Leah Vale - The Rich Boy

So far Alex had succeeded.

Something Marcus had never managed to do.

Was that why Marcus had decided to reach from the grave and destroy Alex’s world? There had never been any sign of “sibling” rivalry from Marcus. Still, who could say what had been going on inside his head.

Alex moved to the fireplace and the painted portrait of Joseph, Elise and Marcus that hung above it, focusing on the ten-year-old boy with the same black hair and dark blue eyes that Alex possessed. Sure, Marcus had done the right thing in acknowledging his other children. But why claim his first child? Alex fisted his hands and slammed them down on the mantel. He was already a McCoy!

A knock on the door to the study jerked Alex from the downward spiral he seemed doomed to succumb to. He turned to stare at the oversize door. He had no intention of answering; he realized the last place he should be right now in such a dark mood was at a party.

Particularly one for Joseph.

The man Alex had thought was his father.

Alex couldn’t decide if he was angrier at Marcus for turning his world on end or at Joseph for not telling him the truth of his paternity long ago.

He needed out of here. Out of this house.

Since there was no way he could get his car from the garage with all the catering trucks and limos and town cars clogging the circular drive, he’d have to settle for escaping to the stable.

He waited long enough for whoever had knocked to give up and go away, before he unlocked the door. Then he slipped out of the study. It was like stepping into a noisy, glittering sauna saturated with the cloying scents of gardenias and roses from the huge floral arrangements covering tables that lined nearly every wall, scents that competed with perfumes and aftershaves.

The wide hall between the domed foyer and the rear of the house was oppressively packed with people wearing everything from formal wear to Sunday best because Joseph was known for inviting a wide range of guests. Barons of industry were elbow to elbow with mail clerks who had caught Joseph’s notice by going above and beyond the call of duty.

The crowd appeared to be making its way toward the expansive stone veranda that ran the length of the house out back, undoubtedly intent on staking out spots to watch the pre-Fourth of July, McCoys-love-America fireworks.

“Alexander!” Peter Carver, McCoy Enterprises’ chief financial officer, hailed Alex as he approached.

Peter raised his punch glass. “Your dad really went all out this time.”

Smoke and mirrors. Alex forced a smile and murmured in agreement. He continued to inch his way through the hall. If he could make it to the door to the kitchen, he could break through and—

No. Helen would be there, coordinating the caterer’s efforts, even though Joseph had specifically asked her to consider herself a guest for the night, not an employee. She wouldn’t listen—she never did—because everyone knew she’d stopped considering herself an employee a long time ago.

Now Alex understood why.

The healthy breakfast waiting for him every morning regardless of his schedule.

The special late-night tonics when the stresses of running a billion-dollar corporation started to show.

He contracted his abs against the sick feeling in his stomach. He’d just as soon not bump into her tonight.

Peter worked his way to Alex’s side and leaned toward him. “Marcus would have been pleased.”

By the huge, gaudy birthday party with everybody who was anybody in attendance, yes. By the fact that Joseph was using his seventy-fifth birthday to publicly welcome three of Marcus’s previously secret illegitimate sons into the family, probably not.

Alex simply nodded in response.

Despite the risk of being jostled, Peter took a drink of his punch. Alex could tell Peter wasn’t sure what to say or do for him when it came to the subject of Marcus’s death.

Those within the upper ranks of the company were aware that Alex and Marcus hadn’t been particularly close as brothers, age difference aside. Alex enjoyed focusing on business; Marcus had focused on the business of enjoyment.

But because of their age difference, Alex couldn’t believe there wasn’t some speculation going on, now that the existence of Marcus’s other sons had quietly been made public.

To counter the speculation and hopefully put an end to it, Alex had been trying to act normally for the past month. Maybe he should have appeared to be grieving more.

He was grieving. For a lot of things.

When they reached the wall of French doors, which had been thrown wide, Alex said to Peter, “The north end of the veranda is the best place to view the fireworks.” He pointed in the direction he meant.

Peter smiled. “Thanks.” Certainly he already knew as much. Peter had worked for them for years, hired by Sara Barnes’s father back when he was VP of operations before his deadly heart attack.

Alex waved lamely and headed in the opposite direction, sticking to the shadows near the house to avoid the crowd and notice. God, he really needed to be alone.

Because the one thing he was grieving most for was the death of his ability to trust.

DESPITE THE FACT that she was conducting an interview, Madeline Monroe thought she’d caught a glimpse of a midnight-black McCoy head above the crowd in the hall, emerging from the door she just happened to know led to the study.

Keeping her microphone steady in front of the mouth of Dependable’s mayor as he yammered on as though he’d actually had a hand in the prosperity of the town’s ten thousand or so inhabitants, Madeline faked a flip of her shoulder-length blond hair. She leaned slightly toward the carved balustrade of the staircase to confirm what she’d seen—a risky move, considering the mayor wasn’t tall and she’d had him stand on the stair above her so she didn’t tower over him in the strappy heels that matched her long red dress.

For professional purposes, which McCoy she might have seen didn’t matter—her producers wanted any of them on camera as much as possible. But the little burp her pulse gave forced her to admit that she hoped it was Alexander McCoy. She steadied herself on her spot a few steps up on one of the grand, sweeping staircases that framed the cavernous foyer of the mansion named the Big House. The McCoys seriously needed to get over themselves.

Just as she needed to get over Alex. They’d barely dated, for cripes’ sake, and seven years ago at that. Pestering him daily for an interview since the news first broke of “The Lost Millionaires” had apparently reawakened whatever she might have felt for him earlier.

Which was stupid, because she didn’t intend to be some rich guy’s eye candy any more now than she had then.

Dan, her cameraman, made a noise from behind his camera and jerked her attention back to the mayor. Not that her producers would choose to include any of this interview with His Honor in her segment. They wouldn’t think the viewers of Entertainment This Evening cared about the civic leaders of a quaint northwest Missouri town. All the viewers cared about was the town’s most famous and powerful residents, the billionaire McCoys.

Especially now that their previously spotless reputation as bastions of morality sported three very big stains. Illegitimate heirs to millions popping out of the mahogany were journalistic platinum to shows such as ETE. And if she could dig beyond the official family press release and find some real dirt, she might finally be taken seriously by the hard-news shows she’d been trying to break into for years.

The journalistic sixth sense she was beginning to trust screamed that a fourth stain on their spotless reputation lurked beneath the surface here at the Big House.