The Corporate Raider's Revenge / Tycoon's Valentine Vendetta: The Corporate Raider's Revenge / Tycoon's Valentine Vendetta. Yvonne Lindsay
If you don’t think that makes me emotional and sorry I ever laid on eyes on you—”
“Hey! Calm down.”
Evan closed the gap between them. He kept his hands to himself, thankfully. If he touched her, she feared she’d melt into a puddle of tears. Her emotions were that close to the edge.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I just told you.”
“No, it’s something else. You’re pale as a ghost.”
“You have that effect on me.”
Evan lips pursed tight. “Laney, come on. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous. I want to know exactly what you said to my father that day.”
“And I want to speak with you about The Royals. Seems we both want something. Since now isn’t a good time for you, have dinner with me tomorrow night and I’ll answer all of your questions.”
Laney hesitated. Her stomach clenched. She was finally hungry, which didn’t happen often these days. She needed a peaceful meal and a nice warm bath. Then she planned on crawling into bed. What she didn’t want to do was have an emotional breakdown in front of Evan Tyler. She couldn’t let him see her that way. She wasn’t ready to tell him about the baby, but she desperately did need to find out if he had anything to do with her father’s heart attack. “Okay, fine. I’ll meet you for a quick business dinner.”
He shook his head. “I’ll pick you up at eight, tomorrow night right here. And I won’t be wearing my boots.”
Laney watched him drive off as myriad emotions swam around in her head. Flashes of the man she’d known at the Wind Breeze wouldn’t stop infiltrating her thoughts. She’d caught rare glimpses of that man when he glanced at her. She’d only wished he were half the man she’d known on that island. But at best, he was a coldhearted driven businessman out to raid her father’s hard-earned company.
“Well, baby,” she whispered, as her stomach growled with hunger again. “That was your daddy.”
Evan drove into the underground garage at the L.A. Tempest and parked the car in his personal space, his mind focused solely on Laney Royal. When he should be thinking about ways to get her to sign on the dotted line, all he really could focus on was how he could get her back in his bed.
There was just something surprising about the beautiful Miss Royal. Maybe it was the challenge she represented to him. He wanted her company, but after spending time with her, he found he wouldn’t mind any fringe benefits that came along with the deal. She’d managed to cure his own boredom at the Wind Breeze, breaking up his business routine and allowing him to enjoy moments of sheer relaxation. And when they weren’t relaxing they were hot for each other, tangling in and out of the sheets. He squeezed the vision of her smooth, supple body under his out of his head before his pulse escalated and his temperature rose. Every time he thought of her that way, his body surged like a damn power strip in a blackout.
Hell, she clearly couldn’t stand the sight of him. She believed that he had something to do with the death of her father.
Evan clicked off the ignition, grabbed his briefcase and slid out of the car, slamming the door. He rode the private elevator up to his penthouse apartment, angry that she’d believe him of aggravating her father into cardiac arrest.
He was still in a mood when he unlocked his door and was greeted by his mother and two brothers.
They stood in the afternoon shade on his courtyard balcony, with champagne glasses in hand. His mother smiled warmly, her brown eyes twinkling, while his two brothers barely held back smirks.
He glared at his brothers then ran a hand down his face. “Amazing who the doorman lets in these days.” Then Evan walked over to his mother. “I didn’t mean you,” he said with a wink. He bent to give her a kiss. “It’s always good to see you, Mom.”
“Your brothers flew me in from St. Petersburg to surprise you. Did you forget your own birthday, Evan?” she asked, her expression bordering on grim.
“I’ve been busy, Mom. I thought we agreed to celebrate next month in Florida when you hit the big—”
“Don’t say it,” Trent warned.
Brock walked over to hand him a glass of champagne. “You’re taking your life in your hands.”
Rebecca Tyler waved off her boys. “Oh, pooh! I’m not ashamed to admit I’ll be sixty years old next month and you boys know that. But your birthday is today, Evan. I hear you’re working very hard.”
“I’m putting together a deal that’ll put Tempest in a whole different league.”
Rebecca blinked and nodded, then she took a seat on a chaise lounge, looking a bit weary. The three of them took their cue from her and sat, circling her seat. “You’ve already made me so proud. All three of you boys. You’ve got a thriving business with Tempest. I was just hoping…”
She let the sentence drop, but they all knew what she was thinking. Evan glanced at Brock, who glanced at Trent, and neither one of them wanted to look their mother directly in the eyes.
Trent spoke up first. “How old are you today, Ev, thirty-three?”
Evan twisted his mouth. “If you say so.”
“Trent, you know your brother is thirty-two. All of my sons are two years apart.”
“Yeah, but Ev’s the oldest,” Brock said and it was beginning to sound the way it had when they’d been kids, pointing fingers and laying blame.
His mother raised her glass. “To Evan. My oldest son. Happy Birthday, dear.”
Brock and Trent chorused the birthday sentiment and they each raised their glass and sipped champagne.
“I remember the day you were born. It didn’t seem so long ago,” she said, her eyes taking on a distant gleam. Often she appeared that way when she thought of times when their father had been alive. “You gave me the most trouble before you were born. I was nauseous every morning for months, barely had any appetite at all. The doctors worried about me losing weight. They didn’t have those nausea pills like they have now. But you were my easiest delivery.” His mother sighed. “And now you’re the head of a big company.” She sipped her drink then smiled wistfully. “Did I tell you Larissa Brown’s daughter is having another baby and her son is getting married this fall?”
“I don’t think we knew that,” Brock said, “did we, Ev?”
Evan shook his head and kept his mouth shut. “Nope.” He knew better than to engage in a conversation with his mother about marriage and babies. She’d been hinting for years. He couldn’t say he blamed her. She had three sons, all of age and not a one of them was remotely interested in settling down.
“Hey, Mom, I hear you’re finally going on a cruise,” Trent said, changing the subject.
“Yes, Larissa convinced me to go with her. She says I don’t know what I’m missing—all those activities and tours. We’re leaving in two weeks. I’m getting things packed and ready.”
Trent continued asking about his mother’s vacation, giving Evan the best birthday gift of all: a reprieve from his mother’s subtle hints. He’d never minded being the oldest, bearing the burden of helping her raise Trent and Brock, but now Rebecca Tyler wanted more in life. And she looked to Evan to get the ball rolling.
Later that evening they dined at The Palm, a well-established Los Angeles restaurant known for their specialty of the house—jumbo Nova Scotia lobsters—to celebrate Evan’s birthday. It was his mother’s favorite place to eat when in L.A. Caricatures of famous celebrities who’d frequented the restaurant were painted on the walls and every time Rebecca came in, his mother would find several new cartoons drawn onto the “living murals.”
It was