The Ten-Day Baby Takeover(66)

It hadn’t taken long for Cecelia to figure that out, too.

The light turned green, and Deacon continued down the road to where his father’s old garage used to be. When he’d made his first million, Deacon had moved his parents out of Royal and into a nice subdivision in central Florida. There, they could enjoy their early retirement without the meddling of the snooty residents of Royal. His father had sold the shop, and now a new shopping center was sitting where it used to be. A lot had changed in the last thirteen years.

Deacon couldn’t help but wonder how much Cecelia had changed. He tried not to cyberstalk her, but from time to time he couldn’t help looking over the Houston society pages to see what she was up to. The grainy black-and-white pictures hardly did her beauty justice, he was certain. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been a young woman, barely eighteen. Even then, Deacon had been certain that she was the most beautiful woman he would ever see in person. He would bet that time had been kind to his Cecelia.

Not that it mattered. The most recent article he’d stumbled across in the paper had included the announcement of her engagement to Chip Ashford. He remembered Chip from high school. He was a rich, entitled, first-class douche bag. Deacon was fairly certain that that hadn’t changed, but if Cecelia was willing to marry him, she certainly wasn’t the girl that he remembered. Back then, she’d hardly given Chip the time of day.

Mr. and Mrs. Morgan must be so proud of her now. She’d finally made a respectable choice in a man.

Turning off the main drag, Deacon headed down the narrow country road out of Royal that led to his latest real estate acquisition. The rustic yet luxurious lodge that was to serve as his home base in the area stood on three acres of wooded land several miles outside town. He’d bought the property sight unseen when he decided to take on The Bellamy project with Shane. He couldn’t be happier with the place. It was very much his style, although it was a far cry from the elegant European architecture and design that he’d become accustomed to.

He hadn’t really needed to buy the home. Deacon had no real intention of staying in Royal any longer than he had to. But the businessman in him had a hard time passing up a good deal, and it seemed a shame to throw money away on renting a place while they built the hotel. He had no regrets. It was his happy retreat, away from the society jungles of Royal.

When he pulled up in front of the lodge, he was surprised to find Shane Delgado’s truck parked out front. Deacon parked the Corvette in his garage, then stepped out front to meet his friend and business partner.

Deacon hadn’t had many friends back in school. Basically none. But his side business of buying and restoring cars had drawn Shane’s attention. Shane had actually bought Deacon’s very first restoration, a 1975 cherry-red Ford pickup truck with white leather seats. Deacon had been damn proud of that truck, especially when Shane had handed over the cash for it without questioning his asking price. They’d bonded then over a mutual love of cars and had continued to keep in touch over the years. When they both ended up in the real estate development business, it was natural for them to consider working together on a few projects.

“What’s wrong now?” Deacon asked as he joined Shane at the bottom of his front steps.

While the construction of The Bellamy had gone relatively smoothly, Deacon was the silent partner. Shane bothered him with details only when something had gone awry. He joked with Shane once that he was getting to the point that he dreaded the sight of his friend’s face.

“For once,” Shane said with a smile, “I’m just here to hang out and have a drink with my friend. Everything at the hotel is going splendidly. Tomorrow, Cecelia Morgan will be presenting her designs to the board, based on your recommendation. Assuming we like what Cecelia did, and I hope I’m not going too far out on a limb here, we’ll be moving forward and getting that much closer to opening the hotel.”

Deacon slapped his friend on the back of the shoulder. “I wouldn’t have brought her on board if I didn’t think she was the best designer for the job. Come on in,” he said as they started up the massive stone stairs to the front door. “Have you eaten?” he asked as they made their way into his office for a drink.

Shane nodded. “I have. Brandee is constantly feeding me. By the end of the year, I’m going to weigh three hundred pounds.”

“You’re a lucky man,” Deacon said as he poured them both a couple of fingers of whiskey over ice. Shane had recently gotten involved with Brandee Lawless, the owner of the nearby Hope Springs Ranch. She was a tiny blonde spitfire, and one hell of a cook. “I’d be happy to have Brandee feeding me every night.”