Kat Cantrell - An Heir For The Billionaire

“Let’s just say that we’ve got a solid truce and as long as he stays in his corner, I stay in mine.”

That was a mild and very politically correct way to put it. Because when it came to business, Winchester fought dirty. His misdeeds had included paying off a judge to rule against a Chamberlain Group rezoning request, planting a spy at a relatively high level in Reid’s organization and—the pièce de résistance—attempting to poison Chamberlain Group’s reputation in the media with false allegations about Reid’s ties to the mob. Winchester had gall. Reid had patience, influence and money—he’d won in the end.

“Well, I’m sure my father is the poster child for what happens to people who love money more than their own family,” she said without hesitation. “It’s part of the reason I left. I got tired of living the life of a socialite, doing nothing more meaningful than being photographed in the latest fashion or showing up at a charity event. Money doesn’t buy anything worthwhile.”

He topped off both wineglasses and served the main course, cold lamb and pasta, then picked up the thread of the conversation. “When used correctly, money is a tool that makes life better.”

“Doesn’t seem to have done that for you,” she pointed out, tilting her wineglass toward him in emphasis. “You shut yourself up in this billion-dollar prison. I’ve been in your presence twice now, and I have yet to see any evidence that money has made you happy.”

What would she say if he agreed with her? If he said that money had done nothing but give his father the power to rip away Reid’s soul? First by never being any kind of a father figure and then by taking his family with him on his journey to judgment day. The elder Chamberlain had picked his three-million-dollar Eclipse 550 as his weapon of choice, crashing the small jet deliberately and killing his wife and daughter.

Reid hadn’t been on board. He’d been too busy chasing that next dollar.

Scary how alike he and his father were. You could run, but you couldn’t hide from genetics. That’s why Reid hadn’t hesitated to say no when Nash came looking for someone to take in Sophia’s twins. Reid wasn’t father material. Reid was barely human material.

Money hadn’t insulated him from heartache; it only afforded him the means to create what Nora called a prison. To him, it was a refuge.

“I like being alone,” he finally said. “Having more money than the Bank of Switzerland allows me the luxury of kicking people out of my presence whenever I deem it necessary.”

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