I rubbed the back of my neck and tried to snap out of it. “Nothing. Long day.” His curious gaze regarded me. Oh, God. Could he see the guilt on my face? Perspiration beaded on my forehead. “Where’s Dakota this evening?”
“Out shopping with some of her girlfriends,” he said. A furrow deepened between his brows. “We’re having a bit of a rough patch.”
“Really? Why’s that?” In my experience, Sam and Dakota were always at odds over something. The friction between them sparked their relationship. Dakota was the only person besides Venetia who had the balls to stand up to him, and Sam loved to challenge his wife at every turn.
“I think it’s time to start a family. She wants to wait.”
I’d been about to take a sip of my wine but halted the glass in midair. “Excuse me?”
Smiles for Samuel Seaforth were few and far between, but he smiled now, broad and proud. “You heard me.”
“That’s huge.” I shoved back in my chair and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure? Kids are a big deal.” My pulse stuttered. I drew in a deep breath and tried to remain calm.
“I’m sure. What’s to think about? We’re married. In love. Kids are the obvious next step.”
“To another generation of Seaforths.” I raised my glass in a toast. Sam reciprocated. My hand trembled a little. We drank and set our glasses back on the table. This was the perfect opportunity to confess, to come clean, to take whatever punishment he had in mind. We could commiserate, celebrate, or whatever the hell it was I felt. My emotions seemed to change on a whim. But I couldn’t make myself do it. The words hovered on the tip of my tongue. I bit them back. I’d promised Venetia I wouldn’t say anything until she’d made her decision, and I couldn’t break my promise to her.
“Dakota—she’s not happy about it,” he said after a long silence, voice low and confiding. “She says the timing’s off. I say, why wait? Neither of us is getting any younger.” For the first time since I’d met Sam, he looked uncertain.
“Please tell me you didn’t make disparaging remarks about her age.” I held back a chuckle, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it.
He scratched his jaw. “I might have mentioned it. Now she’s not speaking to me.”
“Not good, my friend.” I concentrated on the color and clarity of the wine while Sam shoved back in his chair. “Do I need to draw up the divorce papers?”
“Hell no. I’m in this for the long haul. Tactical error on my part, but she’ll come around.” An arrogant smirk replaced his scowl. “The best part about fighting is the makeup sex. Phenomenal.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know about that.” I’d never been in a relationship long enough to have a fight. I had to admit, it sounded intriguing. With Venetia’s hot temper, we were bound to have a disagreement over raising a child together, and the idea of fucking it out sent a bolt of white-hot lust straight into my crotch. I lifted my gaze from the wine to find Sam’s eyes narrowed on mine.
“Your ears are turning red,” he stated. “Are you looking at the hostess? She’s been eye-fucking you since the first course.”
“No.”
As if sensing our conversation, the hostess shot a seductive smile in my direction. Honestly, I hadn’t even noticed her until then. Short skirt, nice rack, pretty face. Definitely my type but not on my radar this evening. The only woman on my mind was Venetia, a naked, moaning Venetia.
I cleared my throat. If Sam knew I was mentally shagging his sister, he’d choke on his appetizer. I wiped my mouth with the napkin and struggled to deflect the conversation. “You’d be a good dad,” I told him. “No question about it.” The words of confidence were as much for my sake as his. I emptied the last of the wine bottle into my glass and signaled the waiter for another.
“You think?” He shook his head. “My dad hasn’t been the best example of a loving parent. Hell, Vanessa got married and moved to a different continent just to get away from him. I don’t think he’s talked to her or Venetia in years. And you know what he’s done to me.”
“Well, thank God you’re not your dad. And Dakota will rock as a mom. That kid’s going to be the luckiest child in the world.” And what about my child? What kind of father would I be? The kind who shagged strange girls in elevators. The kind who had one-night stands with flight attendants. Venetia’s words returned. You’re not the first person I’d choose as a father.
For the second time that day, I felt the burn of shame. I couldn’t fault her observation. Without a doubt, Sam would harbor the same prejudice. He’d hate the idea of a guy like me raising his nephew, and the knowledge caused a bitter taste in my mouth. My unborn child linked the three of us as a family, a bond more important than friendship. I couldn’t change my past, but I could change their minds. I would change their minds. Our future depended on it.
A team of waiters arrived at the table bearing platters of poached salmon and filet mignon. We fell silent while they cleared away our salads, served the main course, and refilled our wine glasses.
For the past ten years, I’d been secure in my bachelorhood, accompanied by Tucker and Sam. Secrets aside, I was overcome with the unpleasant premonition that the introduction of children into our sacred circle of men was about to change our relationship forever. No more late-night drinking sessions. No more impromptu vacations in Cabo. Our weekends would be filled with diapers and bottles. A renewed surge of panic shook my confidence. I didn’t want that kind of life. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Something wrong with the steak?” Sam asked. “You look like you just ate something bad.”
“No. It’s fine.” I set my fork down. “Talked to Tucker lately?” I picked up a new topic, eager to veer away from the unpleasantness of my predicament.
“Yesterday. He’s in Seattle working on a new video game concept. Some big-time producer wants to pair Tuck’s newest video game with a movie. He’ll be back by the end of the week, he said.”
“Damn. That boy is on fire,” I said, unable to hold back the admiration in my voice.
“And Venetia? Heard from her?”
At Sam’s question, my guts clenched. A wave of heat rushed up my chest and into my neck. “Uh, yes. Why?” I threw my napkin on the table and pushed the plate away. My heart pounded against my ribs. Steady, Beckett. “I met with her yesterday.”
“She called you?” Sam lifted an eyebrow. “For what?”
“Yes.” I scrambled for an excuse. “She needed some legal advice on a few things. Nothing important. She said she has an apartment here and some job interviews. She didn’t tell you?”
“We aren’t exactly talking.” Sam signaled to the waiter, requesting he take away our plates, and wiped his mouth with the linen napkin before his reply. “How is she?”
“She’s fine. She seemed…sad.” I followed the guidelines of a successful cross-examination. Stick to the truth and omit the details. Deflect and redirect. “Maybe you should give her a call. I’m sure she misses you.”
“Why? She made her feelings clear when she left the wedding.” The line of his jaw hardened. “She needs to apologize first.” The Seaforth wall of stubbornness slammed down between us.
I cleared my throat and choked on the omissions. Needing to redeem myself, I raised a palm in the air. “Okay, okay. Not my business.” I decided to lessen a little of the betrayal by breaching my professional code of ethics. “Look, I need to make a confession.”
“Do tell?” Sam’s eyes flashed with mischief. “Have you knocked up one of your interns?” I paled. “Shagged the dog walker?” If he only knew how close to the truth he was.
“Nothing like that. It’s about Maxwell.”
“What about him?” He waved away the dessert cart with an irritated twitch of his fingers.
“He’s asked my firm to represent him—me in particular.” I waited for a reaction but got none. Sam’s face smoothed into a blank.
“What he does is none of my concern.” He looked away and straightened the knot of his tie with a
twitch.
“I just wanted you to know. He insisted I handle a few personal issues for him. Daniels and the other partners, they’ve got me backed into a corner. But if it’s a problem for you, I’ll drop him.” I waited while Sam stared across the restaurant.
When he looked back, his gaze burned into me. “It’s not a problem. Unless you intend to go over to the dark side with him.” He quirked an eyebrow.
“Hell, I’d just as soon throw him over a cliff, but the law seems to frown on that kind of behavior.”
“I trust you, Becks,” Sam said. Guilt rampaged inside me. I didn’t deserve his confidence. “Besides, it’s good to have tabs on him. Might come in handy. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right?” He studied me with cool green eyes. “You realize that he doesn’t do anything without an agenda. If you’re on his radar, he’s got something in store for you. Be careful.”
We paid the bill and made our way out of the restaurant. Sam’s warning about his father echoed my own thoughts. Any contact with Maxwell required careful and cautious planning. I vowed to take his advice to heart.
The head valet radioed to the parking garage for our cars. We stood in silence. I hesitated to open my mouth, afraid I’d break my promise to Venetia. My entire body tensed with the effort. Sam seemed lost in his own thoughts, giving me a temporary reprieve. When my Jeep arrived at the curb, the valet tossed the keys over the hood, and I snatched them from the air.
Sam’s Porsche arrived next. He rounded the front of the car but paused before opening the door. “You’re still driving that thing?” he teased.
“There’s nothing wrong with my ride.” To underscore my comment, the engine faltered and choked. A puff of blue smoke billowed from the exhaust. The valet coughed and waved a hand in front of his face.
“You can afford better.” One corner of Sam’s mouth curled up in a puckish smirk. “You deserve better. You work hard. You should play harder.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, and opened the car door. “Tell you what. I’ll get a new car when you stop being such a stubborn ass.”
“Ha. Point taken.” He lifted a hand in concession.
“See you next week. Tell Dakota I said hello.”
“Will do. And keep an eye on V for me, will you?” His eyes met mine, dark with the concern he was unable to voice. “Let me know if she needs anything.”
“You got it.” I nodded. His trust increased my guilt. I spun the championship ring around my finger, hating myself for risking our friendship.
He drove away into the night, leaving me alone to deal with all the lies. I turned my Wrangler in the opposite direction, heading for my downtown apartment to contemplate his warning and to bask in the quiet solitude of my bachelor life.
Chapter 14
Venetia
AFTER MEETING with Beckett, I went to a job interview for an entry-level interior design position. Finding a job created a pleasant—albeit nerve-wracking—distraction from the problems of Beckett and the baby. I didn’t need a job. Money had never been an issue for me. My billionaire father dropped a fat deposit into my bank account once a month, and I would receive a ton of money from him whenever he passed. When my mother died, she’d left a trust fund that I’d received on my twenty-third birthday. This substantial sum, with careful planning, provided enough income for the rest of my life. Although I never needed to work, I wanted more—a career, a success story all my own, to make a name for myself beyond Seaforth.
Garrison-Tafflinger was a topnotch architectural firm, rapidly expanding and known for its cutting-edge style. I sat in the lobby, briefcase at my side, and pondered the odds of getting this position. After completing an internship with a prestigious designer, I’d been on dozens of interviews across the country. None of them had resulted in an offer. With dual degrees in architecture and interior design, I was over-qualified. The recent decline in the real estate market made skills like mine unpopular. In spite of my education, I’d yet to manage a second interview anywhere. Now that I was pregnant, no one would want to hire me, no matter how impressive my resume. I decided to keep that tidbit for myself. After all, I might not even have the child. In which case, no one ever needed to know.
When the receptionist finally called my name, I straightened my skirt to hide the tremor of my hands and followed her down a corridor of closed office doors to an expansive conference room. A lone woman gave me the once over as I sat in the chair opposite hers.
“You’ve got exceptional grades and impressive references,” the interviewer said after a lengthy barrage of questions. “But I have to wonder, why aren’t you working for your father or your brother?” She steepled her fingers in front of her.
I drew in a deep breath, formulating the answer before I spoke. Being Malcolm Seaforth’s daughter and Sam’s sister didn’t help my cause. Although I’d never mentioned their names, they’d played a key part in losing out on previous opportunities. After the last few interviews, I’d downplayed my familial ties. This time I vowed to avoid excuses. I squared my shoulders and looked her in the eyes.
“I want to make it on my own,” I said following a lengthy pause. “It’s important that I build a reputation independent from my family.” And it was. Until I’d said the words aloud, I had no idea how vital this concept had become for me. Sam had made it on his own. Ten years from now, I wanted to look back on my life and know I’d made a success of myself without the benefit of their help.
She smiled and nodded. “I can respect that. But, frankly, I have concerns that you’ll leave us after a few years to join with them. There are rumors that your brother is circling the wagons for a comeback, that he’s got a new company in the works. I can’t have you leaving us, taking away our clients, and divulging secrets to align with your family.”
Her words unleashed my insecurities. I rallied a mask of self-assurance and dropped my smile. I spoke the next words with clipped accuracy. “We both know there are no guarantees in life, Ms. Levine. I don’t have a crystal ball, and I can’t see into the future. What I can tell you is that I have no desire to work for either one of my relatives at this time. I’m interested in learning from the best, and I’d consider a position in your company to be a feather in my cap.” Her eyes widened, and she leaned back in her chair. I stood, intending to leave on a positive note. “Unless you have more questions, I’ll be on my way. But let me leave you with this thought. I’m an asset for any company I choose to work for. You’d be lucky to have a Seaforth on your staff. My name alone promises dedication and excellence. I can assure you, I’m well worth the money.”
“It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Seaforth. Someone will give you a call within the week,” she said. We shook hands. I left the interview with a sinking feeling and my confidence rattled.
Following the fiasco of my interview, I returned to my new apartment. Prior to this, I hadn’t really had a place to call home. The majority of my life had been spent in boarding schools then college. My parents’ house felt more like a hotel than a house. After my mother had died, I avoided going there. Instead, I bounced around the country, staying with friends or hanging out with Sydney in Los Angeles. Now that I was finished with school and the internship, I looked forward to having a place of my own, somewhere I could put down roots and make a life.
On the advice of Sydney’s real estate agent, I’d rented a furnished three-bedroom penthouse on the edge of downtown. The doorman tipped his hat as I entered the building. Upstairs, unpacked boxes cluttered the foyer and held the few personal items I’d brought with me. I rummaged through a few boxes then sank onto the sofa in the living room to catch my breath. I seemed to tire more easily these days. Before Sam’s wedding, I’d been barreling through life at breakneck speed, trying to forget all the mistakes I continued to make. Too much downtime led to too much introspection, and I didn’t like the turn my future had taken. If I stayed in place for too long, the self-doubt and remorse crept in.
With a hot cup of tea in hand, I t
ook five minutes to regroup. From the twentieth floor, the arched windows offered a view of the setting sun. Swaths of crimson, lavender, and gold streaked across the sky. In the distance, the twin skyscrapers of Seaforth Towers loomed above all the other buildings. They served as an ominous reminder of my father, his power, and the emotional distance between us. Was he there now, working on a new master plan to conquer the world, counting his billions of dollars? Every minute, every move in his life was plotted with careful deliberation. How disappointed would he be to learn his daughter was such an abject failure in her life? He’d never been the understanding type. Maxwell Seaforth didn’t make mistakes. Neither did Sam. It was expected, mandatory.
“Can I get you anything before I go?” The housekeeper stopped on her way out the door. Her unfamiliar, yet kind face, offered little comfort.
“No, but thank you for asking. Have a good evening.” I watched her leave. The door shut behind her with the finality of a prison gate.
My mind continued to race. Beckett had taken the news reasonably well, considering. He must be in shock. Maybe I’d been wrong to tell him. Maybe I should’ve taken care of it—I still couldn’t bring myself to call it a baby—on my own. I rubbed a hand over the flatness of my belly. The image of an infant with black curls and long, dark lashes flashed through my imagination. Would it be dark like Beckett, or blond like me? Protectiveness swelled inside me, and I locked the fingers of both hands over my stomach. It needed me. Someone needed me. This baby would be mine. It would belong to me, and I would belong to it.
I glanced at the clock. Midnight. Sleep pulled my eyelids shut, but they fluttered open when I realized Sydney hadn’t texted since I’d left her at the airport yesterday. It seemed a lifetime ago. I found her name in my speed dial and called, knowing she kept late hours.
“Hey, V.” A yawn came through the speaker. I pictured her lounging on the hotel bed, phone in one hand, diet soda in the other.
Pretty Dirty Secrets: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 3) Page 8