by Alisha Rai
When he'd been her size, those lashes had gotten him teased to the point of fistfights. Hers probably broke hearts.
Let Esme handle it. He wasn’t the first rich man to have a paternity scare. He doubted any of them dealt with it themselves.
The girl took a single step. “Hi.”
What the fuck is wrong with you? Listen to yourself. You’re not the man I know, if you would simply dump this on Esme.
His conscience didn’t sound like Jiminy Cricket. No, that was Tatiana’s sharp tone ringing in his brain. He gave a shake of his head and spoke to Esme. “No. No, thank you. I’ll see what this is about. Make sure we’re not disturbed.” He turned to the girl. “Hello,” he said, internally wincing when he heard the harsh note in his voice. Just a child. Don’t scare her, moron. He dialed it back, making sure his next words were gentler. Soft and soothing wasn't his style, but he could manage it for this kid.
His...kid?
He shoved that thought out of his mind, because otherwise panic would render him mute again. “How are you?”
“Good.”
Esme cleared her throat, and Wyatt jerked. Inside. Esme had been right to put the kid inside his office. It would take about five minutes and one person not on his payroll for rumors about his illegitimate child to start flying.
His business model was based on discreet depravity. That meant keeping his nose clean. No one wanted to trust their secrets to a man who couldn’t keep his own.
Mobilized into action, Wyatt strode toward his office—and the girl. “I’ll call you if I need you, Esme. Don’t disturb us.”
“Yes, sir.”
The girl backed away as he entered, her brown eyes very big. He closed the door behind him, the noise too loud.
“Well.” Wyatt clasped his hands behind his back, unsure what to do with them. Or her. He fell back on manners he used for adult guests. “Would you like a seat?”
“Okay.” Gingerly, the girl sat on the sofa he gestured to, her hands tugging at the hem of her bright yellow T-shirt.
Other than her coloring and eyes, she also shared his chin and face shape, but her small bone structure had nothing in common with his, and her nose was a cute little button.
Each difference calmed him, each lack of similarity helping him breathe enough to think and regain some of his usual control. He took a few steps closer, so he could stand behind the chair facing her. He gripped the back of it. “My assistant didn't give me your name.”
“Ellie. Short for Elizabeth.”
Esme had given her a can of soda while she waited, he saw. That was good, the cynical side of him whispered. If TV was right, he could score a DNA test off that. His private investigator would know, surely.
He'd always been careful with his sexual partners. He’d never had to deal with the threat of a paternity suit before.
Until now.
This was…okay. He could handle this. He could be charming when he wanted to be, and he drew that skill around him, the polish he’d adopted over the past few years settling over him. All he had to do was be the man everyone expected to see. No one ever questioned that. No one looked deeper. “Ellie short for Elizabeth. My name's Wyatt Caine. What's your last name?” He was picky enough he remembered the names of every woman he'd ever gone to bed with.
She pressed her lips together. “Caine.”
He nodded, thinking for a second she was merely repeating his own name back at him. But she stopped and was staring at him expectantly, and he realized...
Her name. She was telling him her last name.
That didn't mean anything. “How old are you, Ellie?” he said, and mentally swore when the girl flinched. He forced a smile and came around the chair, dropping into it so it would put him on her level. Her fists were clenched in her lap, one red Converse tapping the floor.
“Nine.”
Nine. Which would make sense, the smug voice of his conscience whispered. Because her conception could have fallen within that window of time when he'd been in the arms of one woman after another, desperately trying to forget Tatiana. He’d always worn protection. But protection failed.
He placed his hands on his knees. He was too big, too awkward. His office was too stark and modern for this fresh-faced child. She belonged in a suburban split-level with two caring parents and a golden retriever. “What can I do for you, Ellie?”
The flutter of the rapid pulse in her throat was evident, as was her nervous swallow. Still, she met his gaze squarely, intelligence brimming in her eyes. “I'm sorry to bother you, but we were in town, and I wanted to meet you.”
A dull roaring echoed in his ears. “Okay.”
“I don’t think I was supposed to know about you, but I overheard my dad telling my mom your name.”
She’d overheard…what?
What. The. Fuck. “Your dad told your mom my name?”
“Yeah.” Her button nose scrunched up. “Until then, I guess I didn’t really think about the fact that I had a brother.”
Chapter Five
“Brother.”
Her head tipped, and it was like looking at his own almost arrogant expression. “You didn’t know about me, did you? Dad said he hadn’t talked to you since before I was born.”
Well before this girl would have been born. The last time he’d seen his father had been the morning of his eighteenth birthday. He’d risen early, having packed the night before, and walked past the man passed out on the sofa.
Some kids saved for college. All he’d been looking for post high school was his own place.
He raised a finger, hoping to get a moment to collect his thoughts. Wyatt rose, went to the door, and opened it a crack. “Esme, can you order us something to eat and drink?”
His assistant studied him. He gave a slight shake of his head, and relief filled her face. “Yes, sir.”
He closed the door and strolled back to the chair, dropping into it with deceptive casualness.
A sister.
A tiny, helpless little thing who looked like him and was the same age as him when his mother had died and his father had become an alcoholic stranger whose son's existence had pained him.
Dear God.
Ice spread through him. Coldness was good. Since Tatiana had come back to him, he’d chipped away at that protective layer, but he welcomed the frozen layer surrounding his emotions right now.
“What’s your father’s name, Ellie?” He sounded flat and emotionless to his own ears, but he couldn’t work up the ability to fix that.
“Sam Caine.” She dug into her back pocket and pulled out a rumpled photo. “I thought you might need proof.”
Wyatt stared at the piece of paper in her hand before stretching out to accept it. Proof. Yes, the man in the photo was definitely his father. Older. Happy. Smiling at a baby he was holding in his arms.
It was hardly a DNA test. Wyatt’s finger tightened on the photo for a brief second, creasing the corner before he handed it back to Ellie.
“I knew he was married before he met my mom, of course, and that he had a son. I don’t have any other siblings. When I found out your name, I investigated you.”
“Investigated me.”
“The Internet. That’s how I knew where to find you. We live in Tucson. I’m just visiting here for the weekend.”
The Internet made kids dangerous, and the fact that this girl was here alone led him to believe she was already a bit of a problem.
“How old are you again?”
“Nine.”
“You’re very precocious for a nine-year-old.” Not that he knew many nine year olds. But her precise speech and sharp gaze didn’t seem childlike at all.
She tilted her head, her brief initial flash of timidity gone. “Precocious is muttering adorably insightful things. I’m really smart. Especially with computers.”
Fascinated despite himself, he ran his hand through his hair. “Great.”
They sat in silence for a minute. “So. Your parents are…married.” The wor
d felt distasteful on his lips. The old man had gone into an alcohol-soaked depression after Wyatt’s mother had died, neglecting his only son. Screamed, cried, raged at his only son. Made that kid feel like he was nothing.
“Yes. They’re married.”
Bastard like that didn’t deserve a second chance at a family. Not after he’d screwed with his first one.
Wyatt had turned out okay, outwardly. He was successful, he donated to charity, he wasn't an alcoholic or abuser himself. But he wasn't normal. He never would be.
No one understood that, not even Tatiana. Living with a dysfunctional parent was like taking a piece of wood and letting it sit in the rain. It warped it. It could be stained and sanded and cut, but that damage would always be there.
He focused on the pragmatic details. “Did your mom drop you off here?”
Ellie looked down and ground the toe of her sneaker into the carpet. “Um, not exactly.”
His stomach knotted. “Your parents don’t know you’re here, do they?”
She sighed, a soft gust of air. “No, sir.”
Polite. “How did you get here, Ellie?”
“I had my allowance money. I took a cab.”
Wyatt bit back his immediate response to that, because it involved vulgar words. Vegas wasn’t the hotbed of depravity that the world made it out to be. Still, he wouldn’t want his nine-year-old hopping into a cab by herself here. Hell, he didn’t like it when Tatiana took public transportation, and she was a grown woman. Anything could have happened to the girl.
Not his kid. Maybe not even his sister. It wasn’t his place to scold her. The knock on the door interrupted them, and Esme entered, carrying a tray.
The woman would never cease protecting him, playing waitress so more staff wouldn’t see Ellie. He cleared his throat. “Esme, this is my… This is Elizabeth.”
Without missing a beat, Esme dimpled at the girl. “What a pleasure. I wasn’t sure what you’d like to eat, so I had them send up some doughnuts and bagels and fruit.”
“That’s fine,” he assured her.
Ellie thanked Esme. After the older woman left, she daintily picked up a bagel and nibbled at it.
She ate like Tatiana, he noted. All delicate and birdlike. He made a fist and rested it on his thigh. “Is there a reason you didn’t want your parents to know you were coming here, Ellie?” The ugly scenarios played in his mind, fueled by history.
“Well, my dad looked so sad when he was talking about you.” She placed the bagel back on her plate. “I didn’t want to bring you up and have him be upset.”
His muscles locked. The sound of tears and shouting rang in his ears. “How does your dad get when he’s upset?” Does he cry? Does he scream? Does he tell you he wishes he was dead? Does he ask you to kill him, because he’d be happier that way?
She ripped off a piece of the bagel and shredded it. “He gets quiet, and he tries to pretend he’s okay, but I can tell he’s not.”
“Quiet.”
“Yes. He’s a quiet guy, but I can tell he’s usually happy. His sad quietness has a different feel to it.”
You do not share the same father.
It could be a coincidence he and this girl looked alike. She could have obtained that photo somehow or doctored it and this was an elaborate scam. Because there was no way the man she was describing was his dad.
He was careful not to let his suspicion show. First things first. He wasn’t about to have the police show up because he was harboring a runaway. “Your parents are probably frantic.”
“I left my mom a note.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really. Do you think she’ll read the note and go about her day?” Because if so, the kid really did need protection from neglectful parents.
Ellie winced. “No. She’s probably not up yet, though. Her best friend is getting married this weekend, and she was helping with wedding stuff until late.”
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Then you should call her.”
Ellie made a face and reached into her backpack to retrieve a green phone. “I guess you’re right.”
Did most nine year olds have their own phone? Though if his kid ran off on a regular basis, he’d glue a phone to her hand. A phone with GPS.
She rubbed the screen with her thumb. “Maybe we should hang out a bit more before I call,” she said hopefully.
“Are you scared?” Will they hurt you? If Sam Caine was her father, maybe he had graduated to using his fists. Maybe her words about how he was a happy, mild-mannered man were BS, a child’s wishes.
His stomach knotted. Or maybe the mother was the monster.
“Scared? No. Well, yes.”
His muscles tensed. “Ellie…”
“My dad might get sad, but my mom’s going to lecture me forever. And I’ll probably get grounded.”
He let his shoulders relax. Lecturing and grounding sounded like appropriate parental responses. If she was telling the truth.
Ellie pushed a button and held the phone to her ear. He could hear ringing and then a woman’s groggy voice. “Um, hi, Mom. It’s Ellie.”
There was a burst of chatter. “No, I’m not at the hotel. I came to see… Mom, calm down. I’m fine. I came to see…” Ellie shot him a glance, “…Wyatt.”
There was dead silence for a moment. Ellie nodded. “Yes, that Wyatt. I heard Daddy telling you… I know. I know.” A resigned expression crossed her face. “Yes, I know I shouldn’t have gone off on my own. That sounds fair. I’m okay. Yeah, I’m at his hotel. He’s been really nice. I… Okay.”
She lowered the phone. “Is it okay if she talks to you?”
His initial response was no. He did not want to talk to the woman who was allegedly married to his son-of-a-bitch father. Not today and not ever.
But it was remarkably hard to convey that to a child. So he took the phone and held it to his ear. “Hello.”
“Mr. Caine.” The woman’s voice was stilted and formal and carried a hint of a Southern accent. “My name is Carol. I am so sorry, and I apologize for my daughter.” In the background came the sound of clothes rustling. “I am on my way right now to get her.”
Wyatt glanced at the girl. “It’s not a problem.”
“She is okay, right? I can’t believe she just walked out in a strange city.” Her voice thickened.
“She looks none the worse for her adventure.”
“I didn’t think you knew about her.” The woman’s voice softened. “I’ve been lobbying for you to meet, but certainly not like this.”
“It’s fine.” His father’s new wife. He was speaking to his father’s wife. His mother had been dead for so long he could barely remember her. But this woman had taken her place. If Ellie was to be believed at all, she had made his father…happy.
A bead of perspiration slid down his forehead. He was distantly annoyed at the small evidence of his lack of control.
“Perhaps when I get there, we could have breakfast…”
He angled his body away from the girl, lest the sight of her crack the icy barrier that had solidified around his heart. “I am rather busy. I’m afraid I don’t have time for that today.”
“Of course.” The woman was silent. “My husband…your father, he…”
“We will see you shortly, then.”
The woman hesitated. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
“Do you need directions?”
“No, we were sightseeing, and I’m aware of where your casino is. I’m not far. We’re at the Holiday Inn Express. I’m getting in my car right now.”
“When you arrive, come around to the back entrance. Ellie will be waiting there.” He gave her rough directions. “You can avoid the traffic in front.” And gossipmongers wouldn’t see the child.
“Okay. Thank you for looking out for her.”
That sounded far too familial, and he didn’t know how he felt about that. “It was what anyone would have done.”
“Of course. Thank you. I’ll be right there.”
The two of them stared at each other for a brief moment.
“I’m grounded for at least two weeks, Mom said. No TV too,” Ellie announced glumly.
“You probably shouldn’t be running off in strange cities. There are people out there who could hurt you.” Unless you have a reason to run away.
“I guess.” She glanced up at him through her tangled lashes. “It was worth it, though. I’m glad I got to see what you looked like. I couldn’t even find many good photos online.”
“You probably shouldn’t be running amok on the Internet either.” There were more than a few salacious articles printed about him.
“It’s how I learn things. I need to learn things.” The girl slid off his couch and grabbed her backpack. It was cheap but in good condition. After his mother had died, he hadn’t gotten new school supplies until he was old enough to walk to the store and buy them himself. “That’s also why I wanted to see you. My dad told my mom that you were like me.”
“Like you?”
“A genius.”
He scoffed. “I’m no genius.” School had been fine, and he hadn’t had to expend much effort to grasp concepts, but his life had been all about survival back then. That meant most of his time had gone into working and paying bills.
“Sure you are. You’re old, but you’re still pretty young to be in charge of all of this.” Her lips twisted, the cynical expression out of place on such a baby face. “My parents are great, but I don’t really feel like I belong. It’s nice to see that I’m not so unusual. It’s okay to be different if you have someone you can be different with. You know?” She held out her hand. Slowly he extended his own hand and grasped hers. Her grip was firm—for a nine-year-old.
“Thanks for seeing me.”
“It’s been a pleasure, Ellie.” A rush of protectiveness pierced his armor at the feel of the small, breakable bones in her hand. They shook once and then paused, as if they were both pondering what the next move was.
A hug? No. Rejected. He was not a hugger.