She pats my hand a few times, but then she moves on to why she’s here. And she’s blunt.
“I’m glad you’re feeling gracious toward my grandson, but if you hurt one hair on his head, I will personally run you out of this city so fast, you won’t know what hit you.”
“Ex-excuse me?” I’m not sure I heard her correctly.
“I don’t have to repeat myself. I love that boy with every heartbeat in my body. He’s been through just as much trauma to the heart as you have, if not more. I don’t know what he’s told you about his past, so I won’t say more since it’s his story to share, not mine. But, I won’t have him hurt. Ever.”
“What makes you think I can hurt him?”
She smiles. “Vivienne, either you are extremely naive, blind, or perhaps you simply don’t know my grandson very well now that I think on it. In all the years I’ve known him, he has never mentioned a woman to me by name, had one stay in this home, or worried about what one thought of him. I know you’re thinking—how does she know he’s never had a woman stay here? Trust me, I know. The company has several corporate apartments he uses for his dalliances. But he doesn’t use his personal residence.” Then she leans forward and says, “He even asked me for advice regarding you. He told me about the coats you returned and how he wanted to set you up in an apartment. Do you know what I told him?”
I’m staring at her like the proverbial deer in the headlights.
“Of course you don’t know. I told him he was treating you like his mistress.”
I’m incredulous that he asked his grandmother for advice on how to date me.
“You see, in reality I know my grandson is not perfect, but in my eyes he will always be. I love him more than anything, and will protect him at all costs. So, Vivienne, don’t you dare hurt him.”
“Ma’am, please call me Vivi.” It’s all I can think to say.
“Never. A woman with a face such as yours deserves a grand name. Vivienne suits you perfectly. And you may call me Sara. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again.” She pats my hand again. “Well, I’ll be on my way. Oh, and, Vivienne, I would prefer it if you keep our little visit to yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will.” I can’t begin to imagine what would happen to me if I told Prescott about it. “Thank you for stopping by.”
She lets out a hearty chuckle. “I’m not sure if you really feel that way or not, but I appreciate the comment. Good day, Vivienne.” And she leaves, telling Regina goodbye on her way out.
I don’t know how to feel about her visit. She’s enlightened me about something. Prescott wants me enough that he went to his grandmother for advice. That’s like a son going to his mother, which is a huge deal. At least I think it is. But then when she said that bit about Prescott’s heart being traumatized, my imagination spins on what might have happened to him. He never discusses his mother and she’s off-limits, so I’m positive it has to do with her. Sara indicated there was a story in his past, but it was his to share. This frustrates me even more because I want to help but am useless unless he opens up to me.
“Are you ready, Vivi?” Regina’s voice breaks through my tumbling thoughts.
“Oh, sure.”
We end up walking around the block and going to a nearby park. It’s chilly out, but not unbearable for a December day. Afterward, we stop for mochas at a local coffee shop. It reminds me of Java Beans & More, and I think about my friends from there as I watch the barista making our mochas.
A wave of homesickness hit me, not for the home in Virginia, but for the one I left behind in California. The friends I made during my few years out there have all fallen off my radar, one by one. As I sit here and remember that life, I realize it was the one I had dreamed of and worked so hard to build. I don’t regret a moment of taking care of my mom, but I wish there was a way to get back on track. What the hell happened to me, really? How did I fall down this rabbit hole to Hell?
“Where have you gone?” Regina asks.
“Sorry. I was only thinking about better times.”
Regina grabs my hand. “Listen to me. You’re young and have a long life ahead of you. Once this passes, you get out there and grab it with both hands, sweetie. Don’t let a minute pass you by.”
“You’re right. I was only thinking of my former life in California.” I explain what happened and she tears up. “I didn’t intend to burden you with this. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Things will turn around soon. Christmas isn’t the best time to be searching for jobs. My kids tell me that the best time is in the spring.”
“Hmm. You may be right.”
“Keep that pretty chin of yours up.”
I chuckle at her comment. “You mean this purple chin.”
“No, your chin isn’t purple. The upper half of your face is, but not your chin.”
“Well, I have that going for me then.” We laugh together.
We finish our mochas and I feel a little better.
“Vivi, you do have something going for you.”
“What’s that?”
“A man named Prescott Beckham. I would say that’s a lot going for you.”
My cheeks spike in temperature and I’m grateful the purple disguises it. “True, but I don’t want to depend on him. I’m used to being on my own, relying on my own skills, you know?”
“I admire that. I was only saying if you’re going to date someone, you picked a winner.”
My mouth curves upward, but what exactly are Prescott and I doing together? Seems to me we’re dancing around every issue out there. Maybe I need to grow some balls and come right out and ask him. It’s either going to be that, or I’ll move back in with Eric. Come to think of it, that thought sort of fires me up. I miss Eric’s cheerfulness. Even his visit yesterday perked me up. If I’m well enough to move around like this, there’s really no reason for me not to move back with him.
When we get back to Prescott’s, I call Eric, but he doesn’t answer. I text him and ask him what he thinks. Again, he doesn’t respond, so I wait. There’s no use making plans unless I get his commitment and agreement to help me.
It’s late afternoon when I hear from him.
“Sorry, Viv, I was swamped today. I had work and some other things. But I think you need to stay put. At least for another day or two. You have help there.”
“It’s weird here. He’s weird, Eric.”
“What do you mean?” I explain what happened.
“Hmm. Maybe he had a lot on his mind.”
“Then why didn’t he just say ‘Vivi, I have a lot on my mind’?”
“You know how strange men get sometimes. Another day, two at the most. I’d feel better with you having someone there during the day.”
Releasing the pent-up air in my lungs, I say, “All right.” Maybe Prescott just is overwhelmed with things and doesn’t know how to handle me.
Regina leaves around five and she’s left dinner in the oven. I told her not to cook, because Prescott still has food from his chef, but she insisted.
“You have a good rest of the night. Dinner will be ready in an hour. All you need to do is pull it out. It’s not heavy, so you should be fine. If Mr. Beckham’s not home, that is.”
I thank her and she leaves. Being injured isn’t for sissies. This is so boring I could punch a hole in the TV. Even though I’m still sore, sitting here is driving me crazy. I’d rather be busy, doing something. There has to be a dozen or more books on my Kindle, so that’s what I decide to do. About two chapters later, restlessness takes over. Why am I so fidgety? Is it because I’m expecting him to walk through the door any minute?
I give Vince a call to pass the time and he’s so shocked at what happened, he hardly carries on much of a conversation. After a few minutes, he promises to call in a couple of days. He’s studying for exams and when he’s through he wants to meet for lunch.
An hour passes and dinner is done, so I take it out of the oven with my good arm. It’s slightly tri
cky, but I manage. Another thirty minutes pass, and no Prescott. I decide to text him. The dinner is only lukewarm now.
Regina made dinner and it’s getting cold. Are you coming home soon?
Finally, I get his response.
Tied up here. Don’t wait on me.
First surprise and then disappointment cause my heart to shrink incrementally. I berate myself for waiting at all and expecting him to eat dinner with me. He does, after all, run a multibillion-dollar company and I should expect for him to have duties that extend beyond regular work hours.
Picking my sappy-assed self up, I fill a plate with the chicken dish Regina made and try to find something else to watch on TV. The food is delicious and I eat every bite. I clean up and get ready for bed. Nothing on TV interests me, so I decide to read in bed. This lying around crap is ridiculous.
The book I’m reading is a sexy one, which isn’t exactly what I need right now. All it makes me want to do is hunt down my vibrator, which is impossible because it’s at home.
I’m so done with this. Tomorrow I’m going home. When Regina arrives, I’ll have her help me move my stuff, and that’ll be the end of this.
After punching my pillow a few hundred times, sleep eventually claims me even if a sexy dark-haired god with eyes of gold haunts my dreams.
Chapter 25
Prescott
After arranging for Eric’s interview, which will be this afternoon, I call to let him know.
“This afternoon!” he cries. “I’m headed to work!”
“What time does your shift end?”
“Seven,” he says, panic gushing out of him.
Thrumming my fingers on the desk, I tell him to expect a call from me around one-thirty. He is to say he has a family emergency.
“I can’t do that. It’ll leave them shorthanded.”
“I can push your interview back until five. Will that help?”
“Some. And call me at three. We’ll be over the lunchtime crush. That’ll give them time to get one of the night staff to come in early.”
“Fine.”
“Oh, and how’s Viv?”
“Fine. I have to go.” There will be zero discussion between Eric and me regarding that subject. I have to figure out how I’m going to explain myself to her tonight. Why did I have to promise a conversation so soon?
Lynn orders in lunch for me and after I finish, I have a call from Weston. We firm up our details for the trip on Wednesday. Then my phone rings.
“Mr. Beckham, your grandfather has asked you to step down to his office when you get a minute.”
“Thank you, Lynn.” Her formality always makes me chuckle.
After logging off the computer, I head to Granddad’s office. People greet me as I pass, especially the women. The suggestive grins they offer make me wonder about what Lynn said earlier. I used to imagine what they wore beneath their skirts, but not anymore. The bruised-up woman who’s sleeping in my bed takes up most of my thoughts about lingerie these days.
When I round the corner and open the door, I’m surprised to see Grand here.
“Prescott.” She leans in and kisses my cheek as she says my name.
“Son, have a seat.”
Granddad’s expression is full of uncertainty. Eyes that are usually bright and cheerful are now cloudy as the corners seem to tug downward.
Grand gives his hand a squeeze. “Go on, Samuel, best to get this over with.”
“What’s going on?” I ask as my chest suddenly fills with lead.
“There’s no use beating around the bush, so I’ll get right to it. Your grandmother and I received a letter from an old friend of your mother’s.”
Now the weight in my chest becomes heavier and it’s difficult to breathe. Anytime my mother is brought up, the desire to cover my ears is almost unbearable.
“I know this is a tough subject, but what we have to tell you is, well, shocking to say the least.” Granddad stops, takes his glasses off, and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“What did the letter say?”
He begins with how Grand opened the mail this morning to find it and called Granddad. They both read it several times. Their slow, gentle way of building up to it makes me want to scream, because all I want to know is what the goddamn letter says. I bite my tongue.
“Then she went on to talk about your mother’s death.”
“Stop. Can you please fast forward to the pertinent part or tell me however this all pertains to me? I don’t want to discuss Mom.”
“Son, this will come as a complete shock to you, but I want to tell you first that we have asked her to give us proof that she has it. We have already contacted her.”
“Proof about what?” I ask, my voice rising.
Granddad comes around. “Prescott, sit down.”
“Just tell me.”
“Not until you sit.”
What the fuck is going on? My brain spins as my ass hits the chair.
“As difficult as this is for me to say, you have to know. The man you know as your father isn’t your biological father. At least that’s what this letter tells us.”
“What?” Did he just say what I think he said? “Are you saying that Dad isn’t my father?”
“Here.” He hands the damn letter to me.
I practically tear it out of his hand in my eagerness to see what’s in it. The more I read, the more my hand trembles. When I’m finished, the paper slides through my fingers.
“We’re sorry, son. We don’t know what else to say,” Granddad says.
“Why didn’t she just say something?” My heart bleeds for my mother. Or does it bleed for me and all the years I haven’t had her here with me?
“We can’t answer that,” Grand says. Her face seems to have aged a hundred years in the last few minutes. “The last thing we want is … don’t let this impact you, Prescott.”
“Grand, how can it not? The man I’ve known all my life as my father, isn’t. Does he know?”
“According to the letter, he does,” Granddad says.
“I must’ve breezed over that part. So he let me believe the lie, too.” I pause. “Now the million-dollar question is: Who exactly is my daddy?” Sarcasm bleeds from every pore when I ask the question.
Grand takes my hand. “We think this woman knows. Hopefully she’ll provide us with more details when we meet.”
“So, we’re going to meet?” I ask.
“Your grandfather and I thought it best. You never know with these things whether people are after something. You’re not exactly low profile, sweetheart.”
I bury my hands in my hair. Why now, of all times? I don’t need any more confusion added to my already fucked-up head.
“When will this meeting occur?”
“We are waiting for her to get back to us. She left us all her information and hasn’t asked for a thing in return,” Granddad says.
In other words, they believe she’s legit. While we sit here, Granddad’s phone rings. His admin tells him she’s on the line.
How convenient.
“Best to get on with this.” He takes her call, but I find my thoughts going straight to Vivi and wondering how she’d handle this. Granddad hangs up and says, “I hope that was okay.”
“I’m sorry, I zoned out.”
He smiles kindly. “We’re meeting here at five-fifteen. She works in the city, so it was convenient for her.”
“Fine.”
Grand squeezes my hand again. “Prescott, are you all right?”
“No, Grand, I’m not. My entire name is a charade.”
Grand says, “Look me in the eye, young man.”
I do as she commands. Grand can be sweet, but she has a steely side to her too.
“Don’t you ever say that again. You carry the Whitworth genes. Your mother was a Whitworth, and the last time I checked, your middle name is Whitworth. Your name will never be a charade to your grandfather or me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“And let’s get one more thing straight. The charade is the man you called your father. You never acted like him or took after him. Now we all know why.”
She’s right about that, although I thought I inherited his asshole gene. Now I wonder who I got that from.
“Go and get some work accomplished and we’ll talk again later,” Granddad says.
“Yes, sir, I will.”
When I get back to my office, Lynn wants to know why I’m so glum. I can’t share this news with anyone yet, at least not until I have all the details. “Nothing. Or rather I can’t disclose it yet.”
“Okay. You had some calls come in.” She hands me the paper with them listed.
Now I have to get my work done and push this to the back of my mind. Like that’s gonna happen.
The afternoon drags. Eric shows up at a quarter till five. I want to escort him up to the interview myself. He’s so damn twitchy you’d think he had fleas.
“Calm down or they’ll think you’ve never been on an interview.”
“Honey, I can’t help it. I’m about to have an ex-orgasm.”
“A what?”
“You know. I’m excited, exasperated, exhausted, exploding …”
“I get the idea.” I’ve never seen Eric act so fluttery before. “Do you need a drink? You know, to calm your ass down?”
“Shit. Am I that bad?”
“Yes.”
He raises his hands. “Okay, okay. Pulling my shit together now. I won’t let you down. I swear.” Then he gives me the Boy Scout salute.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You were not a Boy Scout.”
He’s insulted. His mouth presses into a thin line. “Yes, I was. What? Just because I’m gay I couldn’t be one?”
“No, I didn’t say or mean to infer that. You don’t appear to be the type who likes to camp and hike.”
“Oh, but I do. I love that stuff. I’ve hiked a bunch of the Appalachian Trail.”
I’m so shocked by his statement, he could push me over with his pinky. Eric, hiking on the Appalachian Trail just does not seem to fit in my mind.
Chasing Vivi Page 20