Page 9 of Hitched

He’s promised me for years that I could go back but it’s only as a reward for good behavior, which I have yet to achieve, seeing as I’m still here. Sure, I’ve colored outside the lines on many occasions. Just like da, I’m a man with imagination and exemplary nonconformity. Case in point, my forced marriage to Laney. The backhanded compliment, regardless of how much it stung at the time, rings true. There has not been one thing to date that I have not been able to fulfill for my da. From moving out here to America, to growing our business here in the states, to securing as many successful accounts as possible. There has not been one stone left unturned.

I hate it, but I also love it, how da likes to test the limits. It's how he's grown the business to where it is, and it is a trait that I have inherited from my family. It's the challenge that I love. And as much as I hate to admit it, marrying Laney is going to be the motherlode of challenges. Or, at least, getting her to marry me. Normally, I don't have a problem getting women into bed. Can't say I've ever been in a relationship before, but I'm sure willing to give that a try, for the sake of fulfilling da’s wish. Also, a small part of me wants to torture Laney, by having her marry me, the most eligible bachelor, according to whatever the trash magazines have been writing about me.

One thing I will tell you, is that being a billionaire sure doesn't help you sleep at night. As I lay in bed, I rewind in my mind what happened today. Even though the beer buzz has long worn off, with at least half a day's work behind me, I can still see the look of shock on Beckett Ford's face. And just as I'm thinking that, my cell phone rings, and sure as the nose on my face, it's Beckett.

He doesn't even greet me with a hello, he just rips right into me. “How did you know?” He demands. “Unless, of course, you're answering your phone in a jail cell.”

“Do you honestly think I'd risk everything to do that?” I ask with a half chuckle, incredulous that he'd ask such a thing, although I do see where he'd get that idea from.

“Come on, Caleb. Everyone knows that billionaires tend to get themselves out of trouble with the law. Everyone has their price.”

“In that case, I should be asking you the same thing, Beckett. You're just as much of a suspect as I am.”

“You're off your rocker if you think that I would do that to a girl, just because I have fantastic legal counsel that would get me out of this mess.”

I ignore his statement. “Besides, how do you know it wasn’t old Henry himself that did it?”

“You called me up, asked me to come to the bar to meet with you, and then you drop the bomb on me. Before I even knew a goddamn thing. How do you explain that, Caleb?”

“What did your brothers have to say? When they found out that you're free and clear, with the added bonus of Henry already wanting to do business with you?”

“They're more worried about the fact that we may be doing business with a murderer, if you really want to know the truth.”

“Look, man. I swear to God, I didn't touch her. I don't even know where she lives.”

“That's a weak alibi, man. You know damn well that she didn't die at home.”

“Beckett, focus. I could persuade any multi-billionaire mogul to join forces with me. I'm not that desperate for business to go as far as murdering to get it.”

He ignores me, continuing his tirade. “You could easily just hop a plane and head back to Scotland to sidestep the law.”

“And I would get extradited, just like anyone else, Beckett. Besides, why would I do that, and risk being banned from coming back to America? No matter which way you slice it, my man, nothing would be worth murdering someone for money.”

He's about to go off again, and I stifle him, growing irritated. “Do you want me to do a lie detector test, Beckett? Because I'll do it to prove to you that I'm not fucking lying.”

Then he says something that shocks the hell out of me. “Her throat was slashed, Caleb. And I know that you're into them medieval swords and shit, don't deny it.”

“Anyone can own a sword or a knife, Beckett. Don't be ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but that would be your own brand of vigilante justice, wouldn't it, Caleb? I bet your dear old da told you to do the deed, didn't he? Just so that me and my brothers could secure that deal with NovoMax, and we could pony up the dough to you.”

“And witness losing my first account, because of a fucking murder trial, huh? Sounds like a win-win to me.”

“Don’t get cocky with me, Caleb.”

“Well, I don’t mean to be, Beckett. But you’re not making any sense. And, frankly, until the cops come knocking on my door, I think you’re out of line. I’m telling you I didn’t do it, and I have no reason to lie to you, man. Look, your account doesn’t mean that much to me, dude. Like I said, I can partner up with thousands of other billionaires.”

“Yeah, but you know me, Caleb.”

“And you know me, Beckett. Have I ever lied to you? Have I ever laid a finger on a soul? I’m a peaceful man, Beckett. And I know that you know that, otherwise you and your brothers wouldn’t be doing business with me.”

He pauses for thought. I think I got through to him. So, I leave it alone and change the subject slightly, trying a different angle. “Is Chas flipped out?”

“Yeah, especially since a neighbor saw him fucking show up at her doorstep recently, arms flailing. He’s probably going to be a suspect, too. And that’s the last thing we need. God, Henry will pull out, the skyscraper project will pull out, and fuck, my other brothers may even pull out of the fucking airline deal, too, for all we fucking know.”

“Beckett, take it easy, man. Like I said, you don’t know what shit’s going down with the cops. Until you do, just chill.”

“Maybe you’re right. I mean, hell, it could have even been Henry, like you said. But if that’s the case, then we need to pull out of the NovoMax deal.”

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