Boy in the Lake: boy and billionaire book 2 Read online

  Boy in the Lake

  Boy and billionaire book 2

  Rachel Kane

  Copyright © 2020 by Rachel Kane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Daniel

  2. Aidan

  3. Daniel

  4. Aidan

  5. Daniel

  6. Aidan

  7. Daniel

  8. Aidan

  9. Daniel

  10. Aidan

  11. Daniel

  12. Aidan

  13. Daniel

  14. Aidan

  15. Daniel

  16. Aidan

  17. Daniel

  18. Aidan

  19. Daniel

  20. Aidan

  21. Daniel

  22. Aidan

  23. Daniel

  24. Aidan

  25. Daniel

  26. Aidan

  27. Daniel

  28. Aidan

  29. Daniel

  30. Aidan

  31. Daniel

  32. Aidan

  33. Daniel

  34. Aidan

  35. Daniel

  36. Aidan

  37. Daniel

  38. Aidan

  39. Daniel

  40. Aidan

  41. Daniel

  42. Aidan

  43. Daniel

  44. Daniel and Aidan

  Boy in the Club…a teaser!

  Afterword

  Also by Rachel Kane

  1

  Daniel

  Let’s be famous. Ready? Ready?

  They’re all looking up at the stage giddily, drunk on anticipation, chattering and laughter and excitement filling the air with a headiness that makes it nearly unbreathable. My name is up on the screen, twinkling lights surrounding it like an old movie marquee: Daniel Power!

  My team argued for days about whether it should have an exclamation mark or not. (I won.)

  My headset mic is on, and they’re giving me the thumb’s up. I look down and check the mic’s box, hidden by my jacket. Its little green light is on. Green for go. The mic is live. Music swells in the conference center, big bombastic cinematic music to make everyone feel like they’re in the climax of a great action film.

  Is he here? Is he watching? Will he like it?

  “You’re on,” whispers Jennifer, and I bound onto the stage.

  “Who’s ready to discover their inner superhero?” I cry, and the room goes fucking nuts. People are on their feet, hands in the air—hands toward the stage—reaching out, trying to clutch the energy I’m giving off. “Is it you? Is it you? Which one of you is going to go home powerful, ready to knock down every obstacle in your life? Who in this room is ready to grab what truly belongs to you? Success! Fame! Power! That’s what I’m talking about! Welcome to day one of the Daniel Power Retreat!”

  If I thought they’d lost it before, I hadn’t seen anything yet. I might as well have announced the second coming. They’re ready to storm the stage, an army of early middle-aged professionals in khaki and tan and beige, a sea of buzzcuts and chin-length bobs, thick glasses and nametags on lanyards. My smile gleams down at them, my eyes full of promise; they take me in, they cheer, and sure enough, within a minute, almost like clockwork, the chanting begins: Daniel! Daniel! Dan-iel! They’re even stomping their feet in time; I can feel it making the stage tremble.

  Is he here? I scan the audience looking for him. I can’t tell. Surely he’s watching, he said he would be.

  “But…but are you really ready?” I say, the smile dropping off my face. The music in the background modulates, quiets, takes on a thoughtful, somber air. Slow strings with a note of uncertainty. “Some of you are going to face challenges over the next week that will have you questioning everything you thought you knew about yourself. Some of you are going to make decisions that will change your lives forever. And I’ll be honest, some of you will leave.”

  A disbelieving hush falls over the room. No one wants to think that they might be the ones to hurry their bags out to the Subaru, driving home thinking of all the things they should have said to me before ditching the classes. No, everyone here is desperate for a chance. They feel the lack inside themselves. They want to be filled up.

  “You won’t all make it. Look around you. Look to your left. To your right. At least one person you just looked at will decide they can’t handle their own power. It’ll scare them, and being frightened, they will hide from their true nature.”

  The music begins to swell again.

  “But you,” I say, and every man and woman in the room thinks I’m talking directly and personally to them and only them, “you are here to stay. You are here to discover your worth, discover your abilities and your strengths, and learn how to unleash those on the world. Your jobs are going to go to the next level. Your relationships are going to become the deepest, most soul-enriching experiences you’ve ever had. Hell, ice cream is going to taste better than it ever has.”

  A chuckle from the audience, a perfect little break in the seriousness. Which one of you is Jerry? The stage lights make it impossible to tell for sure.

  “Over the next week, we are going to strip down your defenses. We are going to learn your secret weaknesses and fears, the ones you won’t tell anyone else. We’re going straight to your core, to find out your origin story—the hidden truth that is going to let you grow into the hero or heroine you know you are. And then we’re going to give you the tools. So many tools. You’re going to learn to use them all, in here with me and my personally-selected trainers, in classes with your peers, in one-on-one sessions. And by the time this retreat is over: You will be renewed. I’m not just talking about a temporary change. I’m not just saying you’ll go home feeling pumped and motivated. That’s nothing. That’s adrenaline, and we’re going to learn all about adrenaline in these sessions. No. What you’re going to take home is real and lasting, a fundamental change in the fiber of your being, one that everyone around you is going to see, going to admire, going to respect. Because when you take hold of your deep personal heroism, when you take responsibility for saving the world and saving yourself, the whole universe will be watching. Buckle in folks, it is going to be a wild week!”

  Without warning, the chorus from Fight Song thunders out of the speakers, and they’re all on their feet again, cheering, wild with love, so ready for everything I have to offer them. Tears in some of their eyes, rapt worshipful looks on some of their faces, they’re all ready.

  I take a victory lap through them, hands up, high-fives and big grins, keeping my eye out for Jerry, if he’s here. He has to be here. Short words to some of them, it’s your time or maybe this is it, little verbal talismans they will take with them through this entire process, remembering Daniel Power spoke to them.

  So much love in the room, and it’s all for me.

  So why am I so nervous?

  “Did you see him? Did he show up?” Jennifer asks, taking my headset mic. Her hands are practically shaking. She looks past me at the crowd.

  “I didn’t spot him, but you know how it is on that stage. It’s hard to see who’s down there.”

  She utters a little groan that’s half a laugh. “Did he at least text you, or—” Then she shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Please, I’m as nervous as you are. But it’s going to be fine. You guys are doing a fantastic job. Did you hear the music? Perfe
ctly timed.”

  Jennifer blushes. Sometimes I think she doesn’t realize how much she’s the brains of this operation. I’m just the face. There wouldn’t be a Daniel Power Retreat without someone with her smarts and her organization skills.

  “But if he doesn’t show up—”

  “He will,” I tell her. “I promise. Do you need to run through the process?”

  She laughs a little more. “Step one, observe the emotion: I’m scared as hell, Daniel. This is it, isn’t it? This is our ticket to the big time.”

  I reach over and take back my microphone, and her clipboard, and her tablet, and set them all down. Then I take her hands. “Jennifer. He’ll show. Meanwhile, forget about him. We’ve got a hundred people out there, people with problems who need help. Let’s focus on them, not on one person who might not even be here.”

  Her face does a wry little grin. “You’re right. As usual.”

  “Oh please. I’m just quoting back what you told me the other day.”

  “But listen. Your friends are back there somewhere.”

  I’m amused by the emphasis she puts on friends. I can practically hear the air-quotes. “The guys? They’re here?”

  “Don’t get lost,” she says, picking her tablet back up so I can see it. Sure enough, every one of my plans for the afternoon is listed, bullet-pointed, detailed. “You’ve got a solid fifteen, but not a minute longer.”

  “See you in fifteen, then.”

  As I turn to leave, her hand touches my elbow. “Daniel?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for all this.”

  “How so?”

  She shakes her head. “This isn’t just your big break. It’s a big one for all of us. But it wouldn’t happen if it weren’t for you. So thanks.”

  “We’re a team,” I tell her. “Remember that.”

  I find Colby and Hawk in the conference center’s empty dining room. They’re looking at the centerpieces, and so I’m able to sneak up, pouncing and throwing my arms around them. Hawk does a little jump and makes a squeaky noise, but nothing ever phases Colby.

  “My boys! I can’t believe you both made it down here,” I tell them. I’m trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice, but these two know me better than anyone else in the world. They know.

  “So, your big moment,” Hawk says. “It’s pretty exciting, Daniel. You’re going to get your own TV special?”

  Leave it to Hawk to cut through all the nonsense and get straight to the reason I’m scared. I might put on a brave face for Jennifer, but I was shaking in my boots. “If the producer shows up. If he likes what he sees. If, if, if…”

  Colby, on the other hand, glowers angrily. “What, we come all the way down here to support you, and the network guy isn’t even here? What’s his number, I’ll call him right now.”

  “No!” I say, before Colby flashes the grin that lets me know he was joking. I deflate. “Guys. This is it. If this works out, no more conference centers. I’ll be filling stadiums. I’ll be as rich as…well, you two.”

  “Money isn’t everything,” Hawk tells me.

  “Says the man who has never had to work a day in his life. But right. This is bigger than money. This is—”

  I don’t need to repeat it. They’ve been hearing me talk about it for years.

  They know the reason I’m doing this. The reason I’ve worked so hard at becoming a motivational speaker, at becoming internationally known and respected.

  It’s not for the money.

  The money is just a sign you’re doing it right.

  Dad…

  My phone chimes with a reminder. I don’t need to look at it to know what it’s saying. Lozenge time. I pop a xylitol candy from a pack and put it on my tongue. Have to keep the throat well-hydrated for the next part. My voice cracks during some of these sessions—they can get pretty intense—but the lozenges will keep me from really hurting.

  “Listen, are you coming up to the house for dinner?” Colby asks me. “Or do you have to eat with your cult tonight?”

  “They’re not a cult.”

  “I peeked in on them. Buddy, they worship you.”

  “Come on, Daniel, you have to come to dinner,” Hawk insists. “You know what it’s like when people ask me how you’re doing, and I have to say, I hardly ever see him anymore?”

  “And everyone thinks I’m the workaholic,” Colby says. “I agree with Hawkins here. Come eat with us.”

  I’d have to shift plans around. Dinner was an abstract concept. I had to rehearse tomorrow’s speeches, had to review edits on the new book, and more importantly, if Jerry Vance actually showed up and wanted to talk, I’d have to drop everything.

  I was busy.

  Life was changing so fast around me.

  You get to a certain age and realize you haven’t caught up.

  Fifty was on the horizon. Okay, it was four years away. But still. In my mind, that was the line. At fifty, I would settle down. I’d find someone nice, someone organized, maybe a little boring, and I’d pick which of my houses I wanted to live in full-time, and I’d ease into the long downward slope of the back-end of my life.

  For now? No. For now I would work as hard as I possibly could.

  “We’re not leaving until you agree,” says Hawk.

  Colby looks over my shoulder, back to the conference room, where we can still hear excited voices. “Or did you have plans to bed down with one of those guys you made cry a few minutes ago?”

  I have to stifle the sound of horror I make. “Don’t even joke. The last thing I need is a scandal derailing my career. Besides, the guys who come to these retreats aren’t exactly my type.”

  “Are you sure? Where else are you going to meet men? I know the clubs aren’t working out for you anymore. Because you’re old.”

  Colby is only a decade younger than me.

  Only. When did that become the kind of sentence I could say with ease?

  “Fine. Dinner. As long as you don’t mention the word old to me. Or the word clubs for that matter.”

  Here’s what I don’t tell Colby: I didn’t need a retreat to find a guy, because I used to have a couple of wingmen who I could trust when we went to clubs. With you and Hawk by my side, I never had trouble rustling up some cute twinks.

  But there was something so unsatisfying about that lifestyle, and these days I find myself wanting more.

  Honestly, how do you say that to somebody?

  Worse, how do you say maybe you’re right, and I’m getting too old for that lifestyle? The days when I could snap my fingers and cute guys would suddenly appear, those days were disappearing fast.

  I grab them both. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Promise?”

  “Absolutely. You know me. I always keep my promises.”

  My phone says seven minutes till show-time. I need some air. A brief meditation break would hit the spot. Well, a bourbon would really hit the spot, but I’m on duty. So I push open the glass doors and walk outside.

  There’s a long patio dotted with tables with umbrellas, and it leads to a lake. The lake was dug specifically for the conference center, and I had to admit, they did a good job. It all looks very natural. Serene. It’s the tail-end of summer, and there’s a lazy heat in the air, everything still and quiet except the thrumming of dragonfly wings at the edge of the water.

  I don’t want to be seen. If one of our guests finds out I’m out here, they’ll come to ask my advice, get a little free motivational speech outside the confines of the classes, and if one finds me, they’ll all find me, and I just need a minute to center myself before facing the crowds again. These presentations take a lot of energy. A lot of concentration.

  Especially if Mr. Vance is somewhere out there in the audience, taking notes.

  There’s this path next to the water, and I follow it, my shoes softly crunching against the brick of the walkway. My mind begins to empty out, as I let go of my thoughts, my intentions.

  At least, that’
s what I tell my mind to do.

  There’s a lot of clutter up there.

  Sometimes you’re so on-edge you don’t even realize it. I find a secluded place to sit by the water, concealed behind some of the landscaping. Cross my legs and breathe.

  My shoulders are tense. My neck is tight.

  You are here. You are here. You are here.

  Simplest possible mantra.

  I can talk all I want about power. But in real life, power is hard to come by. It’s always in someone else’s hands. Not even someone else, like a person. Think of the power of time, the clock slowly ticking down the seconds of your life. Think of the age of the universe, 14 billion years and counting; here before you, here for long, long after you, and you’re not even a blip, you’re not a moment, you’re as anonymous and forgettable as an atom.

  My, yes, this is certainly relaxing. If I get much more relaxed, I’ll give myself a migraine.

  I take a deep breath. I close my eyes again and try to choose an affirmative image, something that will remind me of my center, of my goals, of my positivity.

  But all I can see is the crowd from earlier. Specifically, the men. Sucking in their guts, their polo shirts neatly tucked in. Stylish bifocals to handle the presbyopia. A hundred recyclable coffee cups because it’s how you show you care about the environment without really doing anything about it.