"Yes, sir," Fred hastily agreed.
Ford removed several hundred dollars from his wallet and gave them to the doorman. "Thank you for taking care of Ms. Rose, Fred. I appreciate it." That said he walked into the elevator and pushed the button for his floor. He needed to find out what his bitch of a mother had done so he could fix the damage.
Rutherford Prescott Hammersmith I, had been a doting, fun-loving father, but not the best role model for the son who worshiped him. After all, the world-class manwhore had been found dead of a heart attack at one of his infamous parties, balls deep inside of a woman half his age. It was exactly how he had wanted to go.
Madeline Heyworth-Hammersmith had been his complete opposite. She was a cold, judgmental, unfeeling woman without an ounce of maternal concern for her only child and nothing but contempt for her husband. She had married R.P. to elevate her social standing, bore him an heir, and then ignored them both as if they didn't exist.
Until she wanted something.
Then she would threaten to divorce R.P. and take custody of Ford. Since it was obvious that a judge would have granted her petition as she appeared to be completely respectable in comparison to her husband's unbridled lifestyle, R.P. gave her whatever she wanted so he didn't risk losing his beloved son.
Ford had never been more than a pawn in his mother's quest for power and that became abundantly clear after R.P.'s death. Madeline had used her parental status to control her son and Hammersmith Construction. Because he was as wild and unpredictable as his sire, the board had sided with her and she became the CEO.
Just as R.P. would have, Ford rebelled with an outrageous lifestyle and his licentious exploits were widely publicized. His mother's threat to sell the company that his father had built into an empire finally brought him to heel. He attended college and got his degree, though he did still throw wild parties just to irritate his mother.
After the accident, he had awakened from the coma with an entirely different perspective. The brush with death had shown him how fragile life was, and that it was too precious to waste. The fact that he had been driving while under the influence and was responsible for the driver of the other car's death had been a sobering experience.
So was discovering that he had a son.
Ford had idolized the father who had doted on him, but he did not want to raise his own son the way that he had been. He wanted Scott to have a normal childhood so he had kept him out of the public eye. To spare the boy all of the speculations that would have surrounded his parentage otherwise, very few people even knew that he had a son.
Accepting custody of Scott while he'd been incapacitated was the only thing that Ford had ever been grateful to his mother for. Although he would have preferred she hadn't followed the abhorrent family tradition of naming the boy after his father and himself since both of them hated the pompous moniker.
His father had been known as R.P. to his business associates and Rip to his friends because he loved to get rip-roaring drunk. Ford had preferred the abbreviated version of Rutherford for himself, so he used the same method by shortening his son's middle name Prescott to Scott. The boy had confirmed it was a much better choice.
Madeline finally got what she wanted when Ford ended his wild, willful ways. He began to behave like a responsible, mature adult and took excellent care of his son. He also took his rightful place as the president of Hammersmith Construction, and it flourished so well under his control that the board backed his bid to become the CEO.
His mother's ploy to hide his accident had played in his favor much to her fury. Since the exploit had not become public knowledge and the coma had kept him out of the public eye for a year, her cover story had helped him immensely. Supposedly he had been tired of his playboy lifestyle and had taken the time away to find himself.
When he returned with a new lease on life, professional demeanor, and ready to set a good example for his son, the dramatic change had been noted by one and all. Madeline had been livid because she couldn't tell the truth without exposing her own deception, and that would mean damaging her precious reputation.
Ford had finally managed to take control of his destiny, and in the process, oust the bitch who had given him birth from his life. Other than tolerating the occasional visit when she returned from her home in Europe, Madeline no longer held any sway over him, his son, or his business and he couldn't have been happier with the situation.
Although she had been calling persistently over the last two weeks, he'd ignored the calls and deleted the voice mails without listening to them. He'd had no intention of calling her back because he simply didn't give a damn what she wanted. As far as he was concerned, he was better off not knowing.
Unfortunately, since she was the one that he had inherited his tenacity from, he should have known she wouldn't just let the matter drop. So he wasn't all that surprised that she had shown up at his door unannounced. "Madeline," he greeted coldly when he entered his apartment. "To what do I owe this unpleasant and unwanted intrusion?"
"Your manners are as dreadful as your fathers were," she informed him shortly from her perch on one of his chairs.
"Coming from you I'll take that as a compliment," Ford said as he walked into the living area and dropped all pretense of civility. "What the fuck do you want?"
"I don't know why I continue to be surprised by your appalling behavior. After all, a leopard cannot change its spots," she accused. "Your shameless exploits attest to that."
"Pray tell, Mother, what have I done to offend your less than delicate sensibilities this time?" He demanded in a tone dripping with sarcasm and gripped the back of the couch instead of wrapping his hands around her throat.
"A man in your position posing as a common photographer at a fashion show was embarrassing enough," she berated in a scorn-filled voice, yet her cosmetic surgery enhanced face never moved. "But cavorting with that gold-digging showgirl again is simply unforgivable. Have you learned nothing from your past mistakes?"
As realization dawned, warning bells began tolling in his head like an air raid siren mere seconds before disaster strikes. "You knew about Callie before?" Ford demanded furiously as he stalked around the couch, incensed because he'd bet his life that she had deliberately kept them apart. "And you didn't bother to mention her when I woke up?"
"Why would I?" Madeline replied as if the idea was inconceivable. "She was nothing more than a plaything like the others that came before and after."
Ford shook his head in denial because she was lying and they both knew it. How like his mother to try using his memory loss as a weapon against him. The evil bitch couldn't stand to see him happy so she was trying to wreak havoc as usual. "We were in love," he refuted in complete confidence.
"Did she tell you that," the older woman questioned sharply with malicious glee shining in her eyes. "Or did you actually remember something?"
"I loved her then and I love her now," he snarled furiously and was tired of her twisted games.
"Then you're still the same poor, misguided boy your father raised," Madeline accused in disdain.
"And you're still the same cold, unfeeling bitch he married," Ford shot back as he moved to the bar and poured himself a drink. He needed it to wash the bile from his throat that always accompanied a conversation with his mother. He drained the glass and demanded, "What the fuck did you say to upset Callie?"
"My, my. I must say I'm surprised she went running to you after our little chat," she said in what sounded like amusement.
"She did not," he denied and poured another shot. "You're here, she's not, ergo you were your usual unbearable self so she left."
"Yes, well, I wouldn't count on her coming back if I were you," Madeline said in a tone filled with triumph.
He slammed the bottle down on the bar and snarled, "What the fuck did you do?"
"After your accident, she signed a non-disclosure agreement that expressly prohibits her from associating with you," she informed him in a smug tone filled with c
ontempt. "I merely pointed out that she was in breach of contract and gave her the choice to leave or face charges. She left."
"Fuck," Ford shouted furiously as he rounded the bar with fire in his eyes. "Get out. Get the fuck out and don't ever let me see you again."
After shooting him a look of sheer disdain, his mother rose and picked up her purse. Once at the door, she fired a parting shot. "She never loved you, Ford. One day you'll thank me for this."
With a cry of sheer animalistic rage, Ford flung the heavy whiskey tumbler and it shattered against the closed door. He raked both hands through his hair and his furious gaze locked on the portrait of Callie hanging above the mantle. The love shining in her eyes soothed his fury and eased his troubled soul.
Callie loved him and he knew it.
The proof of it was staring back at him from amethyst eyes.
His mother was a fucking bitch. He didn't doubt for a minute that she had known about their relationship a decade ago. Nor did he doubt that she would have found a way to force Callie to sign an NDA and keep them apart. Madeline had done it before when she thought he was getting attached to someone she considered unacceptable.
If that were true, it could have been part of the reason why Callie was so reticent to give him a second chance. It also explained why she didn't want the press to know that they were involved. As usual, his mother had managed to find a way to manipulate a situation to her fucked up benefit.
Ford didn't give a damn about the NDA, and there was no way in hell he'd let Callie be charged with breach of an agreement that never should have been made. He was going to fix the mess that Madeline had created, then he was going to find a way to rid himself of the meddling bitch for good.
But first, he needed to find the woman he loved.
Callie
Callie wasn't sure how he had made it happen, but she knew exactly who was responsible for coming to her rescue. She had a vague recollection of Amy getting her to take a sedative and lie down. Then Bruno was there just before she drifted off. The next time she opened her eyes she'd been aboard Bastion's private plane.
When she woke again, she was in her room at Illicit, Bastion's Las Vegas resort. She had spent her teenage years in this room, lying in this bed, dreaming about her future. If only she'd known then what she knew now. How different her life might have been with the wisdom of hindsight.
She never would have gotten involved with Ford fucking Hammersmith. Never would have fallen in love. Never had his child. Dear God. She'd had his child! A beautiful little boy that any woman in her right mind would be proud to claim. And here she was, the one woman who had the right to do so and she couldn't.
The grief nearly tore her apart.
She cried for all that she had lost and what might have been. Grieved for the loss of the child that she would have loved with all of her heart. Agonized because Scott didn't know how much he was loved and wanted. It tormented her knowing that the boy believed that just the opposite was true. Callie would give anything for the chance to be the mother that he deserved.
Then the anger set in.
She was furious with herself for being so naïve and gullible. She should have listened to Bastion all those years ago when he'd told her to stay away. That Ford was no good. That he'd wind up breaking her heart. But no, she'd been young and rebellious and she had foolishly placed her trust in the wrong man.
Because she'd been in love.
The worst part was that she hadn't learned a goddamn thing since she'd done the exact same thing a decade later. Only this time she had known the damage that he could cause and she'd done it anyway. She'd allowed herself to trust him and she'd fallen in love with the heartless bastard again.
She had to be the biggest fool who'd ever lived and she had no one to blame but herself. Hell, she couldn't even blame Ford because if his bitch of a mother were to be believed, he hadn't known either. Which meant they were both fools for thinking they could recapture what they'd shared and be together.
At least now she knew who was responsible for keeping them apart. Madeline Hammersmith was the evilest, most vile, cruel-hearted woman that she had ever had the misfortune of encountering. It was almost inconceivable to believe that a woman could be that insensitive toward her son and grandson.
To intentionally deprive them of happiness because she didn't approve of Callie. To deny her son the woman he loved, and her grandson the mother who would have adored him. Evil didn't even begin to describe her. There was a special place in hell reserved for that bitch, and she couldn't wait to send her there.
Pure undiluted hatred filled her veins and her anger had found a home. Callie wanted Madeline fucking Heyworth-Hammersmith destroyed.
Bastion vowed to make it happen.
Ford
When Callie didn't answer her phone, Ford called her office. Amy admitted that she'd received a call from Bastion's assistant instructing her to pack Callie a bag and have it taken to the airport. When she went into the loft to do so, she'd found her employer curled up on the living room floor in a state of shock.
She had given Callie a sedative and got her to lie down just before Bruno arrived and whisked her away, but she had no idea where they had gone. "She wasn't herself at all, Ford," the assistant admitted, concern evident in her tone. "I've witnessed her anxiety attacks before, but I've never seen Callie completely unresponsive."
After agreeing to contact each other if they heard from her, he called Callie again before trying to get in touch with Baines. The staff at Opulent would neither confirm or deny if he was in residence, nor would they venture a guess as to which of the resorts around the globe he might be at. The bastard had trained his people well and they guarded his privacy fiercely.
Undaunted, he called Amy again and asked for Baines's phone number. She apologized and admitted it would cost her job if she complied. His number was not given out to anyone for any reason, ever. Ford understood her position even if he didn't like it, so he asked her to contact Baines or his assistant and find out where Callie had gone.
She called him back a few minutes later to report that Bastion wasn't answering and his assistant had stonewalled her, as had Callie's driver. "Bruno told me that Mr. Baines and Callie were in commando, but I think he meant incommunicado," Amy explained regretfully. "At least we know she's with Bastion, so she's safe."
That was a matter of opinion.
Desperate, Ford tracked down Graham Morgan and all but begged the man to have his wife call him. If anyone knew where Callie was, it was her larger than life best friend. After he explained what he knew, the feisty woman chewed his ass out, threatened to cut his balls off, and then promised to let him know if she heard from her.
Ford called Callie repeatedly and left messages until her voicemail was full. He wasn't really sure what he'd said in some of them because he'd gotten so fucking drunk that he finally passed out. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, so he kept on calling because not knowing if she was alright was making him insane.
As the days passed, it became apparent that she wasn't going to respond, and his thoughts turned dark and defeated. Had she given up on him? On them? In his darkest moments, he even wondered if she had ever really forgiven him for breaking her heart and all of this had been her chance for revenge.
If so, she had succeeded, because losing her had destroyed him. Callie had walked away without a word and taken his heart with her. Exactly as she had claimed he had done to her a decade before. Was this how she had felt? Wondering where he was? If he was alright? Terrified that something had happened to him. Not knowing was the worst form of torture.
Still, he kept on calling because she had all the answers.
Callie was the only one who could put him out of his misery.
Or send him straight to hell.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bastion
Bastion Baines had not gotten to where he was by trusting easily. The number of people he counted as friends could be counted on one hand. And each
of them had proved that he could trust them with his life and had entrusted him with theirs. One member of that inner circle was his attorney, Malachi Black.
Much like his own, Malachi's name was whispered with hushed reverence, fear, and awe. The man had committed entire sets of law books to memory, and his extraordinary ability to recall and recite even the most obscure passages at will made him a formidable opponent whether in the boardroom or courtroom.
There was no one else that Bastion trusted to handle his legal matters be they personal or professional. Which was why he had consulted his friend about Callie's dilemma. Malachi had looked into the matter discreetly and discovered that the Hammersmith family attorney had indeed filed family court documents on the date in question.
Oddly enough, the documents had been sealed by a judge's order. There were a few legitimate reasons for such an occurrence, but since the judge and the attorney were old friends, Malachi was certain it had been done as a personal favor to cover up the evidence of a shady deal. Like stealing a baby from its birth mother.
That meant they needed to have a chat with the attorney in question and get to the truth of the matter. Weldon Caruthers could not have been more shocked when Bastion and Malachi entered his office unannounced and proceeded to put the fear of God into the older man with their fierce manner and menacing expressions.
To give the man credit, he did try to protect his client, but he was no match for Malachi's rapier intellect and superior knowledge of the law. Caruthers had been practically sweating blood even before the gloves came off. Once Malachi threatened to have him charged as an accessory to kidnapping among a multitude of other crimes, the older man admitted defeat.
Bastion now knew everything he needed to in order to set the situation to rights. The truth may not have been the weapon he preferred to wield, but it would accomplish the deed far more expeditiously than any other means. Armed to the teeth with facts and corroborating evidence, he pounded on Hammersmith's door until it opened.
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