TheBillionaire's Touch(52)

 

Panting as he tore his mouth from hers, Randi looked at him with wide eyes.

 

“Did I hurt you when I told you that I didn’t want you to be pregnant?” he asked in a graveled voice.

 

She nodded slowly. “It’s not that I wanted to be pregnant. It was just the fact that you were so horrified that it might happen with me.”

 

“You know that dyslexia is hereditary. It runs in families. I was afraid for Grady when he had problems early in school, but his issues turned out to be completely different. And once I left for college, things got even tougher for him. I hated that.”

 

It wasn’t like it was Evan’s fault that he’d had to go away to college, but she’d learned enough about him to know he took the problems of the world onto his broad shoulders. He didn’t see it as a burden; it was simply his responsibility. “So?” Randi challenged. “Would you see any child of yours as defective if they had your condition?”

 

“Of course not,” Evan denied vehemently. “But it isn’t easy.”

 

“Evan, you’re not your father. He doesn’t define you,” she told him softly. “You’d be a good parent and your child would be special. Dyslexic children can learn, and they can be incredibly intelligent and creative like you. You talked to Matt brilliantly.” Okay . . . she hadn’t heard the whole conversation, but he’d made Matt happy.

 

He shook his head. “He told me he wanted to be a shark like me.”

 

Randi chuckled at the child’s reference to a popular television show. “Are you a shark?”

 

“No. I just look at things differently, and probably some luck has been involved. I am an investor, and I seem to be able to look outside the box to decide what will be successful and what won’t. Sometimes it’s a talent, but sometimes it’s just a good gut instinct,” he admitted slowly. “Besides, I have more money than the typical shark.”

 

Randi wanted to laugh at his cocky mention of his superior bank balance, but she didn’t. She needed to address the rest of his statement.

 

“You’re brilliant.” Randi was stating the obvious, but she didn’t care. Even with the horrible trials that dyslexia brought to a child, the fact was that dyslexic children were wired differently, and it caused many of them to have creative talents others didn’t have. Obviously, the disorder affected Evan by letting him see an entire picture of a prospective business instead of focusing on one or two negatives that could be resolved. He had a special gift of picking the right businesses, no matter how much he tried to explain it away.

 

“I’m business-smart,” Evan corrected, apparently unwilling to believe he was brilliant. “And I have a natural instinct for what will fly and what won’t. I’ve picked up companies that nobody else will touch and made them work.”

 

“You sold your father’s businesses?” Randi knew he had. Evan had liquidated when his father had died and distributed the Sinclair wealth to all of the children equally. Then, he’d proceeded to build another huge empire of his very own.

 

“They weren’t really my father’s. They were actually started by my grandfather. He was a wily old coot who could sniff out a good business from the other side of the world. I sold them all when my father died so I could divide the family fortune.” He frowned as he continued, “To be honest, I wanted to get rid of them. I wanted to prove to myself that I could pick my own companies and make my own fortune. Obviously, I was lucky I had the money in the first place, but I’ve multiplied my initial inheritance several times over.” He wasn’t bragging; he was just stating a fact.

 

“What does it feel like to be that rich? I always wondered what it would be like to be wealthy,” she asked curiously. It didn’t matter to her that she wasn’t rich and never would be, but she honestly wondered what it would be like not to follow a budget every month.

 

“Not so different than what anyone else feels, I imagine. We have the same concerns, the same fear of failure. We just have nicer cars, nicer houses, and more zeros in our net worth.” Evan shot her a small grin.

 

“And does that make you happy? Is a lot of money ever enough?” Once a person was that rich, did how much they have really matter anymore?

 

“I told you what makes me happy, and it’s not all about the money to me,” he answered gruffly. “But I guess I’ve always wanted to prove that I could build something on my own. I wanted to accumulate more than my father.”