isPc
isPad
isPhone
Obsessed Heir (Billionaire Heirs #4) Chapter 2 4%
Library Sign in

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Barron

“ D o you think you can manage a smile?” Holly sets a martini in front of me before taking a seat.

“You have me sitting at a bar to watch a few hundred passengers march by, and you expect me to be thrilled about it?”

Her lips pull into a particular smile that usually hides a giant fuck you . “I have you sitting at The Martini Bar. It’s going to be the most popular spot on the ship,” she clarifies.

With her considerable PR experience, I have no doubt she’ll make it successful.

“You’re at the place you need to be in order to be seen. So don’t be an asshole around these people.”

“I have no intention of making a spectacle of myself.” I reach for the martini and grimace. My preference runs to a drink where the smoky liquid offers a pleasant heat as it slides down my throat. Instead, I get this.

Annoyed, I toss the mint leaves aside and take a drink of the damn concoction then reconsider. I don’t know what this is, but it’s pretty damn good.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” she declares. “These people didn’t come here to go on a cruise, Barron. They passed two other ships along the way.”

She glances at the stream of passengers boarding, some with celebrity status and a sizable entourage in tow.

“Barron McClelland.” Someone says my name loud enough to be heard over the constant chatter.

“Barron?” Someone else picks up.

There are several women sizing me up, which annoys the fuck out of me.

“They came to be a part of your world. Because even with all the records they sell and all the games they win, they’ll never match your portfolio.”

I grunt in reply, but she’s not wrong. The social sites throw around words like elusive multibillionaire , most eligible , and on his way to being the richest man in the world .

“They paid a goddamn fortune for the privilege,” she points out.

There’s no arguing that. At minimum, the luxury line runs twenty-five thousand per head, the price tag guaranteeing a certain exclusivity. Not that any one of them would want the press to learn they’d cheaped out at the base rate.

The Ice Maiden is the crown jewel of my business empire. I committed my heart and soul, along with a sizeable amount of my earnings, into the project. But I didn’t use a single cent of family money in the process.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I mutter.

“Your investors, the ones who poured millions into this venture, will love it.” She picks up her glass, her lips grazing the rim as she tastes. Her resulting smile reeks of satisfaction. “Besides, we only need to parade you around a couple of times a day. The scarcity itself will make you more fascinating.”

Fascinating. I tighten my jaw. I should beam with pride. Instead, I feel like a contestant at Westminster. Which is precisely what she was aiming for.

If it wasn’t for the fact she’s so good at her job, I would have fired her ass years ago.

“Oh, it’s Barron,” filters in from the crowd heading to the elevator.

“Can you pull off being aloof?” Holly asks. “We want to avoid looking bored this trip.”

“Any expressions I can manage will be versions of annoyed.” Lord knows she’s assembled a top-notch public-relations team. They can help her paint me in a favorable manner, regardless of what I do.

Over the years, she’s become the maddening little sister I never had. Nothing more on a personal level.

When it comes to business, it’s a dream relationship. With my brain and your bucks, we’ll take the world by storm, she said, and she’s delivered every damn time.

“Come on, Barron,” she coaxes. “Behave, or you’ll ruin the surprise I have for you.”

I glare at her. “I don’t know if I could handle a surprise.”

With her imagination, you never know what a surprise could mean. Could be a baklava from the market I discovered while overseas or having me end up in a fucking toga.

“You say that now.” She takes a sip of her drink then turns, signaling the bar.

“The last surprise ended with you having to pack in case you have to bunk with me,” I remind her.

“I’m not worried.” She sets the glass on the table. “I have a backup plan.”

“Don’t cause me a problem over this.”

“Don’t worry.” She pats my shoulder. “I won’t.”

Somehow, that isn’t as reassuring as she expects.

“This is one of my biggest investors.”

“I’ve got this,” she says for the umpteenth time. “But even one of the biggest investors shouldn’t expect accommodations less than twenty-four hours before we sail.”

Ezequiel Mata called. While he only asked if I could accommodate his request, he’s not someone I’d say no to. Our families go way back. In the dark times, our ancestors had the same blood on their hands. His crazy half-brother is off the rails, but Ezequiel is good people.

“We’ll have to keep a cabin available from now on, in case this happens again.” In the back of my mind, I know it will.

“You’re the boss,” she says in an offhand manner.

And yet she needs to be reminded of that fact more often than not.

“Keep an eye on the check-ins.”

She checks her phone. “The line at immigration stretches out the building, and there’s still an hour to go.”

Which could still be hundreds of people. Meanwhile, my last-minute guests, newlyweds, are waiting at the Sunset Bar on the fifteenth floor.

She hands over her martini glass as we get two fresh drinks.

I turn to the server. “What is this?”

“A Sapphire London Club Martini, sir,” he replies, setting the drink down on a crisp white napkin. “You enjoyed?”

“I did.”

“I’ll be sure to tell the bartender,” he says before returning to the bar.

Holly holds up her drink. “To new favorites.”

I raise my glass for the toast then take another drink. “I’d never given a second thought to martinis, but this isn’t bad. Not bad at all.”

She chuckles, then her expression turns neutral. “Incoming,” she warns, under her breath.

I brace myself for whatever or whoever is heading toward us. Two seconds later, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

“Oh, my goodness.” A striking woman in white makes her way around the glass stand holding the ship’s directory. “Holly Reed, you’re positively fabulous.”

The woman addresses Holly but doesn’t spare a second for the bright-red dress Holly chose for the occasion. Her attention is fixed on me, and she’s all but salivating.

“Hello, Bronwyn. Glad you made it,” Holly says with the familiar smile.

Bronwyn O’Neal. The vivacious up-and-coming fashion model is set to do a layout for the website. Her harried assistant, a tall blonde woman, waits nearby. She’s weighed down with two bags and a rolling suitcase.

“And you. Barron,” Bronwyn adds with thinly veiled excitement. “It’s a pleasure.”

I offer a nod, but nothing more to encourage her. Not that it slows her down. She quickly looks around for a chair.

Holly planned for this situation. She had all the other bar-height tables and chairs removed to discourage anyone from trying to join us. The sheer curtains sectioning off this area are looped together, cording us away from the seats on either side.

“Oh my.” Holly motions toward the newest arrivals, creating space between us and Bronwyn as she turns.

“Who?” The face is familiar, but I can’t place him.

“Football player.”

“Ah.” Not being a fan, I’m not likely to recognize the individual players.

“With…not-his-wife,” she says as an afterthought.

Something that will be a common theme, I assume. With the first level having what Holly describes as offerings of a more carnal nature , there’s bound to be drama at some point. I only hope we have enough security.

Bronwyn turns back, her lips pressed together in amusement. “Well, I wanted to see if we could chat for a bit,” she says, moving into my line of sight.

“I’ll check the calendar,” Holly intervenes. “What did you want to discuss?”

“I was going over the layout with Steven when I bumped into him at the airport.” She turns to me. “He agrees the camera loves me.”

“I’m sure.”

“Just imagine it…” Bronwyn picks up a hand, spreading her fingers. “Bronwyn O’Neal.” She reaches my side, stopping mid-step to turn her body away. Then she relaxes her shoulders, offering a view of her delicate jawline and high cheekbones. “The face of Maiden Cruise lines.”

There’s no denying she has a beautiful profile, along with everything else she has on display. The white dress’s claim to modesty is a gauzy, transparent layer over her chest that does little to actually cover her. The entire look is calculated to leave her at a crossroads of innocence and tease.

“Yes, I can already picture it.” No imagination needed. The plunging neckline manages to hold in what’s likely an expensive boob job.

She smiles, relaxing her body as she glances over with triumph in her eyes. Then she schools her expression into an unmistakable invitation.

Holly’s expression remains impassive. After years in the business, she’s had plenty of practice at keeping her thoughts to herself when needed.

Bronwyn presses her shoulder to my arm. She runs her tongue along her bottom lip. “I’m at your?—”

Holly’s phone rings. “Excuse me.” She presses the button.

I turn back to Bronwyn, more curious than anything else about what she’s planning to offer. She smooths away the wrinkles at her brow. Setting her hand on my forearm, she starts again. “I’m at?—”

“James, what’s wrong?” I stiffen at the mention of his name. Bronwyn curls her fingers right past where I rolled back my sleeve. Neither action will distract me from what might be happening.

James is sidestepping people as he rushes down the corridor. “I need to find…” Holly stretches out an arm, waving so he can see her. He puts the phone to his chest and cuts through the seating area.

There’s a thousand moving parts at the moment. Having the ship’s steward trying to track us down doesn’t bode well.

“This can’t be good.” Holly draws in a breath, preparing herself. James, however, comes straight to me, stopping next to Bronwyn.

“Mr. McClelland.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he tries to catch his breath. “I need a word.”

Oh hell.

“James.” Holly stands. “Let’s find a place to talk.”

“What is it, man?” It’s not like I’ll be able to sit here waiting. The passengers are from all over the globe. This could range from an elevator jamming to having the crane drop an entire load of foodstuff into the drink, and caviar ain’t cheap. Worse yet, we had a terrorist attack.

“It’s…” His gaze slides to Bronwyn. “It’s Mrs. McClelland.”

“What?” My reaction is to turn to Holly. How did my mother end up pulled into this conversation?

Holly turns to me with a pained expression. “Surprise,” she says weakly.

“She’s here?” Instantly, I pull my arm out of the woman’s grasp.

“Mrs. McClelland?” Bronwyn says, shocked at the announcement. She cranes her neck, watching in astonishment as I kick my chair back and stride past her, James following close behind.

James takes the lead. “She’s twisted her ankle, sir.”

“Damn it.” I haven’t been face-to-face with my mother in years. This is a hell of a way to have the visit start. “How bad is it?”

“I’ve sent Doctor Stein to meet her.” I follow as he cuts around the passengers waiting for the elevator and goes bounding down the stairs.

“Barron. Ba-rron,” someone calls out, but I don’t miss a step. They can’t be my priority right now.

“We’ll take the gangway through the loading area so we avoid the people at immigration.”

Anger rips through me as James deftly weaves through the crowd. The closer we get to the lower deck, the more dread pools in my stomach.

Holly dragged my mother halfway across the country, likely with several attempts to put off the trip. Her insistence that she’s too old for extended travel is bullshit, though the way she ended up hurting herself validates her point.

Fuck. A layer of guilt pushes me for more. What will she need? Rhys Davenport purchased a helicopter he’s moving up to his island aboard the ship. I’d have no problem pulling him into service.

I should have made it a point to visit, but I’ve been tied up with launching Maiden Cruise Line. My investors know I’m involved in every aspect of the project. And I won’t walk away until I’ve verified every item has been completed.

I take part in everything from the concept to the design and blueprint then the actual construction. I thought that was the worst of it. Turns out, there were thousands of decisions to be made, from safety and reinforcement all the way down to the cocktail napkins.

So, I wasn’t there.

“Is she in pain?”

“I spoke to her assistant, Abigail.” He shakes his head. “So I’m afraid I don’t know,” he says with regret. “Though Abigail did sound like she was in a panic. That’s why I contacted the doctor first.”

“Good call.”

Abigail. The image of the girl, when she turned fifteen, fills my mind, souring my mood even more. We agreed she would only be around until she turned eighteen. The girl turned twenty this year, and yet, here she is, at my mother’s side, a dutiful assistant .

The morning sun hits my face, the warmth failing to penetrate my skin as I make it onto the dock. Now that we’re in an open area, I widen my stride, easily passing James.

“They should be by the gate,” he calls out.

A few steps farther, and I can see past the gate. Stein already reached them and has her sitting in a wheelchair. A goddamn wheelchair.

Abigail looks up as I approach, apprehension in her features. The girl has grown in the last eight years. She has an arm around Mother’s shoulder, offering comfort.

“Barron.” Mother manages a welcoming smile despite her ashen face and pained expression.

I reach her side, my gaze drinking in every change that’s happened since I last saw her. The vulnerability in her eyes is heart-wrenching, sparking my protective instincts. I’m an ass for setting her in second place.

Abigail takes a step back. I’m not sure if she’s giving me a moment with Mother or putting space between us.

Either way, she’s better off keeping her distance, for both our sakes.

Chapter List
Display Options
Background
Size
A-