“You must be Miss Skye. We’re happy to have you.” He leaned down in a confidential manner. “Even Mrs. Westerly. She loves children.”
“She does?” Hailey asked, a sense of relief washing over her. Her only impression of her employer had been from their brief phone interview, during which the older woman had sounded stern.
Michael straightened and smiled. “Just don’t tell her I said so.” He paid the driver before Hailey had a chance, then collected the luggage from him. “The boxes you sent are in the guesthouse. I’ll walk you over. Take time to settle in. Mrs. Westerly is expecting to meet with you before dinner, which will be at six. She’d like to speak with you first, though.”
“Today?” Hailey had hoped she’d have a day to adjust. She could hardly say no to meeting with her employer, but she hadn’t lined up anyone to stay with Skye. Mrs. Tillsbury had always been okay with staying extra hours if Hailey made arrangements and paid her for her time. She closed her eyes briefly. This is not how I was hoping day one would go.
Skye stepped closer to Hailey. Separation in the new place would not be easy. It broke Hailey’s heart not to be able to give her more time, but they both needed this job to work out.
Hailey turned and bent until she was eye to eye with her niece. “We can do this.”
Skye nodded but held her silence.
Panic nipped at Hailey, but she pushed it back. Our lives were getting smaller and smaller where we were. We didn’t have a choice.
Michael cleared his throat and started walking. “Miss Jeanie is our cook, and she makes chocolate chip cookies from scratch. I’ll tell her I’m craving some, and if I see Miss Skye in the house later, perhaps she could join us for some. You have to eat them fast or Miss Jeanie will scarf them up herself.” He turned and winked. “We should keep that last part between us, also.”
Hailey smiled and nodded toward Michael. “Homemade cookies? What’s better than that? I say yes, but on one condition.”
Skye frowned in question.
Hailey caressed her niece’s cheek. “You have to promise to save me one.”
Skye nodded and some of the tension seemed to leave her.
Hailey straightened and started to walk forward, relieved when Skye fell into step beside her. Under any other circumstances, Hailey would have taken time to appreciate the elegance of the guesthouse and the impressive view of the ocean behind it. All of her attention, though, was on the little girl beside her.
They stepped beyond an ornate wooden door and into a beautifully decorated hallway that was flanked on one side by two sitting areas. One had a fireplace and bookshelves. The other was more open with large windows that brought the outside in. They followed Michael farther inside to the first bedroom, where he deposited Hailey’s luggage. It was a feminine master suite with long drapes and thick carpeting. Michael gave them a brief tour of the adjoining bath area, then led them to a room across the hall.
“We didn’t know what you would like, but we did our best to prepare the room for you,” Michael said.
The room was decorated in purple and light green, Skye’s two favorite colors. If someone had sat with Hailey and given her a limitless budget to design the perfect room, this would have been it. It was youthful but with just enough sophistication. A castle bed dominated half the room. In general, Skye had outgrown her fascination with princesses, but this bed was delicately crafted. A staircase led to a bed above. The section beneath had a built-in desk along with several bookshelves and a tuffet reading chair. Skye let go of Hailey’s hand and walked toward the bed. She ran her hands over the books, her books, that filled the shelves. Her attention turned to a package on the desk. She touched it, then looked to Hailey.
Michael said, “I believe it has your name on it.”
“Open it,” Hailey urged.
Skye slowly, carefully unwrapped it and held up a chapter book, Billy and the Lion.
Michael said, “Mrs. Westerly said her grandchildren used to love that book, and she hopes you will as well.”
There was a time when Hailey would have asked Skye to thank Michael, but she held back the words. Skye was looking like she might be able to accept this move and that was enough for now. Hailey asked, “Do you like it, Skye?”
Skye held the book up, then tucked it against herself and nodded.
Michael smiled in a way that warmed the room. “Well then, I’ll tell Mrs. Westerly you said so and she’ll be pleased.” After a pause, he said, “If there’s nothing else you require, I’ll return to the main house.”
Hailey walked with him to the front door, encouraged by the fact that Skye stayed behind to explore her new room. She held out a hand toward Michael. “Thank you. For everything.” Part of her wanted to explain Skye’s silence to him, but it was neither the time nor the place to do so, and he didn’t seem to need it.
He nodded politely, stepped outside, and reminded her that she was expected at the main house before dinner. Hailey said she would be there and closed the door. She almost allowed herself to slump against it in relief but then caught Skye watching her, so she squared her shoulders and forced a smile to her lips.
It had been a year filled with loss, but the worst of it was over. As she walked toward Skye, she reminded herself she was a survivor. Skye is, too.
I know all about loss, honey, but I also know you can’t let it beat you. Although Hailey had been older, she knew how devastating the death of a parent was. Her mother had walked out on her family when she and Ryan were very young, leaving her father to raise his children alone. She’d survived that loss because her father and brother told her she would. They’d watched over her, and she remembered her childhood as a happy one.
Her father had worked long hours to make sure she and Ryan could go to college. Worked too much. He had put off seeing a doctor about chest pains because he hadn’t wanted to take a day off.
One day, Hailey was looking forward to her sophomore year in college, with a perfect boyfriend and amazing friends; the next, she was a shell of herself who returned to school and simply went through the motions.
Oh yes, Hailey understood how one needed to withdraw from everyone they knew. It wasn’t that people hadn’t cared. Her friends relentlessly tried to drag her out, but drinking, even a little, brought too many emotions to the surface, and Hailey ended up crying and embarrassing herself rather than having a good time.
And Spencer? The very side of him that she’d loved in the beginning, his obsession with his garage lab, had been more important to him than her. His all-consuming drive to start his own tech company took priority over anything she felt. He’d said he was determined to be somebody important.
He didn’t understand he already was.
To me.
I didn’t care if he ever made it big. I loved the way he looked at me, how we laughed together, the way his touch lit a fire in me. After Dad died, though, I needed him to notice that I was falling apart. Hold me. Tell me everything would be okay.
She’d tried to explain it to him once, using an analogy of pie and cake. A person could have pie every week and never tire of it. It was always good. Always reliable. She’d desperately needed Spencer to acknowledge that the under-celebrated comfort pastry was more important than a flashy, ten-tiered cake. He had defended his love of cake with the stubbornness of a man with no clue that such an argument could end a relationship.
Just as it had.
After that fight and weighed down with grief, she’d called her brother and said she wanted to go home—home being with the last of her family. She’d retreated from her schooling, her friends, and Spencer . . . needing more than anything the feeling of safety from having family in the next room. She’d expected Spencer to see how he’d hurt her and come for her. Not for a moment had she thought it would really be over.
He did call. He’d even said he loved her, had been going out of his mind without her. They’d made plans to get together, but he didn’t show. She’d waited for him for hours in a c
offee place near her brother’s apartment. Called. Texted. No answer. Eventually, sad and confused, she’d gone home and gotten drunk for the first time in her life.
When she’d woken the next day to a killer hangover and still no word from Spencer, she let herself cry. It wasn’t a time in her life that she was proud of. Life had knocked her off her feet, and instead of standing, she’d curled up on her brother’s couch and cried until she felt numb and empty.
Her brother had come to her, trying to console her, and said, “Life sucks sometimes, Hailey. I don’t know why. It’s not fair. It’s not pretty, but you don’t ever let it beat you. Do you hear me? Dad raised us stronger than this. One foot in front of the other. Your life won’t get better if you don’t get off your ass and make it happen.”
“You just want me to start paying rent,” Hailey had joked.
“That, too,” Ryan had said before mussing her hair and telling her to go take a much-needed shower. Funny how some moments stayed vivid in a person’s memory. She credited every success she’d had, from finishing college to getting a job for a large retail chain, to that pep talk from Ryan.
When she’d needed someone, the most support came from family, not her other relationships. Family carried a person through and even gave a person a kick in the ass when needed. They were what mattered. I learned that I am stronger than anything life can throw at me and, God willing, I’ll show Skye that she is, too. Hailey looked into the sweet, sad eyes of Ryan’s daughter and said, “We’re going to be okay.”
Seated on the very top step of the Kukulcán pyramid at Chichén Itzá in Mexico, Spencer Westerly took a moment to appreciate the early-morning calmness of the ancient Mayan site. The view of the Temple of the Warriors against a backdrop of jungle never became less awe-inspiring. There were tweaks still left to be made, but the stone beneath him was warm to the touch and the breeze increased in force the higher one climbed while containing precisely enough humidity to allow for comfort as well as authenticity.
Spencer stood on the plateau of the pyramid. “Run conference type E. Connect Cohen.” Slots on the wall opened and a table and chair were realistically represented via the combination of hologram and physical planks. A business partner, Jordan Cohen, appeared beside him. The two had been friends since high school, and their shared obsession with coding had blossomed into WorkChat, their virtual reality software design company.
Over the past year, their goal of getting contracts in New York, California, and London had been realized. Beijing and Australia were next. Already expectations were rising as clients began to integrate the simulators into their daily routines. What was considered a breakthrough one day could be considered mediocre and subpar a month later. In the world of big investors, perfection was not only expected but vital for a tech company’s survival. Others were attempting what WorkChat was already bringing to the market. It was only a matter of time before the playing field would be crowded with competition. Building a reputation for excellence as well as solid infrastructure was imperative. Spencer often reminded his lead team that almost anyone could make a computer, but most consumers purchased only a handful of brand names. Reputation and infrastructure. Companies bought technology that was reliable, connected, and cutting-edge. They invested in programs that increased productivity, especially in a global community where traveling was becoming an inefficient use of time and resources, increasingly dangerous, and costly.
With WorkChat, the physical location of employees didn’t matter. As long as simulators were available at each site, teams from around the world could conduct conference meetings anywhere—even from the top of a Mayan pyramid. WorkChat, though, wasn’t simply about making it appear as if people were in the same location; it was about fooling their senses into believing they actually were. Easier to achieve until one had to cycle back in the practical aspects of conducting business, but they were doing it. If he seemed hard on Jordan, it was only because everything they’d worked for was suddenly within reach. “It shouldn’t be this windy in the conference area, and the temperature needs to lower gradually. No one should feel as though they stepped in front of an air conditioner. Make it seamless.”
“I always do.”
Spencer paced beside the conference table. “We do this one right, and Bylon in Australia is next to sign on.”
Jordan leaned his chair back and stretched. “We’re good. Relax.”
Slapping his hand down on the table, Spencer said, “Good is not good enough. It never has been.”
Rather than looking intimidated, Jordan propped his feet up on the edge of the conference table. “Here we go. What has you all wound up today?”
There were days Spencer regretted working with someone who had known him long enough to have no fear of him. He rubbed a hand over his throbbing forehead. Hangovers had become the norm, but they still sucked. “Nothing.”
“You look like shit, so I’m guessing you went out again. I ran into Jade at the bistro. She was looking for you. I told you not to go out with her a second time. She thought you were dating.”
“I told her I don’t do relationships.”
“How can you be such an ass to women and get laid as often as you do?”
“Can we talk about something that matters? Like our looming deadline? I need to know I can step away and not have this project go to shit. You have two weeks to polish Chichén Itzá if we plan to upgrade the systems this summer. It’s time to get serious.”
“Serious? I all but live here already.” Jordan dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward on the conference table. “So do you. Lighten up. You sound like your father.” Jordan never missed a chance to call him on his shit, another benefit of knowing him for so long.
But on this one he was wrong.
Dereck Westerly is not my father. Spencer’s hands fisted, but he kept his gut reaction to himself. Jordan didn’t know the truth. No one outside of Spencer’s immediate family did, and that was how Spencer wanted to keep it. Anger about unchangeable past events distracted him from the one thing that did matter—WorkChat. Logic couldn’t be applied to the drama that lately came hand in hand with spending any amount of time with his family. Debugging, tuning, and designing required a clear head.
Avoiding his family didn’t fix anything, but he was in survival mode. He couldn’t handle hearing his mother apologize again for not telling him that his biological father had been her second husband, Mark, and not her first as she’d led everyone to believe. Affairs happen. People get lonely. Her justifications were limitless. What neither her apologies nor her explanations did, though, was give him a chance to have one final son-to-father conversation before his real father died.
He didn’t have the stomach for another round with Rachelle, his older sister, as she explained again that good people could make horrible mistakes without it making them bad people.
The definition of a good person is someone who doesn’t selfishly fuck up other people’s lives; a good person doesn’t confess to lies only when they’re caught.
The one he felt sorry for was his younger sister, Nicolette, because she was still wrestling with uncertainty when it came to having her own paternity confirmed. Not knowing was torturing her, but she feared the truth would be something she wasn’t ready for. Feeling sorry for her, though, didn’t mean he knew what to say to her or that he wanted to talk about it again.
His brother Eric chose to hide in Europe rather than get involved. That much hadn’t changed.
In stark contrast, Brett, his eldest brother, once distant and work absorbed, was as annoyingly persistent to have a relationship with him. I don’t have time to pander to his midlife crisis, either.
That sounded colder than Spencer meant for it to, even in his thoughts. It wasn’t Brett’s fault that their mother had cheated on, then left Dereck Westerly. Nor was it his fault that Spencer had spent most of his life wondering why their father had kept two of his sons with him, raised them in a life of luxury, while essentially ignoring t
he three children who’d been left with their mother.
Being disowned by their father had been confusing. Why didn’t he fight to keep us? Why did we have to work to support ourselves and our dreams while Brett and Eric were handed everything on a platinum platter?
At least I don’t have to wonder anymore.
Too much drama. Only work made sense, and Spencer was determined to make that part of his life a success.
“You really are in a bad mood. Run beach with summer crowd C.”
The table and chairs withdrew into the wall, and the two men were transported to a sandy beach where bikini-clad women were basking in the sun, wading in and out of the water, and playing volleyball. The simulation had started as a joke, but Jordan had obviously been working on it, as it was now impressively realistic. No wonder he’s falling behind. “What the fuck is this?”
Jordan grinned boyishly. “Heaven. That’s what I call it. Take a moment to soak it in.”
Spencer didn’t bother. “End program. Maintain connection.” The beach faded away, and the two men were standing in a neutral screen room. “We are not courting the porn industry. Focus, Jordan.”
Jordan shrugged. “What’s wrong with having a little fun? There was a time when you would have laughed. Okay, okay. I know how to cheer you up. I’ve been working on something that will blow your mind.” He waved a hand. “Run photo album two.” The room transformed again, and they were transported into a virtual representation of their old college campus. “Your mother kindly sent me your old flash drives full of photos and copies of her pictures. I used our basic facial recognition feature, added a dash of artificial intelligence, and voilà—a person literally can go home. Tell the program who you want to see and the backdrop you want them to appear in. It requires clients to upload their own location videos and photos, but if we pair this with devices to make it simple, we’ll dominate the entertainment industry as well as the business sector. The awesome part is you can opt to put yourself in or take yourself out. Numerous photos of the same person allow the computer to generate a 3-D representation. Movies allow them to move through the space. This is a game changer, Spence. What do you think?”
Up for Heir (Westerly Billionaire Series Book 2) Page 3