by Cat Schield
Savannah gave him the first genuine smile he’d seen. “He’s not going to be happy about that.”
“Do you really care?”
“Siggy isn’t going to be happy about that, either.” It didn’t appear as if that bothered her, but Trent suspected it did a little. His father was bound to make her life miserable if he discovered she’d teamed up with Trent. “Are you going to help me with the company?”
“No.” His intention was simply to let his father think that’s what he intended to do. Perhaps then Siggy would buy back his company from Savannah, allowing her and Dylan to head off to her new life in Tennessee.
She looked confused by his answer. “Then why do you want to see the books?”
“Something has to be going on,” he said. Overnight his curiosity had been aroused by what she had told him. While he’d heard West Coast Records was struggling, things didn’t sound as if they were bad enough for them to stop paying their artists. “It doesn’t surprise me that profits are down, but something more serious must be happening if things are in the state you say they are.”
“What if Gerry refuses to give me the information?”
“Then we’ll have our answer as to who is at the center of what’s going on there, won’t we?”
“You think Gerry has something to do with this?”
“With Siggy retired and Rafe sick, he was in the perfect position to mismanage the company.” And Trent had never been particularly impressed with the man’s business savvy. “So let’s go see what’s going on, shall we? I’ve chartered a plane. I’ll pick you up downstairs at ten thirty.”
“We’re already scheduled on a flight to LA.”
“It will be easier if I’m not chasing all over LAX looking for you.” He softened his tone. “And it will be more comfortable for you.”
Trent felt a tug on his pant leg and looked down. His nephew was standing, looking up at him. The boy’s blue eyes, so reminiscent of Rafe’s, were fixed on Trent’s face. Something in his chest tightened. All at once he couldn’t breathe.
This was Rafe’s son. Savannah’s son. Like a man drowning, Trent saw his past with Savannah flash before his eyes. The joy on that Christmas morning when she’d woken up to Murphy’s sweet puppy face and adorable snuffles. What had he been thinking? He’d bought her a dog. She’d been feeling gloomy about spending the holidays alone. So he bought her something to take care of and flown to New York to give it to her. Making a woman happy had never been as easy as it had been with her.
And then because she’d misinterpreted his gift, he’d felt compelled to distance himself for months after.
When the toddler continued to stare at Trent, he bent down and picked the boy up. He didn’t have much experience with children, but something about his nephew made it a simple thing to settle the child against his chest as if he’d done it a hundred times before. The amount of curiosity in the infant’s eyes intrigued Trent. What could possibly be going on in that developing brain of his?
Dylan latched on to Trent’s tie the same way he’d grabbed Savannah’s pearls, and Trent heard her soft cry of dismay.
“He’s going to ruin your tie,” she said, stepping toward them with her hands outstretched as if to take her son.
“It’s just a tie.” Trent pivoted away from her advance. He couldn’t explain his sudden reluctance to give the child up. “It looks like your breakfast is getting cold. Why don’t you sit down and eat? Dylan and I will be just fine.”
The distress in Savannah’s eyes made no sense. It wasn’t as if he was going to spirit the infant out of the suite. He had no interest in his nephew outside of satisfying a brief bit of curiosity about him.
Rafe had died within months of his son being born. Having a father like Siggy, Trent had little positive experience when it came to father-son bonding. Would Dylan suffer never knowing his dad? On the other hand, once Savannah settled in Tennessee, she might marry again and Dylan would be raised by a stepfather. Either way, at least he would grow up dearly loved by his mother. That much was clear.
Trent picked up one of the picture books from the floor near Dylan’s toys and sat down on the couch with the boy.
“That’s his favorite,” Savannah said, sitting with an untouched plate of eggs before her. “He’d love it if you read it to him.”
Left on his own with the boy, Trent opened the book and began reading while Dylan patted the pages with his fat little hands and wiggled. Trent found himself smiling. For the last year he’d avoided thinking about his nephew. Although he’d never intended to saddle himself with a wife and children, the fact that Savannah had given his brother a son ate at him.
Rafe had gotten everything. Their father’s love and approval. The family business. And Savannah. The first two Trent had come to terms with. The last one had blasted a hole in his heart big enough to drive a semi through. But it was his own fault. He could’ve had her. Dylan could have been his son. Except the conventional family Savannah craved wasn’t what he wanted.
The idea that anyone would rely on him was a suffocating weight. Sure, he’d helped her out several times in the past, but those had been random acts when it had been convenient for him. He had to do things on his terms, not on anyone else’s. Even now, stepping up to help her with the label, he wasn’t doing it for her. He was doing it to piss off his old man.
Trent wanted to see if Siggy hated him enough to bankrupt the record label before he would let his son be in charge. To Trent’s recollection, his father had never shown him anything but disdain. Rafe had been the favorite son. Siggy’s firstborn. He’d taken after his father in appearance and mind-set: a businessman mired in ego and lacking vision.
Like his sister, Melody, Trent had inherited his mother’s voice and musical talent. Not that he had any interest in pursuing a career in the business. He left the songwriting, piano playing and singing to his younger sister. Trent could not be more proud of Melody.
She’d struggled to find her wings in a household that didn’t appreciate what she could do. Forced to attend Juilliard as a classic violinist when what she really wanted to do was compose pop songs for others to perform, Melody had dropped out of school midway through her junior year of college.
The gap in their ages had kept Trent from knowing Melody as well as he could. But when he’d gone to visit her in New York City and she’d come clean about her passion for writing music, he’d been behind her 100 percent about quitting school. She needed money to rent studio time to make a demo of her music and he’d happily provided it. He’d also put her in contact with the people in the music industry who could help her get started.
This bit of assistance and support had only added to the acrimony between Trent and his father. It was shortly after this that Siggy stopped speaking with Trent. The owner of West Coast Records had a vision in his head regarding his daughter, and it had nothing to do with her lowering herself to being someone else’s songwriter.
Trent hadn’t understood his father’s perspective. Melody was immensely talented. She could have become an incredible star if she’d been interested in the spotlight. But she preferred being behind the scenes and having her music developed by others. At least that’s the way it’d been until his friend and partner in Club T’s, Nate Tucker, had convinced her to bring her violin on tour with Free Fall. Seeing a star in the making, Tucker had pushed her to sing one of her songs during his set. It had gone so well that she was now opening for him.
And as far as Siggy was concerned, this was Trent’s fault, too.
“How are things going?”
Trent looked up from the book and spied Savannah standing before him. Although her makeup was flawless, he thought she looked pale. Was that brought on by stress or lack of sleep? He’d had a hard time settling down after walking her to her suite. Although he was no stranger to spontaneous encounters, usually the moments lingered in his mind for a short time and then faded away.
With Savannah everything was different.
; He couldn’t just revel in a quickie with his brother’s widow, chuckle at the irony and move on. There was too much history between them. Too much he couldn’t stop himself from needing.
“Great,” he said. “You’re right about him liking this book.”
“He enjoys being read to.” She smiled fondly at her son. “I guess what kid doesn’t.”
“I don’t remember anyone reading to me, do you?”
Savannah shook her head. “My grandmother used to tell me stories about when she was a little girl. She grew up on a farm in Kansas and talked about milking the cows and barn cats having kittens. She described what it had been like to be in the cellar while a tornado took out the chicken coop but missed the barn and house.”
Her distant gaze and fond smile clashed with Trent’s attitude about his own upbringing. His childhood memories mainly consisted of watching TV and playing video games. His mother had never read to him. She’d been busy maintaining her appearance and chasing her own happiness. Personal trainers, self-help quacks and an assortment of assistants had kept Trent’s mother lean of body and calm of spirit. Or at least they had tried to. Living with someone as critical as Siggy Caldwell was debilitating for anyone without sufficient self-esteem.
These days Naomi was a very different person. She laughed all the time and allowed herself to age gracefully. After leaving Siggy, she’d moved to New York and gotten some off-Broadway work. It was there she’d met and married her second husband, investment banker Larry Fry.
“I’m going to get Dylan ready to leave.”
“I have to check out a couple things at the club before I go.”
Trent gave up the boy, surprised at his reluctance to do so. Despite the fact that Dylan was a baby, he’d enjoyed the child’s company more than he’d expected. But there was a huge difference between playing the part of fun uncle who spent ten minutes reading a book and a lifetime of caretaking as a father.
Savannah settled her son on her hip and spoke in a light voice. “Dylan, can you wave goodbye to your uncle Trent?”
The nearly one-year-old child did as he was bidden and followed it up by blowing a kiss. Trent was impressed by the boy’s tricks and wondered if this was average for kids his age.
He didn’t want to like his nephew any more than he wanted to get embroiled in Savannah’s problems. But something was going on with West Coast Records, and his curiosity wouldn’t let him turn it aside.
Besides, there might be an opportunity here and he’d be a fool to pass that up.
Four
While Trent negotiated the LA traffic, Savannah sat like a stone beside him. As of twenty minutes ago, she was officially homeless. Sunshine poured through the car window, but Savannah enjoyed neither the soothing brightness nor the warmth.
“Are you okay?” Trent had been casting glances her way since he’d picked her up from the closing.
“Dylan and I have nowhere to go.” Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with unshed tears. She blinked them away. What was wrong with her that she stumbled from one desperate situation to another? “I’m a complete failure as a mother.”
“Don’t say things like that.”
“I haven’t done a good job providing for him or protecting him.”
“This isn’t a problem you created.”
While she appreciated Trent’s attempt to make her feel better, she couldn’t ignore the string of bad decisions that had led her to this place. On the other hand, one of her choices, foolish or not, had given her the light of her life, her son.
“Maybe not a problem I created, but when I discovered how bad things were financially, I should have gone back to work and found us a place to live.” She dug her fingernails into her hands to keep a grip on her anxiety. “Instead I stuck my head in the sand.”
“Stop being so hard on yourself.”
“Tell me you would’ve acted the same and I won’t say another word.”
“We don’t come at problems the same way.”
“Ha.” To her surprise, arguing with Trent was making her feel better. She might be down, but she certainly didn’t have to be out. “What do you think we’re going to find at the label?”
Trent’s expression darkened. “This is probably the wrong thing to say to you right now, but you probably should brace yourself for some unpleasantness.”
“Too late,” she said. “I called Gerry this morning before leaving the hotel, and he was not pleased by my request. So I’m completely convinced we will have a fight on our hands.”
“Did you tell him I was coming?”
Savannah smiled. “And lose the element of surprise?”
Ten minutes later, Trent entered West Coast Records’ parking lot and pulled into a visitor’s spot. She put her hand on his arm as he made to open his door.
“Thank you,” she said, seeing Siggy’s car parked in Rafe’s spot. “I know coming here isn’t easy for you.”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
From his expression, she couldn’t tell whether or not that was true. She indicated her father-in-law’s car. “Have you spoken to Siggy since Rafe’s funeral?”
“No. We have nothing to say to each other.”
To Savannah’s relief, there’d been no father-son blowup at Rafe’s funeral. The two Caldwell men had stood apart from each other the entire day and never indulged the ongoing animosity between them. She might not have loved Rafe, but Savannah had wanted his family and friends to mourn him uninterrupted by squabbling.
As much as Savannah longed to take strength from Trent’s solid presence at her side, she kept her chin up and a respectable distance between them as they entered the building and strode across the bright, open lobby. West Coast Records had been located here since the ’50s. Siggy had bought the company in 1976.
It had done well for a lot of years, but with the shift into digital, the label had been too slow to evolve and hadn’t developed a solid plan of action to make money in the age when people didn’t have to download an entire album but could pick and choose which songs they wanted.
From what Savannah had come to understand from her own research and what Trent had explained during the flight, West Coast Records had signed a bunch of artists and flooded the marketplace with mediocre music. They were trying to re-create the huge revenues they used to enjoy instead of spending the time it took to develop real talent and accepting that they were going to make smaller amounts than they used to.
Savannah led the way past the unoccupied reception desk toward Rafe’s office. She hadn’t been here more than a half-dozen times, but she knew the way well enough. As they moved through the halls, she noticed an abundance of empty desks. The whole building had a stillness to it that made her uncomfortable. At four in the afternoon, it was possible that the staff had gone for the day, but the lack of personal items at the desks made the office feel like a ghost town.
“Where is everyone?” she asked Trent, slowing down to peer around her. “It looks deserted.”
“Maybe they’ve laid off some people.”
The anxiety that had plagued her for months increased. What if she’d brought Trent in too late? If the company failed, the stock would be worthless. Right now she was using a small income she received from the company to pay the minimum on the debt until she could figure something out. If the label failed, that would dry up. Then, her only recourse would be to declare bankruptcy to get out from beneath Rafe’s massive debt.
On the way to Rafe’s office, they passed Gerry’s.
“Any idea where Gerry is hiding?” Trent asked, arching one eyebrow. His reaction to being here was the polar opposite of hers. The worse things appeared, the more relaxed he became.
“I haven’t been here since I found out Rafe was sick. Maybe Gerry took over Rafe’s office.”
When they entered the president’s office, they found not only Gerry, but also Siggy. The old man was seated behind the desk as if he was still in charge. At the sight of him in her dead husband’s executiv
e chair, Savannah’s anxiety became annoyance.
“What are you doing here?” Sigmund Caldwell demanded, getting to his feet in an explosive movement. Palms planted on the desk, he scowled at his younger son.
“Hello, Siggy.” Trent took a step past Savannah, positioning himself like a protective guard dog. “I’m surprised to find you in the office.” Thanks to the amusement in his tone, he didn’t sound surprised.
“Trent is here because I asked him to come.” Savannah held her expression neutral as her father-in-law’s sharp gaze shifted to her. “I need to know what’s going on with the company’s financials.”
“You don’t need to know anything,” Siggy said.
“That isn’t true. With Rafe’s death Dylan inherits his shares, and I’m his mother. It falls to me to make sure his inheritance survives.” Savannah knew immediately she’d gone too far.
“Nothing falls to you. You are just a grasping woman who took advantage of my son’s illness. If you think I’m going to let you make decisions about this company, you are sadly mistaken.”
“Fine. Then buy the shares back.” She was shaking, but the confrontation with her father-in-law was not as bad as it would have been without Trent at her side. She could never have done this without him.
Siggy looked her over, his disdain apparent. “I have a better idea. Why don’t I pay you to go away? You leave the boy with me, and I set you up somewhere far away.”
It was the deal he’d made with his first wife, Naomi Caldwell. “I have no intention of giving you my son.”
The way Siggy smiled broadcast his skepticism. And given his ability to manipulate both his former wives, that didn’t really surprise her.
“As you said, this company will belong to my grandson one day. The shares are his. I will manage it until he is ready to take over.”
“But you are no longer the managing partner, nor are you the majority shareholder,” Trent pointed out in a reasonable voice.
The instant he spoke, his father’s attention swung back to him once more. “You do not belong here. If you don’t leave now, I’ll have security throw you out.”