Rekindled: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance (Lost Love Book 3) Read online

  Rekindled

  A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

  Lost Love Book 3

  Marcella Swann

  © Copyright 2018 by Orléans Publishing. All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  Books by Marcella Swann

  My Dream Job

  Redeemed (Lost Love Book 1)

  Reunited (Lost Love Book 2)

  Hard Drive (Tech Titans Book 1)

  Hardwired (Tech Titans Book 2)

  Table of Contents

  Books by Marcella Swann

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

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  Redeemed

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “ I understand your concerns, Mr. Eastman. You’ve voiced them to me ever since we started doing business with you. But, you’re not going to lose customers at all. In fact, you’ll gain millions of new ones.”

  Tristan snapped his fingers to get Ricky’s attention, gesturing for the thick folder on Ricky’s lap. As Ricky handed it to him, Tristan pointed to the cellphone and then rubbed his fingers together in a money-making gesture. Ricky silently laughed and gave him a thumb’s up. This was just all too easy. All Tristan had to do was get through this one final phone call, and he’d have this in the bag. He always did.

  “It’s still just a shame,” Mr. Eastman said on the other end of the line. He was an elderly man with a heart as big as his family business had once been. “Our customers there for us through thick and thin. We even survived the Great Depression.”

  Yeah, whatever. It sounded like the usual heartstring-tugging drivel Tristan had heard so many times before from business owners. They got so attached to their shitty little businesses, regardless of whether they made a dime or not. Tristan had no emotional investment in them whatsoever. He had the insight to push past the surface profits and clearly see they just weren’t sustainable. To him, clinging to a sinking ship was stupid and foolhardy. The best solution he gave them — and the most bankable one for him — was to take the Booker Firm offer and get out before they sank completely.

  Mr. Eastman’s tone made him sound like he was having second thoughts about selling his grocery store chain to the Booker Firm. Tristan honed in on that. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it.

  “Don’t think of it as a loss, Mr. Eastman. That’s a defeatist mindset. Think of it as an incredible gain, for you and your family. You’ll have millions of dollars to pass on. Your legacy will live on for your children, your grandchildren, and your great-grandchildren. The Eastman Foods grocery business cannot ever be replaced in the hearts of those who shopped there.”

  Nailed it! Pile on the nauseating sticky sweetness to this old timer and watch him fold. Mr. Eastman was a nice enough guy, but nice didn’t produce numbers. That was one of Tristan’s favorite sayings.

  “Well, my daughter Becky wants to go into business for herself,” Mr. Eastman finally admitted. “Now I can give her the capital to do so.”

  “You see, Mr. Eastman?” Tristan asked in a deceptively comforting voice. “Becky’s life was made better today. Meanwhile, you enjoy your sweet retirement in the Caribbean. Think of me while you’re enjoying Mai Tais on the beach.”

  “I’m not sure, Mr. Booker.”

  “Send me pics of those white sands and beautiful girls,” Tristan said abruptly.

  With one click, he ended the call and immediately high-fived Ricky.

  “He bought it! That just gets more and more fun.” Tristan shut the phone off and tossed it in his briefcase. He relaxed in the plane seat, lazily swirling his specialty bourbon on the rocks before tossing it back. “Almost makes this stupid little trip away from New York City worth it.”

  “Agreed. We fought for that one,” Ricky said. “It’s the tough victories that give up the sweetest rewards.”

  “Damn right.” Tristan smoothed his hands down his extremely expensive trousers. “Eastman Foods was a dinosaur business. After Jeff Bezos bought Whole Foods and brought it into Amazon, I knew I just had to do the same to a grocery business. So, which retail giant will take it? You keep saying Amazon, like Bezos, but my money’s on Walmart.”

  “Walmart’s got to compete with Amazon. They’ll take it for sure. Ask for three hundred million,” Ricky suggested.

  “Naw. Five hundred mill, or I won’t do it.”

  “Eastman Foods won’t be worth that much to them. It was a dinky little grocery chain of fifty stores.”

  Tristan wagged his finger. “Ah, but fifty stores serving the most loyal God damn customers ever. Their baked goods won prizes for forty years in a row. I say five hundred million is chump change to Walmart. Grab those new customers who’ll buy anything with an Eastman Foods name on it.”

  “They’ll have to make them cheaper now. Walmart prices for the common man.”

  “You mean cheap man. If Walmart doesn’t go for it, we’ll get them into a bidding war with Amazon. That’ll make them think twice about providing a lowball offer.” Tristan tapped the folder in his lap. “Speaking of cheap, Van Doren will be even easier to buy than Eastman Foods.”

  Ricky lifted the shade on the plane window next to his seat. “Better be quick, too. I don’t want to stay that long in good old Chelsea, Michigan.”

  “And you think I do?” Tristan shook his head. “This is nothing new to us, Ricky. We’ll be in and out in no time. Trust me.”

  Ricky grinned, and they high-fived again. Tristan finished his drink and asked for another from the hot flight attendant he’d personally hired. Her wink made him smile, and he took great pleasure in watching her ass wiggle in her tight red uniform as she walked back up to the front of the plane.

  Beautiful. Just beautiful.

  While Ricky watched the scenery out the private plane’s window, Tristan turned his attention to the Van Doren Seating Company folder. This business would be so much easier to take over than Eastman Foods. Tristan usually went for much bigger fish. A small-scale operation with less than three hundred employees was, according to its stock portfolio, not all that lucrative. Ricky voiced concerns that it might be a loss, but Tristan didn’t believe it. He’d never bought a company that he couldn’t make at least forty percent profit on, and even that seemed like a ridiculously low estimate. Once all the negotiations with Walmart were finished, Eastman Foods would turn over an eighty percent profit to his firm. Together, he and Ricky would dominate this new challenge with Van Doren.

  Ricky Ellesmere was his best friend, a business partner who shared in the profits of the Booker Firm, as well as his old college roommate from Columbia. Fresh out of the University of Michigan, Tristan had showed up at this guy’s dorm room in New York City. Within days, the two of them formed a fast friendship and hit the town, chasing gi
rls, chasing dreams, and with their own firm, chasing profits. Tristan couldn’t get enough of those percentages. It gave him an innate sense of pride and satisfaction that no other venture came close to providing him with. It was easier to make bank this way than gambling in Vegas, with much more certainty.

  After getting his degree, Tristan had turned his entire attention to the Booker Firm. Ricky gladly gave up his lucrative trading job to join him. Together, they turned the firm into one of the most ruthless and successful companies on Wall Street. Getting on the cover of Forbes was one of Tristan’s proudest moments, and he had the cover made up into a life-size painting back at his penthouse apartment in New York. Greed was good and getting better all the time.

  Now, with an estimated worth of just over one billion, thirty-one-year old Tristan Booker couldn’t wait to see the reactions of those who’d stayed in his little hick hometown.

  He was a handsome man, and he knew it. Thick wavy brown hair framed his angular face. His eyes, usually hidden by a pair of designer shades, were a deep blue-green hazel that changed color depending on the light and his mood. His smile was his absolute best feature. Just one curl of his lips to flash that cheeky, shit-eating grin, and the world fell at his feet. He was always dressed impeccably, thanks to his personal stylist and small army of shoppers and tailors. From head to toe, he was polished, elegant, and classy. A gentleman on the outside, a lion on Wall Street, and a tiger in the bedroom.

  The private flight from New York to Michigan was peaceful, giving Tristan plenty of time to familiarize himself with the numbers driving the business at Van Doren. It was a lovely Friday evening in late September, and rays of orange-tinged sunset lighting filtered in through the plane’s window. They’d already flown over Detroit and headed west toward the tiny city of Chelsea, Michigan. Population less than five thousand, just the same as when Tristan grew up there. Chelsea wasn’t popular enough to attract more new residents and it certainly wasn’t good enough for Tristan to hang around after graduating from high school. He couldn’t wait to get out.

  Chelsea never offered anything to him. Not enough of a challenge. Not enough opportunities. Too far away from the bright lights and big city he craved. He knew it at eighteen years old. He’d never wanted to come back — and he never had.

  Until tonight. He looked out over the Michigan landscape, the trees beginning to turn ever so slightly, and knew intuitively that the even this early in the fall, the weather would be dropping, making for chill evenings and crisp mornings.

  On a typical Friday night, Tristan would be wrapping up his last few phone calls at his corner office, staring out over the Manhattan skyline and lining up his packed social life. As one of the wealthiest men and hottest players in the big city, he’d grab his current girlfriend and spirit her off to his favorite restaurant, before a night of partying and then planting her on the luxurious marble countertops of his enormous kitchen to take full advantage of her sexy frame. Why she buried those perfect tits and sexy ass beneath a chef’s coat boggled his mind. But, he was all too glad to strip it right off her and let her nakedness reflect off all the mirrors. He was the best at what he did and she was the best up-and-coming chef in the city, her restaurant in the final running to receive a third Michelin star.

  Ricky took out his iPhone X and started filming the scenery outside the plane window.

  “What’s the point of recording this trip?” Tristan asked.

  “Shut up, dude. Some of us think the Hamptons are the boonies.”

  Tristan sipped his drink. “You ain’t seen nothing yet. Wait until we land and you get a whiff of that nasty ass Chelsea smell.”

  “Ugh! I can’t show my face in midtown if I smell like cow butt.”

  “Get used to it, pal.”

  Ricky glanced at his phone screen, then grinned. “Hey Tris, check this out. It’s our girls! Looking super hot.”

  Tristan took the phone and looked at it. Richard Blue, a fellow Wall Street trader colleague, had sent Ricky a pic of Ricky’s girlfriend Theresa and Tristan’s girl Lacy at Lacy’s restaurant. Richard sat at the corner table, raising a martini and looking smugly satisfied with these gorgeous women on either side of him.

  “Having a better Friday night than us,” Tristan grinned.

  “Should be us right there.” Ricky pinched the screen to enlarge the picture. He whistled. “Lacy chose the restaurant décor, too?”

  “Yep. Designed it herself from the ground up.”

  “Sweet. Look at the rustic, reclaimed boards on the walls. Shit, that’s real forged iron hardware, too. You just can’t find that stuff in the city. That’s exactly the look I’m going for in the loft. Upscale handmade.”

  “Only you, Ricky.” Tristan smirked. “Getting a boner over restaurant decorations.”

  “She’s got a great eye for the details. It just makes me want to eat there. That ultra modern look is so over. All the newest mags are going for this rustic ambiance instead.”

  “Well, the quicker you renovate your place, the quicker you can get out of my place.”

  “You’re just tired of me bringing Theresa around.” Ricky leaned closer. “The bathtub’s her favorite spot to fuck.”

  “Good choice. Lacy prefers the countertops in the kitchen. Gives me something to hold on to, and she says she likes the feel of good marble under her ass.”

  Ricky laughed. “She’s got great taste. You should see her more.”

  “Eh. She works crazy hours. The sex is hot, if and when I get it.” He finished his drink. “At the MoMA charity fundraiser the other night, I met this new girl, Janna. Guess what she does for a living?”

  “Based on what you go for? Works for a marble countertop company.”

  “No, dumbass.” Tristan chuckled. “Get this. She’s a travel photographer. Yeah, she goes to like, Kenya or the Congo or wherever way out in the African jungle, and takes pics of all the animals.”

  “Nice.”

  “She’s got some sort of sweet gig with National Geographic. She’s won awards for her work. She showed me some. All these cool zebras and giraffes and a gorilla, too.”

  “Forget the jungle. She can just come down to Wall Street. I’ve seen plenty of gorillas there.” Tristan rolled his eyes. “Really, dude? That was lame.”

  “Not as lame as you dropping Lacy for that chick. Lacy is hot!”

  “Did you not hear what I just said? Girl works too much. I like to eat and all, but Lacy’s obsessed with food. I get that she’s a chef, but come on. As for this photographer, she’s leaving for Africa again in a month. I’m thinking of joining her on that little safari. Think I could answer her call of the wild.”

  Both of them laughed. Tristan leaned back in his plane seat, staring absentmindedly out the window. He’d already had three bourbons and the alcohol swished in his stomach. He’d decided on this trip to Chelsea to buy out the Van Doren Seating Company only a few days ago, because he honestly didn’t want to think too much about it. They were flying over Ann Arbor now. He recognized the familiar buildings down there. As he pointed it out to Ricky, the pilot announced they were due to land soon.

  Unusual for him, Tristan felt a strange tightening in his gut. Just as soon as it arrived, it passed. That was weird. He leaned over and shut his plane window. Being back in Chelsea wasn’t exactly a happy homecoming. He just knew he’d bump into his kooky mother, his equally kooky stepfather, and actually have to visit the Van Doren Seating Company. None of those thoughts brought back any pleasant memories. There was a damn good reason he’d never come back here. The quicker he bought this stupid little business and the more money he made on it, the better it’d be for the Booker Firm and himself. Unlike all the other times he’d bought a business, this time it was personal.

  He wanted Van Doren, and he aimed to get it. Fast.

  “Hey Ricky. Ricky? Dude, will you put the phone down for half a sec?”

  When his friend’s attention at last turned to him, Tristan leaned over. “So. I got a proposition
for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Let’s make a bet. I bet you five million I can buy Van Doren within two weeks.”

  Ricky’s eyebrows raised. “Five mil of your own capital?”

  “Yep. Personal check right to you.”

  The plane was lowering on its descent. They’d be landing at Winters Field Airport in just a few minutes. Ricky silently considered this bet Tristan had proposed, tapping his finger against his chin.

  “Think of all the plumbing fixtures for your new loft you’ll be able to buy.”

  Ricky smirked. “You don’t have to work that hard to convince me. All right. I’m in.”

  The two men shook hands. Tristan smiled gleefully.

  “Now there’s my own money at stake. Let the games begin, my friend.”

  “A game you’ll win,” Ricky pointed out.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I know you, man. You’ll find some way of taking that company well before the two weeks is over.”

  Of course he would. Tristan Booker didn’t see any obstacle standing in his way on this one. Two weeks from today, Van Doren would be his and he’d be on his way back to New York to join that Janna girl on her safari adventures.

  He was confident. He was powerful. He was smart.

  What could go wrong?

  Faith could already feel the nip in the air. She’d have to wear a jacket the next time she took Lucy out, since it was that chilly. The little girl bulldog snuffed and snorted her way through the grassy area next to the huge Van Doren Seating Company building. After finally squatting to relieve herself, Lucy peeked up at her dog mommy owner with huge brown eyes and a gentle ‘woof.’ Faith grinned.