The Kincaids: New Money. Jennifer Lewis

the door and locked it.

      “What?”

      Her resolve faltered as her boss glared at her.

      “On the couch.” She pointed to it, in case he’d forgotten where it was. She almost blushed at the way it sounded as she said it. What a lovelorn secretary’s fantasy! But this situation was serious. “I’m going to pour you a whiskey and you’re going to drink it.”

      He didn’t move. “Have you lost your mind?”

      “No, but you’re beginning to lose yours and you need to step back and take a deep breath before you damage your reputation. You can’t talk to employees like that, no matter what the circumstances. Now sit.” She pointed at the sofa again.

      A stunned RJ lowered himself onto it.

      Brooke poured three fingers of whisky into a crystal tumbler with shaking hands. Everything really did seem to be going to hell in a handbasket for RJ. Until now he’d faced each disaster with composure, but apparently he’d reached his breaking point.

      Their fingers touched as she handed him the glass, and she cursed the subtle buzz of awareness that always haunted her around RJ. “Here, this will settle your nerves.”

      “My nerves are just fine.” He took a sip. “It’s everything else that’s screwed up. The police can’t really believe my mother killed my father!”

      He took a long swig, which made Brooke wince. She bit her lip. The pained expression on his handsome face tugged at her heart. “We both know it’s impossible, and they’ll figure that out.”

      “Will they?” RJ raised a dark brow and peered up at her. “What if they don’t? What if this is the first of many long nights in jail for her?” He shuddered visibly and took another swig. “It kills me that I can’t protect her from this.”

      “I know. And you’re still grieving the death of your father.”

      “Not just his literal death.” RJ stared at the floor. “The death of everything I thought I knew about him.”

      She and RJ had never discussed the scandalous revelations about the Kincaid family, but they were both aware she knew all the details—along with everyone else in Charleston. They’d been splashed all over the local media every day since his father’s murder on December 30th. It was now March.

      “Another family.” He growled the words like a curse. “Another son, born before me.” He shook his head. “All my life I was Reginald Kincaid, Jr. Proud son and heir and all I wanted to do was follow in my father’s footsteps. Little did I know they’d been wandering off into some other woman’s house, to sleep with her and raise her children, too.”

      He glanced up, and his pain-filled gaze stole her breath. It killed her to see him suffering like this. If only she could soothe his hurt and anger.

      “I’m so sorry.” It was all she could manage. What could she say? “I’m sure he loved you. You could see it in his face when he looked at you.” She swallowed. “I bet he wished things were different, and that he could have at least told you before he died.”

      “He had plenty of time to tell me. I’m thirty-six years old, for Chrissakes. Was he waiting until I hit fifty?” RJ rose to his feet and crossed the room, whiskey splashing in the glass. “That’s what hurts the most. That he didn’t confide in me. All the time we spent together, all those long hours fishing or hunting, walking through the woods with guns. We talked about everything under the sun—except that he was living a lie.”

      RJ tugged at his tie with a finger and loosened his collar. Recent events had given him an air of gravitas that he’d never had before. The strain hardened his noble features and gave his broad shoulders the appearance of carrying the weight of the world.

      Brooke longed to take him in her arms and give him a reassuring hug. But that would not be a good idea. “You’re doing a great job of keeping the family together and the company afloat.”

      “Afloat!” RJ let out a harsh laugh. “It would be a real problem for a shipping company if it couldn’t stay afloat.” His eyes twinkled with humor for a split second. “But at the rate we’re losing clients we’ll be belly up in the bay before the year is out if I don’t turn things around. For every new client Matthew brings in, we’re losing two old ones. And I don’t even have a free hand to guide the company. My father—in his infinite wisdom—saw fit to give his illegitimate son forty-five percent of the company and only leave me a measly nine percent.”

      Brooke grimaced. That did seem the cruelest act of all. RJ had devoted his entire working life to The Kincaid Group. He’d been executive vice president almost since he left college, and everyone—including him—assumed he’d one day be president and CEO. Until his father had all but left the company to a son no one knew about. “I suppose he did that because he felt guilty about keeping Jack secret all these years.”

      “As well he might.” RJ marched back across the room and took another swig of whiskey. “Except he didn’t seem to think about how much it would hurt the rest of us. Even all five of us Kincaids together don’t have a majority vote. Ten percent of the stock is owned by some mystery person we can’t seem to find. If Jack Sinclair gains control over the missing ten percent he’ll get to decide how to run The Kincaid Group and the rest of us have to go along with it or ship out. I’m seriously considering doing the latter.”

      “Leaving the company?” She couldn’t believe it. Selfish thoughts about her own job disappearing almost toppled her concern for RJ.

      “Why not? It’s not mine to run. I’m just another cog in the machine. That’s not what my dad groomed me for or what I want for myself.” He slammed the empty glass down on a table. “Maybe I’ll leave Charleston for good.”

      “Calm down, RJ.” Brooke poured another three fingers of pungent whiskey into the glass. Right now it seemed a good idea to get him too drunk to go anywhere at all. “It’s early days yet. Nothing will be decided about the company until the shareholders’ meeting and, until then, everyone’s counting on you to steer the ship through these rough waters.”

      “I love all your nautical lingo.” He flashed a wry grin as he took the glass. “I knew there was a good reason I hired you.”

      “That and my excellent typing skills.”

      “Typing—pah. You could run this company if you put your mind to it. You’re not just organized and efficient, you’re good with people. You’ve managed to talk me back off the ledge today, and I thank you for it.” He took another sip. The whiskey was certainly doing its job. Already the hard edge of despair and anger had softened.

      Now was not the time to mention that she had applied for a management job, and been turned down. She didn’t know if RJ was behind that, or if he even knew.

      “I didn’t want you to upset people any more than they already are.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “Everyone’s temper is running high and we need to work together. The last thing you want is for key employees to quit and make things worse in the run-up to the shareholders’ meeting.”

      “You’re right, as usual, my lovely Brooke.”

      Her eyes widened. Obviously the whiskey was going straight to his head. Still, she couldn’t help the funny warm feeling his words generated inside her, almost like a shot of whiskey to her core.

      “The most important thing right now is to find your dad’s murderer.” She tried to distract herself from RJ’s melting gaze. “Then your mom won’t be under suspicion.”

      “I’ve hired a private investigator.” RJ peered into his glass. “I told him I’ll pay for twenty-four hours in the day and he shouldn’t stop until he finds the truth.” He looked up at her. “Of course I told him to start with the Sinclair brothers.”

      Brooke nodded. Jack Sinclair sounded like a man with an ax to grind, though her vision could be skewed by the