The Beaumont Brothers. Sarah M. Anderson

diamonds. She liked diamonds. Then he added rubies to the mix. He’d thought it made things better.

      It hadn’t. And he was more the fool for thinking it had.

      He replayed the conversation with Serena. He hadn’t talked much about his divorce to anyone, beyond informing his brothers that it was a problem that would be taking up some measure of his time. He didn’t know why he’d told Serena it was his fault that negotiations had gotten to this point.

      All he knew was that he’d had to tell someone. The burden of knowing that this whole thing was a problem he’d created all by himself was more than he could bear.

      And she’d touched him. Not like he’d touched her, no, but not like she’d ever touched him before. More than a handshake, that was for damn sure.

      When was the last time a woman had touched him aside from the business handshakes that went with the job? Helen had moved out of the master bedroom almost two years before. Not since before then, if he was being honest with himself.

      Matthew cleared his throat, which made Chadwick look up. “Yes?”

      “If I thought you were anything like our father,” Matthew began, his voice walking the fine line between sympathetic and snarky, “I’d assume you were working on wife number two.”

      Chadwick glared at the man. Matthew was only six months younger than Chadwick’s younger brother, Phillip. It had taken several more years before Hardwick’s and Eliza’s marriage had crumbled, and Hardwick had married Matthew’s mother, Jeannie, but once Chadwick’s mother knew about Jeannie, the end was just a matter of time.

      Matthew was living proof that Hardwick Beaumont had been working on wife number two long before he’d left wife number one.

      “I haven’t gotten rid of wife number one yet.” Even as he said it, though, Chadwick flinched. That was something his father would have said. He detested sounding like his father. He detested being like his father.

      “Which only goes to illustrate how you are not like our father,” Matthew replied with an easy-going grin, the same grin that all the Beaumont men had. A lingering gift from their father. “Hardwick wouldn’t have cared. Marriage vows meant nothing to him.”

      Chadwick nodded. Matthew spoke the truth and Chadwick should have taken comfort in that. Funny how he didn’t.

      “I take it Helen is not going quietly into the night?”

      Chadwick hated his half brother right then. True, Phillip—Chadwick’s full brother, the only person who knew what it was like to have both Hardwick and Eliza Beaumont as parents—wouldn’t have understood either. But Chadwick hated sitting across from the living symbol of his father’s betrayal of both his wife and his family.

      It was a damn shame that Matthew had such a good head for public relations. Any other half relative would have found himself on the street long ago, and then Chadwick wouldn’t have had to face his father’s failings as a man and a husband on a daily basis.

      He wouldn’t have had to face his own failings on a daily basis.

      “Buy her out,” Matthew said simply.

      “She doesn’t want money. She wants to hurt me.” There had to be something wrong with him, he decided. Since when did he air his dirty laundry to anyone—including his executive assistant, including his half brother?

      He didn’t. His personal affairs were just that, personal.

      Matthew’s face darkened. “Everyone has a price, Chadwick.” Then, in an even quieter voice, he added, “Even you.”

      He knew what that was about. The whole company was on pins and needles about AllBev’s buyout offer. “I’m not going to sell our company tomorrow.”

      Matthew met his stare head-on. Matthew didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “You’re not the only one with a price, you know. Everyone on that board has a price, too—and probably a far sight less than yours.” Matthew paused, looking down at his tablet. “Anyone else would have already made the deal. Why you’ve stuck by the family name for this long has always escaped me.”

      “Because, unlike some people, it’s the only name I’ve ever had.”

      Everything about Matthew’s face shut down, which made Chadwick feel like an even bigger ass. He remembered his parents’ divorce, remembered Hardwick marrying Jeannie Billings—remembered the day Matthew, practically the same age as Phillip, had come to live with them. He’d been Matthew Billings until he was five. Then, suddenly, he was Matthew Beaumont.

      Chadwick had tortured him mercilessly. It was Matthew’s fault that Eliza and Hardwick had fallen apart. It was Matthew’s fault that Chadwick’s mom had left. Matthew’s fault that Hardwick had kept custody of both Chadwick and Phillip. And it was most certainly Matthew’s fault that Hardwick suddenly hadn’t had any time for Chadwick—except to yell at him for not getting things right.

      But that was a child’s cop-out and he knew it. Matthew had been just a kid. As had Phillip. As had Chadwick. Hardwick—it had been all his fault that Eliza had hated him, had grown to hate her children.

      “I’m...that was uncalled for.” Nearly a lifetime of blaming Matthew had made it damn hard to apologize to the man. So he changed the subject. “Everything ready for the gala?”

      Matthew gave him a look Chadwick couldn’t quite make out. It was almost as if Matthew was going to challenge him to an old-fashioned duel over honor, right here in the office.

      But the moment passed. “We’re ready. As usual, Ms. Chase has proven to be worth far more than her weight in gold.”

      As Matthew talked, that phrase echoed in Chadwick’s head.

      Everyone did have a price, he realized.

      Even Helen Beaumont. Even Serena Chase.

      He just didn’t know what that price was.

       Three

      “The Beaumont Brewery has been run by a Beaumont for one hundred and thirty-three years,” Chadwick thundered, smacking the tabletop with his hand to emphasize his point.

      Serena jumped at the sudden noise. Chadwick didn’t normally get this worked up at board meetings. Then again, he’d been more agitated—more abnormal—this entire week. Her hormones might be off, but he wasn’t behaving in a typical fashion, either.

      “The Beaumont name is worth more than $52 dollars a share,” Chadwick went on. “It’s worth more than $62 a share. We’ve got one of the last family-owned, family-operated breweries left in America. We have the pleasure of working for a piece of American history. The Percherons? The beer? That’s the result of hard American work.”

      There was an unsettled pause as Serena took notes. Of course there was a secretary at the meeting, but Chadwick liked to have a separate version against which he could cross-check the minutes.

      She glanced up from her seat off to the side of the hotel ballroom. The Beaumont family owned fifty-one percent of the Beaumont Brewery. They’d kept a firm hand on the business for, well, forever—easily fending off hostile takeovers and not-so-hostile mergers. Chadwick was in charge, though. The rest of the Beaumonts just collected checks like any other stockholders.

      She could see that some people were really listening to Chadwick—nodding in agreement, whispering to their neighbors. This meeting wasn’t a full shareholders’ meeting, so only about twenty people were in the room. Some of them were holdovers from Hardwick’s era—handpicked back in the day. They didn’t have much power beyond their vote, but they were fiercely loyal to the company.

      Those were the people nodding now—the ones who had a personal stake in the company’s version of American history.

      There were some members—younger, more corporate types that had been brought in to provide