Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Billionaire Heir (The Van Dyke Sisters 2): Kabanata 51 - Kabanata 60

A day later . . .Whitney Bartholomew and her fiancé had come to the states to spend New Year’s in New York. The wedding was scheduled for late April in London. She couldn’t wait until she married him. Once again, she would be at the top of society. Being a countess opened the door to invitations to top of the line parties in the U.K. There was even a chance she could get invited to Buckingham Palace for a state dinner.When she had been married to her former husband, Lester Bartholomew, she had been invited to the most prominent homes and parties of New York Society. After the divorce, she was considered a second rate socialite. If someone had room at a party, then she would get invited. She wasn’t a must have at a party anymore. Then things got worse when her affair with Derek Dawson got exposed in the society section of The New York Times. Granted, the article wasn’t as bad as getting caught red handed by her daughter. She was dating Derek at the time. To this day, Ava

Almost two hours later . . . After Derek made some phone calls and grabbed a quick snack at a cafe, he headed to his father’s secret love nest. He still couldn’t believe he was doing this but someone had to do the dirty work, he guessed. Derek stuck the key into the hole and opened the door. On estimation, the entire place looked to be about a thousand square feet at least. Not too big or small. The majority of the living room scape was gray. The sofa, love seat, and two chairs were steel colored. The coffee table and end tables were black with thick legs. The lamps were large with a thick vase like base with light gray shades. The walls were painted an abalone shade. The carpet was a gray smoke color. There were black and white paintings on the walls. Derek didn’t recognize the artists names. He assumed his father had hired an interior designer to decorate the place. He couldn’t imagine him trusting a mistress to do it. A woman could ge

Five days later . . . St. Luke’s Lutheran Church was packed full of mourners, businessmen, and friends for Walter Lee Dawson’s final journey. The casket was top of the line. Deidre had insisted on it. Nothing but the best for Daddy, she had said. It had gold hardware and a black sleek finish. The interior was white silk. The ceremony in the church was short and sweet. The small choir sang two hymns, and the clergy led the litany. Scriptures from the old and new testament were read by Carlton Van Dyke and Franklin Barbra. At the end, the clergy did the eulogy. The funeral procession was filled with so many Rolls Royces, black limousines, Mercedes, BMWs, and Escalades you thought the president had died. The NYPD had to direct traffic and escort the motorcade to Green-Wood Cemetery. Once there, it took a while for everyone to get assembled. January 9th was a cool yet not so cold day to bury a loved one. There was no breeze, whic

Derek was still trying to make his way back to Q. He kept getting stopped by people who wanted to give their condolences. Some chatted him up a bit about when he will officially be taking over Dawson Inc. They had deals in the works and wanted to see if he wanted to get involved. It was becoming a little too much. Can’t these people let him grieve in peace?Once he was able to take a breather, someone else came along. Deidre. Derek was slightly alarmed because she looked rather pale. “What is it?”“It’s him,” Deidre hissed as she encircled her arm around his.“Who?”She stood on her toes to whisper in his ear. “The man I told you about a few months ago. The one who I thought had an affair with Mother.”Derek’s body jerked. “Ugh, god. Why is he here?” Then he realized how dumb his question was. His father wasn’t cold in the grave yet and the vultures were already circling around a wealthy, still good looking for her age widow. “Never mind. I just answered my own question.”Deidre put

The next morning . . . Deidre Dawson slipped her feet into Rene Caovilla designer shoes. She was wearing the same clothes she had worn yesterday to her father’s funeral. Then again, most women had to put on what they had worn the night before when they stay out all night at a man’s condo. She stood and turned around to look at the man who she had spent the night with. Quinton Johnson, aka, Q, was resting his back against two red satin pillows. His lower half was covered by a black comforter. Deidre had ended up at his place yesterday as the sun was setting. It was a miracle she had remembered where he lived. The one time she had been at his home was four years ago when he had thrown himself a birthday party. He had invited her because she was his best friend’s sister, nothing more. Now. . . “I still can’t believe I did this,” Q muttered. “Believe it, big boy.” And I do mean big. Q was the b