Playing Mr. Right. Kat Cantrell

Чтение книги онлайн.

       One

      The building housing LeBlanc Charities felt the same as every other time Xavier had set foot in it—like he’d been banished. Despite sharing a last name with the founder, this was the last place he’d choose to be, which was too bad considering he’d been forced to walk through the door nearly every day for the last three months.

      And would continue to do so for the next three months until this hell of an inheritance test drew to its conclusion. Xavier’s father had devised a diabolical way to ensure his sons danced to his tune long after he’d died: Xavier and his brother, Val, had been required to switch places in order to receive their inheritances.

      So the ten years Xavier had spent learning the ins and outs of LeBlanc Jewelers, plus the five years since he’d taken over the CEO chair and broken his back to please his father...none of that mattered. In order to get the five hundred million dollars he’d have sworn he’d already earned, Xavier had to pass one final test. But instead of being required to do something that made sense, the will stipulated that Xavier would become a fundraiser in Val’s place at LeBlanc Charities and his brother would assume the reins of LeBlanc Jewelers.

      Even three months after the fact, Xavier still foamed at the mouth if he let himself dwell on how unfair and impossible the terms were. His father had betrayed him, bottom line. While Xavier had been putting enormous energy into connecting with his dad and basking in the glow of being the favored son in blissful ignorance, Edward had been plotting to posthumously show his sons how much he really hated both of them.

      In that, Xavier and Val were alike. It had been a surprisingly effective bonding experience for the brothers who shared similar faces and not much else. Though twins, they’d never been close, even choosing completely different paths as adults. Val had followed their mother into LeBlanc Charities and thrived. Xavier had gladly shucked off anything remotely resembling charity work in favor of the powerful CEO’s office at one of the world’s largest and most profitable diamond companies.

      All for nothing.

      The terms of the will had sliced off a huge piece of Xavier’s soul and he’d yet to recover it.

      Bitter did not begin to describe his feelings toward his father. But he used that bitterness as fuel. He would not fail at this test. Success was the best revenge, after all.

      Xavier had swept into his new role at LBC with gusto...and despite his fierce need to ace his task, he still hadn’t gotten his feet under him. It was like his father had stacked the deck against him, somehow. The problem was that the will stipulated Xavier had to raise ten million dollars in donations while doing Val’s job. No easy feat. But he hadn’t given up yet, nor would he.

      Even at 6:00 a.m., LeBlanc Charities teemed with life. The food pantry operated seven days a week, fifteen hours a day. It was ludicrous. A huge waste of capital. Oftentimes, the volunteers reported that no guests had darkened the door of LBC during the early morning hours, yet they always kept the light on.

      Changing the operational hours of the food pantry had been one of the first of many executive orders Xavier had come to regret. He’d changed them back, but Marjorie Lewis, the tiny general of a woman who had been a surprisingly effective services manager, had still quit. Sure, she’d told Val—her real boss, as she’d informed Xavier—that her mother had fallen ill with a long-term condition. But Xavier knew the truth.

      She hated him.

      Nearly everyone at LBC did, so that was at least consistent. The staff who reported to him at LeBlanc Jewelers—his real job, as he’d informed Marjorie—respected him. Did they like him? Who knew? And Xavier didn’t care as long as they increased profits month over month.

      LBC was not the diamond industry. No one here owned any diamonds, except for him, and he’d stopped wearing his Yacht-Master watch after the first day. Marjorie had pointed out, rather unkindly, that the people LBC helped would either assume it was fake, try to steal it or paint him with the ugly brush of insensitivity. Or all three.

      Therefore, a five-hundred-thousand-dollar watch now sat in his jewelry box, unworn. Talk about a waste. But he’d left it there in hopes of garnering some of that mythical respect. Instead, he’d met brick wall after brick wall in the form of Marjorie, who had rallied the troops to hate him as much as she did. And then she’d quit, leaving Xavier holding the bag. Literally.

      Yesterday, he’d worked in the food pantry, stocking shopping bags the hungry people LBC served could grab and go. The families took prepacked boxes. Once a day, LBC served a meal, but Xavier stayed out of the kitchen. Jennifer Sanders, the meal services manager, had that well under control and also agreed with the popular opinion that Val walked on water, so anything Xavier did paled in comparison.

      Like he did every morning, Xavier retreated to his office. Val’s office, really, but Xavier had redecorated. He’d ordered the walls painted and new furniture installed because if this was going to be his domain, it shouldn’t remind him every second that Val had been here first—and done it better.

      Xavier pushed around the enormous amount of paperwork that a charity generated until his brother popped through the door. Thank God. Xavier had started to wonder if Val would actually show up for their planned meeting about the missing services manager. After Marjorie stormed out, the majority of the day-to-day operations management fell to Xavier and that left precious little time to plan fundraisers that he desperately needed to organize.

      Val had offered to help with the interview process, which had been a lifeline Xavier had gladly snagged, without telling his brother how much he needed that help. If the terms of his father’s will had taught him anything, it was not to trust a soul, not even family.

      “Sorry I’m late.” Val strolled into his former office and made a face at the walls, flipping his too-long hair out of his eyes. “If you were going to paint, at least you could have picked a color other than puke green.”

      “It’s sage. Which is soothing.”

      It was nothing of the sort and did not resemble the color swatch the decorator had showed him in the slightest. But Xavier had to live with it, apparently, because LBC didn’t have a lot of extra money for frivolous things like painting. When he’d tried to use his own money, Marjorie had flipped out and cited a hundred and forty-seven reasons that was a bad idea. Mostly what he’d gotten out of her diatribe was that LBC had a negative audit in their rearview and thus had multiple microscopes СКАЧАТЬ