by Rachel Cross
During the hour-long flight to Vegas, his hangover had dissipated enough for him to pull himself together and contact his lawyer. Once things were moving on the legal front, he’d skimmed the information Kate had emailed.
Jesus, how did anyone tell a five-year-old such devastating news? It was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done.
He climbed the steps two at a time and rang the bell. Rubbing a hand over his unshaven jaw, he realized he probably looked as bad as he felt. His jeans had an unidentifiable stain on one knee, and his oldest Metallica tee was wrinkled from spending last night balled up in a corner of his bedroom. The sickly stench of stale booze and sex oozed from his pores in the arid heat. Nothing like living down to the old man’s expectations.
Sterling answered, eyes red-rimmed from weeping, his face ashen under his golfer’s tan. “Asher.” His father took a half step toward him through the doorway.
Asher took a step back.
Sterling Lowe sighed and pushed the door further open behind him. “Come on in.”
Asher walked into the house, closed the front door and followed his father to the living room.
“So, what happened?” Asher asked.
“She was on her way home from a girls’ night, a weekend actually. She had a drink or two early, but her blood alcohol was nil. She rarely drank anymore. No drugs. Nothing. You know she got away from all that before she had Ella.”
Asher nodded.
“Some drunk crossed the line and hit her, head-on. They tell me she was killed instantly.” Sterling rubbed his unshaven face.
“Driver still alive?”
“Of course and it wasn’t his first offense. He’ll be in prison for a long time.”
“So, Ella’s been here a few days?”
“Yeah. I have her here as often as I can, which isn’t often enough. I’ve become really close to both of them,” Sterling said. “You may think it’s too little, too late.”
Asher shrugged, and crossed the room to the window where he studied the landscape. He gritted his teeth. All the feelings he had ferociously quashed were leaking through.
“I’m sorry, son. I know I was a lousy — ”
Nausea rose up, bringing his past with it. He turned away from the window and gave his father a look through narrowed eyes. “Now’s not the time.”
He was the only child now, the only heir. No matter. He had dashed his father’s dreams for a family succession of the business more than fifteen years ago. About the time Sterling had thrown his considerable weight around, leaning on people to cancel Spade’s early gigs. Luckily, Canadian promoters had balls, or who knows if his band would have ever made it. It had occurred to him on the flight that Sterling might want to mend fences with his sole surviving offspring. His lips twisted. Dear old Dad wouldn’t feel that way for long, not after the lawyers arrived. Asher hadn’t been as close to Dee in the last year or two, and he laid that directly at his father’s door. Dee’s endless efforts to bring about reconciliation between the two had caused a growing rift. His sister was short on memory and long on forgiveness. Asher was hanging on by a thread. He would deal with the yawning pit of howling rage and despair later. After they told Ella.
Sterling walked over to the far side of the room and poured an amber colored liquid from the crystal decanter on the sideboard. He offered it to Asher. “Hair of the dog?”
Asher stiffened. So his father had noticed. Not surprising. The hangover had barely ebbed, but he was not a proponent of that remedy. That path led to doom. “God, no.” Asher walked over to the couch while his father settled himself into a straight-backed chair with his drink. “Where’s Ella?”
“In the pool. The housekeeper is watching her for a bit while we talk.”
Asher ran a trembling hand through his hair. “So, listen, I talked to my friend, a nurse who deals a lot with grieving families; she’s an expert with this kind of thing. I gotta tell you, Sterling, it’s going to be bad. Real bad.”
“I could’ve told you that,” his father replied shakily and took a healthy swallow of the Scotch.
Asher relayed what Kate had told him about the way five-year-olds handle death. Then he dropped his bombshell. “I’m taking Ella back to Los Angeles with me after the funeral.”
The older man gasped and reared back, stretching out a hand as though to ward him off. “No, Asher, no, she’s all I have.”
Asher’s mouth tightened. Nice.
“That came out wrong,” his father’s voice hoarsened, “I didn’t mean that. But you don’t know what she means to me — what I mean to her, and she knows me.”
“She knows me, too, and it’s what Dee wanted.”
His father shook his head and put down the drink on the end table. “No. Well, maybe when Ella was first born, before I reconnected with them … but not anymore. I know Ella, son, and she knows me. I’ll care for her. You haven’t even been around — ”
“Thanks to you. Dee may have wanted you in her life. I don’t.
“But your lifestyle … you can’t … ” He trailed off as Asher’s brows shot up. “Asher.” Sterling’s voice was stronger now and he leaned forward and stretched out a beseeching hand. “You are not … capable of taking care of a five-year-old girl.”
Asher got to his feet. Heat surged through him as his heart rate kicked up two notches.
“Fuck you, Sterling. I’m a helluva lot more capable than you. Dee and I had years of your brand of parenting. You think I would subject my sister’s — ” His voice cracked. He took a moment to gather himself and when he spoke again he had himself under control. “If you think I’d give you the opportunity to neglect another child, you are out of your goddamn mind.”
“Asher, please. It’s not just the life you live. It’s the attention you draw. Do you really think it’s fair to Ella to expose her to that? To the scum that follow you around, taking photos, invading your privacy — the groupies, the hangers-on? Taking her with you will invite all of that into her life and she doesn’t deserve it, Asher.”
Lips pressed together in an implacable line, Asher turned and strode out of the room. He paused only to grab his bag as he took the stairs two at a time to the upper level. He pushed open a door he thought he remembered led to a guest room and threw his things on the bed.
Fuck!
He hadn’t even considered that. The publicity. There was no way he could allow her to be photographed and gossiped about. He paced the room. He’d just have to change things up. Dial down the lifestyle a couple of notches. Part of marketing and promoting Spade was being seen living the life. It had been years since he’d been overly enthused about the trappings. He’d just have to be careful — really careful — to shield Ella from all that. Hell, he wasn’t the only celebrity to ever have a kid.
Should he go to a hotel? Nah. Ella was here and she needed to get used to him. He could survive the two days in his father’s house. Barely. He’d spend time with Ella and avoid his dad.
The lawyers would work it out. He was still the legal guardian for Ella and trustee for the estate. If Dee had made changes to the will he urged her to set up when she discovered her pregnancy, he would’ve been notified.
So Sterling fancied himself a paragon of parenting now? Asher snorted. Screw him. Sure, Dee told him Sterling had changed. Asher was no fool. The old man was getting lonely in his old age. So what? His father had always been a selfish, manipulative bastard.
An hour later Asher had showered and lay on the bed, unable to sleep.
There was a rap at the door.
Sterling’s voice came through. “Asher? The therapist is here. It’s time.”
Telling Ella was brutal. A dim sense of unreality set in as Asher held a confused, weeping Ella on his lap. The questions from the child came thick and fast. Questions that had no answers.
“But why can’t she come back?” Ella whispered.
“I’m sorry, love. There was a car accident and her body stopped working, and she died. She can’t come back,” Sterling said.
Asher rubbed a hand over his eyes to disperse the moisture gathering.
“Can’t we visit? I really want to see her.” Ella insisted.
“Ella, she’s gone, honey. She can’t come back. We can’t visit her. We can only remember her.” Asher looked at the therapist, who gave him a nod.
Ella shook her head. “Then who is going to take care of me?”
Asher exchanged a look with his father over her head. Sterling seemed a decade older than his seventy years, his countenance ravaged by grief and sleeplessness.
“I am,” Asher said. “I’m going to take good care of you, honey.” He held her small, warm body close.
Ella pulled her thumb out of her mouth. “What about Grandpa?”
“I’ll see you, sweetie.” Sterling pressed his lips together, then lowered his head and put a hand to his brow, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Asher tightened his grip.
The child twisted. “Hey, Uncle Asher.”
He relaxed his arms. “Oh, sorry Ella.”
The therapist spoke. “Ella, your uncle and grandpa are sad that your mommy died, too. It’s okay for everyone to feel sad and cry. It doesn’t feel good when someone you love dies.”
After the woman left, Sterling tried to tempt Ella to eat with an assortment of cheeses, some kind of fish-shaped crackers, and sweets. No dice. His father put in an animated movie and settled Ella on his lap, where she sat with a small, ratty blanket, sucking her thumb, listless.
When it came time for Ella to go to bed, she begged his old man to lie down with her. Sterling’s accusing expression met Asher’s even gaze. Asher carried her little weeping body to her bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. His father took off his shoes and laid down next to the child, gathering her close.
Asher switched off the light and pulled the door behind him as he went back downstairs.
Was he doing the right thing?
He gave himself a shake. Of course he was.
• • •
A quick glance at the clock the next day indicated it was nearly noon. Asher grunted and rolled out of bed, heading for the shower. He considered his father as he studied the Moroccan tile walls of the shower, the hot water pulsing down from some fancy gadget above his head. Hard to believe a man so savvy in his business dealings could be so foolish where women were concerned.
Asher’s mother Jacqueline — the scion of old Hollywood money — was beautiful and spoiled, manipulative and narcissistic. Sterling’s second, brief union with a much younger woman had produced no offspring, thankfully. Delilah’s mother, Katherine, was arguably the best of the lot. She was a gifted horsewoman; unfortunately, she didn’t have a nurturing bone in her body, at least not for two-legged creatures. She and Dee had a cordial relationship — and that was largely due to Dee’s nature — but there was no way she would want or get custody of Ella. She may have seen her granddaughter once — twice at the most.
When Asher walked into the living room twenty minutes later, his father eyed him from the recliner, laptop open. Asher greeted Ella where she sat working on a puzzle with a kiss on the top of her head, and gave his father a nod before heading in search of coffee.
In the kitchen an array of breakfast foods were laid out on the enormous marble island. Ignoring the food, he spied the coffee maker. Full. Good. He needed his wits about him for what was coming. He pulled out his phone. There were a number of missed text messages and voicemails. He ignored them, scrolling through until he found the one that mattered. His lawyer and the other attorney were on their way to the house.
Moments later, the doorbell rang and Sterling admitted Asher’s legal team.
The discussion with the two lawyers in the study was brief. One of the men had drawn up Delilah’s will when Ella was born — the terms were inarguable. Sterling was given copies of all the relevant legal documents and the men departed.
Once they had gone, Sterling pulled Asher aside. “I’ll give you four months. If there are ongoing adjustment problems, if she’s lonely, if you aren’t parenting adequately, I’ll come after you for custody.”
Asher stood, motionless, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Who do you think you are? That’s not for you to decide — ”
His father stood his ground. “I’m her grandfather, and I love her. She knows me; she’s comfortable here. Your lifestyle — ”
“Here we go again. My lifestyle? What about yours, you son of a bitch? Dee and I only had each other growing up. You were completely MIA as a parent. Shipping us off to boarding school and then going on ski vacations while we had to do holidays with strangers?” Asher hissed.
His father met his eyes. “Yes. And I’m sorry for it. I made amends with Dee. I’ve handed over a lot of my responsibilities with the company. I’m not working as much — ”
“Good for you,” Asher spat.
“While you work all the time, and in your business, God know what sort of unsavory characters you have dealings with. I don’t want her exposed to your lifestyle.”
Asher’s fists clenched. “You know fuck all about me and my life.”
His father’s demeanor was calm, his tone even. “I made mistakes with you and Dee, Asher, but I’d do anything for Ella. I owe it to her and to Dee. I’ll come after you, and believe me the courts will lean in favor of a man like me over a man like you. I won’t sit idly by. Four months, Asher.” Sterling walked away.
Asher seethed silently, stomach roiling, and made his way back to the empty living room where he called his assistant. “Where are you?”
“Ten minutes away.”
“Okay. I want out of here the day after tomorrow, first flight out after the funeral.”
Justin sighed. “I thought you’d come later in the week. The jet’s in Mexico, remember? That indie band — ”
“Can you get it here?”
“Not that soon. Maybe Sterling — ”
“Forget it. Book us first-class commercial.”
“Commercial?”
“Just do it.”
Chapter 3
Maddy’s layover in Las Vegas on her way to Los Angeles was brief. So brief, she ended up running through the airport like an old-time linebacker in a rental car commercial. She was the last person on the plane before the doors closed; the flight attendant checked her seat assignment and took her to task with a cluck.
Hip joints that ached from the uncomfortable seats on the first leg of the flight were now screaming in agony after that mad dash through the airport.
Still, it was impossible to miss the movie-star handsome, vaguely familiar man and the hysterically sobbing, angelic-looking child holding on to him in a mostly empty first-class section she had to pass through to reach her own seat in row 32. The man was obviously trying to get the little girl to buckle up but she was clinging to him like a limpet. He glared at the flight attendant, an older, gray-haired woman, who scowled back.
“Sir, we’re ready to push back, she needs to be strapped in or you both need to get off.”
Her words made the child shriek still louder — she was asking for something, but Maddy couldn’t quite make it out.
Maddy put her carry-on down in the empty seat next to her and knelt next to him, wincing. She met the man’s harried gaze. “What’s her name?”
“Ella.”
“Does she have a blanket or a toy or something?” Every child traveling needed an item of comfort. Maddy didn’t have kids, but she’d been around them all her life. Stressful situations required thumbs, stuffed animals, blankets … especially at four or five, or whatever age she was.
The guy gave her a bl
ank look. “A what?”
Why did he look so familiar?
Maddy’s brow wrinkled. “A blanket?”
The child stopped crying and put her thumb in her mouth, staring at Maddy with huge, nut-brown eyes, lashes clumped together with tears.
He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Mmm … I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Maddy frowned. “Is this your child?”
“My niece.”
Ah. That explained it. “Does she have a little blanket?”
The light dawned in those shockingly brilliant hazel eyes. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Is that what she’s asking for?”
Maddy nodded.
The child nodded.
“Sir,” said the flight attendant.
He rose, baring his teeth in a facsimile of a grin.
The flight attendant recoiled from the look, muttering under her breath.
Maddy bit back a smile and backed up.
Opening the overhead bin, he felt around in a bag and pulled out a ratty blanket. At one time it may have been pink, but it was now a well-loved, dingy gray.
The child reached for it, expression rapt.
“You.” He pointed to Maddy. “Sit there, please.”
The gray-haired woman in the airline uniform shook her head. “No, sir, she has a coach seat.”
He gave her that look again. “I’ll pay the difference. She sits here.”
The woman grumbled but nodded to Maddy to sit in the seat the man had indicated.
The man reached for her carry-on, and examined the plastic baggage tag containing her identifying information before putting it in the overhead bin. He gave the tag a tug with two fingers. “Madeline?”
That’s what I get for helping. Now this guy knows my name and address. She examined him for signs that he was a creeper. What she found instead were signs of strain and sleeplessness that should have made him less attractive but didn’t.