Flawless: (Fearsome Series Book 4)

by S. A. Wolfe

  “His name is Finn,” she says, waiting for me to say something.

  “Why didn’t you tell me I have a baby?” I ask angrily. I’m picturing our baby. Does he look like Harmony with her African American traits, or does he have my features?

  “He’s nine. He’s not a baby anymore,” she says defensively.

  “Right. You moved away ten years ago. You had the baby in Seattle?” I say it more calmly, but my emotions are all over the place. A son? I’m a father? She’s the mother of my kid, and she didn’t want to tell me for a whole decade?

  How the hell can I be a parent?

  “Yes. Finn was born and raised there.” Harmony softens her tone as if she’s trying to placate me, to help me adjust to this startling news.

  “You left me in the dark for ten years? I have a kid and missed out on ten years? Nine years. Whatever. Why didn’t you tell me?” Rage is coursing through my bloodstream. I need to tamp it down before I say something I’ll regret.

  “I’m sorry you’re finding out like this.” Her eyes water a bit. “I struggled with it for several days when I found out I was pregnant. I thought about not having the baby and not telling my dad. I went back and forth. Should I tell you? Should I end the pregnancy? I thought about adoption, too. I thought about all the options, and I couldn’t come to a decision on my own. I didn’t go to you because I didn’t know you that well, and my father was all I had.

  “He was everything to me. He was a strict, difficult man, but he loved me and I needed him. So I told him. He said he would take care of everything, give me and our baby everything we need. He wasn’t happy about the situation, and he gave me an ultimatum. I could have the baby and never worry about money, school, and childcare expenses. If I did what my father wanted, I could finish high school in Seattle and go to college. Or I could tell you, and have you involved in the baby’s life and be cut off financially from my father. I didn’t want to be a homeless, teenage mother.”

  “Your dad … What a—” I pound the table with my fist, and she startles.

  “We were seventeen, Peyton. I was scared. If my mother had still been alive, it would have been different. I tried to reason with my dad when I told him I was pregnant. I insisted you had a right to know, and that the baby deserved a father. But it all happened so fast. My dad had us out of there a couple weeks after I told him. He rented us a house in Seattle and hired people to pack up our Brooklyn home and sell it. He relocated his whole business and sound studios.”

  “Finn,” I say, feeling the name set between my teeth. “Why would your dad do all that just to get away from me?”

  “His fear of losing me. He wasn’t an easy man, and he was broken after my mother died. Other than his business reputation, I was all he had. And he thought by controlling me, he was protecting me.”

  “What happened? What made you come here and tell me?”

  “My father died. My son—our son—keeps asking about you. So, after I settled my dad’s estate three months ago, I accepted a job at Genesis Two Sigma and we moved to Westchester a month ago. We have a nice house there, and Finn is enrolled in a good school. It’s ninety minutes from you on a good day.”

  “I’m sorry about your dad, but what he did was shitty. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. Being a father. A father to a big kid, not a baby.”

  “Do you want to meet Finn?” she says timidly, as though she actually thinks I’ll refuse.

  “Of course. Is he here?” I look out the window, expecting to see a mini-me with a bit of an attitude sitting impatiently in a car.

  “No.” A smile breaks across her face. “He’s at home with the sitter. He knows I’m here. I told him about you, the specifics, when I decided we would move back to the East Coast. He’s very bright, very thoughtful. The main male figure in his life was my father, so his death has been hard on him. And me. But it has also given me the freedom to do what I should have done years ago. I always wanted to tell you.”

  “A whole decade, Harmony.” I mutter a curse. “How could you wait that long? Jesus.”

  “I … It’s not easy to explain … but I want you to be a part of Finn’s life now. If you want that, and I hope you do. He needs a dad.”

  “Of course, I want to. Christ, this kid must think I’m the biggest asshole for not being there. How did you explain my absence?”

  “When he was little, I would tell him that his father was far away. I didn’t want to lie and tell him his dad was dead. I stretched the truth so he wouldn’t be hurt and wouldn’t lose hope of seeing his father someday. It was easier to keep the story murky when he was little—your dad loves you but he can’t be here. He stopped accepting that excuse when he turned eight, but his grandfather wouldn’t discuss it. I finally told Finn the truth, the whole story, after my dad died.

  “Finn doesn’t think you’re a bad guy. He thinks you were cheated. And you were cheated, by me, by my dad. It was terrible, but I can’t change how we handled it. All I can say is I’m sorry, and the beautiful reward is we have a great son. It’s one thing my dad did really well. He was kind to Finn, and he was involved, and he gave me the best education so I can take care of Finn.”

  “At least your dad did something right.” It’s followed by a long, awkward pause. “So you work at Genesis Two Sigma. Impressive. It’s a big pharma company, right?”

  “Yes.” The salt shaker she’s fiddling with again shoots out of her hands and drops to the floor with a loud crack. I pick it up and place it back on the table.

  “I’m nervous, too,” I admit. “Being a parent isn’t something I’ve thought about. Ever. I’m not sure if I’ll live up to Finn’s expectations.”

  “He’s easier to please than you think.”

  “You mean the bar has been set real low?”

  “No, not at all. He’s read about you online; some of those interviews you’ve had. He’s excited to meet you.”

  I nod along, but I’m nervous as hell. What if my own kid doesn’t like me? What if I’m a lousy dad? Being a drop-in uncle is easy, but I have no idea how to rearrange my life and be a parent.

  “So, you know all about me then. What about you? Tell me more about you. How did you go from ballet dancer to working in the pharmaceutical industry?” It’s a stupid question, but I don’t know anything about the grown-up version of Harmony.

  “My father taught me to be practical. Fortunately, I discovered I love science. I’m a chemist. I completed my PhD and decided I wanted to go right into the private sector instead of academia. I work in research and development. I wanted to work at Genesis because they have a whole department devoted to developing new drugs for cancer treatment, and I want to be a part of that.”

  “That makes sense. We both lost our mothers to cancer.”

  “Yes. I was sorry to hear about your mother, Peyton.”

  “Sounds like a great job, Dr. Davis.” I want to say something kind to offset my anger.

  “It is, but I’m not doing it for the money. I actually discovered what I’m meant to do in this life. Other than being Finn’s mother. The research is important to me. Genesis does pay well, but I already have a significant inheritance—my father’s estate was fairly large. Finn and I are set.”

  “Good.” I nod again. Inadequate is the word that comes to mind to describe my status compared to Harmony’s. I’m doing well financially, but Harmony’s father’s net worth was in the ballpark of tens of millions. His name and production company are on the labels of some of the best music produced over the last few decades. The man won awards. The only way I can compete with that in the eyes of a nine-year-old boy is if he finds out I’m secretly an astronaut who does special missions. Or I’m suddenly recruited by the New York Rangers and we win the Stanley Cup. Or the Jets, and I bring home a Super Bowl ring. Since none of those scenarios are going to happen, I’ll have to make running restaurants and bussing tables in a pinch seem more exciting.

  “He’s very eager to meet you,” she stresses.


  “Can I drive over to your place now, or do you want to bring him here?”

  “I’d like to bring him here tomorrow. That will give you time to absorb all of this. Think about it tonight, and we’ll come by at ten in the morning. Does that work?”

  “Sure. We’ll have breakfast and …” My mind drifts to a fuzzy image of this boy. I’m excited, actually happy at the prospect of having a son, and I’m absolutely terrified I’ll disappoint him.

  “It will be fine.” She reaches across the table and places her hand on mine.

  “Sure.” It comes across exactly as I feel, a mixture of fear, anger, and excitement. It’s this sense of vulnerability I’m unaccustomed to.

  “You haven’t said what I expected,” she adds, removing her hand from mine. “I thought you’d ask me to prove you’re the father. I thought you’d be defensive. We can do the paternity test—whatever you need.”

  “Harmony, I remember what happened. One condom, two negligent teenagers who think they know it all, confident that the condom broke after the deed and not during. We were the poster children for what goes wrong when know-it-all teenagers have sex.”

  Harmony studies me for a moment, and I think she’s going to comment on our one-night fling. Instead, she observes me with a sympathetic smile. “I have a lot of photos of Finn on my phone. I can show you. He resembles you in many ways.”

  “No, I want to see him for the first time in person.”

  She smiles. “All right.”

  “You seem happy, Harmony. I’m looking forward to meeting Finn. I mean that. And thank you for coming here today.”

  We walk to her car, and before she leaves, I hug her. The embrace is much different from the one ten years ago. This one is filled with the acceptance of knowing we are now tied to one another forever. I trust Harmony. I have no doubt I am the father of her son.

  When I return to the bar, Greer and Bash are waiting for the details. I keep the information to myself, not ready to tell my family. Hell, everyone will know tomorrow when my half-grown kid walks through the door.

  An urgent phone call gives me the excuse to escape to the back office alone.

  “Peyton, it’s Aleska.”

  I take her off speakerphone and pick up the receiver. “What’s up? Is Talia okay?”

  She laughs. She’s laughing at me, of course. “Talia is fine. She’s at Adam’s house. I just got a call from her other server, Bo. He’s not going to make it to Adam’s. He has to pull a double shift at his day job in Woodstock. I was trying to reach Talia, but she’s not answering her phone.”

  “Is anyone else helping her?”

  “She has Marguerite there to bartend. Talia can handle the serving herself, but she was expecting Bo to carry the crate of plates from the van to the house. She can’t ask the client to carry them in, and Talia can’t lift something that heavy. Not yet. You know what I’m talking about, right?”

  “Yes, I do.” Post-surgical pain.

  Aleska knows we slept together. She knows I’ve seen Talia’s scar.

  “Good. The thing is, I’m at The Rack with the girls, and I’m on my second beer—I’m not driving.”

  “I’ll help her. I’ll leave now.”

  “Thank you. Talia owes you!” Aleska bellows before disconnecting.

  I’m relieved to have a reason to escape the curious stares and my probing sister. My family will find out like everyone else, tomorrow, when my loudmouthed sister-in-law is sure to broadcast the news to the whole town. I’ll probably have my own social media blast thanks to Imogene. #PeytonIsADaddy would be my first guess.

  It will be fine, I remind myself as I dash out the door. I have the need for my own confessional, and the only person I want to confess to is playing house with another man.

  Talia

  ADAM’S HOME WAS made for entertaining. I have food in the oven and chilled shot glasses with ceviche on serving platters, ready to go. Marguerite is setting up a complete bar and putting the finishing touches on the dining table centerpiece and various floral displays.

  We look around the open space of the first floor and admire our handiwork as Adam comes down the stairs in jeans and a fitted shirt, his hair damp from his shower.

  “Looks great down here,” he says. “Let’s have a drink before everyone arrives. How about it?”

  “Marguerite will make you anything you want.” I gesture toward the bar. “She and I will not drink, though.”

  “That’s no fun.” He reaches for a shot glass and tosses the ceviche back in one bite, as intended.

  “That’s one of my signature appetizers.”

  “It’s excellent.” He grins. “Let’s drink.”

  I roll my eyes at him and signal Marguerite with a finger gun.

  “Wine, or do you want one of my special drinks?” she asks.

  “Surprise me,” he says, then turns back to me. “Come on, Piano Girl. It’s your turn”

  “What?” I ask warily as he opens up the grand piano and pulls out the bench.

  “Over here. Play some tunes. I’ve heard your covers of Bill Evans and Wynton Kelly. You’re good. Start playing.”

  Marguerite hands him a glass with a pinkish drink and a lime. He takes a whiff.

  “It has vodka. I like it already.” He takes a good swig, then nods at the piano. “Now.”

  “Fine, but as soon as guests arrive, I’m not performing.”

  “Yeah, yeah, let’s go, Mozart.”

  I plant myself on the bench, and he slides in right next to me. He smells great, a blend of musky soap and aftershave, and his arm is flush with mine. I’m not uncomfortable with his attention. I think he behaves this way with most women. It’s a sweet flirtation. Charming men, including my father, all have this skill with women of any age, and it’s innocent enough. Besides, I have Marguerite as a witness and chaperone.

  For the next ten minutes, I slip into musician mode, performing the way my father taught me, enjoying the bluesy jazz as my fingers remember the chords by rote. This is a real treat, a luxury for me, to play such a fine piano, to play at all. Aleska may have picked up the English language faster and better than me, but I’m a natural on the piano.

  I’m in the middle of “Come Rain or Come Shine” when Adam’s front door swings open and Peyton barrels through with my crate of dishes. I keep playing even though my eyes are on Peyton and his are locked on mine.

  “MacKenzie!” Adam raises his glass. “You’re coming to the party. Good. Nice surprise.” Marguerite’s drinks must be strong tonight, because Adam seems especially jovial.

  Peyton doesn’t bother to place the heavy crate down. He walks over with it, his eyes roaming over the piano and my arms and legs sitting pretty cozily with Adam’s. He takes one long, hard look at Adam, then settles on me.

  “Since when do you play the piano?” he demands. “Why don’t I know this?”

  “I’m done.” I stand up and scoot away from the bench. “We’re just goofing off until the guests come. What are you doing here?”

  “Filling in for Biff. He can’t make it.”

  “You mean Bo. Well, thanks for bringing in the dishware. You can put it on the kitchen counter.”

  “Want a drink?” Adam asks Peyton, pointing toward Marguerite’s well-equipped bar.

  “Um, no. I’m here to do whatever Ben … Biff … Bo was going to do. I thought you needed a server.”

  “We have it under control. You don’t have to stay.” I touch his elbow and guide him and the large crate into the kitchen. Thankfully, Adam doesn’t follow us.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Peyton asks. He drops the crate on the counter with a large thud, making every plate clink.

  “He asked me to play the piano, so I played a few tunes,” I whisper-shout. “Don’t make a scene here. Thank you for bringing in the dishes, but you can leave now. Go back to Swill. I’ll meet you later.”

  “No. I’m working here tonight,” he replies, lowering his voice. “I sent Greer a text. She’s running
the bar, and I’m working for you. What do you want me to do? Hold your sheet music while you entertain the rich playboy?”

  “Ha! I don’t need sheet music. I play by memories.”

  “You mean by ear.”

  “That, too!”

  “No need to raise your voice. Give me my assignment and I’ll stay out of your hair.”

  “My hair? What the hell would you do to my hair?”

  “Your way.” Peyton smirks, beginning to unload the dishes.

  “I’ll plate the appetizers, and you take the platter and walk around the room. People will help themselves. You don’t have to talk or be showy. We’re not here to entertain them. Just serve.”

  “Look who’s talking, Rachmaninoff.”

  “Actually, I’m least skilled in his compositions—why are we talking about this? We don’t have time for an argument. Here, you can start with the ceviche.” I hold the tray of shot glasses filled with fresh scallops and shrimp up to Peyton.

  “Shot glasses. Interesting.” He takes the platter.

  “It’s going to have to be my amuse-bouche.”

  “For Adam, the amuse-douche.”

  “I can fire you.”

  “I’m a volunteer.”

  “If I have to, I’ll call Dylan to replace you.”

  “Ah, I see guests are arriving. I must go amuse them.” He holds the tray high and stalks off toward the living room, walking more like a man who owns the place than waitstaff.

  When I return to the living room with a tray of spicy endive, the house is full. Every guest must have arrived.

  Adam is in his element, surrounded by wealthy people, while Peyton is working the room like a superstar.

  “Talia,” Adam says as I weave through the crowd. “When you get a moment, I want to introduce you to some friends.”

  I nod, judging the pretty redhead next to him. I doubt she’s a natural redhead. She has a glowing tan as if she just came back from a tropical vacation. I’m guessing she’s a successful Wall Streeter like Adam, with a penchant for an expensive lifestyle. She’s holding Adam’s arm like a woman determined to keep a man to herself.