For the next hour, I sit with Oliver in the living room. With one hand, I try to entertain him with the toys I find stashed in his diaper bag. With the other, I pull up the search engine on my phone and try to figure out what the fuck to do. It seems crazy to give up a much-needed fortune—more cash than I’ve ever had in my life—for a woman I met eight hours ago. And if I sold her out, I’d have to live with that.
But what if it’s for her own good?
First things first, I hand Oliver a stuffed train—something new for him to chew on—as I look up Barclay Reed. He has his own Wikipedia page, which tells me he was someone important, notorious or not. There are pictures of him throughout his life. No denying he was a good-looking SOB, and the green eyes are unmistakable. Even into his fifties, he could have been mistaken for a guy a dozen years younger. There’s sketchy information about his childhood and education, his marriage, as well as his kids, most of whom also have Wikipedia pages.
The article talks about his many affairs, lists Bethany, Evan, and Oliver as his illegitimate children, while echoing Griff’s speculation that there are more.
The end of the article outlines his embezzlement scheme, the billions of dollars he stole, and his ultimate death at the hands of a former client here in Maui four months ago.
It’s all good information, but nothing particularly helpful to keep Amanda safe. Clicking onto other search results brings me to message boards from amateur sleuths about how he perpetrated a crime of that magnitude and almost got away with it, attorneys-in-training discussing how they would prosecute or defend the case, and a forum for survivors of predatory bosses with a whole thread dedicated to Barclay Reed. Some of the stories from his former assistants and even women who interviewed for him make my stomach turn.
Then again, this is a man who was approaching fifty when he more than likely seduced a fifteen-year-old girl. It doesn’t get much lower than that.
Other than feeling as if I need a shower after reading about this predator, I’m not learning anything new, so I start looking into Bruce. It takes me a while to figure out his last name, and I have to resort to the time-honored tradition of looking for Facebook friends of people in Amanda’s life who might also be friends with him. A few minutes later? Bingo.
Bruce Barrett. And what do you know? He has a Wikipedia page, too. Age thirty-one. Co-founder of some hipster new investment firm. Heir of Wall Street royalty. Net worth over half a billion dollars, just like Lund Senior said. He’s decent looking, a Yale grad, and a philanthropist according to what I’m reading. I glance through his bio. It’s no shock he skated by in high school. There’s speculation that his name and money paved his way to college. He was initiated into Skull and Bones, which means he knows all the movers and shakers who are fellow Bonesmen—senators, supreme court justices, heads of big investment banks, and even President Hayes.
There’s a paragraph dedicated to high school antics and college pranks—everything from defacing a rival school’s property to kidnapping their mascot, a hazing incident or two, and even a cheating scandal—but somehow he’s always managed to come out unscathed. To me, that’s not a mystery. That’s just money.
I darken my phone and pry Oliver away from the double-glass doors leading to the beach. He wants out. He’s a boy who wants to run and play, and I don’t blame him, but I need more time to take stock out there and see if there’s a safe area. Instead, I scoop him up and do my best to toss him in the air and mimic him flying over my head like he’s an airplane.
I’m making zooming noises to the sound of his giggles when I hear the bedroom door tear open and Amanda lurches out, a long blond braid nestled between her soft breasts and a silken champagne-colored nightie barely covering the essentials.
My mouth goes dry.
Her panicked gaze lands on us, then she sighs with relief. “Oh, thank God. You’ve got Oliver, and he’s okay.”
“Of course. Did you think I wouldn’t take care of him?”
“He’s not your responsibility.” She bustles closer, shoving her braid over her shoulder.
My mouth goes even dryer. I’d bet a hundred bucks she’s not wearing a stitch under that nightie. Its spaghetti straps attach to a bodice that dips into a V that barely contain her breasts. Everything in front is covered…but when she plucks Oliver from my grip and turns to lift him against her, I realize the sides are made of nothing but transparent lace and the back is virtually non-existent. Everything between her neck and the curve of her ass is bare, except the two thin criss-crossing straps. Fuck, my mouth is so dry now I can’t even swallow.
I hate to admit how hard my cock is.
“How long has he been awake?”
It’s impossible to tear my stare away from her so I stop trying. “Um…a couple of hours. I gave him some breakfast. Then Griff came by with the crib, and…” I lose my train of thought when she turns her profile to me to cuddle her son—and I get a glimpse of the side of her pale, plump breast.
“Did you change him?” she asks.
“No.” I should have and I didn’t even think of it. “Sorry. It’s my first rodeo with a kid.”
“It’s fine. Thank you for feeding him.” She grabs the diaper bag, then disappears with Oliver into the master bedroom.
I find myself staring at a wall. What the hell am I going to do? I have to choose between restarting my future and safeguarding hers. And then there’s all the awareness between us, complicating everything even more.
We need to talk. I need some answers. How does she feel about Bruce? What does she picture doing with the rest of her life?
Be honest. You want to know if you have any chance with this woman.
I hate that voice in my head, but it’s right.
Fuck, we’ve talked about this. Amanda and I have no business getting tangled up in each other. She’s a dozen years younger. I haven’t even signed my divorce decree. I can’t provide for this woman, especially in the way she’s accustomed to. What the hell am I thinking?
That her family, even if they’re well meaning, is controlling. They’ll insist, even coerce her, into doing what’s socially acceptable without caring what she wants or needs.
And if she was serious about wanting me, I wouldn’t care about any of that. I would move heaven and earth to make her happy.
She emerges a minute later. Oliver is wearing a new pair of khaki shorts and a brown tank top with a monster truck on the front. She sets him on the floor in front of me with an iPad already streaming a cartoon. “Will you watch him for a minute while I get dressed?”
“Sure.” I’m barely able to croak the word, just like I’m barely able to peel my stare from her silk-draped curves.
Amanda frowns. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
But I’m not. Am I seriously considering giving up the kind of money that could turn my entire life around for her? I should probably be asking myself if I’ve gone insane. I certainly didn’t wake up this morning with any thought of getting involved again. Now I’m only thinking about Amanda and wondering if I’m the only one who’s feeling something more than attraction.
“If you say so…” She turns away with a shake of her head.