BOUND TO HAPPEN

by Alison Kent

  And even as he said it, he came to believe it. He'd pulled away from anyone getting too close, telling himself he was protecting them. Instead, he wasn't letting them protect him from himself. Even a short time together was precious, as he'd learned from his time here with Sydney.

  She shook her head and wisps of hair shifted and settled. "I know how you feel about Patrick and—"

  He cut her off, slicing his hand through the air and bringing his palm down hard on the desk. "Oh, baby, you don't know shit about me. I'm sorry to be blunt, but we've only scratched the surface of one another's deeper selves.

  "You can't possibly know how I feel about Patrick, or about the things I've seen in my line of work, the brothers I've lost on the job." He shoved both hands back through his hair and took a deep breath. "You need to talk to your father. Your mother, too, for that matter. It bothers me a lot that you won't."

  "You can't possibly know how I feel about my father. Or my mother." She flung his words back in his face.

  Ray headed for the door, stopped with his hand on the handle. He hadn't wanted to get into this with her. He'd wanted a warm and fuzzy vacation, not a trip into the gritty and all too graphic life he'd led.

  But if this was the way she was going to live hers, he wouldn't be there living it with her.

  "All I'm saying is that you should make the effort. Because you have today. You don't have any guarantee of tomorrow."

  The next morning found Sydney sitting cross-legged on the sand at the water's edge. She wore the most comfortably worn T-shirt she'd brought along and an equally faded pair of running shorts. Her feet were bare. Her hair was twisted into a topknot and secured with a sharpened pencil.

  She did not in any way shape or form resemble gIRL-gEAR's classy, chic and sophisticated CEO, an image she worked hard to project. And yes. It was an image. But an image that earned her the respect, the approval and the recognition she'd sought her entire life.

  She hadn't wanted anything out of the ordinary, only what a mother usually gave her child—her love, which unfortunately, Vegas saved for herself.

  Well, Sydney thought. Here she was all these years later. And she had her damn respect, approval and recognition, didn't she? Her CEO position had provided what her mother had not. Proof positive that Sydney Ford, daughter of the world-famous Vegas Ford, actually had something creative worth offering.

  So what if she was the brains behind the artistry, rather than the artist herself? She had still put together one of the most talented, creative teams in the fashion industry. And she'd done it all on her own.

  For some reason here in the light of day, that rationalization didn't work as well as it had in the dark of her father's office last night—at least, before Ray had walked out and left her alone. Truly alone. Even immersing herself in her father's things as she'd done—so obviously even Ray had noticed—hadn't been the salve she'd hoped.

  She missed her father terribly.

  And to top off everything, now she didn't even have the man she loved. Ray had left the island this morning with Menga Duarte. And with Anton Neville. Both men were headed back to Houston on a flight later today.

  Which was why Lauren was sitting next to Sydney in the sand.

  Her gaze on a sailing craft flirting with the horizon, Sydney sighed. Then Lauren sighed. Then Sydney sighed again and said, "I wasn't expecting them to leave."

  "Me, neither," Lauren admitted, pulling her knees to her chest and dropping her chin onto them. "What kind of men run out when the going gets a little bit tough? You don't see either one of us running away, do you?"

  "Well, no. But then, we don't really have a way to go anywhere, anyway, until Menga gets back."

  "Hmm. I guess you're right." Lauren started rocking back and forth, side to side.

  She was making Sydney seasick and Sydney put out a hand. "Would you be still before I throw up?"

  "Oh, fine." Lauren stretched out her legs and fell onto her back in the sand. "Now I'm making you sick."

  "You're both making me sick." Poe dropped down to sit on Sydney's other side. "But not as sick as those two men inside. You would think they were the ones abandoned by their lovers, the way they're moping around."

  "I am not moping," Sydney stated unequivocally. "I am mourning."

  Lauren gave an annoyed huff. "It's not like Ray's dead, Sydney."

  Sydney matched the huff and raised the level of emotion to patent irritation. "I'm not mourning a man. I'm mourning the end of my vacation … and the fact that I could've taken Amtrak across the country.

  "I could've been sleeping in feather beds offered by the best bed-and-breakfasts. I could've seen masseuses from coast to coast, instead of spending a very long week stranded on a tropical island."

  Poe, having sat quietly through Sydney's diatribe, now rolled her eyes. "You forgot the part about screwing your brains out."

  "Oh, yeah, that," Sydney said, squinting as the yacht on the horizon began to take on a familiar shape. It had to be the Indiscreet. She'd been expecting the crew's return tomorrow. But hallelujah. They were ahead of schedule. Finally she could go home.

  Back to her fulfilling CEO life. Big whoop. Still, she didn't want to diminish the importance of what she'd shared here with Ray by joking about their time together. And so she said, "The problem with my brain has nothing to do with sex, but is directly related to the unholy amount of alcohol I have consumed this week."

  "I've been meaning to ask you about that. You've always been a tea-drinker." Having pushed herself back up on her elbows, Lauren lowered her sunglasses to the end of her nose and squinted out across the water. "Hey, is that the Indiscreet!"

  "If any of my prayers have been answered, it is," Sydney said. "I cannot wait to get off this island."

  Kinsey walked up then and dropped to sit on Lauren's other side. "I don't get it, Sydney. How could you possibly prefer Houston over this place?"

  That was one question Sydney didn't want to answer. Right now this place was too redolent of Ray. Later she could return and enjoy the tropical setting for the paradise it was. Later, once she'd worked Ray Coffey out of her system.

  Sydney snorted in self-disgust. Maybe in another lifetime. "I have a lot of work to get back to, that's all."

  "Right. I can believe that. All of us here can't wait to get back to work." Poe slanted Sydney a give-me-a-break look. "Of course, I'm only saying that because you're the boss."

  "Why does that not surprise me?"

  "Uh, Sydney?" Lauren's voice hovered on the question. "During all the repairs, do you think the crew forgot to load the dinghy back onto the yacht?"

  "Why would you think something like that?" Sydney asked.

  "Because someone is obviously swimming toward shore," Lauren replied.

  Sydney looked up, as did the others, and saw that the yacht was now anchored in the keel-deep water, and someone was indeed swimming toward shore. Her gaze followed the swimmer's approach until he found himself close enough to wade the rest of the way to the beach.

  He shook the water from his hair and his face, slicking his hair back with his palms. He wore no shirt; his swim trunks were knee-length and a plain navy blue with white drawstrings and trim. Sydney figured they bore a designer label because that was all her father ever wore.

  Nolan Ford raised a hand in greeting.

  Getting to her feet, Sydney settled her hands on her hips.

  Kinsey stood, as well, and waved in return.

  Lauren scrambled up, shaded her eyes with one hand and waved with the other. "Hey, Nolan. What a surprise!"

  Poe was the last to stand. Nolan drew closer, the water at his knees, then his shins, then his ankles. He was out of the water and on the hard-packed sand when she blew out a long, low she-wolf whistle.

  "Hello, Daddy."

  * * *

  11

  « ^ »

  "What are you doing here?" Sydney demanded.

  "It's my yacht. My island."

  Nolan Ford's brows had draw
n together, creating a deeply creased V above the bridge of his nose. His dark hair was plastered to his scalp, and water dripped down his forehead and temples to run the length of his neck.

  "You're my daughter. I think I'm entitled to show up without having to sit through your third degree."

  He wasn't sitting anywhere. He was standing on the end of the villa's private pier, which was as far as he and Sydney had made it after walking off down the beach, leaving Lauren, Kinsey and Poe on their own.

  Sydney, on the other hand, was still walking. Pacing, actually. A short strip of planking, back and forth, back and forth, her frustration at an all-time high.

  In a span of less than twenty-four hours, she'd been forced into two confrontations, each with one of the two men who meant the most to her.

  No. This was definitely not her idea of a vacation. Not in any sense of the word.

  "Okay, then. Sans the third degree. What are you doing here?" It didn't matter that seeing him had made her realize she missed him. A big part of her still hadn't let go of the betrayal she felt.

  His hands were on his hips, and his head was cocked to one side as he watched her pace. He waited until she'd tired of not getting anywhere before he said what he'd obviously been waiting to say.

  "You need to go see your mother, Sydney."

  If she hadn't already been standing still, she would've come to a feet-stumbling stop. "Excuse me?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Surely she hadn't heard what she'd just heard. "Why do I need to go see my mother?"

  Nolan kept his gaze steady and unflinchingly honest. "Because she wants to see you."

  What would've been a pang of guilt if Sydney felt any guilt over her unraveled relationship with Vegas settled like a jagged seashell in her stomach. "And that's supposed to mean something to me?"

  "It should. It will." Nolan looked off across the expanse of green-blue sea before turning to face her directly again. "She told me she has a wealth of apologies she needs to make to you."

  Well, that would be a first, Sydney thought, even while her heart began to race. Emotion pricked with pinpoint stings at the backs of her eyes. "But I'm supposed to make the first conciliatory step and go to Paris."

  "She won't come back here. In Paris she's…" Nolan trailed off. The grim line of his mouth spoke of his effort to choose words that wouldn't hurt her feelings.

  A little late for that, Daddy, but thanks, anyway, Sydney thought. She went ahead and finished his sentence for him. No reason to mince words, after all. "In Paris she's what? Happy? Adored? The center of attention? Independent? Unfettered by a husband and a child?"

  A vein visibly throbbed at Nolan's temple. "She's not the mother you knew. I don't think she was ever happy here. At least, not compared to the contentment she seems to have found living and working in France."

  "What?" Sydney mocked her own disbelief. She was on a roll and not about to stop herself from saying the things she'd been waiting to say for a lifetime. "My mother was unhappy here? How could that be? With such adulation for her work? And never having to spend time with her daughter because she had you to do it for her?"

  "I spent time with you because I wanted to, not because I was doing it for your mother. You know that, so cut the crap." He dragged a hand down his face. "This isn't about you or about me, Sydney. Your mother was unhappy before either of us came along."

  Sydney looked down, pushed her toe at a lichen growing along the edge of one of the planks. "And boy, the timing of my coming along sure did stink, didn't it?"

  "I know you've done the math," Nolan said, his shadow falling over her as he took a step closer.

  Shading her eyes, Sydney looked toward the Indiscreet and echoed, "The math?"

  "When you were born. When we were married."

  "Oh, that math." She glanced away, rolled her eyes, surprised her father had finally decided to talk about the truth she'd figured out half a lifetime ago.

  He stepped right in front of her, then took her chin in his hand and forced her to meet his gaze. "Do you realize that when I was your age, you were already nine years old?"

  Startled, she tried to imagine herself with a child of nine. She did not want to talk with her father about sex. Even so, she couldn't help but ask, "What happened?"

  "I fell in love." He dropped his hand, then rubbed loose strands of her hair with his fingers.

  It was all she could do not to turn her face into his wrist and nudge like a puppy seeking an ear scratch. "At seventeen I thought that was called falling in lust."

  "That, too, yes." Nolan tried to grin, but his face was a weary map of frown lines and tough negotiations. "Your mother was amazing. As a person. Worldly and exciting and an older woman of twenty-two. I met her during my senior year of high school."

  The same year Sydney had met Ray.

  "My life-drawing class visited a gallery where, she was having her first show." One corner of his mouth quirked upward. "It was love at first sight. Or as close as it gets."

  Sydney was having a hard time hearing over the blood rushing into her head. "I didn't know you'd studied art."

  "I didn't. It was a blow-off credit. I remember you taking one or two of those." One brow went up, daring her denial. "I don't have a creative bone in my body, Sydney. Unlike your mother, who has a rare talent."

  "For abandonment mayb—"

  "And," Nolan continued, "enough sense to hire a consulting firm to develop the business plan for the gallery. I wouldn't have funded it otherwise."

  Sydney found herself biting her tongue, choking back all the accusations she'd held all this time. She looked down, watched the water lap the base of the pier as a strange sense of calm slowly settled.

  Nolan went on, "I think you, of all people, might trust me on that. I didn't exactly get this far in life by being stupid. I am sorry about Izzy. I'm even sorrier that I disappointed and hurt you. But this thing with your mother…"

  Nolan hesitated and Sydney couldn't help but look up. His eyes were dark. Even in the bright tropical sun of morning, his eyes were darkly shadowed.

  "This was something I had to do. To make sure your mother was taken care of, settled. She gave me a family, Sydney. She gave me you. How could I deny her request for something far less precious and easier for me to give? Please tell me you can understand that."

  Sydney thought she was beginning to. Especially after the things she'd already heard about family last night from Ray.

  Still, to actually see Vegas? To actually feel her brief obligatory hug, to actually smell the blend of perfume, linseed oil and paint that Sydney associated with great joy … and greater pain?

  She hardened her heart. "I don't have time to go to Paris."

  "I want you to make time." Reaching out, Nolan took hold of her hand. He laced his fingers through hers. "I'm going back at the end of the month. I want you to come with me."

  "So I can see the gallery and she can gloat?" Sydney asked, looking down at their joined fingers, remembering when Nolan's hand had been so much larger and darker than her tiny white doll-size fingers.

  "No." He covered their linked hands with his free palm and squeezed. "So you can see your mother and you both can heal."

  Was there any person she wanted to see less? Or any person she wanted to see more? The yearning Sydney had ruthlessly suppressed for years constricted her chest. She closed her eyes, wanting to hold back the tears and finding it impossible.

  As impossible as swallowing the emotion suffocatingly tangled like a ball of yarn in her throat.

  Finally she looked up at her father, her view blurred by tears. "I'm scared, Daddy."

  "Oh, honey. Don't you know that she is, too? She's terrified that her independent, brilliant, entrepreneurial daughter won't forgive her."

  The intrepid Vegas Ford scared? Of her? "Okay, I'll go," she heard herself say.

  "I love you, Sydney." Nolan brought her hand to his mouth, gave it a kiss. Then he opened his arms.

  And Sydney returned home. "I
know. I love you, too."

  Eventually, reluctantly, she pulled free from his embrace and took a backward step toward the villa. "I need to go pack. So we can go."

  "We'll go tomorrow." He inclined his head toward the Indiscreet. "I brought steaks. I'm cooking dinner. I thought it might be fun to hang out. Pretend that I'm twenty-something, instead of old as dirt."

  "You're only as old as you feel. And you feel like you've been working out." She pinched his biceps hard. "Ray's gone, you know."

  Nolan nodded. "I saw him before we set sail."

  Sydney nodded, too, and started walking away, then stopped and looked back. "I want to ask you something."

  Nolan held out his hands. "Anything."

  "What do you know about Patrick Coffey?"

  Anton Neville eased his Jaguar into the parking spot beside Lauren's SUV. He reached for the keys, then stopped and left the engine running. He'd been home from their trip to Coconut Caye for two months now, and his life hadn't been a particularly fun thing to be living. Which was why he was here. Even though he wasn't sure he was doing the right thing.

  What a chickenshit. Couldn't make up his mind about Lauren and now didn't even want to get out of the car.

  No, that wasn't true. He had made up his mind about Lauren. And he did want to get out of the car. But first he needed to take a minute or two to make sure he still knew how to breathe. He'd come too far to back out now. It was make-it-or-break-it time.

  And breathing would be a good thing to know how to do if she decided to hang him high.

  He stared at the gray marble facade of the glRL-gEAR building, at the huge lime-colored letters visible for miles. Or at least from any overpass along the Southwest Freeway. This group of women was about as unconventional as any avant-garde sorority could be.

  And that was exactly how he thought of the six female partners and their Asian-American sidekick. Anton couldn't help but wonder how soon Poe would take over. He wouldn't doubt if she'd already set the wheels in motion. She was as independent and career-driven as the rest of them. Maybe even more so.