TheBillionaire's Touch(9)
Sometimes I wish I could do everything with Randi all over again from the beginning. It would have been nice to have another friend. But nothing has even changed between us, and it’s a little too late to try to start over again. Besides, I’d still want to nail her. Having a friend you wanted to fuck could become a problem.
The disagreeable female did have a killer smile. Too bad he’d never seen it directed his way again after their first meeting.
Evan only had one real friend, a female he’d shared much more than he should with, but had never met in person.
Have I passed her on the street in Amesport, or even talked to her?
The woman he’d been corresponding with from Amesport, formerly known as A Concerned Resident of Amesport, still remained a mystery to him. He’d tried his best to figure out who she was, because his curiosity had finally overridden his agreement with her not to share identities. Now, he wished he’d never agreed to her suggestion to not reveal their real names. It had made sense at the time, at the beginning of their correspondence. He wanted to meet her now, though she still didn’t know that he was wealthy—or a Sinclair. She had always presumed he was an employee of the Sinclair Fund, and he’d never corrected her assumption. In fact, he’d lied, verifying to her that he was just an employee several times. He’d rationalized the falsehood by telling himself she didn’t want to know his identity, and by sharing what his position was in the company, he’d reveal who he really was. Part of him wanted to remain a mystery to her, just a man instead of a billionaire from one of the most prominent families in the world. But as they’d continued to correspond for over a year, his desires had slowly changed. He wasn’t sure how they’d communicate face-to-face, but he’d really like to find out.
At one time, he’d wondered if the woman was his now sister-in-law, Mara. His mystery emailer had started signing her letters simply with the initial “M.”—and Mara had been in Dante’s wedding. However, it hadn’t taken him long to realize that Mara was head-over-heels in love with Jared, and that she wasn’t his secret letter writer.
Would I have fought my own brother for Mara if it was actually her?
Evan shook his head slightly as he watched the town of Amesport pass him by on the way to the private peninsula where his house was located. Jared deserved to be happy, and Evan would never have stood between his brother and a woman who brought him that much happiness. Luckily, he’d felt nothing for Mara except a platonic fondness that he still had for her today. She was perfect for Jared, and Evan had pushed and tested his younger brother to the limit to make him see that he needed to snap up Mara before someone else did. If his tactics had been a little deceitful, it hadn’t mattered. His actions were a means to a happy ending for Jared.
He released a pent-up breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Evan’s hand itched to check his email on his cell, see if he had an email from his . . . friend.
I won’t. I can’t. I don’t need to be checking email several times a day like I’m obsessed. She’s my friend, but that doesn’t mean I have to open that mailbox like a madman, pathetically hoping for a reply.
Absently, he fingered the stone keychain some crazy elderly woman had sent him several months ago with a note attached, telling him he needed the stone to clear his blocked paths to happiness. He should have thrown the Apache-tear rock away. Apparently, according to the letter that accompanied the gift, she’d stocked up on this particular crystal since she’d decided that every one of the Sinclair men and their prospective mates needed one. He’d met . . . what was her name? “Beatrice,” he whispered gruffly, remembering the senior citizen he’d met at Dante’s—and then Jared’s—wedding. She seemed harmless enough, but she was definitely “touched” or suffering from some sort of dementia.
For some unknown reason, he’d never gotten rid of the stone. In fact, he kept it on his person almost all of the time. Maybe it was the novelty of actually getting a gift from someone, or just the fantasy that the supposedly mystic woman had woven around the nature of the stone.
I’ll find Beatrice in Amesport and give it back.
It was the least he could do. Even he wasn’t hardhearted enough to offend a woman of advanced life experience by throwing away her gift. Maybe she could peddle it to someone else.
Surprisingly, he realized they were already moving through the gate to the Peninsula and getting close to the long driveway leading to Jared’s home. The miles had sped by, but his mind was elsewhere.