Billionaires' Secrets: Volatile Chemistry

Volatile Chemistry Part 6

Dominic climbed the marble steps of the El Cubano cigar bar on Fifth Avenue. Tarrant Hardcastle might only have a few months left to live, but he still liked to see and be seen. Despite the acres of retail space and plush corporate offices Tarrant owned a few blocks away, he spent a good portion of each day kicking back in his personal armchair at this mecca for the wealthy and self-indulgent.

Without asking, Tarrant had secured him an impossible-to-get membership. Now, although he'd never smoked anything in his life, there was a polished wood humidor with Dominic's name emblazoned on it in engraved gold plate.

Well, the name Dominic Hardcastle.

Glittering there among the names of Hollywood bad boys and Capitol Hill big-wigs, that name gave him a stomach- churning dose of mixed feelings.

"Good morning, Mr. Hardcastle. Can I get you a drink?"

He shook his head at the immaculately attired waiter. He didn't need alcohol. His head hadn't stopped spinning since last night, when a brunette scientist with a soft pink mouth and a twisted agenda had knocked him right off kilter.

He'd kissed her again at Grand Central. Fast, hot and hard. Then she ran for her platform and left him there, aching.

He shoved a hand through his hair, tried to dispel the stray energy that cramped his muscles.

"Dominic!" Tarrant Hardcastle held up his arms, as if welcoming the long-lost prodigal back to the fold.

Dominic moved toward him, jaw rigid. He wasn't the prodigal. He was the steady, hardworking son who'd hung in there the whole time, only to have the rules change when he wasn't looking.

"Wonderful to see you, dear boy!"

Tarrant grasped Dominic's hand between both of his. The glowing man-about-town who ornamented the pages of various glossy Condé Nast publications seemed thinner. He'd recently let his hair turn gray, which made him look his sixty-seven years.

"Are you sure I can't tempt you down the road to ruin with one of these magnificent Havanas?" He waved a fat stogie in Dominic's direction. The state-of-the-art ventilation system prevented even a whiff of smoke from straying into the air.

Dominic shook his head. He couldn't help an indulgent smile. It was easy to see how Tarrant's childlike enthusiasm for everything charmed the socks off people around him. "Good, good. Don't want you to get the big C like your old man." Tarrant patted his arm.

His chest tight, Dominic settled into the leather armchair. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the treetops of Central Park.

"So you saw the lab, huh? What d'ya think?"

"Impressive."

"That Bella Andrews is a firecracker. Could have gone anywhere with a research and business background like hers. Zurich, the Mayo—but no, she wanted to come to Hardcastle. Came to me, don't you know?" His satisfied grin revealed two rows of gleaming capped teeth. "Damned fine gal."

Dominic wondered if his father had always talked like an escapee from an Agatha Christie movie, or if his mode of speech was newly adopted to complement the silver hair. He suspected the latter.

"Yeah. She's smart."

Shame she's planning to take you to the cleaners.

Though whatever she claimed would no doubt be pocket change to Tarrant.

"I can't tell you how much it means to me to have you here." Tarrant wrapped long fingers around Dominic's. "I'm only sorry it took my illness to bring me to my senses. When you're in a certain position, there's a tendency for everyone to want to dip their fingers in your pockets, like they have a right to your hard-earned money. That made me so defensive I pushed away the people who should have meant the most to me."