Taking Control (Babysitting a Billionaire #3)

Logan had been his role model for tonight. A few years older than Declan, he’d been born before the urge to be respectable had overtaken Rory and he’d never really embraced the whole legitimate thing. But Declan knew he was a good man, even if he looked a total hard case in black leather pants and a T-shirt, the short sleeves revealing the black ink of tattoos snaking down his arms. Declan’s own arm tingled at the sight.

His sister, Tamara, was the opposite, looking every inch the successful corporate lawyer she was. She was two years younger and very ambitious. She been hassling him for more responsibility. He was about to make her very happy.

He took off his dark glasses and shoved them in his pocket, wincing a little at the bright light. “Stand up,” he said to his dad.

Rory frowned but slowly rose to his feet. Declan closed the distance between them. “Tell me,” he said. “Did you really have a heart attack last year, or was it just part of the plot to get me over here and sort out my pitiful existence?”

He pursed his lips. “My heart’s fine.”

“Good.” He drew back his fist and punched his father in the nose.

He heard the satisfying crunch of bone and Rory crashed to the floor.

Declan looked around the room, waiting for someone to step forward, but no one moved. Logan was still grinning, his sister looked uninterested, his mother was smiling.

“I have wanted to do that so many times,” she murmured. Then she stepped toward him and patted his arm. “Do you two need to talk alone?”

Declan shook his head. “No. I can say what I have to say in front of you.”

“Good.” She drifted away and sat down in the middle of the black leather sofa that ran along one wall of the office. She tapped the seat beside her and Logan and Tamara sat on either side. Penny raised an eyebrow, then shook her head. “I’m guessing this is a family matter, so I’ll leave you to it.” Declan waited until she had closed the door behind her before he turned back.

His dad hadn’t yet moved and for a moment Declan worried that he might have hit too hard. But he’d pulled the punch. Then Rory pushed himself up onto one elbow and wiped a hand across his nose, staring at the scarlet that stained his fingers. “You broke my nose.”

“Yeah.”

He dragged himself to his feet. “Are you going to tell me why?”

Declan reached into his pocket and pulled out the check he had taken from Jess’s wall last night. He tossed it onto the desk beside where his father stood.

He picked it up, his brows drawing together as he studied the check. Then his expression cleared though his eyes narrowed. “She never cashed it?” He sounded almost pleased.

What the hell did that matter? “She came to you, and you gave her money to go away.”

“She was bad for you.”

“It wasn’t your decision to make. You promised to let me know if she needed anything. I asked you if she’d been in touch. You lied.”

“I made it my decision. You were only eighteen and about to throw your future away on a little tramp.”

“She was never a tramp.” Declan turned away, running a hand through his hair. He would never get his father to admit he was wrong. Arrogant prick. “You should have fucking told me.”

Rory pursed his lips. “Maybe. But if you’d really wanted her back then, you would never have left.”

Declan crossed to the cabinet where he knew his father kept the scotch and pulled out the bottle and a couple of glasses. He placed them on the desk.

“Don’t we get offered any?” Logan asked.

“Get it yourself.” He poured an inch into each and handed one to his father, who eyed him suspiciously, but took the glass and swallowed the drink.

“You going to hit me again?”

“Maybe.” But he sank down into the chair opposite his father’s, legs stretched out in front of him, and sipped the drink while he examined his new boots. There was more he wanted to know and if he had to beat the answers out of his father, well, he was willing to do it. But he didn’t think it would come to that.

“Why did you employ Knight Security? And why did you specifically ask for Jess?”

His father swirled the amber liquid around in his glass while he considered the answer. Why did Declan get the impression that whatever it was he wasn’t going to like it?”

But it was his mother who actually spoke first. “That might be my fault,” she said.

Declan turned his gaze on her. His mother was still beautiful and looked what she was, fifty-five years old, well-cared for, rich…

“Your father married me because I was respectable. I married him because he was not. It was my one rebellion in life. But we only married on the understanding that he would go legitimate and put his bad ways behind him. Your father was not a good man.”

“Still isn’t,” Declan muttered.

“But I was determined you were not going to be the same. So you were brought up to know your duty, and you were a good boy. Better than we could have asked for.”

“Are we going to get to the point?” Declan asked. Jess would be here soon, and he wanted answers first. Wanted to know how to move forward and his mother wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.

“The point is, we went too far. You were too good. You were the perfect son, never a foot wrong.”

“Except the summer you were eighteen,” his father put in.