Page 1 of How to Undo the Proud Billionaire

CHAPTER ONE

“YOURPHONEISRINGING.”

In his expansive corner office on the top floor of their company headquarters, Radd Tempest-Vane pulled his attention off the report in his hand, his eyes bouncing from his brother’s face to his smartphone, just released to the market, half-buried by a pile of reports. He pulled it free, cursed when papers fell to the expensive carpeting and turned the phone to show Digby the screen.

“Naledi Radebe.” Frustration jumped into Digby’s navy blue eyes, so like Radd’s own. They had been born eleven months apart and had on occasion been mistaken for twins. All three Tempest-Vane brothers shared the same dark brown hair, deep blue eyes and six-foot-plus height. Radd ignored the suddenly tight grip on his heart. So much time had passed, but sometimes he still thought of Jack in the present tense.

He probably always would.

“Are you going to answer her call?” Digby asked from the sleek leather couch next to Radd’s desk, his eyes already back on the screen of the laptop resting on his knees. Every few weeks, depending on their schedules, he and Digby met—either here or at Digby’s equally luxurious office at The Vane—to strategize, plan and discuss supersensitive, for-their-eyes-only company information.

“No, I’m busy. All the arrangements for her wedding to Johnathan Wolfe have been finalized and he’s happy.”

Radd returned his attention to his laptop. He didn’t have time to deal with the attention-seeking socialite today. The last time he checked, he and his brother had a massive international empire to run, deals to make, new markets to conquer.

An empire to restore to its former glory, a family name to rehabilitate and a multi-billion-dollar deal to protect.

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling bank of electrochromic glass was an extraordinary view of Table Mountain and the endlessly fascinating Atlantic Ocean seaboard. If he was in the habit of looking out of the window, Radd might’ve noticed that it was a perfect day to spend on the beach or, at the very least, outside.

But Radd’s attention never strayed far from business so, instead of looking at his stunning view, his eyes flicked over to the massive electronic screen on the wall opposite him to look at the changes he’d made on the complicated spreadsheet they were working on. Something looked off with the figures; he’d made a mistake somewhere. Radd gritted his teeth and scraped his hand over his face, trying to wipe away his frustration. He wasn’t in the habit of making unforced errors, and wasting time upped his annoyance levels.

His phone jangled and, once again, he let the call go to voice mail.

“It’s your fault for agreeing to play wedding planner,” Digby commented.

“Naledi thinks that because her father tied the purchase of the mine to her wedding, she can boss me about. Dammit, I’m far too busy to play wedding planner,” Radd growled.

“And too rich and too important…” Digby mocked him.

Dig was the only one allowed to tease him, and nobody could cut him down to size quicker than his silver-tongued sibling.

Radd was more acerbic, impatient and abrupt than his brother. A previous lover once called him robotic and, had he cared enough to respond—he hadn’t—he might’ve agreed with her assessment. Feelings were messy, prickly and uncomfortable, and thanks to his narcissistic parents and his brother Jack’s death, he’d cultivated an attitude of stoicism, training himself not to react, to get perturbed, upset or excited.

Though, knowing he was a week away from acquiring the mine almost tempted his habitually unemotional heart to flutter.

Initially, it had been Jack’s burning ambition to rebuild the Tempest-Vane group of companies; he’d been almost evangelical in his quest to restore respect to the family name. For generations, their ancestors had been on the right side of history and people from all walks of life had known that, despite their immense wealth, the Tempest-Vanes stood for equality, freedom and tolerance.

Then the businesses and assets fell into their father’s hands and the Tempest-Vane name became synonymous with excess, dissipation, laziness and entitlement. And all those excesses had been splashed on the front pages of tabloids, locally and internationally.

It was hard enough to be the child of celebrity parents, but it had been hell being the sons of Gil and Zia Tempest-Vane.

Radd leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, remembering the humiliation he had felt every time a scandal hit the papers. Jack, as the eldest, frequently took them to task, but Gil and Zia ignored his pleas to calm down, to stay out of the news. And then they stopped taking his calls or replying to his emails.

None of the brothers were particularly surprised when their parents’ lackadaisical efforts to stay in touch dwindled to infrequent text messages and once-a-year, if they were lucky, visits.

Then Jack died and their parents’ behavior—before, during and after the funeral—was the final straw.

Although their escapades still hit the gossip columns with alarming and irritating frequency, years passed with no contact between them. Then, a year and some months ago, Radd received an email from his father, demanding a meeting with his sons. They were coming home, and there was someone they wanted them to meet…

The next news they had of their parents was of their deaths; Gil and Zia’s car had left the road in Southern California and crashed into the sea below. Radd still wondered who was so important to his parents that they were prepared to reach out and break the almost twenty-year silence.

He had a vague theory, but no proof to back it up.

Radd sighed, glanced at the spreadsheet and was reminded of what they were doing and why. He’d been sixteen when he realized all the family businesses were gone, along with most of the once-impressive Tempest-Vane fortune. Somehow, his parents had not only managed to strip the company of its most valuable assets, but also spend a good portion of the proceeds of the sales. The rest they had squirreled into untouchable trusts.

And they’d managed to do it on the q.t. To this day, Radd abhorred secrets and surprises.

Now, thanks to a little luck and lots of sweat—he didn’t do tears—the ranch and The Vane, the beloved Cape Town icon and the hotel Digby so loved, were back under their ownership.

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