Jane Godman - Immortal Billionaire

As she got to her feet, Mr. Reynolds rose and came around the desk. He held out his hand. Surprised, Connie took it. Instead of the handshake she had expected, he clasped her hand between both of his. It was an oddly tactile gesture for such an aloof man.

“However this venture may turn out...” He paused and Connie sensed he was fighting an internal battle. As if the personal and professional were at war within him. The result felt like his version of a truce. “I wish you well, Miss Lacey.”

It was only later, when she got back to her grim, one-room apartment and counted—then, in disbelief, recounted—the money, that she began to truly appreciate the gulf between her world and that of Corazón. What constituted “sundry other items” to Mr. Reynolds was almost a year’s salary to Connie.

Laughing, she tossed the notes into the air and briefly contemplated just disappearing with them. To hell with “second cousin several convoluted times removed” Sylvester and his mysteriously worded proposition. This money could buy her the freedom from fear she had been dreaming of. Temporarily, it was true, but even that was so much more than she had wished for. No more moving from town to town and job to job? No more looking over her shoulder? Yeah, I’ll take that and deal with the future when it gets here.

A pang of guilt tugged at her. Backing out wasn’t an option. She had just accepted Mr. Reynolds’s wretched invitation and a promise was, after all, a promise. Besides—despite its reputation—she was intrigued enough by Corazón to want to see it and, even if she admitted it only to herself, she wanted to meet the legendary Sylvester.

The ease with which Arthur Reynolds, senior partner in the firm of Reynolds, Prudah and Taylor, had tracked her down was unsettling. Even if she hadn’t been contemplating answering Sylvester’s eccentric summons, it would have been time to move on. Goodbye—she experienced a minor moment of panic as she tried to remember where she was. It had to happen one day—Farmington, Missouri. The last month has been okay, but it was never a long-term thing. We both knew it. No hard feelings.

She had a week to prepare for the journey. With a shrug, she tucked the money away at the back of her closet and curled up on the bed with a book. Connie could have her belongings packed in an hour. She’d done it often enough.

* * *

Mr. Reynolds’s emailed instructions were meticulous. The launch that was to take her to Corazón would meet her at the marina in Charlotte Harbor. He had even included a map showing the exact location.

Charlotte Harbor was a vacationer’s paradise. The hotel where she’d spent the night, although modest, had been way beyond her usual budget. Eating shrimp and drinking beer at a beachside restaurant, she’d watched the sky fade through shades of bright blue and burnt orange to black. It had crossed her mind—how could it not?—that this was all some elaborate trick. That, at some point, he would appear before her and gloat over how easily she had fallen for this whole trick. Then he would pull out the knife... Stop this. Every time you think of him, every time you remember, he wins.

An internet search had revealed nothing irregular about Mr. Reynolds. His was a well-respected, international law firm, with offices all over the country, including one in St. Petersburg, Florida. The company dealt with wealthy clients and celebrities, even those as well known as Sylvester. And the de León family were some sort of relatives of her mother’s, however distant. Connie had always known that. The last few years had taught her to be watchful. With good reason. But perhaps it was time to put caution aside? What did she have to lose by going to Corazón? Unless she was brave enough to seize this chance, she would never know. According to Mr. Reynolds, who had, after all, personally traveled all the way to Missouri to meet with her, she might even stand to gain a great deal.

Connie reached the quayside a few minutes before the time Mr. Reynolds had specified. It was busy without being bustling, mostly with fishing charters and tourists embarking on a day of island hopping. There was no reason for the horrible crawling feeling of nervousness that caused her to keep glancing over her shoulder. She wasn’t being watched. He couldn’t possibly know she was here. It was just habit kicking in. She had gotten used to sensing his presence everywhere. It was called self-preservation.

The email had said there would be other guests traveling to Corazón with her. Sylvester had no close family, but he had invited several distant relatives. None of them knew the reason for the invitation. That was something Sylvester probably intended to reveal once they were on the island. She couldn’t see anyone who looked like they might be waiting for a launch to take them for an extended stay on a luxury island. The thought of enforced proximity to strangers made Connie shudder slightly. Compulsory enjoyment. Was Sylvester some sort of masochist? Look on the bright side. Wherever this adventure might lead, at least it was not into a temporary job in a poky office where she would be chained to yet another dreary desktop computer.

A slightly shrill voice interrupted her thoughts. “Hurry up, Guthrie! I told you we should have left the hotel earlier. And I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have flown first-class. No, don’t put my cosmetics case there! Oh, for heaven’s sake.” The woman exuded restless, perfumed elegance. Connie decided her companion must be her husband. Who else would obey her staccato instructions so meekly? The hapless Guthrie followed in her wake, carrying a quite astonishing array of suitcases from the cab onto the quayside. Then, as his companion found the original arrangement unaccountably displeasing, he obligingly reorganized them.

“But that was how you told me to do it, Lucinda.” His protest was made in tones of mild confusion.

Looking up, Connie encountered the gaze of a tall, fair-haired man who was wheeling a single suitcase as he approached her. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite place what it was. From his frowning expression, he appeared to be thinking exactly the same thing as Connie. They both regarded Lucinda and Guthrie in dawning horror. Oh, please, God, no. Surely life could not so be unkind? A paradise island, even one with a sinister reputation like Corazón’s, deserved pleasant—if not perfect—company. Let my instincts be wrong. Just this once.

“The email said nine-thirty and it’s exactly that now. Unpunctuality is abhorrent to me. Don’t stand there, Guthrie. I can’t see the harbor with you blocking my view.”

The man with the suitcase drew level with Connie. She felt her cheeks burn as he gazed down at her. Four years after the attack that had left her scarred, she should be used to people staring at her, but it had never become any easier. Obviously realizing his silence was making her nervous, he made a visible effort to strive for normality.

“Are you waiting for the de León launch?” When she nodded, he held out his hand. “My name’s Reynolds.”

“Oh!” Connie was taken aback. That was the name of Sylvester’s attorney, but this was not the same man she had met with in Missouri. He was younger, fairer, and there was less formality about him. She regarded him a little doubtfully. There was a definite resemblance, however.

“From your expression, I suspect I was right. I take it you are on your way to Corazón, having met with my father a week ago?”

Connie felt the frown clear from her brow. Her nervousness began to disappear like champagne bubbles rising to the top of the glass. “Oh, yes. I can see it now. You look a little like your father, you know.”

“I hope to God that’s not true. He acts like he’s got a baseball bat rammed up his ass most of the time. Although I shouldn’t complain. I’m a junior partner in the firm and, even though it leaves him short-staffed in the Florida office, he’s given me as much time as I need to go on this little jaunt of Sylvester’s.” His voice was cheerful. “Allow me to put my powers of deduction to the test even further by using a process of elimination to decide which of Sylvester’s relatives you might be.” He tilted his head to one side and studied her face.