Page 50 of Damaged Billionaire Daddy
“You should have thought about that before you started trading tongue with Cali and letting her roll around all over you in my bed, in our house! I was saving myself for you, you bastard!”
“I know,” he said. “I know, and I should have been. But, Kandy, you don’t know what it’s like for a guy.”
“Having never been a guy, I don’t,” I retorted. “But I do know what it is like for a woman. I could have had dozens of guys, but I didn’t. And Justin, with my best friend? Really?”
He gave a nervous little giggle. “But they were all your best friends, Kandy. And all so darned cute. It was hard to choose among you who was the cutest.”
“You know,” I said, “I’ve heard some pretty lame excuses. But that has got to be about the lamest one ever. If you can’t make up your mind today, then I don’t see you keeping it in your pants after we were married.”
He looked miserable. “Please, Kandy. Just one more chance. I’ll be faithful. I promise.”
I felt myself weakening just a little. This little baby bean I carried inside of me deserved a father. But did they deserve a life based on deceit and covering up? I’d seen some of those, and mostly they didn’t turn out well.
“No, Justin,” I said. “Done is done. You made your choice, and you are stuck with it.”
Chapter twenty-one
Richard
I looked at the paperwork my partner had sent about taking over the Quinn vineyard. “I know they don’t want to sell,” Delard had written, “but by the time we take away with one hand and give with the other, they will be grateful for our offer. We can even save money on the deal.”
In my head, I replayed the memory of my last night with Kandis. I could taste the wine on her tongue, feel the slide of satin pajamas on her soft skin, even her hands ghosting over . . . I glanced down. My pants were tenting up in an undignified fashion. My balls ached for her. Worse yet, my heart longed for her.
No, wait stop. Where did that last thought come from? Was this me? Really? Business, it was all about business. Make the play, make the money. Yeah.
Only, there was one more part to that memory. Kandis beating her fists on me as she came in a glorious, angry rush, then rolling over and crying, “I hate you!”
The anguish and hurt in those words had left me gutted, not knowing what to say. I had wanted to apologize, and Ikind of tried. But it had been like our bodies had minds of their own, and I was more focused on giving and receiving pleasure than saying I was sorry. And when I tried to, I couldn’t find the right words.
Afterward, she had fallen asleep, breathing in little hiccupy sobs long after her eyes had closed. Then, Caleb had shown up with the snowplow to see if we were still alive, and I couldn’t get her alone long enough to talk to her.
There was a common saying that love and hate were close kin, and that was why so many of the great, old tales tangled them up together.
I looked at the papers on my desk. “You know what?” I said to the empty office, “It isn’t worth it. I don’t need that vineyard. But I need her. I need her humor, her funny faces, her love of little kid board games, and outdated movies.All right, old son, you know what you need to do. You need to make a king-sized apology with flowers and chocolate and beg her on bended knee to take you back.”
I laughed, a sad attempt at a maniacal cackle. I was talking to myself. She’d driven me completely insane.
I tore Delard’s plan into pieces and dumped them into the wastebasket. Then I quickly typed a message on my phone. “I’ve changed my mind. We don’t need the Quinn vineyard.”
Then, just to be sure the message got through, I wrote an email to Delard, and left a hard copy note in my own handwriting: “Stop all efforts at Quinn takeover. It isn’t worth it.” I positioned it front and center on my desk so it couldn’t be missed.
Then I wrote a much longer letter in my best penmanship. I wasn’t satisfied, so I edited it, and finally wrote it out in my best hand.
With my efforts and heart in hand, and everything below my belt pointing toward the Quinn vineyard — but not because of the grapes — I went out in search of the finest chocolates, most beautiful red roses, and prettiest card I could possibly find.
I could do this. I would get down on my knees and beg if that’s what it took. To hell with the grapes. Kandis Quinn was the finest vintage . . . I searched my mind for a suitable comparison and couldn’t find any. She was the finest, and I wanted her more than anything in all the world.
I had no idea how hard it would be to find quality chocolates that I knew she would love and had to try three different florists before tracking down a dozen long-stemmed red roses at a greenhouse. The grower wasn’t happy about giving them up, so I settled on getting a gloriously red potted tea rose plant instead.
Amazingly, the greenhouse owner had the perfect card. Armed with gifts, card, and handwritten apology letter, I headed toward the Quinn vineyard, heart in hand and my nether parts as eager as a neglected pup hoping to get petted.
I was loaded for bear, yet ready to humble myself to the point of letting her walk all over me. Daydreams of what she would say and how she would respond flitted through my head.
“Oh, Richard,” she would exclaim (because she never called me Richie), “You really will give up all hope of getting the vineyard? Then of course I forgive you!” Then she would fly into my arms, we would go back to my place and have amazing sex and live happily ever after.
My cloud castle came down with a resounding crash when I drove up to the Quinn’s home.
She was talking to a man. Another man, and one I did not know! More than that, she rose up on tiptoe and kissed the fellow on the cheek, and then patted the spot as if she knew him well.
