by S. M. West
“Yes.” He nods, defeated. “I found a lab in LA that can perform the test, and we’ll have the results in three days. You just need to bring Henry in so they can get a DNA sample. I’ve already submitted mine.”
“I’m not subjecting my son to anything like that.” Suddenly the word my…he’s my son and that realization never had greater impact than now.
Is Henry really not Costa’s? And if so, who is the father?
“I’ll give you his hairbrush and toothbrush. They can do the test with that, can’t they?”
His face is drawn and expression disappointed. He shrugs again, and I want to shake him for that stupid, meaningless gesture.
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He shrugs once more, and I growl. “A fresh sample would be best, but I’ll take it in and see what they say.”
“Fine.” I dash to Henry’s bathroom, already making a mental shopping list to get him another brush and toothbrush.
He’s always wanted one of those special character toothbrushes, grabbing at them as he sat in the shopping cart at the store. Maybe I should give him one. I was waiting for Christmas, to put it in his stocking, but why?
Why am I waiting to shower him with simple, special things like that? Suddenly, this overwhelming sense of being less than—not a good mother—bowls me over. What’s the harm in getting him what he wants?
Costa is pacing in my small living room when I return with Henry’s things in separate plastic sandwich bags.
“Thank you. I’ll take them right now. I’ll text you once I have confirmation for when we’ll get them back.” He steps toward me, and a small smile breaches his wary mouth as he opens his arms.
What? He wants a hug? He’s insane. I’m quick and jump back from him, holding up a hand and shaking my head vehemently.
I can’t touch him. I’m filled with rage and bewildered as to why the hell he came here to drop this lie on my lap. Hurt glints in his eye as if I slapped him across the face.
Suddenly, I’m cold and raw, and I haven’t an ounce of remorse for this man. I thought I knew him, and now, I’m not so sure.
Without anything left to say, Costa leaves, and I stare at the spot where he was standing. Dampness registers on my cheeks and I sniffle. Shit, I’m crying. It’s so hard to believe any of this.
The man wanted nothing to do with Henry, and at that time, I struggled to make peace with the notion that my son would grow up without a father.
I spent time thinking and worrying about what I’d say when the day came and Henry asked about his dad. And yes, there was a small part of me that hoped Costa would one day come to his senses. One day, he’d want to meet his son.
Even when I saw his email this morning, that’s what I’d hoped. I had the greatest confidence that once he met Henry, he wouldn’t be able to turn his back on him.
But Costa blew all of that up. He’s taken this entire situation one step further. Not only did he walk away from his son, but now he claims he isn’t Henry’s father. If that’s true—and I don’t even know why I’m considering it may be a possibility because it’s impossible—but if he isn’t his father, then who is?
14
Gray
Strictly business
This morning, when I left Daisy in bed, cute, warm, and cuddly, I wanted nothing more than to hold her. I liked holding her. Leaving her was hard to do. I was hard. Forget morning wood—my dick never softened after she fell asleep, and I slept with a semi.
Last night was perfection. Daisy’s response to everything I did made me feel like I’d single-handedly slayed a dragon. And kissing her…fuck, my tongue sliding into the heat of her sweet mouth, her hot pussy, drove me out of my mind.
I grip the steering wheel and pull myself together. No more thoughts of Daisy until later. Tonight we have her awards dinner, and afterward, I’ll have her to myself.
Now outside the recording studio, I gather my things from the car. India’s in the sound booth when I arrive, studying a sheet of paper as our recording engineer sets up the microphones in the room. Despite it being soundproof, she must sense something, because she glances up from the song sheet and locks eyes with me through the glass.
Like a little girl showing off her party dress, she holds the sides of her skirt and twirls around so the yellow fabric balloons around her. Beaming, she rushes from the booth, and my gut clenches. Yeah, I have to talk to her.
“Gray, you’re here. Yay!” She claps her hands together, and Silas walks in behind me with coffees in hand.
We met at his house before coming here to go over a few things for today, and it gave me a chance to have breakfast with Henry. I don’t know how long today will be, and I wanted to see him before anything else.
“Hey, India. You ready?” He hands her a bottle of water and me a coffee.
“Hi, Silas. Hell, I’ve never been more ready.” She pats my arm, and I step out of her grasp. “And I’m so excited to have Gray playing with us.”
“Yeah.” He leans against the wall, an annoying smirk plastered across his face.
We talked about India this morning. I pushed on how we should manage her because she can be a challenge, but he kept bringing it back to the more personal side of things. Like how I have to talk to her about how things are and will be during the recording of her album. I’m not flattering myself to think she wants some epic romance with me, but she definitely has designs of more than just recording her album.
And Silas was all too happy to keep the focus on that would-be drama like some gossiping high school girl rather than get down to business. Frustrating.
Eventually, to get off the topic, I told him that while there’s nothing wrong with India—she’s smart, talented, and pretty—I’m not interested. I meant what I said to Daisy. There’s no one for me but her.
“India, we’ll get started as soon as everyone gets here.” Deliberately, I make a wide berth around her.
If I get too close to her, she’s like a tornado and I’ll be lifted into her destruction-seeking path. My chin tips for Silas to follow.
We may have talked about India, but we never actually talked about what playing on the album would mean. While I’m recording all day and for weeks, which is my choice, Silas needs to understand it changes nothing about our company. I don’t want him thinking he can singlehandedly call the shots while I’m otherwise occupied.
He assured me I have just as much say as he does while I’m working with India. Like he needs to say that we’re partners. As much as I want to trust him, and I do for the most part, how this will unfold remains to be seen.
We’ve both done what we said we would that day we were at his house. I went with the realtor to see the land for sale where Silas wants us to build our own studio, and he came to this place, the recording studio we’re leasing for India’s album, among others.
I want us to sign a one-year lease so we’re no longer scrambling for recording space all the time.
“So, what do you think?” I sip at the hot beverage, studying his blank expression.
“About what?” He glances back to India who’s talking on her phone.
“This place. Are you good to sign the lease?”
“Yeah, I told Fred we’re good.” He scrubs at his stubbled jaw at the mention of the owner of this studio. “He’s drawing up a contract. We’ll have something in a few days.”
“Yeah?” My eyes widen. He’s coming around to the idea of waiting, and I smile. “You’re on board with leasing this place for the next year?”
“Yeah. I like it. You’re right.”
“What?” I cup my ear and lean toward him. “I’m sorry, could you say that again? I liked the sound of it.”
“Shut up, jackass.” He pushes at me, chuckling. “Listen, I thought about it, and it does make sense for now. I talked to the realtor about keeping us in the loop about any movement on the land. This way we can make an offer before it gets snapped up.”
He was also right about the property he found with the realto
r. It’s a great location with lots of space to build not only a studio but our entire operation, which would be perfect. Right now, we’re renting office space off Melrose, and it’s a pain to have more than one location.
And lastly, the price isn’t that insane. But it doesn’t matter. Timing is everything, and now isn’t the time.
“What?” I put down the coffee, surprised at what he’s saying.
“I mean, I’m willing to put up some of my own money in the short-term to buy it. And I’d even front some of the costs to start building.”
My stomach sours. “This isn’t what we discussed. I thought we agreed to be partners on this? I can’t have you put up your own money.”
I gnash my teeth together, tension shooting a painful jolt through my head. Why the hell does he always pull this crap? It’s always his way or no way.
“Easy, Gray. I’m not going around your back or disagreeing with you, but you said so yourself, the property is sweet.” He pats at my shoulder. “C’mon, don’t tell me you can’t see how sick it would be to have everything in one place. On that piece of land. It’s perfect.”
Nodding, I inhale slowly, willing my frustration and anger to take a back seat. We can’t get into this right now. I need to focus on relaxing. We’re going to be recording soon. But Silas makes all of that difficult.
“Hey, guys, everyone’s here.” India sidles up beside me, knocking her hip against mine and winking. “You ready to make some rock ‘n roll?”
It’s now or never. Time to have the talk. Shaking off Silas’s surprise, I turn to her.
“I need to talk to you before we get started.” I glance to Silas. “And we’ll talk later.”
“I’m going to round everyone up, and yeah, let’s talk.” There’s an edge to his tone and he leaves the room.
“What is it?” She picks at something on the shoulder of my T-shirt. I doubt there’s anything there—just another excuse to touch me.
“Listen, I want to make sure we’re on the same page with the album and everything else.”
“Sure, okay.” She drags a finger down the center of my chest.
This is the shit I’m talking about, and I remove her hand from my body. “My involvement with the album is strictly business as is everything else we have to do with each other.”
“What do you mean?”
I step away from her, putting more than enough distance between us, and she frowns. We aren’t in touching range and maybe she’s finally getting it.
“I’m not interested in anything more than a professional relationship. And if I’m reading you wrong, sorry. I’m not trying to be an arrogant prick.” I give her a self-deprecating smile and also an out, a chance to save face by stating we’re only colleagues.
I’m cool with looking like the ass and too full of himself if it prevents an awkward conversation or any drama.
“You could never be an arrogant prick,” she coos, and it’s evident that a big scene is still a possibility.
“I like hanging out with you, and I’m very flattered and honored to be given this chance to jam with you. But that’s it. Nothing else.”
She huffs, folding her arm over her chest and thinning her lips. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. I just want to make sure we understand each other. No more touching and other things like that. I’m with Daisy.”
I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with a grown woman. That I need to have this talk. But she’s too touchy-feely, and truthfully, I should have done this ages ago. That’s on me, but I really did want to avoid any kind of drama.
“And Daisy? You’re with her? What does that even mean?” Now she’s snarky and put out.
“We’re together. It’s serious.” Daisy and I haven’t talked about things like that, but this is what I want.
“How serious? Were you with her at the beach the last time we saw each other?” The way she asks suggests we did something more than talk that day. We most certainly did not.
“We’re exclusive.” That’s all she needs to know.
“Fine.” She sulks out of the room, bouncing her hair and skirt behind her.
Fortunately, when I enter the sound booth to play through the first song, everything is cool. India is her usual bubbly, life of the party self.
While she does love the drama and can be over the top, India is also one damn good artist and knows how to focus on what’s important. After all, if she produces an epic album, she’ll be the star, and that’s what matters the most to her.
The day is long, grueling, and…awesome. We cover several tracks and make a couple of tweaks to a few songs. We’re off to a good start, and it felt amazing to play again.
Whenever I get a break, I text Daisy to check in and tell her I’m thinking about her. Apart from her first reply this morning before we started, there’s been nothing in response to any of my other texts. That isn’t like her.
I force myself to ignore the nagging in the pit of my stomach. Does her lack of response mean she regrets last night? This whole dating thing? Or is something wrong?
No, she must be busy. When she gets deep into work, she’s single-minded and likely hasn’t checked her phone. But even that potential explanation doesn’t quiet the unease. She’s a mother. Going off the grid isn’t an option. She always makes herself reachable for Henry.
Fuck, by the time five rolls around, it’s quitting time for me. I’ve got to talk to Silas and then get ready for tonight’s award dinner. I find him perched on the desk, thumbing through papers.
“Hey, I’m heading to Daisy’s, but I wanted to talk about the land for sale.”
“Gray, for fuck’s sake, why can’t you let this go?” He drops the stack of papers onto the desk and stands, pulling at the waist of his jeans. “Today was a good day. Just celebrate that and move on.”
“Listen, I’m not here to argue.” I release a ragged breath, exhausted and truly not wanting to go another round with him. “You’ve given me something to think about with the land. I’m not saying no, I just need some time. I understand where you’re coming from, and the location is fantastic.”
Silas watches me, expression stern and maybe even a little pissed off, and I feel like I should give him more. I do plan on thinking about what he said in more detail.
“Who knows if something like that will be available when we want to build…” Conceding that point shouldn’t be as hard to say as it is.
Why is it? Silas is my partner and my friend, and maybe I’m just a little bitter that we’re both right.
A slow smile, too triumphant for my liking, plays on his mouth, and he runs a hand through his blonde hair. “All right, I like the sounds of that. I’ll wait. You think about it.”
He walks closer to me, placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “Listen, we are partners, and I’m not trying to do anything behind your back. I think we both have solid approaches on this studio thing. I just think we need to compromise.”
His final word hangs between us. He lets the silence breathe life into it, and he’s a bastard. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.
I can’t help but smile, shaking my head because he knows how to get to me. I’ve said from day one of our joint venture that compromise would be the secret to our success. We both have vision, the know-how, and the drive, but sometimes our egos get in the way. We need to know when to get out of the way.
“Fucker.” I lightly punch him in the arm, and he chuckles. “Yeah, compromise.” I nod, smiling. “I’m out of here. Have a good night.”
I’m halfway through the door when he calls out, “Hey, Gray, what’s going on with you two?”
There’s more interest than concern to his tone. He is Daisy’s future brother-in-law, and while the two of them are a mirror to the other, making sure they see things as they are even if they don’t want to, he does care a great deal about her. And the same goes for Daisy when it comes to him.
“Why’d you ask?”<
br />
“Pansy mentioned you guys had dinner at your place the other night, and you’re going to that awards dinner.” He shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s none of my business, but Daisy is great. I’m,”—he hangs his head, eyes on the ground, and I want to laugh at how much he squirms when talking about feelings and shit—“I’m glad you’re finally together. She’s perfect for you.”
A warmth spreads through my chest, and I’m gratified and humbled at his honest, while maybe difficult, insight. It means a lot coming from him.
“Thanks, Silas. I think so too.”
15
Daisy
All that matters is here and now
The dress is beautiful. A one-shoulder, lavender lace and tulle evening gown with an embroidered bodice of tiny sparkling flowers.
I sway from side to side, staring at my reflection in the cheap full-length mirror hanging on the back of my bathroom door. It’s hard not to marvel at how the beams of light filter through the tulle, making the gown glow.
When I’d heard I’d won the photography award, on a crazy impulse, I ventured to Rodeo Drive. Truly, it was insane since I couldn’t afford anything designer—hadn’t since my modeling days—but that didn’t stop me.
I found the dress at an exclusive boutique and that was it. I was a goner and didn’t have a chance to stop my reckless splurge. My poor credit card—I grimace at the hit to my bank account.
In the mirror, frown lines pop around my mouth and at the corners of my eyes, and I immediately force a blank expression, erasing those bothersome wrinkles. What is done is done.
It isn’t every day you’re named photographer of the year, and the dress is more beautiful than I had imagined.
My blonde hair falls in loose waves around my shoulders, and my makeup twinkles, giving my face a natural glimmer. It’s perfect for the awards dinner. Too bad I’m no longer looking forward to tonight.