Page 30 of The Undercover Billionaire's Baby

Dad made a weary sound. “Still, what’s with the odd jobs? Building decks, selling furniture…”

“I enjoy it.” I reached for my screwdriver and held it loosely. It felt right in my hand, as it always had. “And speaking of odd jobs, I’ve got a table needs fixing.”

I hung up, stowed my phone, and got back to my table, fixing the leg in place, buffing a few cracks. I was doing something good here. Fixing something broken. How did Dad not see that? He’d set me a pointless waste-of-time challenge, and I’d found a way to make it count. Maybe I needed to be more ambitious. Set Lana’s shop up for growth, if she wanted. Online niche markets. Lifestyle groups. Aspirational content, exclusive book clubs. A celebrity team-up with a charity angle, free books for children. Chic ones for influencers. Signed books. Meet-the-authors. Beachside launch parties.

I smacked myself on the forehead. That wasn’t Lana. All she wanted was her shop, the one her mom built. Not some tony brand. That was Dad’s angle.

I pulled my phone out again and scrolled through my contacts. I could get her money at least, speed that part along. My old roommate’s girlfriend ran a grant fund, cash for small businesses. No strings attached. Combined with the fun run, that would take off some pressure. And I’d have progress to report back to Dad.

I was about to hit the call button when reality crashed in: I was meant to be out here starting from scratch. Making my own way in the real world. Not trading on my name or my wealth. If I called my friend up, she’d do me a favor. But the point was for Brad to succeed, not Sam. And, besides, Lana could do this herself.

I smacked myself again, more forcefully this time. Of course she could do this. She needed to do this. To see that she could. Her confidence had already taken a hit, and I’d been about to swoop in like a jerk, like I didn’t believe in her. Like Dad, with me.

My eyes lit on a picture of Lana with her mom, the two of them smiling, sitting out on the beach. She’d been through so much already, losing her mom, and now I was dragging her into my family drama. What was it I’d said to Dad? My plan is to do for her what we’ve done for dozens of brands: restructure. Rebrand. Get her into profit. Talking about her like she was some acquisition, some failing business we’d gobbled up. I’d felt like I was saving her, but was that true? Or was I just using her? Had I become… Dad?

I closed my eyes, swallowed, and tried to order my thoughts. They’d come loose when Dad called, all stirred up with rage. But the fact was… the fact was, Lana did need this. Her memories of her mother all lived in that shop. I could point her to the grant. Help her apply. Help her do it her way, not Dad’s or mine. That would be a good thing.

Good for us both.

My hand shook as I scrolled down to Lana’s contact. I had thought of kissing her that night at Belden’s. I’d almost done it, but I knew now I couldn’t. I was helping her, yeah, but I was using her too. And I’d lied to her right from the start. Trying to build something on that would be building on sand.

I cracked a sad smile and texted, Hey, I heard about this grant.

CHAPTER 12

LANA

We fell into a new routine, me and Brad both.

We’d get up early for breakfast to beat the noise of the work crew, and eat on the back steps if the day was a nice one. If it rained, we’d eat at the kitchen table. The summer crowds had rolled in, but they mostly slept late. This early, by dawn’s light, the town was still quiet. Brad had picked up more work on the strength of Rex’s deck, and he’d leave in the quiet for his morning’s work. I’d head downstairs to check on the workers and get an update on my repairs. Then I’d get to house chores and fun run campaigning, and before I knew it, the morning went by.

Brad would come home for lunch and we’d eat together, then set to working on my business plan. But there came a day when our planning was done, no more to tweak till we saw the store running. I’d applied for some grant Brad found online, but it felt like a long shot. I couldn’t plan around that.

One afternoon, Brad came back smiling, a sly little smile like he had a secret.

“What’s with the smirk?” I said when I saw him.

His grin broadened. “What smirk? I’m just happy, is all.”

“Happy about what?”

And that sly look was back. Brad pulled a key from his pocket. “I’ve got a surprise.”

I tried to glare at him, but he had my interest. “What kind of surprise?”

“Come and find out.” He nodded over his shoulder, toward the beach.

“Just tell me.”

“What? You don’t trust me?” He pulled a mock-wounded face. I rolled my eyes. Brad put his key away and cocked his head to one side. “Tell you what, come with me. Come for a walk. I’ve never seen the ocean so blue as today. We can walk by the McMansions and pretend we’re on Maui.”

I thought about teasing him, holding out till he talked. But I loved a good mystery. Surprises were fun. “All right,” I said. “Let me grab my sunscreen.”

Ten minutes later, we were strolling down the beach. Brad was right about the ocean — it lay jewel-like, dazzling, a brilliant reflection of the summer-blue sky. The beach was so white, I wished I’d brought my sunglasses. Even the summer crowds weren’t too bad, with most of the tourists massed by the beach club, or the really rich ones on their own private strips. Brad’s hand kept brushing mine as we walked, or mine brushed his. I couldn’t tell which. Every time it happened, a low shock surged through me. My fingertips tingled like I’d picked up a charge.

“This way,” said Brad, angling down to the water. To the little marina tucked into the pier. He led us to a tiny, red-painted boathouse and pulled out his key again. “In here.”

I frowned. “Bob Cambie’s boathouse?” Everyone in Haverford knew Bob Cambie, and knew to avoid him. The man was a menace. He blew in every summer with a bad attitude, pinching every penny till buttermilk ran out.

---