Page 4 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

“I guess I like the privacy,” I grinned. “After all, things get pretty hectic in Seattle these days.”

“I’ll say,” laughed Jack. “After all, you’ve got half the country’s money invested in your projects at this point. It can’t be easy.”

“I manage,” I smiled. “Or I will, at least, if I can find a secretary who’s willing to relocate here half the year.”

“The billionaire Navy SEAL,” said Jack, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it.” I could see his eyes gleaming at me in the low light, trying to read me. Many have tried.

But you can’t read someone who doesn’t exist. Not really.

It was all true, of course. My name was Lucien Barnes. I’d changed it when I joined the SEALs, twelve years ago. And it had come in handy—it was an old-sounding name, grand and slightly English. I knew it would come in handy to shed my old name. And I was proved right. Now that my dad was gone, there wasn’t a single person in town who would ever have guessed that the strange, reclusive entrepreneur who kept a summer residence up here was once the quarterback on its high school football team.

“Jack,” I said. “What do you say we go inside? It’s getting a little dark out here.”

“Right you are,” said Jack, and we stepped into the hubbub of the party inside.

I’d been holding one of these soirees every year since I’d first had Lakeview built. In those days, the house was a little smaller. It had originally belonged to the Packlow family—an offshoot of the Lovelocks, Caluga’s oldest sons and one of the first families to settle here back in the 1700s. The latest of the Lovelock clan, Aron, was the mayor now. I’d often wondered if I ought to invite him up here. But I always figured it was too risky.

And risk was my business. I’d begun working in financial analysis after being discharged from the SEALs. My organization, my head for numbers, had gotten me promoted quickly in the military. But I knew that there was no chance of me achieving my goals if I handled other people’s money. So two years into a comfortable job in the city, I quit and became a manager of my own fund, raising over ten million dollars in investment from clients who knew that I could be trusted to deliver outstanding results. Even if they secretly whispered about the long, white scar that ran from my chin down beneath my shirt collar.

Within the first year, I quadrupled my investments. The following year, my net worth rose tenfold. Two years later, it doubled year on year. By the time I’d been running my fund for five years, I’d made my first billion. But the long nights in New York, and eventually Seattle, left me longing to be closer to home. I spent a fortune acquiring and renovating Lakeview, as a permanent summer house where I could work and rest during the hot months in relative peace.

Always hoping that one day, I’d see her again. The woman who ruined me.

I sighed, and shook my head. This wasn’t the night to dwell on the past. I shrugged off my darker thoughts and joined the throng inside my house. The party was nice enough. It was a delightful treat for some of Seattle’s richest and most wealthy people. By the time all the champagne had been drunk and we’d eaten and talked in the gorgeous hall of Lakeview, it was already 1 am, and I shook the hands of the guests as I took them to the helicopter pad and bid them goodnight. It was a pleasure to entertain people. To sharpen and refine the performance I’d been putting on since the day I shipped out of Caluga Falls.

But I knew in my heart that I wanted to be alone. I’d always been happier that way. Ever since the day I woke up to make my way to the church, only to discover that my fianceé—Laura Solomon—had taken off.

I remembered the moment her dad came in, and explained in a trembling voice that Laura had left in the night and had been seen boarding a train to Seattle. That they were looking for her. But that there would be no wedding today. I was devastated. For weeks, I didn’t speak, didn’t work. I’d been left in the cruelest possible way, without warning. That was the end of my life in Caluga Falls.

After Laura went, she took everyone with her. Her family wouldn’t talk to me. I broke off contact with her brother David, who’d been my best buddy in high school. It wasn’t like the name O’Shea carried much weight around the town. My dad, a mostly unemployed carpenter who was a mean drunk. Or my mom, who’d taken off when I was small.

The memories I’d pushed down deep inside sprung up and stung me as I stepped down through the manicured garden back to the house. I checked my Rolex. It was midnight. July 28th. Twelve years to the day since it had happened—since I’d been betrayed by the woman I loved, left broken forever.

I went back to my office to look at some documents. Last year, I’d acquired the Caluga Parkland. It was a strip of land by the lake leading into the local nature reserve, and the old hospital was still on its grounds. The hospital had long been abandoned as the town shrunk and its prospects dimmed after the financial crash. But I knew there was still potential in this place, even if no one else believed it. After all, no one believed that there was potential in me. And as I stepped among the fir trees and the rows of hedge-maze that led down to my driveway, I knew that if I could have a second chance, then so could Caluga Falls.

I turned at the driveway and was about to go in when a car headlamp passed me by. I turned, and stared down the driveway to the wrought iron gate at the end of it. My eyes briefly scanned the road, and I saw a dark shape under one of the old oak trees, standing by the intercom.

I turned, and waved. Normally, I would have just gone back inside and taken a look at the security cameras. That was my first mistake.

Second was deciding to head down the pathway. Even if I didn’t much care for people, or the possibility of being recognized, I could see the silhouette, slim, average height, waving at me.

I jogged down the driveway to the place where the high hedges and locked gate secluded me from the main road. I put my hand on one of the black bars of the gate and peered through. It was still and warm, and the lamppost on the street outside was flickering as moths and insects crossed its beam. In the distance, the hum of cicadas filled the valley. I could see the attractive shadow of a woman beneath the lamppost, standing by two enormous suitcases, a bag slung over her shoulder.

“Can I help you?” I called in the dark.

“Excuse me?” said the woman. “I’m so sorry to bother you. My Uber dropped me off here, but it’s not the right place. I was supposed to go further down the hill to my brother’s house. Can I use your phone?”

I recognized that voice from somewhere. Maybe it was someone I’d heard on my occasional trips into town.

“I’m actually local,” she said. “Only, I don’t live here anymore.”

That voice. It was sweet and light, but it had a hard edge. And I could hear the clipped consonants.

“Who are you?” I said. I could feel my chest tightening, and my whole body tensing. Like I was bracing myself for something.

“I’m sure you know my brother,” said the woman. “David Solomon? He works for Aron Lovelock.”

David Solomon? That was the name of my best friend in high school. The brother of—