Hot Billionaire Troubled: So Hot Billionaires, #21

By Melody Love

Isaac Moon is a dedicated police officer in his community. The recent death of his grandpa left him with more than he ever knew was imaginable. He became an instant billionaire. The money has tempted him to throw in his badge and move south to warmer weather, but a recent crime has him wondering if he's not ready to throw away his career. He saved Kate. What would have happened to her if he wasn't around? Who would have saved her? Now he has a bigger problem. He's fallen for a criminal's sister. How would this look to the community? 

 

Now Kate's brother needs help and it's up to Isaac to choose his career or Kate's family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DM
• Release date: May 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393160915

Book preview

HOT BILLIONAIRE TROUBLED

By Melody Love

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2020 Melody Love

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Chapter One – Isaac

Hey, man. I have to tell you something, my brother said, his voice low and dull.

A chill ran down my spine. My twin brother, Jeremy, had always been the more optimistic and outgoing out of the two of us. For him to sound so down, this news had to be serious.

I didn’t want to deal with anything serious. I’d had a long day. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a choice.

Sure, Jer, I said, keeping my voice even and calm. What’s up?

Gramps died this morning.

I caught my breath, my heart twisting in my chest. No, I gasped. My throat tightened.

Yeah.

Now I understood. What the hell happened? I didn’t even know anything was wrong.

Jeremy let out a shaky breath. He didn’t answer for a long minute. I could picture him in his classic Jeremy posture, head low and fingers pressed to his eyes or temples. He always did that when something stressed him out. I used to do it, too, until my doctor told me all that pressure would weaken my eyes.

Finally, Jeremy spoke again. I really don’t want to have to handle this over the phone. I’m with Mom and Dad. Think you could come over?

Of course, I’ll come over. I’m already on my way. I stood up, still with the phone pressed to my ear, and headed for the front door of my house.

That’d be great. Mom’s taking it even harder than Dad, I think.

I bet, I said grimly. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

See you, Isaac.

Yeah. Hang tough, brother.

I hung up, jammed the phone in my pocket, and grabbed my car keys. I shoved my feet in my shoes and jumped out the front door. I leapt the three steps down from the porch and rounded the side of the police cruiser parked in the driveway. Unlocking the doors, I climbed in and jammed the key into the ignition. I pulled out and drove down the neighborhood street. The needle of the speedometer clicked up higher and higher as I accelerated. I glanced down to check how fast I was going and looked up again to the road.

A bow-backed older man with a shock of white hair ambled out onto the street in front of my cruiser.

I slammed on the brakes. The seatbelt locked against my shoulder and chest, digging into me. Tires screeched. The old man looked up, peering blankly from under his stringy hair as the nose of the car came to a shuddering halt only a few feet away.

Shit, I swore. Shit, shit. I unbuckled the seatbelt and got out of the car, hustling over to the man with my hand out to grab his arm. Are you okay, sir?

He looked at me moodily, not seeming to care that I’d almost smeared him across the road. You should really have your lights on if you’re going to be driving so fast, Officer.

Other cops with less integrity would scold the old man, tell him to be more aware of his surroundings, or warn him that he hadn’t been on a crosswalk. Once upon a time, I would have done the same. But I had grown since then. The near-collision was my fault.

You’re right, sir. I apologize. Unfortunately, I’m not on official business. Family emergency. Want my badge number? The pressure of time weighed heavy on my shoulders. He was unscathed, unfazed. I wanted to get going as fast as possible.

Family emergency? He frowned and fixed me with the sort of glare he might give to a kid who had stepped on his lawn. Well, what are you doing standing around talking to me? Go on and help those who actually need it.

Of course, sir. I turned back and got in my car once more.

The old man shambled on, still with a blatant disregard for his own safety, since he didn’t look in either direction. I waited until he had somehow, miraculously, gotten to the other side without incident, before pulling away.

The rest of the drive across Royal Lake was uneventful. I forced myself to stick to the speed limit and to stop at each stop sign and blinking red light. Ten minutes later, I arrived at my parents’ house. I parked and hurried inside.

A pitiful sight awaited me when I burst through the front door. Dad sat in an armchair, his face long and mournful, while Mom and Jeremy cuddled together on the couch. Mom wept into her hands. Jeremy patted her shoulder, stroked her hair, and dabbed at her face with his handkerchief, doing all the actions which had so comforted us as children and which we could never have expected we would someday do for those who had taken care of us.

Dad looked up first and saw me. His expression briefly cleared, the storm cloud of sorrow dissipating. Isaac, he said. He climbed to his feet and rushed to me, putting his arms around my shoulders.

Hey, Dad, I said. I put my hand on his back and patted him. Always good to see you, but I wish it didn’t have to be like this.

He sighed and straightened up. Yes. I know. I’m so sorry, Isaac. This came out of nowhere. And you were probably the closest to him out of all of us.

I patted his back again and led him over to the couch, so he could sit with the rest of the family. He sank gratefully to the cushions, even that short of a walk draining him of his energy. I took the armchair, sliding it around a little bit to face the rest of them. Folding my hands, I asked, What happened?

Mom lifted her face briefly from her hands, saw me, and went back to weeping. Jeremy sighed and stroked her head with his hand. Late last night, Grandpa John had a heart attack. Grandma called him an ambulance, and they both went to the hospital. He went into a coma and then died this morning.

A heart attack? I repeated, stunned. He’s the healthiest old man I know!

He was, my inner thoughts clarified. But to make that clarification aloud would be beyond cruel.

I know, Dad said, his voice a quiet lament. We’re all shocked. My father was so active. Always has been. All those times he went out fishing with you, even just a month ago.

He left the rest unspoken, presumably for Mom’s sake, but it was clear what he meant. How could someone so healthy and active, so lively, have had a heart attack? How could he have been taken so quickly, without even a struggle? I couldn’t fathom it. I couldn’t mesh the idea of a sickly, dying old man lying in a hospital bed with the chipper and mobile grandfather I’d known. He got up at 4 a.m. on days we were to go on our fishing trips, bouncing up to his feet straight out of bed as though it was no big deal. And he would stay out on the lake all day if given the chance, rowing, fishing, relaxing. Just being himself.

And now he was no more.

What happens now? I asked. I knew what happened, logically. I’d helped out dozens of others with this same situation. Yet, somehow, when it came to my family, myself, I felt like a little boy, like the toddler I had been when I learned how to put a worm on a hook for the first time. Absolutely baffled, even mortified. I had to do what? No, that couldn’t be right. I didn’t have to hurt the worm, did I?

I didn’t have to...take part in what came next, did I?

Mom will be taking care of the arrangements, Dad said, speaking of his own mother, Grandma, and not my distraught Mom. She’ll let us know what she decides and what our part in it needs to be. She won’t meet with the funeral director until tomorrow, however.

What on earth were we supposed to do until then?

Mom lifted her head again. She scrubbed at her face with her hands, childlike. I felt terrible. This whole thing had rendered us ignorant, vulnerable, and small. Jeremy will stay here tonight. Will you stay too, Isaac? Please? I need my boys.

I looked at Jeremy. He lifted his brows and gave a short shake of his head. It could have meant anything to an outsider, to individuals who were not twins. We had that bond, the closeness that could make it seem as if we read each other’s minds. I knew exactly what he meant. Jeremy had not told Mom he would be staying tonight. I doubted that Mom had been capable of making even such small plans, what with the state she was in.

I responded by lifting my brows back at Jeremy, asking him what then? Would he stay?

He nodded, so slight I wouldn’t have caught it had I not been looking for it. Of course. For Mom’s sake, he’d stay.

Of course, I’ll stay, I said.

For the sake of the family, we all needed to be together.

Dad clasped his hands together and stood. Good, good. I’m glad. I hope you won’t mind sleeping on the couches. You used to do that easily enough when you were younger.

There were two couches, forming a 90° angle along the wall.

I don’t mind at all, Jeremy said. And neither does Isaac.

I’m used to going to sleep anywhere, I agreed. Late nights and early mornings sometimes made it necessary to sleep at the station. I’d slept on the floor of my office, in a chair in the break room. Sleep was sleep, and I had trained my body to accept whatever form it came in. It’s not a problem at all.

That’s good. Dad wrapped his arm around Mom’s shoulders. Have you eaten yet, Isaac?

I had skipped lunch to do some paperwork. I remembered, vaguely, as if half an hour ago was more like thirty years than thirty minutes, that I’d been hungry and anticipating an early dinner. Now I wasn’t hungry and couldn’t really imagine being hungry ever again. Still, I answered, I haven’t, because I knew I would need to eat no matter how I felt.

How about we order a pizza? Jeremy suggested.

Could you? Dad asked.

I will, I said, and got up. I took my phone with me to the kitchen, not knowing why I left except that it seemed highly inappropriate to order a pizza in the middle of a bunch of grieving people. It wasn’t to get the number off the fridge or anything either, as I had the pizza place on speed dial.

I ordered two of the specials, one peperoni and sausage and the other chicken bacon ranch, and headed back into the living room to be with my family. Just to be. To exist. To take comfort from their presences, because there was certainly not going to be any conversations happening.

The only sound throughout the wait was that of breathing. Jeremy’s measured breaths, Mom’s sniffles and sobs, and Dad’s constant deep sighing. The doorbell ringing was intrusive, but welcome.

I went and paid for the pizza, and brought the boxes into the living room and put them on the coffee table.

Mom looked up, her maternal senses tingling. Oh, Isaac, honey, don’t put those directly on the table. The grease... John used to do the same. She grew stricken, realizing what she’d said. Fresh tears brimmed.

Dad moved before anyone else could and wrapped his arm around Mom’s shoulder. Dad would be proud Isaac is carrying on the tradition, he teased gently.

Jeremy went into the kitchen and came back with a couple pot holders. He placed them under the pizza boxes to make Mom happy. I think we should try not to be so sad, he said softly. Grandpa wouldn’t want us to mope around so much. I’m sure he’s happy we love him so much and miss him, but he wouldn’t want us to be so upset. Let’s remember him the way he’d want to be remembered.

Mom went quiet, her head lowered. She was thinking hard. We could all see that. We left her to it and dug into the pizza. I found myself missing her usual nagging, her insistence upon using plates, napkins, and/or forks like civilized people would. I missed, already, the way things had been before, the way they would never be again.

We ate in silence.

Do you remember...?

We all jumped a little at the suddenness. The three of us turned to face Mom. She still held the same slice of pizza she had picked out of the box at the very beginning. She hadn’t yet taken a bite.

Do you remember, she repeated, as if to herself, not looking at any of us, how he was the only one who would ask for fish on pizza?

My heart wrenched. She was trying to be brave for the benefit of us all. I hurried to support her, the same way she had supported all of us many times. Grandma used to let him get anchovies on half the pizza, but everyone complained that the fishy smell contaminated the rest of the pie.

Jeremy caught on and jumped right in. So he’d disappear to the kitchen and we’d hear him fumble around in the fridge for a few minutes. Then he’d visit the microwave. And then he’d come back and sit down with his pizza and act like nothing ever happened. But there’d be sardines. Or anchovies. Or pieces of cod or salmon. Just sitting and steaming and smelling right on top of his food.

Mom gave a soft, sniffly sort of laugh. He was such a character, all the time. He had his wisdom teeth removed before either of you were born.

I chewed, hanging onto her every word, letting her know she was important.

Your father had to work and Carol, your grandmother, needed a break. I came over so she could go to the grocery store and chat with some friends if she saw any. Mom smiled, a little stronger and with less effort than before. As soon as she walked out the door, John pointed at some candy in a candy bowl way high up on a shelf where he couldn’t reach it. He was still a little dopey from the gas. That man wouldn’t be able to eat anything except for soup and Jell-O for two weeks after the surgery, but he wanted candy!

Did you give him candy? Jeremy asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Mom touched his arm, laughing. I put him in the car and we went to that ice cream shop on Daisy Street. I got us both Milky Way milkshakes. That seemed to satisfy his sweet tooth. But then every time he saw me for months, he wanted to go get one with me. It was our thing for a little while. Her eyes shimmered, filling with tears. We should have done it more often.

You should go get one sometime, Jeremy told her. Remember all the fun you two had.

Maybe, she murmured doubtfully. Maybe. Not soon. But maybe.

Dad had been eerily silent ever since we all started talking. He stood and left the living room, heading down the hall.

Excuse me, I said. I got up and went after him.

The hall bathroom light was on. Water ran in the sink. I poked my head around the open doorway and observed Dad washing his hands, the water so hot his skin turned an angry red. He glanced up and saw me hovering over his shoulder in the reflection of the mirror. Some awareness seemed to return to him. He winced and turned off the tap.

Hey, son, he greeted me.

And which son am I?

He groaned and made a show of rolling his eyes at the old joke. Jeremy and I looked nothing alike despite being identical twins. In fact, most people didn’t guess we were twins at all. They assumed I was older, on account of being broader and more rugged, while slight and bookish Jeremy registered as younger to strangers.

Very funny, Dad said. You need in here?

He started to back out of the bathroom. I held out my arm, stopping him. Actually, I lowered my voice, I wanted to ask if you’re okay. You’re very quiet. Mom’s taking it hard, but Grandpa was your father, so it must be rough for you, too.

Dad sighed and looked at me evenly. This is what I get for having a cop for a son, isn’t it? You’ve turned nosy.

I only get into business I think I need to, I protested.

He held up his hand. I’m joking with you, Isaac. I’m fine. As fine as I can be. He used his impeding hand to rub the back of his head. His gaze wandered, slipping away from mine. Sometimes, I think I never really knew my father. I feel as though there was a part of him no one except your grandmother could access. It seems now I won’t ever have the chance.

Can I do anything for you? I asked.

No. I’ll be fine. Death comes to everyone, every day. You know that better than anyone else. We’ll all get through it. Dad jabbed his thumb over his shoulder and tipped his head. You want to head back there first so it doesn’t look like we had some suspicious talk? I want to find you boys some spare blankets and pillows for later tonight.

Of course. I gripped his hand, briefly, feeling the gnarled fingers against my stronger one. How times had changed. It used to be he was the stronger one, and it was I who depended on him.

He turned away without saying anything else. I let him go and returned to the living room.

Jeremy asked, Where’d Dad go?

He’s getting supplies for our sleepover tonight, I told him.

Mom sighed. I hope he doesn’t mess up the laundry I haven’t put away yet. Maybe I should...

I held onto her, stopping her from getting up. I had a feeling Dad wanted this excuse to grieve in privacy, at least for a few moments. Come on, Mom, you haven’t even eaten anything. Dad can figure it out.

But I...

Jeremy stared at me, letting me know he would bug me to know the truth later on. He turned to Mom before she could notice our secret twin looks. Yeah, Mom, you used to always nag us as kids because we wouldn’t finish our food.

My own sons, trying to mother me. Mom regarded the piece of pizza in her hand, growing colder and less appetizing the longer she held it. Wonders never cease.

She took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and went in for another. The process was mechanical, dutiful; I couldn’t help being relieved regardless of whether she enjoyed what she ate. We were all going to need our strength for what came next.

Chapter Two – Kate

Did you hear about Stuart? Mom asked me.

I looked up from the brunch table, the half-eaten remnants of our meal spread out on platters and plates. Mom did always have a knack for presentation. I wondered, with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, if inviting me to brunch, treating me to such a calm and relaxing time, was all part of a different kind of presentation. Was it all part of a plan in place to make the news around my brother seem all the more dramatic?

Then again, I guess it doesn’t take much. If anything. Stuart was already...a dramatic subject.

No, I managed. What about him? How old is the news?

He got in trouble again last night.

I pushed my plate away, knowing I really was done with eating. Never mind the scones, delicious with homemade clotted cream and jam, the orange juice, the eggs and sausage, and the fresh-cut seasonal fruit. I wouldn’t be able to taste any of it now. Why didn’t anyone tell me?

Mom didn’t share my disregard for food. She picked up another scone, cut into it, and dabbed on just enough cream and jam to flavor each bite. Fastidious, measured, as always. Luckily, it was a minor thing. That doesn’t always happen to be the case.

Stuart had spent what seemed like half of his life in and out of detention centers and jail. She was right. This was rare.

What happened?

Mom ate leaning over her plate, keeping any crumbs from getting on the table or, heaven forbid, the floor. He and a few buddies were picked up by the police for loitering in a gas station parking lot. They were drunk. The police took them in for the night and let them sleep it off in a cell. It’s lucky they were newer officers or else they might have made an arrest.

I put my head in my hands. My heart was breaking, shattering into pieces. Scratch that. The broken pieces of my heart were being ground into even smaller bits than before. It was so devastating to watch this happen to my younger brother. He used to be such a good kid, and we were so close, not like a lot of brothers and sisters who could be at odds with each other. It used to be us against the world.

Then he fell in with the wrong crowd when he started high school, and it became Stuart against his teachers, Stuart against that lady who looked at him funny, Stuart against the system. Stuart against Stuart. It was so awful to watch him follow that twisting path, that meandering road of illegality which only descended and took him further and further away from us. It was like watching a plane approaching the runway too quickly, a train heading for a car stalled on the tracks. Terrible, just terrible, and unavoidable and tragic, too awful to watch but even worse to ignore.

Where is he now? I asked, dreading the answer.

One of the cops gave him coffee and drove him home.

Who told you that?

Hmm?

Stuart would never be caught dead saying the police did something for him.

Mom laughed. It was light and crisp, thin as a wafer, with no real amusement behind it. The same officer who drove him home this morning came to visit me and tell me what had happened. That’s when I decided to invite you to brunch. I wanted to talk it over with you.

You could have said that was the reason. I wanted to be more accusatory, to say instead, You could have let me know you had an ulterior motive. You could have told me sooner. You could have informed me you didn’t want me here just to enjoy my company, but you didn’t, and now I feel betrayed.

But I kept my mouth shut and said nothing of the sort. My feelings didn’t matter here.

Don’t be so sensitive, Mom scolded me. It’s not an easy thing to talk about, the disgrace of one of your children. I’ve been sitting here this whole time wondering how to go about it.

I knew well by now how my parents worked. When Mom got like this, it was time to back off. I switched topics. At least he can’t get in trouble when he’s at home. And he’ll be hungover. He won’t want to go around causing mayhem for a bit.

I don’t know, Mom said doubtfully. Alcoholics have their ways.

I winced, hating that terrible and oh-so-accurate label for my brother’s problems. "We have to do something. He needs help. Real help. He won’t go see a therapist or a counselor. He won’t keep the appointments. He needs to go to a facility, one for troubled people instead of for criminals. If he keeps this up, he’ll put himself in the hospital. Or