Melody Anne's Billionaire Universe: Floating Hearts (Kindle Worlds Novella) (MacKay Destiny Book 1) Read online

  Shading his eyes with a hand, he squinted and focused on the object sailing his way. Red. A red balloon some kid lost at a party or the fair. But as it came closer, he realized he was not looking at a child’s toy but a full-sized hot air balloon, shaped like a heart.

  Aiden... He’d put the phone call out of his head with his busy morning, but his cousin the firefighter instructor had woken him to insist he watch for a heart-shaped red balloon. One even now sailed over the zucchini field and approached the orchard, losing altitude at an alarming rate. A woman in a fluffy white dress and veil leaned over the side, waving frantically and calling out, but she was too high for him to make out the words. Likely, “Save me.” Or maybe, “Do you know the way to my wedding?”

  He turned the Mule back into the trees, following the descending balloon’s patch as best he could in the four-wheel drive vehicle. The orchard did not offer a lot of space to drive besides the main pathway, so, as the ropes trailing from the basket dangled into the trees, he parked, hopped out, and ran.

  Ducking low branches, he no longer had trouble hearing the woman’s cries. She’d evidently reached the point of using language less than ladylike and announced her intent to leap to the ground.

  “Lady! Miss! Do not jump out. Just hang on.” He didn’t know much about hot air balloons, but suspected with the basket brushing the tops of the trees—and denuding them of apples and leaves—she’d either be hung up in one of them in a moment or on the ground. He wasn’t sure which would be worse but, whichever, he’d be there to catch her.

  Sure. He paused for a second before deciding exactly which tree to duck around next. James MacKay, CEO of MacKay International and rescuer of brides in distress. A loud shriek from his left, followed by a curse strong enough make a sailor blush sent him racing in that direction to find the trailing ropes sliding along the ground between two venerable trunks. With a flying leap, he closed his fists around them and held on tight.

  The escaped balloon was not yet ready to give up the fight, however, and dragged him along on his belly for another dozen or so feet before the basket settled in the branches of one of their oldest trees with a sickening crunch and a shower of hard fruit battering him where he lay underneath.

  Releasing the ropes of the stranded balloon, James covered his head with his arms to avoid concussion. When the banging and clatter stopped, he considered just staying where he lay. If the tree could not be saved, his father would kill him.

  What a statement from a man of his means. Businessmen all over the world sought any bit of approbation from him, but here on MacKay lands, he apparently sought the same from his father.

  It wasn’t like the man could ground him. He’d been free of his father’s benign dominance for over ten years. Lifting his face, he eyed the split trunk and groaned. Billionaire: Grounded for Life.

  Chapter Two

  Sarabeth Harvest clung to the edge of the basket as the high-tech balloon sailed over yet another beautiful Northern California valley. Fields, harvested and unharvested, trees laden with fruit, rivers and streams and herds of cattle and sheep. She drifted far from San Francisco, for sure, and closed in on the mountains ahead. Maybe she’d end up in Nevada soon. Sarabeth probably couldn’t stay in California, anyway, after what she’d just done. Trey’s mother would hunt her down. If she could keep going all the way to another country, she probably should try. Unfortunately, the wind wasn’t blowing toward Mexico and hitting Canada on a northeast trajectory would likely result in some kind of system failure. As she understood it, the balloons were intended for local flights only.

  No, she’d be landing somewhere in the foothills, if she made it that far, and Trey and his team would be on her in minutes. Had he planted a tracker somewhere on this thing? She’d dropped her phone into the bay so nobody could follow that. Would the FAA be involved in a wild balloon escape? The thing was worth a small fortune, so she might be arrested for theft.

  What a colossal mess.

  Maybe she should have just gone ahead with the ceremony and lived with whatever came. At some point, marrying John Felix, III, or Trey as his friends called him, must have seemed like a good idea because she’d agreed to do it. But standing beside him at the altar, she’d had a moment of clarity, an image of her life as Mrs. John Felix, III…and done the only thing possible. Yanked her hand away before he could slide the ring on, murmured an apology, and fled down the aisle, leaving him to face a cathedral full of elegantly dressed people puzzled by her behavior. And worse than the guests, his father and both their mothers.

  Outside, clutching her veil to her head with her sweaty hand, she looked around for a means of escape. The limo she’d arrived in had been dismissed because she and Trey had planned to arrive at the reception in the hot air balloon currently moored on the lawn. A product of Trey’s company, he planned to showcase the big red heart-shaped balloon by sailing across the city in it with his new bride.

  At a shout from behind her, she glanced around to find the man charged with watching the valuable item during the ceremony and waved him over. “Mr. Felix wants you inside, now!”

  He didn’t hesitate, or ask questions, which he really should have. Why would the bride be outside the church on her own after the ceremony? Or during it? And why would Trey want the man inside?

  Fortunately, his employees were used to following instructions without question—and their obedience extended to his new “wife.” This time, it might make Trey regret his despotism. The instant the guard stepped inside the building, Sarabeth kicked off her very high-heeled shoes, raced across the grass, and scrambled into the basket, landing on her head. She struggled upright, piled the long train of her dress into a knee-deep pool of heavy white satin and imported Irish lace, and hit the switch, ever so grateful her ex-fiancé—because surely her status had moved into that spot by now—had taken the time to show her how to operate the solar battery-powered ride. She’d just never expected to solo.

  “Sarabeth!” Trey’s voice came from just inside the doorway too late to stop her. The balloon smoothly lifted into the air, rising to hover over the crowd piling out onto the lawn, all shouting and pointing. She waved, a real Princess Di salute. She didn’t mean to be a smart-ass, but then she rarely did.

  So the amazing electronic hot air balloon became her getaway vehicle and, instead of soaring across the city, it drifted across the bay and into the night. Her never-before surfaced fear of heights had her clinging to the ropes suspending the basket and murmuring promises to whatever deity might be listening to be good forever if only she survived until dawn. The sight of the water so far below, the tiny boats and people and not a single way to secure herself to the bobbing basket forced her to question her safety.

  The famous San Francisco fog drifted past the Golden Gate Bridge, obscuring the last of the sunset and wrapping chilly fingers around her, water droplets beading up over the balloon and dripping onto her, chilling her to the bone. In a matter of moments, visibility went from miles to inches, and Sarabeth could barely make out her white-knuckled fingers gripping the ropes. So, so cold. Forcing her hands free, she sank to the floor and buried herself in the yardage that had trailed her down the aisle. Patting around the floor of the basket, she hunted for the remote control that would give her the ability to land the giant red heart as soon as she left the Bay behind, but her icy fingers refused to cooperate. They did, however, locate the necks of a pair of bottles of champagne intended for them to toast their nuptials as they took their triumphant float over San Francisco’s finer areas.

  She could still hear Trey’s laughter as he tucked them, along with a box of gourmet goodies of some kind, into the basket. “After our wedding, everyone will want to be whisked away from their wedding in a heart-shaped balloon, or maybe land at their baby shower in a stork, or float over the holiday boat parade suspended from a giant Christmas tree ball.” With the solar battery pack, no fire or gases were required, and it could be operated by almost anyone—although the new company would
provide a pilot for insurance reasons. The plans were all laid out to go worldwide, but their wedding would provide the inaugural flight for Felix Flights.

  She flew on and on and on, unable to locate the remote, or the glasses she was sure they’d included. Drinking champagne out of the bottle turned out not to be too bad. Especially Krug Clos d’Ambonnay 1998 which Trey mentioned had cost two thousand dollars a bottle. Even the Felixes, with all their money, would not serve such a vintage at the reception for seven hundred guests. But nothing was too good for John Felix’s son and his bride to enjoy. She tipped the bottle back, downing the last delicious swallow, but, as she reached for the second bottle, delighted to look up and see stars in the clearing sky, she considered not drinking it. She’d have to work for Trey for free for a while to pay for the two bottles of bubbly, any damage that might befall the balloon, and…would they ask her to pay for the failed ceremony and reception?

  If she were to be indentured for three lifetimes, maybe she should have just gone ahead and married Trey. He wasn’t a bad man at all. A little bit obsessed with the glitz and glamour accompanying money, but hadn’t she been as well when she first went to work as his PA? And when he’d asked her to the first twenty thousand dollar-a-plate benefit as his date? But how the lifestyle had paled as the wedding approached and her fiancé dragged her from one party to the next, most in their honor, dressed in one beautiful designer gown after another.

  He’d approved them all, he and the “consultant” who clung to his side while Sarabeth modeled the clothing. Constance Stratford did everything but drool on Trey. And it had bothered her, too, to see their heads close together, Constance with her sheet of white-blonde hair falling to her waist except when she caught it back in a simple bronze clip that had to have cost more than Sarabeth’s annual salary.

  It hadn’t bothered her enough, she realized now, climbing to her feet to watch the sun peek over the mountains in the distance. Where was she, anyway? She’d been over land for a while, since she left the fog behind. Her tummy rumbled as she watched the land pass below, golden hills colored orange and rose by the sunrise, dotted with cattle, a few herds of sheep. So much more restful to her eyes than the city. And far less frightening than the icy waters of the Bay. She’d had a dream, after college, to come to San Francisco, get a great job with a terrific company, and eventually marry a rich dreamboat. Someone like Trey. Girls like her rarely had such opportunities, but she’d worked very hard to get her MBA and put small-town Kansas and her many foster homes behind her. She wanted to be near the ocean, in a city with a ballet and a philharmonic orchestra, with bars and clubs and music to be found everywhere. Cool. Hip. Monster. All those things.

  Two minutes from reaching her goal to be Mrs. John Felix, III, she’d chickened out. The future rolled out before her. She’d have to quit working, in the near future, to do her real job as Trey’s wife. Charity events and political ones. Evenings at the ballet and philharmonic—which had sounded so great until she realized she preferred alternative music. Constantly redecorating Trey’s house to make sure it always looked fabulous.

  While she liked her job as his PA, she didn’t think she’d be good at her new one as his wife. She’d tried, spent all night convincing herself she could do it; he wouldn’t have asked her if he didn’t have faith in her. And he must love her. After all, unlike Connie, with her beautiful face and perfect taste, a tall figure toned by hours at the gym, gifted with the best of everything by Mother Nature and her high-society parents, Sarabeth was medium height with medium-brown hair that, when not in the up-do from hell, fell around her shoulders in unfashionable bouncy curls. She’d been stuck with ordinary brown eyes, and she didn’t even use the company gym. She preferred to walk around the city and take in the sights to pumping weights in a room smelling of sweat and menthol, surrounded by women too beautiful to be real.

  Small town farm girls didn’t fit in with the polished glamour girls, although Trey claimed to like her the way she was—wardrobe aside. And, no matter how he reassured her, as their wedding day grew closer, she liked herself less, compared herself to the other women in his circle, more.

  The first time she’d been “summoned” to the Felix castle—no other way to describe his parents’ home—she’d had a hard time not going around to the back door. The butler suggested she do when she’d shown up in clothes of her own she’d stubbornly worn instead of the outfit Trey had sent over.

  Taking a swig out of the bottle, she let the day she’d met Margerie Felix play on the screen of her mind.

  “Well, come in and sit down, Sarabeth.” The woman seated in the solarium offered a brilliant white smile. Her ash-blonde hair fell around her face in an artful style guaranteed to minimize her age. She wore fitted black slacks and a plum sweater so yummy, Sarabeth had to fist her sweaty hands to keep from petting it. Wouldn’t that make a great impression. “My son was very anxious we meet. Why do you suppose he felt that way?”

  “I guess he likes me?” she blurted out and cringed. Smart-ass from the start. Keep this up and the woman would have her removed from the castle and perhaps from her job. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her palms on her white cotton Capris and shook the hand Mrs. Felix extended. “I guess I can’t be taken into polite company.”

  Mrs. Felix laughed, the sound like gently chiming bells, and drew her down onto the teak and canvas bench next to her. “I am sure my son likes you. I like you myself already. Tell me a little bit about yourself, Sarabeth. Where are you from?”

  They’d sat there for hours while Mrs. Felix—who insisted Sarabeth call her Margerie—gently interrogated her about her life to date and learned more about her than anyone ever had. Even Trey didn’t know so much, and they’d been working together for two years and dating for a few months. Margerie and her husband, John, Jr., had been away on a combination business/world tour for that time or she’d have run into them at one of the many political fundraisers, business dinners, and charity events she now attended with their son.

  By the time she’d left, Sarabeth had wanted Margerie for her mother with a desperation bordering on pathological. The warm-hearted woman presented a temptation greater than a girl raised in a series of foster homes since the age of five could resist. When Margerie hugged her at the front door and said, “I hope my son doesn’t let you get away. You’re the perfect addition to our family,” Sarabeth had nearly fainted but ached with the desire to be part of a family. Particularly Margerie’s family.

  Halfway through the second bottle of champagne, she cried a little over the child whose mother’s drug use threw her into the system and made her so vulnerable to the lure of a family, she hadn’t paused to consider what marriage meant to her as a wife.

  She’d continued on the path toward a future as Mrs. John Felix, III, despite misgivings piling up about the lifestyle she signed up for. The endless round of social obligations was tempered by lunches and dinners with his parents, who had the marriage she dreamed of. Trey’s dad was a powerful man, an older version of his son with broad shoulders and just a little gray at the temples. He treated his wife like a combination of his best friend and the most beautiful woman in the world. She wanted that so badly!

  Trey was sweet to her…sometimes. And he was never unkind. She’d assumed they’d grow toward what his parents shared, counted on the fact until the night before, at their beautiful rehearsal dinner, when his dad grabbed his mother and kissed her deeply. When they finally separated, he said, “My best girl from the moment I laid eyes on you.” And she replied, “Moment? From the first second,” then kissed him again while their guests clapped. It was as if they celebrated the elder couple’s love rather than that of Sarabeth and John, who had not kissed once during the party.

  Tipping the bottle back, Sarabeth watched the sun lift into the sky and wished she’d realized her mistake sooner. Sure, she and Trey might have been okay, and she’d have loved being part of their family, but being okay and loving his mom and dad did not a marriage make. Now she
’d repaid them all for their kindness by running away and leaving them to clean up her mess. She’d see Margerie’s stricken expression, as her almost daughter-in-law raced down the aisle toward the back of the church, until her dying day. And regret it as long.

  Trey was wealthy and handsome and successful. Women fell over each other to get his attention. But she’d been blinded by those things, a little, and by his family a lot. He deserved better. A woman who loved him as deeply as his mom loved his dad.

  She’d explain the fact to him when she called to tell him where to pick up the balloon and the engagement ring. But, first, she had to find that remote control and land this thing. Trey’s instructions fogged a bit in her brain. She should eat something then maybe she could think a little clearer.

  The countryside sailed past, the teddy bear brown of the late summer range giving way to the farms farther from the coast. A bit to the south, the Sacramento-San Joaquin River Delta glistened as its many fingers stretched into the flatlands, but her current direction, borne on the wind, took her northeast, toward the western flank of the Sierra range. Occasional streams carrying snowmelt broke up the fields below and traced around small towns. Maybe Nevada wasn’t out of the question, if she could just get some lift. And daylight revealed what she’d been hunting for all along. The controller! Tucked into a handy pouch on the inside of the basket where it couldn’t get lost. Across from the button she’d pressed to start the thing. In her panic and the dark and fog, she’d forgotten where to find it.

  She could land in Tahoe and get a job dealing Black Jack or Texas Hold’em…if she knew how to play either game. She grabbed the remote and fished around the piles of white satin and lace for the snacks. Two bottles of champagne on an empty stomach might have been a worse idea than marrying Trey. She found the box and, giggling, dropped onto her behind to see what her ex-fiancé’s idea of sky-high treats consisted of. Flipping open the lid on the weirdly pretentious cloisonné box, she peered inside and groaned. If the two bottles of champagne that were making the sky spin were a bad idea and marrying Trey to get a family a worse one, his selection of picnic foods topped them all. She lifted a gold tin of Almas Beluga White caviar from Iran, which she happened to know he imported in a less than legal way. Trey loved it, though. The ultimate “comfort” food. Bleah. Salty fish eggs…she’d eaten them once, at a benefit for a conservative candidate for mayor, and failed to see the charm. Of either the caviar or the candidate. Certainly a sign the wealthy life was not for her. Eyeing the 24 carat gold jar in her hand, she climbed up onto her knees so she could see below then tossed it in the general direction of a stream. Some fisherman would be sure to appreciate it to bait his hook. She swayed, watching the twenty-five thousand dollar treat plummet to the ground. She’d be paying for this escapade for the rest of her life anyway…and the golden box gleamed in the morning sun as it fell. So shiny!