Racing Heart (The Billionaire Brothers 1) (2 page)

“There! Wasn’t that perfect?” Andrea wanted to know, hands above her head in self-congratulation.

Snapping back to the present, Megan replied, “Much better, Andrea. You’re keeping a good tempo, but I want you to remember that this isn’t just a string of notes, it’s...”

“A
conversation
,” Andrea said, repeating a well-worn refrain. “Mr. Right Hand,” she said, wiggling her right fingers, “is talking with Mr. Left Hand.” She mimed the two chattering to each other. “I remember.”

“OK, well. Let me hear some of that new piece we tried last time.”

Andrea made a face. “Sure, if you want.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Megan asked, opening the book of
Easy Modern Piano Pieces
and placing it on the piano’s music stand.

“I dunno. It’s just a bit boring,” Andrea replied, her shoulders slumped.

“Let me play it for you again, OK? Maybe you’ll like it better.”

Having come close to bullying Andrea into sight-reading the short piece once more, Megan glanced at her watch and found their time almost at an end. “Your uncle Jake is coming to pick you up today. Isn’t that cool?”

Andrea’s face was a flurry of happy excitement. “Really? Oh
awesome!
I love his car so much.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s got more than one,” Megan observed drily. Jake’s partnership with his brother had created the industry-leading Goliath range of disk drives, among other runaway successes, and the two men had become fabulously rich before their mid-twenties.

“You’re jealous because you drive a Fiesta,” Andrea told her.

“I love my Fiesta!” her teacher responded, hurt by the remark. “It gets me from A to B, so don’t you disrespect it.”

“I’m just saying,” Andrea said, sounding many years beyond her age, as she often did. The young lady hopped down from the piano bench and wandered into the kitchen for her traditional post-lesson snack while Megan enjoyed another chuckle at the girl’s precautious dynamism.
Never a dull moment.
 

“So,” Megan began as she sliced up a ruby-red apple for Andrea, “have you seen Uncle Jake much, lately?”

Andrea slurped her orange juice. “Sometimes. He visits on Sunday to watch football with Dad. They always drink beers and throw the cans in the trashcan from across the room.”

“Yeah,” Megan said, “that sounds like boys.”

Then, out of nowhere, “Uncle Jake brought me a panda.”

Megan stared at her. It was these cryptic, inexplicable utterances which added such spice to the life of anyone who spent time with The Great Andrea McMahon. “Really.” It wasn’t a question. “A panda.”

“Oh, Megan are you getting so old you’re losing your memory? Can’t remember what a panda is?”

Megan slid the plate of apple slices in front of Andrea and flicked her ear. “I’m younger than your Dad, by the way. And I know
what
a panda is, Missy. This was a cuddly toy, right?”

“
Not
a toy!” Andrea insisted. “A panda!”

“A real one?” Megan asked, hands on hips.

“Yeah!”

“No way.”

“Way!” Andrea exclaimed.

“Not true.”

“Is so!”

“I call shenanigans,” Megan announced, resolutely.

Andrea cocked her head. “What’s a
shenniguns?
”

Megan’s bout of giggling was interrupted only by the front door bell. “Better late than never,” she commented to Andrea. “You ready to go?” Andrea stuffed music books into her bag as Megan answered the door.

She was not – even in the slightest – prepared for what she saw.

***

“Megan Petersen,” Jake remarked with a broad smile. “How long has it been?”

Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the Saints. Where along the way did Jake McMahon get gorgeous?

Megan froze in her doorway for an embarrassingly long second before erasing the stunned look from her face and giving her visitor a warm smile. “Jake, it’s so good to see you. You’re looking...”
Chiseled and mouth-watering? Immaculate and neatly groomed?
“Looking well,” Megan managed lamely. “And to answer your question,” she said, beckoning him inside, “it’s been seven years.”

“You’re
kidding
,” Jake marveled, regarding Megan closely. “It
can’t
be. You don’t look a day older than when we graduated high school.”

“Get outta here,” Megan countered. “If a coupla nursing degrees haven’t put years on me, I don’t know what would.” They arrived together in the kitchen. “Andrea? You ready to go?”

Jake brought a gentle hand to her shoulder. “Actually, I was kinda hoping we might catch up for a few minutes. Unless,” he added, “you have things to do?”

Megan quickly took in the sight of him, and found it extremely pleasing. He had kept his wavy, blonde hairstyle but it was neater and much better kept. A nice, white, button-down shirt covered what were very obviously fabulous pectorals, as though he’d deliberately pursued anatomical perfection. Dark blue jeans and apparently brand-new Doc Martens completed the outfit. Mostly, though, she noticed the fresh, spicily masculine scent of him.

“No, I’m all yours,” Megan replied without thinking. Jake arched an eyebrow. “I mean,” she said, suddenly flustered, “I don’t have much going on this afternoon.” She turned to call into the small TV room just off the kitchen. “Andrea, do you mind hanging out there for a few more minutes while I catch up with your Uncle Jake?”

“Cool!” Andrea replied.

“Isn’t she something?” Jake asked, rhetorically. “I’d call her the apple of Tom’s eye, but that wouldn’t begin to describe it. Especially since Mary... Well, they’ve been so strong for each other.”

“There’s not a day goes by without I think of her,” Megan said sadly. She had given generously and often to cancer charities over the last three years, taking part in fundraising walks and volunteering occasionally at a phone bank to drum up donations. The swiftness of Mary’s illness had been just heartbreaking but, perhaps, a blessing; those who loved Mary, which seemed to be everyone she had ever met, were spared the painful indignity of watching her waste away. Megan recalled it as having been a matter of only days, though in truth it was ten quick weeks; hardly had the dreadful news sunk in, Mary was gone.

“What about you?” Megan asked, happy to move on from painful memories. “All I’ve seen of you, apart from a couple of ten-minute appearances at birthday parties, is you opening shiny, new factories in exotic locales.”

Jake smiled. “The price of being the public face of Goliath, I guess. Still, it keeps me on the road, which is the way I like it.”

“No settling down for you, then?” Megan asked, but regretted it immediately. He’ll think I’m finding out if he’s seeing someone. That I want a date. And I don’t.

Do I?

“’Settling down’ hasn’t really been in my vocabulary recently,” Jake admitted. “Too much travel, too little time.” There was a gale of laughter from the TV room as Andrea found one of her favorite cartoons. “What about you? Did you find Mr. Right?”

Megan grunted, not the most attractive sound, but an honest response. “Between classes, ward hours, teaching piano and trying to stop my body turning into a mound of flab, there isn’t a spare moment.”

Jake chuckled gently, nodding as if he completely understood. “It’s hard. I tried the online thing too, but mostly I seem to meet people randomly.”

“Yeah,” Megan remarked, “that special someone tends to come along at the least likely moment, so they tell me.”
God, shut up, you idiot.
“Guess I should try to create a bunch of really unlikely moments and see what happens.”
Hey, Megan?
You know that big, flapping thing on the front of your face? Close it, right now, before you sound like a demented spinster.
 

“Keeping an open mind serves us all well,” Jake philosophized aloud.

Next topic, dummy, before this becomes uncomfortable.
“How’s the business going? The media seems certain you’re going to take over the world.”

Jake laughed easily, more than used to accounting for journalists and their hyperbole. “They fixate on novelty, and can see only a future where today’s new inventions dominate. But,” Jake cautioned, “what about
tomorrow’s
inventions? No-one can imagine the future with any accuracy.”

Megan marveled at him.
Who on Earth is this guy?
She hurriedly discarded, piece by piece, the Jake McMahon she had known in high-school, and began assessing this newly grown-up, slightly mysterious young man. Somewhere along the way, he had managed to gain some
depth
. Megan wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or intimidated, whether to keep him at arms’ length, or to...

“Look, I’d love to catch up more, but Andrea needs to get home in time for dinner.”

“Sure,” Megan replied, a little relieved that her mouth wouldn’t be given too many more opportunities to embarrass her, but somehow  loathe to see him leave. “You’ve been busy, I can tell.” It was a flippant comment which hid much.

“You too,” Jake said, glancing around the house. “It suits you here. Just the one roommate?”

“Yeah, Erica is great,” Megan told him. “Best finder of lost keys you could imagine.”

Jake watched Andrea gradually detaching herself from the TV. “Cool... Look, Megan?” His confidence vanished briefly, providing the first flash of a younger, less certain Jake McMahon. “How about grabbing a drink with me on Saturday?”

Oh, shit.
“Saturday? Well... I’m not sure.”

“One drink?” It was a cute, enquiring, hopeful expression which gave his handsome face a pleading, almost submissive air.

Before she could answer, Andrea made her entrance. “Spongebob!” she declared. “I found the new episode!” This victory eclipsed all else for the moment, and was still being celebrated as Jake guided the chattering girl to Megan’s front door.

“I’ll be right out,” Jake assured her. “Did she play well today?”

Megan pursed her lips. “Not bad, but there’s always more room for practice.”

“I don’t know how she fits everything in,” Jake said. “Her schedule is fuller than
mine
!”

Something made Megan say, “Not Saturday evening, apparently.”
Why did that come out?
 

“So, you’re reconsidering?” Jake asked. Megan stared at the ceiling, a playful smile growing as she made a show of weighing up her options. “One drink, I’m serious.” Jake raised his palms in sincerity. “Then I’ll drive you wherever you need to be.”

Megan scrutinized this handsome, tall blonde.
God, he looks good in that shirt.
She wavered, but then her grin spread and she found herself looking away, a little bashful.

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

Megan nodded slightly. “Just like when you’re practicing the piano,” she said. Jake’s confused frown was one of the cutest things about him, she quickly decided. “Persistence is rewarded,” she explained. “Saturday at seven?”

“I’ll pick you up,” Jake promised. Andrea called from outside, so he quickly took Megan’s hand and said, “So good to see you. I’m glad we’ll have some more time together.”

“One drink,” she reminded him as they shook hands, gently but rather formally, before Jake jogged to his BMW and whisked Andrea away.

Door closed but smile still firmly in place, Megan ambled slowly, dreamily, back the piano bench and began to play.

***

Nothing gives you perspective like watching someone’s life falling apart.

Megan’s third patient of the evening took an exhausting, teary hour, at the end of which Megan held Candice for a long moment before sending her on her way, back into an uncertain life.

Volunteering at a women’s health clinic in one of Boston’s poorest neighborhoods was an eye-opener. In the past three months, Megan had seen it all, or certainly felt as though she had. Every type of abuse, accident, confusion and heartache had made its way through their doors. Megan wondered, almost every time she came here, just how much
good
she could actually do. The tidal wave of miserable, downtrodden women sapped her strength and, worse, her optimism.

But then again, each shift she would meet someone who reaffirmed her faith in humanity. Like Zoe, the ex-addict with two kids who came for discount prescriptions and help from the food bank. Clean for six years, a steady job... She was a success story. It brought a little balance and good cheer.

The waiting room was empty by 11.20. Megan yawned, stretched and brought out her phone to finish reading an article she had found earlier:
Who is the Real Jake McMahon
? It seemed mostly to be poorly-informed speculation, but she had become committed to finding out as much as she could. Many of the newspaper search results were less than edifying; the tabloids portrayed him as a serial philanderer, a barfly with winning ways and charm to burn. One website listed, with alluring photos, all of the models and actresses Jake was rumored to have dated. The page was so long, Megan had to scroll down six times.

Photographers had made a point of getting shirtless pictures of Jake at the beach or, in one outrageous invasion of his privacy, in the back garden of his place in London. Organizing them by date, Megan could follow the impressive evolution of his musculature, from scrawny geek with glasses, through Boston University point guard, to the buff, self-assured specimen who had so charmingly asked her out earlier tonight. The sites which promised even more revealing photos were peddling fakes, she found, quickly closing the window on her iPad before a colleague had the chance to notice the lurid threesome scene into which Jake’s likeness had been artlessly Photoshopped.

Digging deeper, with the waiting room still unusually quiet, Megan read more about Jake’s business life, quickly piecing together a more rounded impression of the man. He was a marketing hotshot, to be sure, and had a way with the press which combined suave charm with indisputably genuine acumen. While Tom worked largely behind the scenes, crafting the future of digital storage, Jake handled the negotiations with Chinese suppliers, the sensitive issues regarding outsourcing to India, and the ceaseless requests for interviews and magazine profiles. He had barely left the front pages since his famous hint that, “Going public is a real possibility”. Half the investment houses on Wall Street were clamoring for a meeting, desperate to underwrite the “IPO of the decade”.