The Illegitimate Billionaire. Barbara Dunlop
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return. He touched her arm, and she didn’t pull away. He filled her water glass and offered her a pen. She took the pen and drank the water.
Watching her cozy up to the wealthy, powerful, but much older, Hank Watkins renewed Deacon’s suspicion she’d married Frederick for his money. It also confirmed that Deacon had competition.
He realized he didn’t have the Watkins name and power, and he sure couldn’t tell her he was a Clarkson. But he’d achieved a reasonable level of success in life, and he could make himself sound better than he was—richer and more powerful.
But he was going to take a more subtle approach this time, let her come to him. At the end of the meeting, when coffee and cookies were served over friendly chitchat, he struck up a conversation with a few Charleston citizens. He stood where he was sure he’d be in Callie’s line of sight.
“Deacon?” Her tentative voice behind him said the approach had worked.
He turned, feigning surprise. “Callie. It’s great to see you again.” He cheerfully excused himself from the others.
“Exactly how long is your vacation?” she asked, brow furrowed as they moved a few steps away.
He feigned a guilty expression. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make.”
She waited.
He’d rehearsed his lines. “I’m more than just an ordinary tourist.”
She looked apprehensive. “Who are you?”
“I’m thinking of relocating to Charleston.”
The words seemed to put her off guard. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“It’s complicated. There were things to check out, arrangements to make. I didn’t want people to know I was considering the city.”
“Considering it for what?” Now she seemed annoyed and distinctly suspicious.
He realized he was messing this up. “I’m a partner in a national transportation company.”
The claim was an exaggeration, but not a huge one. He was a minor partner, and they were more regional than national. But it was true enough to get by.
“We’re based out of Virginia,” he continued. “But we’re looking to expand. We’d need a lot of land, commercial industrial land. If the real estate community knew we were in the market, well, funny things happen to prices when a large corporation expresses an interest.”
He stuck as close as he could to the truth. Mobi Transport was always looking to expand. It could as easily expand into Charleston as anywhere else. And local land prices did get jacked up when the real estate community knew a big corporation was in the market.
“You’re saying dishonesty was in your best interest.”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I wouldn’t call it dishonesty.”
“You’re keeping Charleston citizens in the dark about the value of their property.”
“I’m keeping the value realistic.”
“By lying about your intentions.”
“I’m not—”
“That’s how market forces work, Deacon. When something is in demand, it becomes more valuable.”
He was surprised the conversation had taken this turn.
At the same time, he was curious about her immediate leap to skepticism. Honest people were trusting. Devious people looked for deceit in others.
“I don’t want to have to pick another city,” he told her. “I like Charleston. If land costs too much here, we’ll choose another city where it costs less.”
She gave a little shrug, as if the easiest solution in the world was at hand. “Just tell the people that’s the case.”
“That’s one way to approach it.”
“It’s the honest way to approach it.”
“Are you an honesty-is-the-best-policy type?” He watched her reaction.
She hesitated, her expression flinching ever so slightly. “It is the best policy.”
She hadn’t exactly answered, but he didn’t press.
“Check out the Mobi Transportation website. See if you think it would be good for Charleston.”
The Mobi website was slick and professional. It was designed to encourage sales by making the company look bigger than it was.
“We do long-haul trucking. We have six terminals across the northeast.”
Her expression relaxed a little. “That sounds...interesting.”
“In the internet age, goods transportation is primed for expansion. There’s a whole lot of opportunity in the sector.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hank Watkins making his was toward them.
Deacon gestured to the refreshment table on the other side of the room. “Would you like a coffee? A cookie? They’re okay, but not as good as yours.”
“Flattery, Deacon?”
“The truth, Callie.” He didn’t have to exaggerate there. “Your cookies are the best I’ve ever tasted. How long have you been a baker?”
She made a move toward the refreshment table. “I worked in a café from the time I was fourteen.”
He fell into step beside her. “That young?”
“We didn’t have much money when I was growing up. I did whatever it took. I lied about my age. I bused tables at first, but then I was promoted to waitress.”
He was starting to form a picture of her. She was a survivor. He could relate to that.
“Did you grow up here in Charleston? Decaf?” He reached for the labeled pot.
“Decaf would be best.”
He poured them each a cup.
“It was a small town in Tennessee, Grainwall.” She flinched almost imperceptibly as she said the town’s name.
He kept watch on Hank’s progress. “You didn’t like it there?”
“Nobody likes it there. My husband, Frederick, and I chose Charleston because it was so beautiful.” A look of sadness passed over her face.
“I was sorry to hear about your husband.”
Deacon was genuinely sorry about Frederick’s death. Frederick had seemed like the nicest of the entire Clarkson clan. He was certainly the most honorable. Neither of his brothers seemed to ever stand up to their father, who—if employees of the company were to be believed—was an ill-tempered, self-centered control freak.
“Thank you,” Callie said, her expression pinched. “We miss him. He was a wonderful man.”
Deacon silently acknowledged that she played the delicate widow very well.
“I met him at the Fork ’n’ Spoon,” she said.
“You worked somewhere called the Fork ’n’ Spoon?”
“It was aptly named, since we provided both forks and spoons.” She gave an engaging smile. “It was mostly burgers and chili—not the best clientele. I don’t know how Frederick found it, but he kept coming back.”
Deacon wasn’t surprised that Frederick kept coming back, and it sure wouldn’t have been for the burgers. Callie was enough to draw any man back again and again. Like Hank, who was slowly getting closer.
“He said he liked the chili.” Callie held her coffee mug in both hands, but didn’t take a drink.
“Was it good?”