BILLIONAIRE FOR KEEPS: Book 3 (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way) by Robyn Grady
Authors: Robyn Grady
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Chapter 1
ON HIS WAY to the mansion’s forecourt steps, Griffin Hayes stopped, swung around, and then whipped the shades from his eyes. A motorcycle was screaming in through the mansion’s crested gates, louder and meaner than a demon from hell.
Griffin was known for his cool. He didn’t flinch―not when it came to winning multi-billion dollar deals. Not even when his mom, visiting from small town Maine, called him ‘Giffy’ in the company of Boston’s elite. But as that motorcycle’s rear tire slid out now, and burning rubber squealed closer to his polished shoes, Griffin behaved like any other man who planned to light a few candles when his next birthday came around.
He threw up a prayer and dived out the way.
The motorcycle’s engine cut off. A stand snapped down. When the full helmet was removed, a fall of red hair tumbled down to memorable leather-clad hips.
Running a hand through his own hair, Griffin groaned. He would make a pact with the devil to avoid speaking with Vanessa today―of all days. She made it hard to think. Hard to focus.
She made him hard, end of story.
Griffin was here to do important business with Ronan Toomey, who openly referred to this woman, his only child, as ‘ Nessa, the wild one’ , a twenty-six-year-old who, to quote Ronan, needed a strong man to help guide her . In other words, tame her. Given Griffin’s hand-on experience with the lady in question, which had ended abruptly one month ago―good luck with that.
Pulling up tall, he nodded a stiff greeting. Vanessa and her sheer, white, billowing blouse stalked straight past. Knee-high multi-buckled boots jangled as she mounted the steps two at a time. The way her behind rocked those black leather pants as she climbed had every one of his muscles flexing with want.
By the time she’d reached the soaring double front doors, however, a chill had scuttled up Griffin’s spine. Hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
Ronan Toomey had assured him, hand on heart. His fiercely independent daughter was a successful business person in her own right. Griffin knew himself; Vanessa had no interest in running her father’s Forbes 500 company, Toomey Constructions.
Still, Ronan had agreed. Vanessa should be informed only after the deal was done. If she found out beforehand, she’d move mountains to end it, for more reasons than one.
Of course, Vanessa’s visit today might be totally innocent. Everyday family matters of no concern to him. Some trifling that wouldn’t destroy the thousand and one intricate moves he and Ronan had made to arrive at this crucial point in negotiations.
Knowing Vanessa, not likely . JHe
Griffin reached the foot of the steps at the same time Vanessa bolted inside. The housekeeper stood clutching her throat as she watched the younger woman disappear, a rabbit sprinting through an opulent maze. Striding into the massive gold-brushed foyer, Griffin pocketed his shades, set his jaw.
“Where’s Mr. Toomey?”
The woman’s face was as pale as the Italian marble floor. “Mr. Hayes.” She took a jittery breath, wobbled it out. “Mr. Toomey’s in his office. He said to bring you through as soon as you arrived. But his daughter—Vanessa…well, something’s happened—”
Griffin didn’t wait to hear more. But with a head start, Vanessa got there first.
Rather than sitting behind his oak desk, Ronan was slouched in a recliner by French doors overlooking a garden facing east. His daughter stood by the doors, hugging herself even as she held her head high. A defiant princess, proud and, right now, potentially dangerous.
Her voice was choked, thick with emotion. “You should have told me, Dad. I had a right to know.”
Ronan’s tie hung loose around the collar of his business shirt. Glancing across, he saw Griffin and summoned a weary smile that said, Well, we tried . “Morning, son. Come in. Nessa’s here.”
Griffin tacked up a grin. “We, uh, almost ran into each other a moment
ON HIS WAY to the mansion’s forecourt steps, Griffin Hayes stopped, swung around, and then whipped the shades from his eyes. A motorcycle was screaming in through the mansion’s crested gates, louder and meaner than a demon from hell.
Griffin was known for his cool. He didn’t flinch―not when it came to winning multi-billion dollar deals. Not even when his mom, visiting from small town Maine, called him ‘Giffy’ in the company of Boston’s elite. But as that motorcycle’s rear tire slid out now, and burning rubber squealed closer to his polished shoes, Griffin behaved like any other man who planned to light a few candles when his next birthday came around.
He threw up a prayer and dived out the way.
The motorcycle’s engine cut off. A stand snapped down. When the full helmet was removed, a fall of red hair tumbled down to memorable leather-clad hips.
Running a hand through his own hair, Griffin groaned. He would make a pact with the devil to avoid speaking with Vanessa today―of all days. She made it hard to think. Hard to focus.
She made him hard, end of story.
Griffin was here to do important business with Ronan Toomey, who openly referred to this woman, his only child, as ‘ Nessa, the wild one’ , a twenty-six-year-old who, to quote Ronan, needed a strong man to help guide her . In other words, tame her. Given Griffin’s hand-on experience with the lady in question, which had ended abruptly one month ago―good luck with that.
Pulling up tall, he nodded a stiff greeting. Vanessa and her sheer, white, billowing blouse stalked straight past. Knee-high multi-buckled boots jangled as she mounted the steps two at a time. The way her behind rocked those black leather pants as she climbed had every one of his muscles flexing with want.
By the time she’d reached the soaring double front doors, however, a chill had scuttled up Griffin’s spine. Hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
Ronan Toomey had assured him, hand on heart. His fiercely independent daughter was a successful business person in her own right. Griffin knew himself; Vanessa had no interest in running her father’s Forbes 500 company, Toomey Constructions.
Still, Ronan had agreed. Vanessa should be informed only after the deal was done. If she found out beforehand, she’d move mountains to end it, for more reasons than one.
Of course, Vanessa’s visit today might be totally innocent. Everyday family matters of no concern to him. Some trifling that wouldn’t destroy the thousand and one intricate moves he and Ronan had made to arrive at this crucial point in negotiations.
Knowing Vanessa, not likely . JHe
Griffin reached the foot of the steps at the same time Vanessa bolted inside. The housekeeper stood clutching her throat as she watched the younger woman disappear, a rabbit sprinting through an opulent maze. Striding into the massive gold-brushed foyer, Griffin pocketed his shades, set his jaw.
“Where’s Mr. Toomey?”
The woman’s face was as pale as the Italian marble floor. “Mr. Hayes.” She took a jittery breath, wobbled it out. “Mr. Toomey’s in his office. He said to bring you through as soon as you arrived. But his daughter—Vanessa…well, something’s happened—”
Griffin didn’t wait to hear more. But with a head start, Vanessa got there first.
Rather than sitting behind his oak desk, Ronan was slouched in a recliner by French doors overlooking a garden facing east. His daughter stood by the doors, hugging herself even as she held her head high. A defiant princess, proud and, right now, potentially dangerous.
Her voice was choked, thick with emotion. “You should have told me, Dad. I had a right to know.”
Ronan’s tie hung loose around the collar of his business shirt. Glancing across, he saw Griffin and summoned a weary smile that said, Well, we tried . “Morning, son. Come in. Nessa’s here.”
Griffin tacked up a grin. “We, uh, almost ran into each other a moment
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