Electrifying Chemistry: A Rebel Billionaire Trilogy Read online

  Electrifying Chemistry

  A Rebel Billionaire Trilogy

  Maggie Twain

  Electrifying Chemistry

  A Rebel Billionaire Trilogy

  By Maggie Twain

  Copyright © 2020, Maggie Twain. All rights reserved worldwide.

  No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in any form without the prior written consent of the author/publisher. Consent may be obtained by emailing: [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance the characters may have to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Maggie Twain

  Warning: This book contains graphic language and sexual content.

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  Contents

  Electrifying Chemistry

  Prologue

  Decker & Haley’s Story

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two - Four Weeks Later

  Author’s Note

  Also by Maggie Twain

  Electrifying Chemistry

  Three brothers, one inheritance.

  When the Astor family patriarch grows tired of his three grandsons’ playboy lifestyles, he decides to cut them out of his will. After the three men are ordered to attend an emergency family summit, they’re presented an alternative will with astonishing new terms.

  In a race against his brothers, Decker Astor must quickly find a woman to marry and have his baby.

  There’s just one problem - he suffers from a rare condition that places him at a severe disadvantage.

  Overworked and exhausted, the sassy, beautiful and intelligent Haley’s in danger of flunking college and seeing her dreams in ruin. In addition, if she can’t pay the rent then she’ll be made homeless.

  Fate, however, brings her into the sphere of the heir to one of America’s wealthiest dynasties. He’s handsome, he’s charming and what’s more, he’s just offered to solve all her problems at a stroke.

  All she has to do is agree to have his baby.

  Which brother will become the sole inheritor of the entire Astor fortune and which two will be left destitute?

  The Rebel Billionaire Trilogy includes (suggested order):

  Electrifying Chemistry - Decker’s story (Out now)

  Electrifying Biology - Tanner’s story (Out now)

  Electrifying Physiology - Butcher’s story (Coming soon)

  Prologue

  Today had been a long time coming. A very long time coming. And today would change the lives of the Astor brothers forever.

  To this end, two Bentleys now roll through the gates and up the long and lavish approach intermittently dotted by statues, all of them Astors from years, decades, centuries gone. The flowers bloom among the oaks, the fountains spray, trickle and flow crystal clear water, and the lawns are green as a landscape artist’s dream. Ahead, the mansion, one of the first grand homes built by America’s early settlers looms spectacular yet formidable in this most prime patch of New England. Sensing the approaching vehicles, a dozen deer scatter back into the thick forest that rings the estate.

  It’s six minutes before the first Bentley reaches the front entrance and stops. After a short pause, the driver exits and strides around to the back before opening the door. Expensive leather shoes strike paving stones and out steps the oldest of the three Astor brothers. He goes by the name Decker, meaning ditch digger, and is so called in homage to an old family joke by which the males are ironically bestowed laborer’s names. When he straightens, his full height reaches several inches above that of his security. He fastens the buttons of his jacket purchased in Monaco just the week prior and drags a hand back over his wavy blond curls before beginning the ascent up the two dozen stone steps, nodding once to the waiting butler and disappearing inside the building.

  The next Bentley stops behind the first, though the second Astor brother to arrive is not the middle but the youngest of the three, Tanner. He does not wait for his security to open the door but instead exits himself. A cell is clamped against his ear, obscuring his face, though there can be no denying how the sleeves of his suit are filled to their limits, how little give he has at the thigh. He’s shorter than his older brother, though still looms down upon the second butler who comes to greet him before seeing him inside the house.

  A third butler, along with a half-dozen members of the Astor family security detail, stand and wait in silence. One of them checks his watch. In a large patch of soil halfway towards the tennis courts, several gardeners are busy fashioning the family coat-of-arms out of lobelias and gaillardias. In it, two deers are holding up a shield upon which is emblazoned an eagle with a fish in its mouth. The family motto goes HONORING THE PAST, FORGING THE FUTURE. It’s an awesome use of flowers. It’s a fine day but the approaching gray clouds threaten rain. Some of the deer have dared leave the safety of their green canopy to feast upon the lush lawn.

  It’s seventeen minutes later when the final brother deems fit to make an appearance, and does so by casually pedaling a bicycle up the approach. He leans back in the seat as his long brown hair just barely bothers to disturb in the breeze. Butcher Astor is the family embarrassment, the black sheep, the hippy, a quandary and law unto himself. The hems of his cargo pants are torn, his sandals aged and his t-shirt, bright orange of color and possessing the merest image of a Volkswagen camper van upon it, is stained heavy with perspiration. When finally he arrives at the entrance, he props the bike against a statue of some long-dead relative and says to the attending butler, “yo, Jeeves, you got any cabbage?”

  The servant sniffs, “excuse me, sir?”

  “You know, jive, wheat, do you have any stash?”

  “Um…”

  Butcher grins and claps the butler on the back. “Hey, relax, dude, I’m joking. I gave that shit up years ago.” He nods sarcastically to the stiffs in black suits and earpieces before glancing up at the house from when his mouth turns visibly down. “You know, you should learn not to live your life with a ramrod permanently wedged up your ass.” He coughs and mutters monotone, “like grandpa.”

  “If you say so, sir.”

  “Anyway,” Butcher shakes his head, “I’m here so let’s get this shit over with.” He’s led inside the house.

  The middle sibling is shown to the drawing room where his two brothers are already waiting. Tanner ignores him completely, despite the fact it’s been over a year since they were last in the same room together, and continues pretending to be the big shot he thinks he is, giving orders into his cell, making deals, conspiring, probably fucking over a few lives as he goes about his afternoon, nothing irregular there. His fingers steepled as he leans forwards, Decker’s seated alone in the far corner beneath a floor to high-ceiling oil painting of Thatcher Astor, another ramrod in wig and powder to whom much of the original family fortune can be attributed. The older brother’s scowling at Butcher, though whether it’s owing to the long hair, unkempt beard, atrocious body odor, a combination of the three or something else entirely, it’s hard to know for sure. Take your pick. Anyway, if Butch gave a shit about what any of his family thought, he probably wouldn’t have spent m
ost of his adult life either meditating with Buddhist monks on a Tibetan mountainside or backpacking across the world as he shacked in one hippy commune after another. Every family has one, a fucking embarrassment, and there was little doubting who it is in the Astor family.

  “Bro,” Butch steps closer, get a load of the stink, you stuck up, heartless, ruthless son-of-a-bitch, “it’s so good to see you again.” His tone’s infused with sarcasm. “How long’s it been?” Five years at least.

  “Not long enough,” Decker sneers, averting his face.

  “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

  The older brother is forced to take a breath and visibly recoils. “If you refuse to employ a chauffeur then at least learn to use a fucking shower.”

  Butcher shrugs and tries not to let it show how much he enjoys getting under big brother’s skin. “I don’t know if you’re aware, Ditch, but outside of your little bubble, most people in this world do not know the privilege of owning a shower, and as far as a chauffeur goes … they probably have no idea what one even is.” He notes how the use of the name Ditch caused his brother’s top lip to curl up, revealing teeth. He’d definitely got the worst of the names with that one, although Tanner comes pretty close. Butch allows his face to soften. “Relax, I showered this morning but hey, it was a long ride over from the city.”

  Decker refuses to dignify this lame attempt at what was probably humor. “You’re summoned to an emergency family summit and you see fit to turn up stinking like a locker room?” His shoes are tapping with irritation against the marble. The villages that could be fed with the proceeds of such trash, the obscene decadence of them, two pieces of fucking leather. “After all gramps has done for us, it’s disrespectful to show in such a poor state.”

  The invocation of grandpa causes Butch to lower his gaze to the ground. He’s about to take a seat when Tanner shouts into his cell.

  “Then fucking fire the bastard! He was hired for his name, if he’s unable to sign any top players then we’ll bring in someone who can … What? I don’t care about his compensation! We’ll pay it to get rid of the failure. Oh, and find me a German, or an Italian, or an Englishman, someone with name recognition. I want the best players in the world wearing our jersey. Hold on…” this last is because Groves, grandpa’s head butler has entered from the direction of the north wing. “Look, I’ll have to call you back. No, on second thoughts, you already know what you’re doing so just fucking do it. Goodbye.”

  Groves waits for Tanner to end the call. “Gentlemen, your grandfather is ready to attend you. If you’d like to follow me.”

  They’re led through several rooms before reaching the grand staircase with its gold-trimmed banisters, Afghan rugs, busts and family portraits. They then have to come back on themselves to reach the center of the north wing where the family patriarch is located in his antechamber.

  Barber Astor is seated in his wheelchair positioned at the head of the conference table. An attending doctor stands expressionless just off to the side. Behind Barber, the door has been left open, through which is visible an unmade bed.

  The old man looks first at Butcher. “I heard you were late.” His grandson is about to answer but Barber’s surprisingly quick to hold up an aged hand. “Leave it. I’m all but done with words, all of your words. The time has come for deeds. Oh, go on, would you all sit, please. Would you like anything? Coffee, a crescent-shaped French pastry, bottle of Dom Pérignon?” The scorn in his voice is clear, though his expression changes to one of amused intrigue when the brothers each move to opposing sides of the table, the oldest at the head facing his grandpa and furthest from anyone else.

  “Grandpa,” Decker pulls out the seat and lowers himself down into it, “how are you feeling?”

  “Like I have the weight of the world upon my very brittle shoulders, though my main concern is time, gentlemen, and that it’s running out.” That his head angled slightly towards the doctor as he spoke those words was not lost on anyone. “With this being the case, I’m sure you’ll excuse my bluntness. I don’t have time to spare, yet I have much still to do. In fact, one might even say that I still have the most important thing of all to take care of. Can any of you halfwits guess what that might be?”

  It’s Decker who answers. “Your legacy, grandpa.”

  “Oh,” his eyebrows raise almost off his head, “so you aren’t completely stupid. Well, at least one of you perhaps.” Tanner and Butcher exchange a look. Their grandpa thumps the tabletop. “Something you’d like to say?”

  Tanner exhales and turns up his palms. “You know how close I came, grandpa, but the cancer,” the younger grandson swallows as his fist clenches upon the tabletop, “I can’t just throw myself straight back into another … her memory … and…”

  “It’s not Alzheimer’s I have, damn your eyes, I remember exactly what happened but that doesn’t change our situation, does it.” His eyes are astonishingly hard considering the subject matter. “I still need an heir and you three pieces of trash have been unable to produce but a single son between you, or daughter, for that matter.” He clasps his hands and gazes up at the ceiling. “Lord, that at this stage I’d settle even for a girl goes to show just how desperate I’ve become.” His face turns red and the doctor rushes forwards, placing a hand upon his arm. “I’m ok, despite the present company.” The doctor steps away and Barber stares now at Butcher. “And as for you,” he rolls his eyes and that simple movement turns into a coughing seizure that momentarily overtakes him. When finally he recovers, there’s a phlegm-filled handkerchief destined for the furnace.

  “Grandpa?” Butcher’s hand is primed on the arm of his seat, waiting to spring up should he be required.

  “Ah, yes, my middle grandson. You are indeed conspicuous by how tight your tongue is tied this day, though it wouldn’t surprise me one bit to learn there were in fact unknown numbers of bastards owning your stupid grin, scattered from here all the way to Timbuktu.” Butcher’s about to object but thinks better of it. “That’s it, keep quiet,” Barber continues, “there’s literally nothing you could ever think, say or do that could possibly make me think any less of you than I already do.” He turns back to Decker. “Which leaves my oldest grandson, you ditch-digging piece of shit…”

  “Grandpa, please…”

  He holds up a hand. “At least Tanner has a reasonably good excuse and nobody ever expected much from Butch anyway but you…” he shakes his head and rubs at his eyes, “you have it all but you’re by far the biggest disappointment of the lot.” Barber takes a deep inhalation and appears visibly withered, what’s left of his white hair combed back against his scalp. “You were the one with the brains, the stature, the drive, the looks, not to mention a three and five-year advantage over your brothers and yet still, you fail to produce. Tell me now, you abject failure, are you a shirt lifter?”

  Decker remains calm, he knows his gramps is only trying to get a rise, ignite a fire. “You know I’m not.”

  “Aye, but not exactly into skirts either, are you.” He grits his teeth. “Too busy swanning around the world on a yacht paid for by the toil of your ancestors to even consider sowing your worthless seed but I’m telling you all now, it stops right this minute.” The room falls so silent. “Oh, I thought that’d grab your collective attention, which brings us to the crux of the matter…” he waits for one of his grandchildren to follow up. It takes a while but it’s Tanner who enquires.

  “Which is what, grandpa?”

  Barber opens a drawer, delves inside and pulls out several sheets of paper before sliding one each in front of the three men, aged thirty-five, thirty-two and thirty years respectively, keeping one copy for himself.

  Decker’s eyes widen, it takes a short while longer for Tanner to finish reading the pivotal detail from when he falls back in his seat. Butch just snorts and flaps a carefree hand. “As you wish, gramps.”

  Decker stares again, glassy-eyed at the small black font and hisses, “you’ve cut us all out of y
our will?”

  “Yes!” Barber slaps the tabletop. “And your father would be the very last to blame me for it, God rest his soul. He might have been better than most at siring but he was damn well near useless at rearing.” He now delves back inside the drawer and slides three new sheets of paper in front of the men. “And this here is my new and now binding Last Will and Testament but to save you all the trouble, let me give you the gist of it.” He clears his throat and places on his spectacles, even though he’s not actually reading from the paper because he knows it all off by heart. “Two of you scoundrels will spend the rest of your lives as destitute paupers, ‘less of course you make your own way and best of luck with that,” he sniggers. “One of you, however, will inherit the entire Astor fortune.” He allows himself a grin. “And in case you Ivy League ingrates haven’t yet figured it out, the one who wins the lot will be the grandson who’s first to marry and procreate.” He removes his spectacles, tips back in his chair and commences laughing before undergoing another hacking attack and soiling a second handkerchief beyond all redemption. When he finally recovers, he says, “oh, and one last thing…”

  “Grandpa?” All three men say together.

  Barber stares at each man individually. “Should I happen to die before knowing the pleasure of holding a great-grandchild, then the entire family fortune will go to my lawyer.”

  Decker & Haley’s Story