The Kincaids: New Money: Behind Boardroom Doors. Jennifer Lewis

      Being an obedient son, I didn’t marry her. Instead I ran away from them all, from all of their plans and hopes and dreams for me. As you know, my time in the service was a defining period in my life that shaped me like a blade in the furnace, and I look back on it with pride as well as regret. I’m enclosing the ring I wore for many years as a symbol of my commitment to my unit. It was a wedding ring of sorts, when I wore it, as I had thrown away all other allegiances. I sought to escape my former life and forge a new one all my own. I also enclose the pilot’s license I earned all those years ago and that you used to tease me about. As you can see, it really does exist, along with the other, less savory, realities of my life.

      Escape is an illusion. No matter how far you run, or how fast, the truths of your life—of who you are and what you’ve done—dog your heels over all terrain, and sooner or later you have to turn and face them. When I returned home I had to face the parents who’d waited and worried every day I was gone. This time, obeying their wishes that I take a suitable bride and start a family seemed a far more livable kind of escape, and I soon met and married your wonderful mother. My happiness was complete and I barely thought of the lives I’d left behind, until I learned by chance that the woman I once loved had borne my child and raised him in my absence.

      By this time I had children of my own with your mother and knew the force, and felt the commitment, of the paternal bond. I hope you’ll one day understand that there was no way I could turn my back on my own flesh and blood. When I met Angela again, I felt the full power of our grand passion that I’d tried so hard to leave behind in my attempts to be a good son.

      Don’t be a good son, RJ.

      RJ blinked and thrust the letter down, growling with a mix of fury and disbelief. All his life he’d been proud to fulfill his parents’ goals and dreams, to now be told it was all some kind of colossal mistake? He snatched the pages up again, anxious to get to the end.

      All your life you’ve been told where to go and what to do. Your mother and I carefully chose the best schools and groomed you for your future role in The Kincaid Group. We never asked you what you wanted. RJ, my son, I want you to take this opportunity to look inside yourself and decide what you truly want from your life.

      RJ threw the letter down with another curse. How arrogant of his father to assume that he’d blindly followed along with their plans for him. He’d been successful in school and in business and everything in between because of his own hard work and dedication and because he’d wanted to. He knew plenty of men with all his advantages who’d thrown them away and run off to pursue alternate dreams. His old pal Jake ran a beach bar in Jamaica, for Chrissakes. He could have dropped out of the Caine Academy, or flunked out of Duke and opened a surf shop. He hadn’t done those things because he’d chosen the life he was living. He’d fully intended to spend his entire career building The Kincaid Group until his father decided to pull the rug out from under him.

      He was nearly at the end of the letter anyway. Blood boiling with a mix of anger and frustration, he focused his eyes on the neat handwriting again.

      The defining fact of my life, son, is that I loved two women.

      RJ shook his head. Surely love was an act of choice. In his opinion his dad should have told his parents to shove it and married Angela. Of course he would never have been born, but right now that didn’t seem like such a bad deal.

      I never claimed Angela and our son during my life as my role in society was important to me. I wanted those invitations to the black tie affairs, the yacht club memberships and the satisfaction of being a leading member of Charleston society.

      RJ snorted. Thanks for setting fire to all that and leaving us in the ashes.

      His father had always put a lot of stock in what other people thought. More than a man of his standing should have to. It likely went back to the Kincaids never being on quite the upper tier of Charleston society. His mom’s family was one of the old guard. In retrospect he could see that was probably the chief reason his dad married her. And now look where marriage to Reginald Kincaid had put her.

      I’m not proud of the choices I made. I’ve long carried the burden of keeping Angela and her sons secret. In making my will I tried to redress some of the wrongs I committed against Jack. He grew up on the sidelines of society, as the child of a single mother, and without many of the advantages you enjoyed. In giving him a majority share in The Kincaid Group I aimed to give him the opportunities he was denied as a boy. I realize this may seem unfair to you, but I also know you’re wise enough to understand my reasoning and strong enough to forge ahead and make a success of your life, either in the company or outside it. If you’re reading this letter it’s because I’m dead, of natural causes or otherwise. I wrote it to explain myself to you after you’d had some time to reflect on the terms of the will, since knowing you as I do I suspect you tore up my first letter and threw it on the fire. I love you, RJ, and I’m proud of you.

      Dad.

      RJ sank into the chair. His anger had evaporated, replaced by a wounding sorrow. Apparently his dad hadn’t known him as well as he’d thought. Far from tearing up his first letter, he’d carried it with him since the day he received it. Maybe his dad really hadn’t known how much he’d loved him? They’d never been much for words or hugs.

      Angry as he was at the choices—no, the stupid mistakes—his father had made, he’d give almost anything to see him just one more time.

      But life—and death—didn’t work like that.

      He folded the letter and thrust the ring, the license, the photos and other stray bits of paper that commemorated milestones in his dad’s life, back into the envelope.

      His dad had given him permission, perhaps encouragement, to leave The Kincaid Group if he wanted to. He could move away, start a new life in a different city.

      A cold shiver ran through him at the limitless possibilities, the many routes his life could take. Right now the only thing he wanted was to see Brooke’s lovely smile again.

      “Brooke! You promised you’d tell me everything!” Evie’s voice rose with exasperation.

      Brooke moved the phone further from her ear. “I’m trying. The weekend’s not even over yet. I’m sitting on a balcony with a ridiculous view over what must be the entire range of the Great Smoky Mountains.” The morning “smoke” or fog had evaporated, leaving a crystal-clear vista of wooded slopes and sapphire blue sky. How could she even describe what she’d experienced over the last two days? “It’s just a romantic weekend. You know what that’s like.” She wanted to downplay the whole thing. It was their first weekend together. Yes, it was fantastic. More than fantastic. But it didn’t mean RJ would be shopping for a ring later.

      “You had sex with him?”

      “No, we meditated together.”

      “Oh, stop! Okay, that was a bit crude. You slept together.”

      “We did that, too. He’s a very heavy sleeper, who makes this adorable purring noise right before he’s about to wake up.” A vision of his powerful chest rising and falling filled her brain. She’d watched him for over an hour, afraid that if she moved she’d wake him and spoil the pleasure of watching him sleep in her arms. He’d looked both powerful and vulnerable at the same time. Irresistible.

      “Aw, like a big kitty. So when are you seeing him again?”

      “I imagine I’ll see him first thing tomorrow when I give him his mail.” She swallowed. Would she be able to maintain her usual professional demeanor now that she knew exactly what he looked like beneath those elegant pin-striped suits? Now that he knew exactly what she looked like beneath her tailored skirts and blouses.

      Her nipples pricked to attention as she remembered his blue gaze raking over her skin, drinking her in like a long, tall glass of water in the desert.

      “Hmm, mad passionate love on the office desk, papers sliding forgotten to the floor while the phone rings.”

      “Definitely not.” Brooke blushed at