enough to have regrets. And one of my biggest regrets is my only son. Success is a cold companion, Raina. I don't want Tristan to wind up like me."

"Why don't you talk to him?"

"What can I say? 'I'm sorry I ruined your childhood'? 'Forgive me for not having the strength to bear the tragedy'? 'Let me make up for abandoning a poor child whose heart was breaking?' I can't go back and fix what I broke."

"No, you can't go back. But you can go forward." I wanted to gather the man in my arms and tell him it would be all right. I squeezed his hand. "Right now, you've got a son who speaks to you like you're a distant acquaintance. What have you got to lose by trying to break the pattern? People can change, Mr. King."

He put his other hand over mine and gave me a smile that was as kind as his former one had been cold. "You remind me of my late wife. Her optimism was like a lighthouse to everyone who knew her. I wasn't the easiest man to live with. But I loved her. I still do."

"That's a wonderful thing to say."

The look on Tristan's face when he found me sitting with my hand in his father's hands was priceless. For a man in perpetual control of his emotions, the shock on his face was almost comical. I had to stifle a laugh but couldn't help but give him a slightly self-satisfied grin. It couldn't have been more obvious that I had the salty old dog eating out of my hand.

He was visibly trying to gather his wits as he settled into his chair. Mr. King and I dropped our hands and both of us looked at Tristan. He cleared his throat. "I guess you two found something to talk about."

"We were talking about you," I said. It was a bold admission and I meant for it to shake Tristan's composure. The whole idea of keeping a distance from your own parent appalled me from the first time I learned of it. It was unnatural and painful.

Tristan shifted uncomfortably. "I see. Well."

"Raina has a way of cutting to the chase. She may be young, but she has the courage to speak her mind."

"Father, truer words were never spoken. Sometimes she says things that are better left unsaid." Tristan shot me a look that was a mixture of contempt and--could it be?--fear.

"Don't blame her. She only brought out something I've been keeping in for too long."

Tristan cocked an eyebrow at his father and waited for him to continue.

"Okay. Here it is. I'm tired of the distance between us, son. I read every word I can about you and your life and it's precious little. I can't turn back the clock, but as Raina pointed out to me, I can move forward. I want to get to know you. I want . . . to be a father to you. If it's too late, I'll accept that, but I don't want to die without having tried to make it right with you."

Tristan looked at his hands and his jaw clenched. "Are you sick? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Bradley King threw back his head and laughed. "Do you imagine that only my imminent death would bring this on?"

Tristan folded his arms across his chest and just looked at his father.

"No, I am not dying."

The arms dropped.

"I'm finally old enough to know what's important. And you, son, are important to me."

There was an eternity of silence. "You're important to me, too, Dad." It was almost a whisper but we both heard it. I felt like I was going to cry with pure happiness.

"Then we'll build on that." Mr. King flagged a waiter down and ordered a bottle of champagne. "To toast new beginnings."

For the first time since we sat down, I saw Tristan's face relax. The tension left his jaw and he smiled with something closer to genuine contentment than I had seen outside of the bedroom.

"As long as we're celebrating, there's some good news I'd like to share. Father, I'll tell you the whole story in just a minute, but first let me tell Raina something." He turned to me and took my hand. It seemed a day for hand holding. "They caught your mother's kidnappers."

I saw Mr. King's eyebrows shoot up but he let Tristan continue on uninterrupted.

"Archie's hunches usually turn out to be true. He thought they'd be right in your neighborhood and he and his men made contact with an amazing number of shopkeepers. Everyone knows Marjorie and Don and you'd be amazed at the cooperation they gave him. It was all a matter of tracking the serial numbers. Once the bills started showing up, Archie was able to zero in on a couple of places and drill down to who was passing the bills."

"Was it someone we know, like you thought?"

"Yes, unfortunately it was. It was Vito Caperelli."

"Oh no. He was Dad's friend."

"He was broke. He was into the local numbers game way over his head. Apparently, Mrs. Caperelli couldn't resist telling her crummy brother-in-law all about you and I. He saw an advantage and took it. Working with your father, he knew all about the union trouble and probably thought we'd assume, as we did, that they were behind it. It might have worked if they hadn't dropped your mother's nickname."

"But mom would have recognized Vito!"

"He hired three guys from out of town. He paid them off, paid off the numbers guy and still had cash to spend. That's how he got nailed."

"Mrs. C?"

"The only thing she's guilty of is being a terrible gossip. Archie says she's broken up. She blames herself."

Tristan filled his father in on the whole story including my father's continuing clashes with the union and how he and Archie intended to get to the bottom of that situation as well.

"You know, if I hadn't met Raina I'd probably tell you to walk away from the whole mess. You're putting yourself in a vulnerable position. But," he smiled my way, "I have met her. All I can say is if there's anything I can do to help . . ."

"Thanks, Dad. And I may call on you. The guys stirring up all the trouble aren't from New York. They're from Chicago. You
r influence might be useful here."

Nine

We were sitting on the stuffy sofa in our hotel living room. The early afternoon sun slanted through the buildings and onto the lake outside. I snuggled against Tristan's shoulder and basked in what I considered a major accomplishment. There were no material things I could give him, but I had brought his father back into his life. To me, it was important. It balanced us, just a little.

He didn't look at me when he began to speak. "
When I was in college, I decided that I couldn't really love a woman. The ones I met were so fucking shallow or so painfully stupid or both that I wasn't able to get beyond it. Women--girls really--pretty much threw themselves at me the entire time I was at Wharton. My father's success, my academic track record . . ."

"Your mouth-watering good looks," I couldn't help add.

"Thank you, yeah I suppose that too. Those were the qualities the women saw and that was why I attracted their attention."

"Well, all those things are part of you, aren't they?"

"A very superficial part. I couldn't put labels on what it was I wanted. I just knew I hadn't found it." He sucked in a deep breath. I could see him will himself to go on. "And, although I didn't really admit it to myself, my mother's death had left me with . . .  God I hate this term . . . fear of abandonment. It was, and still is, a deep scar."

This was it. Elsa.

"When we met, I knew she was utterly different from any woman I'd ever known. For one thing, she seemed completely unimpressed by me and not at all attracted."

"I find it hard to believe any woman could fail to find you attractive." He ignored my comment.

"We shared a study group and those can get very intense. You get cases assigned and as a group, you have to present your findings. One lazy ass or one fuck up and you're dead. At the same time, the MBA program is cutthroat--a lot like law school. Graduating at the top of the program is critical."