Evernight Publishing ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright©2014 Noelle Keaton
ISBN: 978-1-77233-042-7
Cover Artist: Sour CherryDesigns
Editor: Tricia Kristufek
ALL RIGHTSRESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorizedreproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used orreproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in thecase of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction.All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actualevents, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirelycoincidental.
DEDICATION
To O, you're still with me.
SECRETS WITH THEBILLIONAIRE
Noelle Keaton
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
From hisfoldaway chair underneath the large red-and-white-striped umbrella, Tim McInerny watched the clear blue water lap against the whitesands of Cedros Island’s shores. So pretty. So boring.
“To look at you,one would think you’re under house arrest instead of relaxing on an all-expense-paidvacation.”
Tim looked tohis left, where his brother, Caleb, sat with a smug grin. “You can’t keeprubbing my face in the fact that you paid my way, since I didn’t want to comehere in the first place.”
“It’s ourparents’ fortieth wedding anniversary, and both Jill and I brought ourfamilies,” Caleb said, referring to their sister. “Mom would have had a fit ifyou weren’t here too.”
“Mom and Dad arethe only reason I came along.” Time hated the petulant whine in his voice, butCaleb had a way of bringing the baby-of-the-family syndrome out of him. “I’llpay you back as soon as I can.”
Caleb let out adisbelieving snort. “With what? Since you drop in onMom and Dad three to four times a week for dinner, I’m assuming you’re notexactly rolling in it at that paper of yours.”
Tim felt hisface grow hot, and it had nothing to do with the brutal Caribbean sun bearingdown on them. “Things have been tight these last couple of months. Since Petermoved out, I haven’t been able to line up another roommate. Then I didn’t getthe raise I was expecting, and my car needed that new transmission….”
Caleb held uphis hand, gesturing for Tim to stop. “Man, whatever. You’re strapped, I get it.I’m just glad you haven’t been reduced to moving back in with Mom and Dad. That’sa step backward you didn’t need to take.”
Tim bit histongue. If his prospects didn’t improve in the next few months, then movingback home was exactly what would happen.
“There’s a guyat MMT about your age who said he was only movingback in with his parents for a couple of months until he could save some moneyand get back on his feet. A year and a half later, he’s still there, crashingin their basement.” Caleb shook his head and took a huge gulp of his icymojito. “I’d rather see you come and work with me and Dad than fall into aslump like that.”
McInerny MedicalTechnologies was the medical supply company founded by their grandfather. Summersspent working there during high school and college showed Tim he had littleaptitude or interest in the family business. Caleb was the vice president andthe clear heir apparent to take over when their father retired. But Tim knew ifhe worked at MMT, the sibling-rivalry tension betweenthem would only increase.
Eager to changethe subject, Tim said, “Things are really looking up for me at The Philadelphia Chronicle. I have anestablished readership now, and I’ve been quoted three times by the Inquirer and twice by the Daily News.
“That’s nice. Doesthat mean you’ll get that raise you were expecting?”
“Probablynot.”Tim slumped in his chair. “Ad revenues aren’t meeting expectations, so I’ll belucky if I don’t get a salary cut, much less a raise.”
Caleb raised askeptical eyebrow, and Tim heard his unasked question: Why did you want to become journalist again? Tim refused to bebaited into yet another discussion on the wisdom of his career choices sincegraduating summa cum laude from Drexel University.
But Calebapparently felt the need to go there. “If you just have to be a writer, there’sstill a place for you at MMT. We have new productsthat need descriptions for our customers, and the labels for our older itemscould probably use some sprucing up too.”
Oh, kill me now. Tim stood and pointed at hisempty glass. “I need a refill. Want me to bring you another mojito?”
“Sure.” Calebgave him a knowing smile. “We’ll continue this when you get back.”
“Yeah, okay,”Tim muttered while rolling his eyes. He wound his way to the hotel’s outdoorbar, careful not to step on any of the reclining sunbathers or sandcastleslittered along the way. For a moment he regretted not going into town to sightseewith the rest of the family. Although his parents and sister were just asconcerned as Caleb about his future, Tim knew they wouldn’t be as dead set onanswers as Caleb seemed to be.
The irony in hisbeing a journalist, yet ducking family inquiries into his career prospects,caused Tim to let out a bitter laugh. When he first started at the Chronicle, he thought he’d be there foronly a year—maybe two, max—before moving on to the more prestigious Philadelphia Inquirer. After paying hisdues there, then it would be on to TheNew York Times. Yet five years later, he was still at the Chronicle, with his employment becomingever more tenuous as the paper’s ad revenues continued to decline.
I need a break, one lousy break, Tim grumbledto himself as he approached the bar. Clearly he had talent, or else he wouldn’thave survived the rounds of layoffs at the Chronicle,which were taking place more often than anyone liked. But talent alone wasn’tenough to make him stand out in the cutthroat media world. He needed a get, a scoop that everyone wanted but noone could land. Only a high-profile, exclusive interview would get Tim the kindof spotlight and credibility he needed to take his career to the next level.
Tim gave thebartender his drink order and continued to muse over what kind of story heneeded to pursue to make a name for himself. While a major East Coast city, Philadelphiawas small enough that avenues to the wealthy and powerful were all but closedto only established journalists. He could do a storyon the plight of some
