Denying Davis: Billionaires of Palm Beach, #3

By Sara Celi

Samantha Green --- the only woman who's ever loved me for myself, and not for my family's billions.

Ten years ago, she disappeared.

Vanished.

Left me with only questions, and a broken heart.

Now, we have a second chance.

I can hardly believe my luck.

The trouble is, restarting a relationship with Samantha means confronting my family's biggest secret.

It's one that could destroy everything.

The past is ugly, and I don't know how deep this rabbit hole goes.

I'm not sure Samantha wants to find out either.

But now that she's back in my life, I'll do whatever it takes to never lose her again.

Even if it means risking everything.

Believe me, once you know our story, you'd do the same.

A second chance contemporary romance with a guaranteed happily ever after!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lowe Interactive Media, LLC
• Release date: Apr 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224180202

Book preview

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Denying Davis

A Billionaires of Palm Beach Story

Copyright © 2019 by Sara Celi

Published by Lowe Interactive Media, LLC

All rights reserved.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For Sean, who never gave up on me.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Acknowledgements

Other Books by Sara Celi

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Then

Junior was drunk. Again.

She didn’t have to see him to know it. She heard him slink through the front door of the beach house then slam it behind him. The force rattled the walls.

God, I need to get a different job.

She sprayed Windex on a paper towel and tried to focus on the cut-glass crystal displayed in a library cabinet. The case held twenty-five rare pieces from different periods of history, and a handful of them were coveted museum pieces. She knew this because Davis and his father, Davis Sr., often reminded the staff of these facts. Each figurine had to be cleaned twice a week, no matter what, and not moved from their assigned locations in the case. Senior kept track of the movements the way a day trader kept track of the stock market.

Finish this and you’re done for the night, Robin. You can go home.

Once, Robin had been so grateful for this job. Getting hired as a housekeeper at the Armstrong property had been a godsend. The family paid some of the best wages in Palm Beach, and people considered it a privilege to work on their palatial estate. Staffers received three weeks off per year, paid holidays, and full medical benefits. The Armstrongs had even allowed a friendship between Robin’s daughter and Davis III.

But lately, things had been different.

Robin heard a crash downstairs then heavy footsteps on the winding staircase. Oh, God. She hurried through her task, glossing over the first three statuettes as she kept one eye on the library door. When it opened, her breath hitched.

There you are, Davis Armstrong, Jr. said as he entered the room. Saw your car outside. He closed the door, faced her, and braced his body against the heavy wood. Late night, huh?

She didn’t allow herself to meet his gaze. Yes, Mr. Armstrong.

He stalked across the room, his stare on her as he moved. Junior was thin, beady-eyed, and sunken, where his father was strong and clear-headed. He’d lost a staggering amount of weight in the last few years and appeared older than forty-five. That evening, Junior had ruddy cheeks and wore a rumpled business suit with a loosened tie.

I’ve wondered something, he whispered when he reached the cabinet.

What’s that? She looked at him directly for the first time, immediately regretting her decision. Junior had something sinister behind his eyes, but she couldn’t place it exactly.

You’ve been staying at work late often these last few weeks. Davis’s glassy eyes roamed her face. Why?

We have a lot of tasks to do before the International Humanitarian Gala. A lot of work ahead if we want to get everything perfect.

And that’s what you want too, right? Everything to be perfect?

Yes, sir. I do.

She gulped. It wasn’t a lie—the family had agreed to host the gala on the back lawn of the beach house property, a slip of land that had once been a putting green. Even though most of the evening would take place under a large tent with twinkling Italian lights, the house manager wanted every inch of the main estate spotless. The International Humanitarian Gala was one of the oldest and most prestigious balls in Palm Beach. The Armstrongs had to be exceptional and so did their property.

Well, I already know the staff has been busy. Junior burped and she caught a whiff of what smelled like rotting bourbon. She bit back a grimace. But I also saw how you looked at me the other day, in the kitchen, and—

"I didn’t look at you in any way. Robin frowned. I don’t—"

He placed a hand on her arm. Why do you keep denying what’s happening between us, what’s there?

She looked down at his hand as if she was looking at a foreign object. I’m not. She jerked her arm out of his grasp. Now if you would kindly let me continue my work, I would appreciate it.

She stepped away from him, and he grabbed her arm again. His grip tightened.

"No. I don’t think I want you to continue." His voice was harder. Thicker. Full of threat. She didn’t know this tone of voice well, but she’d heard the other staff whisper about it.

What do you mean, sir? she managed.

I think you know, Robin, he replied.

A chill ran through Robin. She’d heard the rumors. She’d tried to keep herself off his radar. But failed. And somehow, she knew—she’d never be the same.

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Then

If I’d known what waited for me inside the apartment, I’d have never walked through the front door.

I glided through it ten minutes before curfew with a dizzy smile on my face, and the kind of bliss that only comes from a first kiss—a moment I’d waited on for months. Finally, I was getting somewhere with Davis Armstrong, III. Finally, we’d made the move from friendship to more.

And finally, my love life had started to resemble the pile of romance novels I kept stashed in a cardboard box on the second shelf of my closet. Whatever happened next was going to be amazing. I felt it in every muscle of my body.

Hey Mom, I said as I entered the apartment. I shut the door behind me then kept moving toward the front room that dominated our place. I still clutched the iPod Davis had given me that night, one that came loaded with the Rent soundtrack, something we both loved. Tonight, was the best. The absolute best. I can’t tell you. I was with Davis, and you’re not going to believe this but…

Two men I didn’t recognize flanked my mother.

One sat next to her on the couch, the other perched on the overstuffed chair we’d salvaged from a yard sale the previous year. They looked stricken and stone-faced. Wait. Who are—?

Samantha, I’m glad you’re home. Mom wiped her red nose with a wrinkled tissue. Her voice sounded hollow and lifeless. Please, pull up a chair. These men want to talk to us.

Okay. I dropped my purse near the alcove and followed her request. I dragged the wooden chair from around the kitchen table into the living room and took a seat. No one spoke for a long moment. My gaze settled on my mom. So, what’s going on?

Well, these are—Mom gave the man in the darker suit a helpless look as she threw up a hand—I don’t really know how to introduce you all.

That’s fine. We will take it from here, the man replied. He had a booming, baritone voice and a dark, scruffy beard. He fixed his attention on me. I’m Gregory McCord, attorney-at-law. I represent the Armstrong family.

One of several who do, the second man said, his voice only a little bit higher than Gregory’s. I’m Robert Perez, and I also represent the family. The two men glanced at each other. We’re here to talk about the effect you and your mother might have on the family, and how we can, perhaps, smooth things over.

My stomach dropped, and I knew instantly what this was about. Things had been odd since a few days earlier, when my mom had come home late from work. She’d been crying; her mascara had run down her face in large streaks, and I spotted what looked like a large welt across the side of her face. But when I’d asked her what happened, she’d only told me that Davis Armstrong, Jr. had been drinking again, and he hadn’t known what he was doing.

She’d also begged me not to tell his son anything. So, I hadn’t.

Is this about the other night? I whispered. I looked at my mother for confirmation. She stared at the ragged blue carpet.

Whatever the two of you think you might know happened that night, I assure you, Mr. Armstrong is terribly sorry for his actions, said Mr. McCord. And the family appreciates your discretion so far.

So far? What?

Thanks, my mother choked.

Something heavy hung in the air.

Ms. Green, he’s willing to offer you a formal written apology if this conversation goes as well as he expects. That’s in addition of the previous offer, the one we were just discussing.

In fact, when we looked over the terms, we believe it’s very generous, added Mr. Perez.

Terms? I asked. What do you mean? I’d never heard people speak like this, as if they had an agenda they wanted to lord over my mom and me. I searched their faces for clues about where this all might be headed.

I didn’t get much.

Terms, meaning conditions. We’ll get to that in a moment. Gregory McCord still spoke in a flat, clinical tone, and I wondered if he had said these kinds of words many times. As I said, Ms. Green, Mr. Armstrong can be careless, and he makes mistakes.

Mom scoffed. I’d hardly call what he did that night a mistake. He knew full well what he was doing. He’d done it with others—

Mr. McCord waved away her statement. "Whatever it was, he knows the incident has given you and your daughter some…ahem…leverage against him. He’d like to release the pressure."

My mom’s face went blank, expressionless. In fact, she’d mostly been that way since that night. My mother, the strongest woman I knew, had cried for hours on the kitchen floor when she came home. I shifted in the chair as I remembered how powerless I’d felt. Over and over, she’d mumbled how she needed to keep her job no matter what, but she’d done nothing wrong. The look of abject despair and her cries were unlike anything I’d ever seen.

She blamed herself.

I’ve worked for the Armstrongs for almost fifteen years. My mom cleared her throat. "I’m a loyal employee. For the last five, I’ve overseen their household cleaning staff. I’ve never done anything to make them think I’m not devoted to my job. And I’ve certainly never collected any leverage against Junior or anyone else."

Mr. Perez picked up a file off the coffee table, one I hadn’t noticed before. He took a pair of glasses from his pocket, put them on his large nose, opened the folio, and studied the contents. Yes, I see here you’ve had nothing but glowing reviews and recommendations from the other staff members. He looked up from the paperwork. That’s certainly something we can take into account.

Mr. McCord reached for the folder then examined the pages. Let’s get to the point. Ms. Green, the Armstrongs are prepared to offer a one-time payout of one hundred thousand dollars, along with two years of supplemental payments of twenty-five thousand, for a total of one hundred fifty thousand dollars. He paused. Quite a generous offer, don’t you agree?

My throat went dry. One hundred fifty thousand dollars. One hundred fifty. Why would they offer her so much money?

Whatever Junior did, it must be awful…

Regardless, I couldn’t fathom a sum like that, much less a lifestyle where that kind of cash could be accessed on demand. It was a lot of money. More than my mother made in many years of housekeeping.

She’d never told me her salary, but I knew it wasn’t much. We couldn’t afford a lot of things that my classmates had, and she’d already told me that if I wanted to go after my dream of going to Florida State for college, I needed to get school loans. We were barely middle class, and it never felt like we had solid footing. The small apartment we lived in gave us a daily reminder of that.

What do I have to do in return? my mother asked.

It’s very simple, Mr. McCord replied. You and your daughter must sign a legally binding agreement that states you will not pursue a criminal case against Davis Armstrong II. The contract also says that you will not sell this story to any media outlet or publication.

"Criminal case?" As the question escaped my mouth, my mother glared at me.

After you sign, the events that happened that evening will be considered resolved.

I gaped at him. "Resolved?"

I looked at my mom again, and shock pulsed through me. I knew what Davis did to her that night was bad, but this? This was on a different level, and I struggled to understand it. What does he mean?

It’s all very complicated, honey. Her shoulders sank, and her eyes widened. Suddenly, she looked much older than forty-two. I’d wanted to shield you from this. I didn’t want you involved.

Unfortunately, she must be, Mr. Perez said.

She’s only sixteen.

We know she’s aware of what happened.

I need a cigarette, Mom muttered.

No, you can’t smoke, I insisted. You quit.

You’ve got a live one here, don’t you? Mr. McCord gave me a cold glance then refocused on my mother. She’s old enough to cause problems.

She won’t.

Regardless, your daughter has to be part of this too. He cleared his throat. And finally, you must also accept the termination of your employment with the Armstrong family. From here forward, you and your daughter must end all contact with everyone in the Armstrong family. This includes Mr. Armstrong Senior, his son, Mr. Armstrong Junior, and his grandson, Davis Armstrong III.

No! I almost shouted my protest. I won’t do that. I leapt from the chair, and it toppled to the carpet. Absolutely not. No way. I won’t.

Mom stood too. Samantha, come with me, please. She turned to the two lawyers. "If you don’t mind, we need a