The Billionaire's Secret Heir: The Billionaire Surprise, #5

By Emma St. Clair

"You have a daughter."

 

These four words change EVERYTHING.

 

The moment billionaire Beckett Van de Kamp meets his daughter, Becka, love blows him over with the force of a hurricane.

 

But is he willing to let a child into his orderly--and solitary--life?

 

Especially when it comes to Becka's primary caregiver, her aunt Madi. Stubborn and fiercely loyal, she isn't like any woman he's ever met.Soon, both Becka and Madi are breaking down the firm barriers Beckett had in his life--and around his heart.

 

Can they have a future despite the issues from his past?

 

Will the one secret he kept be too much for Madi to forgive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emma St. Clair
• Release date: Aug 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223247913

Book preview

Chapter One

Beckett Van de Kamp did not believe his father’s threats, which is why he had been scrolling through his work email during the meeting. Everyone knew that Sander Van de Kamp had been more of a figurehead at Van de Kamp International for the past five years while Beckett actually ran the billion-dollar company. Sometime in the next year his father would hand over his seat at the head of VDKI and retire. Even if Beckett didn’t have an heir. Because what could his father really do about that?

Beckett?

His father’s voice startled him, but Beckett didn’t show it. He stood and smoothly moved into his report on the newly acquired fleet of ships as though he had been listening the entire time. His father knew him too well, enough to know that Beckett hadn’t been paying attention. Sander’s frustration steeped just under the surface, but he sat down with a sigh.

You should all have a copy of my report outlining the new totals for shipping capacity with the new ships and the capacity for oil barrels on each.

As he walked the department heads through his report on the new fleet, Beckett noticed that his father seemed short of breath. His cheeks were also flushed. For a sixty-five-year-old, Sander was in great health. Or he had been. Maybe Beckett hadn’t been paying enough attention to his father in the last few months. When was the last time they had dinner together or spent time outside the office? When was the last time Beckett had really looked at his father?

Guilt, once an unfamiliar emotion, had become Beckett’s constant companion for the past few years. It flooded through him. He hadn’t expected that his new faith would impact so many parts of his life, showing him so many places where he had failed. It was exhausting and left him feeling defeated by his own weaknesses, his poor choices, and his past.

Finished with the fleet updates, Beckett dismissed the department heads. Sander stayed in his seat at the head of the table. Beckett stood by the window, looking out over Houston. The city had always been his home, save the years he spent at Yale, but Beckett had always thought of getting out. For the fourth-biggest city in the States, Houston’s downtown was surprisingly underwhelming. But Van de Kamp International dealt in oil and gas, making Houston the best place for the center of their business with its access to oil and the ship channel to the Gulf.

Are you feeling well, Papa?

Well enough, Sander said. I’m sorry about Ava. I know it has been months, but I had not said this to you.

He was a man who spoke perhaps a little too directly—he said this was the Dutch way. But he was also a master of controlling his emotions. He spoke bluntly, but that didn’t mean he shared his feelings. Beckett had learned well from him about hiding things.

Beckett hoped his father couldn’t see his reflection in the window. He didn’t want Sander seeing the way he still flinched hearing his ex-fiancée’s name. Ava was another reminder of Beckett’s failures. He had met her at church and made the naïve assumption that meant she was a woman of character. She was beautiful, but that turned out to be only skin-deep.

He had been surprised at the relief he had felt after the initial shock at finding out Ava had been seeing someone else while letting Beckett pay for everything. She was not so unlike the other women he had dated casually in the years before. And despite getting engaged, Beckett realized after the break-up that he had felt little more for Ava than any other woman.

He turned back to face his father. Yes, well, it shouldn’t have been surprising. This is one of the struggles men of wealth face, isn’t it? People want the money, not the man.

I regret that this is part of it. I wish that you could have what I did with your Mama. We met before all this. Sander gestured around the plush conference room, outfitted with all the latest technology and high-end furnishings.

Though it had been fifteen years since her death, talking about his mother made the loss feel fresh to Beckett. He closed his eyes.

Yes, I’ve heard the story, Papa. But I don’t have the luxury of a before. I was practically born a billionaire, thanks to your hard work. Finding a woman who doesn’t know about my money is an impossibility.

That does not mean you cannot find one who cares about you, zoon.

His father had been slipping more and more into using Dutch words, Beckett realized, thinking back to several occasions over the last week when his accent had thickened. Typically, Sander spoke in a more formal way, but his accent had almost completely faded after so many years in the United States. He had only spoken it fully with Beckett’s mother. Beckett made a mental note to call Graham later about his father. His younger brother tended to notice things like this more. Probably because Graham wasn’t running a billion-dollar company.

I’m sure one day I will find someone, Beckett lied.

If there was one thing he felt sure of, it was that he would not be settling down into the kind of family life his father hoped for him. It wasn’t that he thought he had passed his prime at thirty-six. But he doubted he would find the depth of relationship his father and mother had. Beckett had watched his father practically come apart at the seams when she died. It was impossible: he didn’t want a surface relationship, but he feared something deeper.

Beckett was lonely sometimes, but he was beginning to think that he was built for being alone. He excelled at business and if he didn’t have the same success at personal relationships, what did it really matter? It was fulfilling, at least to a point, to see VDKI grow and expand. Being married to his work seemed like the best answer. He had read recently about Paul in the New Testament and how he said it could be better to be single. That could be Beckett’s calling.

Unfortunately, at this point, you meeting someone might be past my timeline, Sander said.

This again. Beckett held back an eye roll. His father had been threatening for years to take away control of VDKI from Beckett if he didn’t have an heir. And Beckett had been ignoring these threats for just as long.

Ah, the timeline. I think it’s highly unlikely that I’ll have an heir in the next year, Papa. I’m sorry.

I am sorry as well, Sander said. Not only for the sake of the company, but for you personally. Living a life without love—

The company will be fine. I’ve been at the helm for the past five years, despite the title on paper. We’ve never been in better shape. Beckett crossed his arms, staring down at his father.

Sander frowned. This is true. But you do not have an heir. That was my one stipulation. I have been very clear for the past ten years that it would be so.

Papa—

Sander slammed his palms against the conference table. Stil worden!

Beckett quieted at the command, an instinct left over from childhood. His father hadn’t raised his voice often, but when he did, obedience was almost automatic. Beckett swallowed and sat down in his chair at the other head of the table. Sander got to his feet and crossed the room slowly, dropping a folder in front of Beckett.

This is a copy of the contract I have drawn up with my lawyer regarding the future of VDKI. I will be stepping down sooner than I had intended. This outlines my requirements and stipulations if you are to assume control of VDKI.

Beckett skimmed over the contract, hitting just the important bits and tuning out the legalese. His collar felt suddenly tight around his neck and he undid the top button with one hand, flipping through pages with the other. His throat still felt constricted and he loosened his tie. By the last page, Beckett’s lower back had begun to sweat.

You really mean to do this, Beckett said.

Sander’s gaze did not soften. "I have been preparing you for the last ten years for this. I want to ensure that our company stays in the Van de Kamp family. This is for the future of our family as well as the business. I do this for you, zoon."

His father stood tall, all signs of aging Beckett had noticed gone. Sander met his eyes with a cool blue gaze. Was that pity in his eyes? Beckett bristled.

You think that I don’t want this? Beckett’s temper flared hotter. He wanted to remove his suit jacket, but knew that he was beginning to sweat through his shirt.

Do you not?

We aren’t a monarchy, needing inbreeding and heirs. This isn’t the dark ages. Beckett stood so quickly that his chair spun out behind him, striking the wall. Your requirements are ridiculous and outdated.

No, we are not royalty. Still. I value this and will stand by it. I am doing this for you, even if you cannot see it.

Beckett turned to the windows again, pacing alongside them, the traffic on an overpass below him at a dead stop. At the end of the room, he turned back to his father. How long?

Sander shrugged. Six months. Perhaps less.

Beckett wanted to yell, but instead buried the rage somewhere deep inside of his chest. His words came out cool and firm like metal. It isn’t even possible. I’m not in a relationship. Even if I were, I couldn’t have a child in six months.

I realize this. You will still have a position here, but the company will go to Graham until you produce an heir.

Beckett would have laughed, but he was too shaken with rage. Graham doesn’t want the company! He doesn’t know the first thing about running the day-to-day or our growth projections. I’ve been doing this for years, even with you supposedly at the helm.

I trust that you will catch him up. Graham may not want it, but he has told me that he would do it.

Beckett felt the bottom drop out of the room. He rested his palms on the conference table and leaned forward. What did you say?

Sander moved to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned back to Beckett. His father looked … sad. Which only heated the fire in Beckett’s belly hotter. Talk to your broer. This will be for the best. For your best.

His father left Beckett alone in the conference room, feeling like the entire world had skidded on its axis and stopped. His breath came in short pants and he could feel that his shirt underneath the suit jacket was probably transparent, soaked through with sweat. Needing to calm himself before he walked back out into the office, Beckett circled the table, counting his laps.

Graham couldn’t want to run the company. There is no way he told their father that he would do this. He knew it would kill Beckett. He hadn’t worked at VKDI since they were in high school, and barely then. He wanted nothing to do with Van de Kamp International, but preferred to work remotely on software development so he could be at home with his wife and children.

Family.

The word felt like a curse in Beckett’s mind. It shouldn’t have. His parents had been incredibly happy together, up until the moment his mother died of a stroke fifteen years ago. But that event was perhaps more formative than all the happy years before.

Coming home from Yale to find his strong, confident, calm father a complete emotional wreck had been a shock. His mother lived for a week after the stroke, but never regained consciousness. Every day Sander fell apart a little more while Graham and Beckett tried desperately to get him to eat, shower, change his clothes, or move an inch from her bedside.

Beckett had to take over day-to-day operations at VDKI until his father could come back to work, which took almost eight months. This brought Beckett’s life into a laser focus. He went back to Yale after missing a semester and a half and opted to miss his own graduation to attend a VDKI board meeting.

Beckett had come to see that it worked better this way. As he had told his father, being born into wealth was completely different than working your way up to it. Especially in terms of finding a woman who was interested in anything more than his bank account and status. He had only quick, skin-deep flings with women that left him feeling empty, especially after he became a Christian and saw his behavior in a new light. Ava had been his only relationship since then, and that hadn’t worked either. Before Ava, he hadn’t thought of getting married. She had worn him down, which wasn’t a good reason to make wedding vows. Clearly, her reasoning had been more about the money anyway.

Now his father had put it into writing and was trying to make him get married for the company. How could he think that Beckett could have a happy relationship through force or coercion? All the years of hints, threats, reminders—Beckett had written them off as a broken-hearted man’s empty words.

Before he left the office, Beckett picked up the contract. He would have his own lawyer look at it for some kind of loophole or weak spot. He was not about to give up his rightfully earned spot at the helm of Van de Kamp International.

Chapter Two

Slow down, big girl, Madeline said with a laugh. She had to practically run to keep up with Becka, her niece. Her chubby legs looked hilarious as she attempted to run. At almost two, Becka was faster than she looked, even if she hadn’t learned to fully bend her knees yet when running. The effect was a hilarious jolting gait. Strangers often commented on it when she took her out in public, like the zoo today.

Your daughter is simply precious, another mother said as Madi passed by. The woman had older children who were fighting over a tablet, ignoring the baby elephants in front of them completely.

Madi’s heart squeezed the way it always did when someone assumed Becka was hers. If only. Thank you, she said. I better go catch her.

Chasing Becka was the best excuse to leave the conversation before the woman saw the tears already flowing from Madi’s eyes. Jogging after Becka, Madi wiped her cheeks. She reached Becka, who was now trying to scale the fence by the elephant enclosure. Not for the first time, Madi had the thought that people designing parks and zoos should borrow a toddler like Becka to show them all the weaknesses in their safety. There were two fences separating them from the elephants, but Becka was almost over the first.

Madi picked her up, ignoring Becka’s protests. Do you see the elephant? Point to the elephant. Distractions still worked. For now, though she knew that full-blown tantrums were coming. And Calista wouldn’t be here to see them.

Cue the tears. Again.

Since her sister’s death six weeks before, Madi had settled into her new reality a little too easily. Being a pessimist, she had no illusions that it would last. At least not until she had full custody of Becka. Until it was official, she feared that Becka’s father, whoever he was, would show up, demanding the daughter he had never met. Parental rights typically won out in court, despite the fact that Becka had spent almost every day of her life with Madi.

That’s how it played out in her head when her mind was spinning out worst-case scenarios, as it tended to do. Calista had once assured her that Becka’s father, whoever he was, would not want a child. Madi always wondered how her sister could know if she didn’t know the father. Calista, a party girl and Madi’s polar opposite, had insisted that she didn’t know who the father was. It was only in the last few months that she started mentioning him in more certain terms.

After she died, Calista’s lawyer and best friend Bret had told Madi that he had finally located the father. He had contacted him before Calista died and they had been waiting to hear back from him about paying child support. Now that Calista was gone, Madi worried that this would turn from child support into a custody battle. She wouldn’t feel peaceful about it until they had this settled.

Efant, Becka said, pointing a chubby finger. Everything about her was still soft and round, though now that she was running, not just walking, she was beginning to lengthen and shift into a little girl, not just a toddler.

Madi set Becka down again and adjusted the diaper bag. They were off. Now toward the enclosure with the okapis, near some of the big cats. After another hour of chasing Becka and keeping her from scaling the fences, they set off for the car. Noon meant nap-time, which today would be in the car while Madi fought traffic on the way back to her rental house on the edge of the Heights. The one she might lose if she couldn’t come up with the rent soon.

Milk! Milk! From the car seat, Becka kicked her feet and fists, waiting for Madi to hand her a sippy cup with milk she had kept in a small cooler. Tank you.

Welcome, Beck-Beck.

They had barely made it out of the museum district when Madi saw that Becka was asleep, chubby cheek resting on the side of the car seat. It was still backwards-facing, a big pain, but in accordance with the latest suggested guidelines, things that Madi took very seriously.

Pessimist was too mild a term for Madi. Her mother had often called her a worst-case-scenario person. It wasn’t the same as being a worrywart, which Calista had accused her of being regularly. She didn’t worry, per se. It was more like she imagined terrible scenarios constantly, in a level-headed, non-emotional way. Like imagining that Becka fell twenty feet into the spectacled bear exhibit, only to survive and be eaten by a bear. Or that they would get T-boned at an intersection only to have the car seat fail. Worst-case scenarios helped calm her and make her feel prepared for whatever came her way.

Which brought her mind back to the custody issue. Madi had been Becka’s full-time nanny since she was an infant. Calista wasn’t, in her own words, cut out for motherhood, and went back to work as a model insanely quickly after her birth. Even a month post-partum, Madi looked more like she had given birth than Calista did. Not that she was overweight, but next to her tall, willowy sister, Madi felt thick and heavy. Not unlike Becka. Except it was cute on Becka. And if her last few years of dating were anything to go by, it was much less cute on a thirty-one-year-old woman.

When Madi turned onto her street, she recognized Bret’s BMW in front of the weed-choked lawn. Her cheeks heated at the sight of Bret in his suit, leaning against the side of the silver car on his phone. He always looked so put-together, with his slicked-back dark hair and his impeccable dress. Quite the contrast to her house and yard.

The craftsman-style bungalow she rented had once been adorable. But three years in with little maintenance from Madi and even less from her landlord, Ms. Covell, a cranky woman in her seventies, and the house was starting to look a little like it was caving in on itself.

Bret lifted a hand in greeting as Madi got out of the car. She put a finger to her lips and pointed to the backseat. Hopefully Becka would transfer to her crib and finish out her nap. It was often the only break that Madi got each day. Bret took her keys from her hand and unlocked the front door, scooting out of the way so that she could pass by on her way to the nursery.

Transferring a sleeping Becka to her crib was a skill Madi was fluent in, but she still held her breath every time. Thankfully, Bret understood the need to stay quiet. Or maybe he had honed his sneaky skills the same way Calista had—through years of sneaking out. It wouldn’t surprise Madi. Bret had been Calista’s best friend for years. Madi had often thought her sister might have something romantic with Bret, but Calista always laughed and said he was just her friend. And lawyer, which is actually how they met. It was probably also against some kind of code for a lawyer to date a client.

Hey, Madi whispered as she met Bret in the sitting room to the back of the kitchen. She loved that the small home wasn’t open concept like every other house in the world these days, but a series of connected rooms: living room in front, dining, kitchen, and then what she thought of as the den in back. That room was the most lived in, with a soft couch and toys strewn about the floor below the TV. The place felt cozy. It felt like home.

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