by Skye Jordan
His words dimmed as her mind tried to process the onslaught of sensations in her body. His chest was wide and hard, his belly flat, his arms strong. Those lazy, untucked, unbuttoned shirts pulled over a tee didn’t showcase the body pressed against her now.
And damn he smelled good. He felt good. It had been so damn long since she’d been held by a man. Four years, to be exact. The night she told Cooper’s father she was pregnant, her entire world changed. And part of that change was being man-free so she could put Cooper first.
Wyatt was the only man she’d met in that time who made her ache for more, and not just for his looks or his charm. Her attraction to Wyatt came in rare moments like these, when she saw the man beneath the glitz. Wyatt Jackson the rock star didn’t interest Gypsy in the least. But this man who always stopped at her bar as soon as he got back in town, this man who loved his family, yeah, this man was real trouble.
She pushed off his chest and wiggled loose, then gave him a shove. “Go on. Bring her in.” As he walked toward the truck, she called after him, “I’m interviewing managers today. You have to be back to pick her up in two hours.”
7
Wyatt’s stomach was wired tight when he arrived at the attorney’s office, his mind spinning like a carnival ride, his stomach pitching with nausea. He climbed from his truck and made his way to the office, bouncing between hope and fear. Surely Francie hadn’t meant for this to be permanent. As soon as she realized what she’d given up, she’d come back.
He boarded the elevator to the sixth floor with Gypsy’s comment pinching his gut. “What is it with successful men? Why do they always feel like money will solve every problem?”
He had, admittedly, expected the money he sent Francie to get her whatever help she needed, even though he shamefully couldn’t remember why she needed help or what kind. He barely remembered the phone call.
In his own defense, he’d been just about to go onstage at the Capital One Arena in DC. And he hadn’t seen it as throwing money at her, but being there to give her what she needed to get by. Now he felt like a royal shit of a brother-in-law for not realizing when Francie called for help, she meant the psychological and/or physical kind of help, not the financial kind of help.
Maybe that was why Brody had never even called Wyatt for help. Maybe Wyatt was just too self-absorbed to grasp another person’s needs.
The building housing the attorney’s office was old and historically beautiful, but it had the slowest elevator in all of mankind. Wyatt stared at the numbers lighting up and going dark on the panel, fighting to shift the weight of this impossible blame off his shoulders.
Francie could have used the money he’d sent to hire help to alleviate whatever issue made her feel the need to abandon her child. She could have hired a nanny or babysitter or housekeeper. She could have taken Belle on a vacation or invested in herself by getting a degree or starting a vocational school.
As it stood, it looked like she may have taken the money and run.
Wyatt paused outside the attorney’s office door to collect himself. He was on the edge. Sweating palms, shaking legs, tension drawing his shoulders toward his ears. Wyatt rubbed his face with both hands before dropping his arms. He took a deep breath, dropped his head back, and blew it out slowly.
But when he righted himself and shook out his limbs, he still felt like he was facing a firing squad. And that only made him feel like a bigger loser, because what kind of person wouldn’t want Belle in their life? She was adorable and lovable and well-behaved. She sure as shit didn’t deserve to have both her parents abandon her.
He forced his feet forward. Forced his hand to turn the knob and push the door open. He cleared his throat and paused at the receptionist’s desk. “Hi, I’m—”
“Wyatt Jackson,” she said with a wide smile. “My entire family loves your music.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Have a seat. Mr. Larkin will be right with you.”
Wyatt turned and paced instead of taking a seat. “Get your shit together, Jackson,” he murmured to himself. “Positive thoughts. It’s all going to work out.”
The inner office door opened, and a middle-aged man stood in the doorway, smiling. He was slight, maybe five-foot-eight and one hundred thirty pounds, with a three-piece suit and a bow tie. His hair was salt-and-pepper gray, but his face was smooth.
“Mr. Jackson, I’m Larry Larkin. Please, come in.”
Wyatt followed Mr. Larkin down a hall and into an office where one wall of windows invited a sunny view of downtown.
Mr. Larkin rounded his desk and sat.
Wyatt pulled the document from his back pocket and unfolded it. “I’m at a complete loss here.” He laid the document on Larkin’s desk. “I have no idea what’s going on or how it even happened. I’m sure as hell hoping you’re going to tell me that Francie just needed a break and that she has plans to come back soon. Because, honestly, my parents are two elderly to care for Belle, and I’m on the road three hundred days a year. We aren’t equipped to raise a five-year-old.”
Mr. Larkin leaned forward and rested his forearms on his desk. “I understand. I knew this would be a hardship on your family, and I discussed it at length with Francie. But she had her heart set on this. Nothing I could say or do changed that.”
A storm raged inside Wyatt. A combination of fury toward Francie and heartbreak for Belle. And, yeah, terror. The terror of being responsible for this tiny human he didn’t begin to understand. This situation was utterly unthinkable.
“I don’t…” he started, unable to find the words he needed without swearing. “What happened? My parents didn’t know anything about this. If they did, they sure as hell wouldn’t have depended on me to take care of a five-year-old. And Francie certainly didn’t indicate there was anything so wrong in her life that she was considering abandoning her daughter. Belle lost her father not that long ago. To have her mother just leave…”
Wyatt rubbed sweat off his forehead. “Look, I’ve been up all night worried sick about her. I didn’t find the note until this morning. And now you’re telling me Francie ran away because, what? Being the mother to an utterly enchanting, well-behaved, adorable little angel was just too hard?” He took a breath and tempered his tone. “There’s got to be some kind of support or arrangement we can come to so that Belle can stay with her mother.”
Mr. Larkin was patient and attentive, his smooth forehead wrinkled with distress. “I’m sorry to tell you that’s not the case here. Francie’s returned to Colombia to live with her family.”
“What?”
Colombia? Had Wyatt even known she was from Colombia? He only remembered references to South America. This just kept getting worse. He pushed from the chair and paced to the window, then turned to face the attorney again.
“I don’t understand. Is she… I mean, she’s coming back, right? I understand wanting to be with your family, but why didn’t she take Belle? Not that I’d want her to take Belle, it would kill my parents, and I’d miss her, but a little girl needs her mom, doesn’t she?”
He was rambling. He was frantic. This was too much. Way too much. Unfathomable.
“Francie was adamant that she didn’t want Belle raised in Colombia. The area where her family lives isn’t safe, especially not for children. She wants the best for Belle, and she knows exactly how perfect Belle’s life is in the States with your family. She also knows how important it was to Brody that you were in Belle’s life. She said Belle adores you and that you have the money to give Belle everything she deserves. I can see both sides of this. There really is no perfect situation for either party.”
No perfect situation? That was the understatement of the century.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware,” Larkin said, “but Francie has struggled with depression for a long time. It started after she had Belle with postpartum depression. She said that even after being treated by a number of physicians, it never really got better. Raising Belle on her own was extremely d
ifficult for her, and Brody’s suicide was really the straw that made her snap. She knew she wasn’t being a good mom, and she wanted better for Belle.”
Wyatt’s mind spun backward, to the call from his father telling him Brody had killed himself. He’d just finished a concert and was riding high. The news had tipped Wyatt’s world on its axis and dropped him to his knees.
Wyatt had always thought of himself as a good guy. A guy who did right by the people who meant the most to him. But this was the second time he’d missed major warning signs with the people he loved. What the fuck was wrong with him?
He rubbed his face with both hands, pressed one palm to the back of the chair in front of Larkin’s desk, and met the attorney’s gaze, feeling the weight of a boulder on his shoulders again. “What if she comes back? She could change her mind, right?”
“That’s always a possibility.” Larkin didn’t sound like he believed his own words. “But I’m quite confident she won’t.”
“Based on what?”
“Based on twenty-six years practicing family law.”
Wyatt’s brain kept misfiring. He couldn’t think straight. “Could we force Francie back here legally? Then get her medical help? Therapy? Maybe we can move her family to the States too. Or arrange for Francie to go see her family every couple of months or something. I’ll pay for everything.”
“This isn’t a matter of money,” Larkin said. “If it were, this would be infinitely easier for everyone. There’s no way to force Francie back to the States. She hasn’t committed any crime, so there wouldn’t be any extradition available.”
“Abandoning your daughter isn’t a crime?”
“She made arrangements,” Larkin said. “She may not have told you about those arrangements, but she didn’t leave Belle on the street. You could certainly try to get in contact and try to convince her, but she wouldn’t tell me where her family lived in Colombia. It would take quite a bit of research to find her, and even then, based on how adamant she was about leaving, I doubt you could do anything to change her mind.”
Wyatt’s heart pounded so hard, he couldn’t hear himself think. “I’m sorry. I’m still not clear on this guardianship thing. If she was going to leave Belle permanently, wouldn’t she have given us custody of her or signed over her parental rights or something? Isn’t guardianship a temporary thing? Like, giving someone permission to get her medical care in an emergency?”
“You’re talking about temporary guardianship. This is permanent guardianship. It does exactly what you’re describing—it gives you full custody of Belle. You would have the legal right to make all decisions for Belle’s care. Not just medical care, but all care. In the eyes of the law, you are now her parent and have every right a biological parent would have.”
Parent? Parent?
“Which also means,” Larkin went on, “if Francie ever did come back, nothing would change. You would still have full custody of Belle, and you would decide whether or not it was in Belle’s best interest to have contact with Francie. Signing these papers makes her, essentially, your daughter.”
Jesus Christ. This just got seriously real.
“And Francie understood that?”
Larkin nodded. “We went over it in depth several times.”
Panic turned to chaos. “What happens if I don’t sign the papers? What if I say no?”
Larkin sighed and sat back in his chair, a concerned frown adding vertical lines between his eyes. “The state would start going through next of kin, trying to place her. From what I understand, the only others left would be your parents. If they won’t take her, Belle will become a ward of the state and be put into foster care. If your parents want custody, they’ll have to go through the courts, and Belle would remain in foster care until a ruling is made. That could take months.”
Wyatt hadn’t heard anything past “ward of the state” and “foster care.”
All the chaos inside him solidified into rock-solid commitment. Fuck foster care. This was his brother’s kid. And there was no way his parents could keep up with Belle.
He pushed to his feet and faced the desk. “Where do I sign?”
8
Gypsy was a goddamned sucker.
As her third candidate for the manager position told Gypsy about her education—a degree in hospitality management from freaking Cornell, for God’s sake—Gypsy glanced toward the bar’s front door.
When would she ever learn? Wyatt had been gone nearly three hours, and Belle had gotten bored of hanging with Gypsy within thirty minutes. It seemed that things good enough to occupy a three-year-old did nothing for a five-year-old. And since Wyatt hadn’t returned when he said he would, Gypsy had no choice but to bring the girl to the bar for interviews that were already scheduled. She absolutely could not put off finding a manager even another day.
God, she felt like an idiot for trusting him to be back on time.
“I’ve managed four different clubs,” Caity told Gypsy. “Most recently the top two clubs in Boston. And, honestly, neither owner was interested in any part of the business other than rubbing elbows with their clients.”
“Why did you quit?”
This came from Belle, who was sitting with them, elbow on the table, chin in her hand, feet swinging. She was an extrovert, no doubt, and she’d been riveted to the interviews from the beginning. Gypsy had tried everything she could to distract Belle, but in the end, the girl had proved to be quite the little investigator, getting away with questions like “Are you married?” and “Do you have kids” when Gypsy couldn’t. At least not legally.
Caity glanced at Belle, then back to Gypsy. It was a valid question, one Belle had obviously picked up from prior interviews, so Gypsy just smiled and waited for an answer.
“I um…” Caity glanced at Belle, then Gypsy again. “The activities there weren’t always aboveboard, if you know what I mean. The hip-hop scene can get pretty, um…”
“Dirty,” Gypsy finished for Caity. The woman got points for her careful choice of words in front of Belle. She chalked up a few more for walking away from the illegal, unethical activity. But she did have a bit of snobbiness Gypsy hoped stemmed from nerves. “I’ve been there. Worked at Moon Cat in Miami before I bought this bar.”
“Oh, wow,” Caity said, impressed. “That’s quite the renowned club.”
“Unfortunately, not for its aboveboard activities.”
“Right.”
“The most important question is,” Belle said, “do you like Fifth of Jack?”
Caity’s brows shot up. “The band? I love them.”
As if brandishing a wand, Belle gestured toward Caity. “You’re hired.”
Gypsy had to choke back an all-out laugh. Belle was intelligent and precocious, and she easily lightened Gypsy’s mood. “Thank you for that vote of approval, Belle. I just have a few more questions.”
The bar door opened, and Wyatt slinked into the shadows, surreptitiously moving toward the table. Hands in his pockets, shoulders slouched, his body language screamed defeat. Clearly, things hadn’t gone well with the attorney.
Caity glanced that direction. Her expression showed recognition, but she returned her attention to Gypsy the way a professional used to dealing with celebrities should. Another point in Caity’s favor. The woman had turned out to be as amazing as her résumé, and Gypsy was leaning toward Belle’s decision to hire her. Gypsy could taste the relief this would bring to her life.
“You seem like a perfect fit,” Gypsy told her. “Would you mind just watching Belle a second while I talk with—”
Belle had spotted Wyatt and she lifted a hand to wave. “Hi, Uncle Wyatt. We’re interviewing managers. Be very quiet.”
Gypsy stood, searching Wyatt’s expression for answers.
“I’m sorry?” Caity said, not so pleasantly surprised. Her gaze darted to Belle and back. “You want me to watch her?”
“Just for a minute. I need to talk with my friend, then we can continue.”
Gyps
y only got two steps toward Wyatt before a chair scraped the floor. She turned back to find Caity slinging her purse strap over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Wright,” Caity said. “This isn’t going to work out for me.”
Gypsy faced Caity, confusion and concern tightening her stomach. “What? Why not?”
“After years of being undervalued and overlooked by men in this industry, I was excited to work for a woman who has been so successful, even if it meant a pay cut. But I’m not interested in babysitting my boss’s kid or being sidelined so she can clear up personal issues. I made this interview my top priority and planned my day accordingly, but you clearly don’t see this position as importantly as I do.”
“I’m so sorry,” Gypsy said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel—”
“I believe actions, not words. Your actions tell me everything I need to know. Good luck to you.”
Gypsy stood there dumbfounded as Caity left the bar. She wasn’t sure how to process her sudden departure and cutting words. She couldn’t exactly qualify having a five-year-old in on the interviews as professional, but it wasn’t like she’d planned for this. Then again, if she’d just stood her ground and told Wyatt no, she would have been putting as much value on this position as Caity obviously had.
“Why is she mad?” Belle wore a worried frown. “Did I do something wrong?”
Gypsy ran her hand over Belle’s dark hair. “No, sweetie, she’s just looking for something I can’t give right now. Go say hi to your uncle.”
Belle skipped to Wyatt, chattering about helping Gypsy with the bar and the interviews, but Caity’s exit reminded Gypsy of just how hard it was to find the manager she needed. And she’d just let the most experienced candidate walk out. Pressure renewed, Gypsy turned her glare on Wyatt.
He took one look at Gypsy’s expression and crouched in front of Belle. “If you can line up all the bottles of beer behind the bar in alphabetical order, I’ll give you ten bucks.”