BILLIONAIRE ANGEL (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way) Read Free

Loss of friends. Loss of favor.
    Loss of faith.
    Jax took a seat behind his polished oak desk. Collecting a pen, he pulled a document over—a profit and loss sheet that needed sorting. But soon, figures seemed to bleed into each other. Like wearing neckties, crunching numbers had never floated his boat.
    When his focus edged toward a window, Jax imagined the view from the second story of his place in Newforth Cove. In his mind, he heard wheeling seagulls cry overhead…imagined the breathtaking blue of the channel and lap of water on the shore. A couple of years back, the rundown turn-of-the-century shingle style house had caught his eye. He’d even organized an inspection. Back then, buying that place and then bringing the fireplaces, wood floors and hundreds of hand-crafted details back to life would’ve taken a bankroll he could only dream of.
    Around the same time, a former client had passed away; the obscenely wealthy bachelor had needed help finding a long lost child, his only living family. While the grown son had been left the vast majority of his newly found father’s estate, Jax was stunned at the extent of that client’s gratitude for a job well done. He’d left Jax a vast amount of cash, more than enough to spruce up a hundred dilapidated houses.
    He was also bequeathed The M Lodge. Jax didn’t know exactly why, except maybe that he’d joked a couple times about how cool it would be to own such a beautiful old place. But he’d already had a life, a career. And he knew zip about running a gentleman’s club.
    Then tragedy had struck. Jax had shut the doors on his P.I. firm and, by default, had taken a chair at the helm here.
    Now he could never go back to that other life, even if the idea grated on him constantly.
    His gaze dropped to his desk’s bottom drawer. Giving in, he eased it open.
    The replica pistol was lighter than the real deal, but when Jax clutched the handle, the grip felt familiar. Felt like home. An optical sensor was fixed to the replica’s barrel. An accompanying electronic target hung on the far wall. Whenever he squeezed off a shot, it showed up on a display screen. Easy.
    Safe.
    Getting to his feet, Jax took up position. When he raised the piece and closed one eye, years of training and instinct spiralled into focus. His heart pumped slower at the same time all his senses seemed to glow. His mind cleared of anything other than making the first shot count. In the real world, if you missed, people could die.
    One night two years ago, someone he cared about had.
    A knock on the door hauled him back. Feeling sweat cool on his brow, Jax called out, “Come in.” Public Relations Manager, Margo Quinn, and her killer heels, entered the room.
    “I saw you goose-stepping a woman in pants out the back door,” Margo said, crossing over in a peach-colored power suit that fit almost too well. “Trouble in paradise?” 
    “A minor hiccup.”
    “Who was she? An over-zealous admirer?”
    At the thought of Belinda Slade’s predicament and her plea, Jax winced but then set his jaw. “I’d sooner forget it.” He took aim, squeezed off a shot then assessed the nearby display screen—
    And frowned.
    He’d missed the bull’s eye?
    No. He’d missed the target, like, altogether .
    Frowning, he studied the replica while Margo took her usual seat opposite his desk while he aimed, squeezed again. Missed again.
    What the―?
    “Jax?”
    He refocused. Had Margo asked him something? “Sorry. What was that?”
    “This club’s been under your management coming up two years now.”
    “Anniversary’s next month,” he said absently, studying the target again. He hadn’t paid a visit to the range in ages, still…was he really that rusty? That ‘retired’?
    “How do you want to celebrate?” Margo asked.
    The anniversary? Um, “How does free drinks and entertainment ‘til twelve sound? Throw in a worthwhile door prize. A weekend at a luxury resort maybe.”
    “I was thinking more diverse.