Page 6 of The Billionaire's Secret Heir

Beckett tried not to outwardly grimace at the trendy term. “What was papa thinking?”

Graham threw up his hands. “You know that once he decides on something it’s impossible to sway him.”

“Yet you agreed to his terms. To take over the company, unless I have an heir.”

Graham had the decency to look a little guilty. “I did. I’m not sure that I should have, but I did.”

Beckett stood, his chair pushing out behind him. “Why?”

Before answering, Graham looked away and ran a hand over his jaw. “I know you love him too. This is what he wants. I want to honor our father. I think it’s important, even if I don’t agree with how he’s going about it.”

“I still can’t believe this. I came here thinking that I would find you surprised or that you’d deny it, not that you would agree with him on this.”

“I’m sorry,” Graham said. “Just know that I don’t want control of the company. It’s not about that. I’ll happily turn it over once you’ve met the requirements.” He made a face. “Okay, I see your point, really. Calling a child a requirement does make it seem … clinical.”

“Exactly. You can’t force someone to fall in love and have a family. This is the worst kind of blackmail. Why are you supporting this?” Beckett knew that if he were a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears.

Graham sighed. “It’s about family. I want to honor our father. And I’m worried about you, Beck. What do you have outside of work? ‘It is not good for man to be alone.’ Maybe think of it not as a requirement, but a very strong suggestion.”

“Is that some kind of quote?”

“It’s from the Bible,” Graham said quietly.

Beckett felt a flare of embarrassment. He knew that Graham wasn’t trying to make him feel that way, but it was hard not to feel like he didn’t measure up to his younger brother when it came to faith.

They had grown up going to church, something their parents had started doing when they immigrated to the United States. Sometime in college Graham started to take his faith seriously. Beckett could see the changes in him, something he had watched with interest and a little suspicion. Especially when Graham started trying to push it on Beckett, which only had the opposite effect.

Until two years ago, when it suddenly hit Beckett during one of the rare times he went to church with Graham’s family. The emptiness of his life had become apparent and he prayed for the first time in his life, asking God to change him. In some ways, the changes had been immediate, but in other ways, Beckett still felt like he barely knew what he was doing. Like now, for example. He knew that he should be patient and kind, but he felt enraged instead.

Even if he admitted to himself that he did secretly hate the loneliness of his life, his father and his brother couldn’t force this. They couldn’t make some woman appear and love him or make Beckett able to maintain a relationship. It was humiliating that they were resorting to something like this.

“I can’t believe this,” Beckett said. “I expected you to be reasonable. I should have known I wouldn’t get that from you. I’ll be in touch soon. We’ll have business to discuss.”

“Stay for dinner?” Graham called, but Beckett had already stormed out of the hallway and toward the front door.

“Bye, Uncle Beck!” Selena called after him, but Beckett didn’t respond as he burst out onto the front porch, leaving the front door unlocked just as it had been.

* * *

On Monday afternoon, Beckett still felt wound as tightly as a coiled spring. He struggled to get through even the simplest meetings, knowing that this company would soon be out of his control. How would this work, exactly? And how could he make this right? His father hadn’t given him enough time to father a child, even if he was desperate enough to do it. Which he might be. There were matchmaking services, weren’t there? Mail-order brides? His desperation was depressing.

Absently, he rubbed the back of his neck where tension had settled with a sharp pain. He pressed the intercom for his administrative assistant. “Beth, could you schedule me an appointment with my masseuse?”

“Of course, Mr. Van de Kamp. When would you like me to make the appointment?”

“As soon as possible, please.”

“Yes, sir. Oh—and, Mr. Van de Kamp?”

“Hm?”

“There’s a lawyer waiting out here to speak with you. He didn’t have an appointment, but has been here since this morning. Would you like me to make him an appointment for another day?”

Beckett frowned. “He’s been there since this morning? Have security escort him out.” There was a pause and Beckett waited for Beth’s response. “Is there a problem?”

When she spoke again, it was in a muffled whisper and Beckett wondered if Beth had her hand cupped around the phone. “He says it’s about your child, sir?”

Panic settled into Beckett’s skin. The sensation was not unlike the sharp pin-pricking feeling when his foot sometimes fell asleep when he’d been sitting too long, both numbing and needling at the same time. Your child. For a moment, breath escaped him, as did the ability to speak. When he found his voice, he simply said, “Send him in, please.”

---