9. Spencer
9
SPENCER
L ife looked a lot different on Monday morning.
I had flown down to Beverly Hills last week as an unattached bachelor—no commitments beyond my business, living a life of routine, enjoying myself whenever I could, basking in the trappings of my success. Such as the jet that had carried me home Sunday afternoon.
After the door was fixed, I was satisfied leaving Rowan alone to pick up Hannah and try to salvage what was left of the weekend. “ I have things I need to handle back home, but I’ll be around soon, ” I’d promised. Whether or not it made a difference, I still didn’t know. It seemed she prided herself on getting through without me. Not that I blamed her. She’d had plenty of practice.
“Mr. Collins? Everything all right?”
I didn’t realize until my assistant called me out that the thought had made me growl. “Sorry, Viv,” I offered. “What was that you were saying?”
She gave me a wary look. “Only that the security specialist you’ve been working with called your direct line before you got in earlier. He said you can call him back anytime for an update.”
Security specialist. She was talking about Bruce Lewis, a former detective and current private investigator working with me on the Damian problem. It was he who’d tipped me off about the origins of the arsons in the Silicon Valley area and helped me tie them to the arson back in East Hampton. He always had an ear to the ground, reaching out to his vast network to track Damian and his thugs.
“Thank you,” I told Vivian as we wrapped our catch-up session. “I’ll call him right away. Remind me… when are my parents supposed to make it back from their trip?”
She frowned, squinting. For a woman old enough to be my mother, she had a hell of a sharp memory. “Next Thursday, I think? I can set a reminder in your calendar.”
“No need. I’ll remember.” Because now, nothing would stop me from visiting my father face-to-face once he got home from his Mediterranean tour. It was something I usually tried to avoid, but this was not a typical situation.
It wasn’t that I was surprised by what he did, exactly. I’d had more than a day to go over it from every angle. Of course, he would send that slimy lawyer to Rowan’s hospital room just as soon as they were able to draw up an agreement. Taking advantage of an injured, scared girl without a moment’s regret.
How did I know that? Because I knew the old man. I knew how ruthless he could be. I’d learned about more than just data analytics and algorithms in the two years I spent in China. Yet another reason I had no interest in working for him another minute once I came home.
It never crossed my mind that he would use that same ruthlessness against anyone I cared about. There I was, thinking I was beyond that level of naivete. He had proven me wrong, the bastard, and he was going to pay for it.
My first call of the day was to Bruce, who picked up on the second ring, sounding as gruff as ever. “How was Beverly Hills?” he asked, forgoing a greeting.
“Illuminating,” I replied since neither of us had the time to get into it. “What do you have for me?”
“I’ve heard our friend is pissed off that we got the jump on him when it came to the smear campaign against Miles Young.”
I did like starting the day with good news. “Is that why he gave up so easily?” I asked because, as far as I could tell after scouring social media, the whole thing had fizzled out without much fanfare. Yes, the information was out there, but so was a statement from the family of the guy Miles had drawn into a fight. They were adamant that they didn’t blame Milesand, in fact, thanked him for covering their son’s medical bills all these years. Miles came out of it looking like a hero, and I hope he knew it. I hoped he would lie on the beach with his bride and put it behind him for now.
“He doesn’t realize who he’s fucking with this time around,” I grunted out, imagining Damian’s rage after going so far out of his way to sabotage us. “Do you have anything on those two employees he poached? I would think they’ve been laying low.”
“You are correct,” he confirmed. “I have a theory about that if you’d like to hear it.”
“By all means.”
“It’s pretty simple. He paid them enough that they were able to disappear, both for his sake and for theirs.”
Shit, I’d assumed that from the beginning. “They’d better hope I never catch up to them, or they’re going to learn what happens to people who break an NDA.”
“I’m going to keep looking. There’s no way to really disappear in this day and age. There’s always a trail. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless he silenced them permanently.”
Right away, I wanted to dismiss the idea, but that would’ve been a mistake. I couldn’t afford to think like a normal person now. I had to think like Damian, the sort of sick fuck who would burn down a dress shop or an office out here just to send a message. Something told me he wasn’t too concerned about collateral damage if it meant getting what he wanted.
Bruce promised to keep me in the loop as we ended the call, leaving me staring out my office windows overlooking the bay. Normally, the sight of the sparkling water and the boats bobbing gracefully on it had a soothing effect. I’d always loved the water.
Even that didn’t have the power to silence the overturned beehive my brain had become. My daughter was an hour’s flight from where I sat, in school, by now. Who was she? Was she anything like me? Did she know anything about me? To think, a week ago at this time, I didn’t have the first idea she existed.
I didn’t have to care. That was the thing I’d spent most of Sunday reminding myself. Rowan hadn’t asked for help, just the opposite. She didn’t need me. Nobody was twisting my balls, forcing me to give a shit or acknowledge the kid as mine.
Did I want to acknowledge her? Did I want any of this?
What I wanted more than anything was a drink. Considering most people were just now sitting down at their desks for the first time all day, it would be best to wait until tonight. It occurred to me that my closest friends were in town at the same time, something that rarely happened.
I sent a text, inviting them out for drinks later on. It had been too long since the four of us had caught up, and I needed normalcy after days of anything but.
* * *
“When’s the last time we had a moment like this?” Lex looked around at the group and raised his glass, grinning. “Let’s thank Spencer for getting us together for drinks when he realized we were all in town.”
“No applause, please,” I murmured, inclining my head while everyone laughed.
Clayton Manning tested his drink, snickering. “They call this an old fashioned?” he asked with a smirk, holding up the glass to examine its contents. “And people ask why I pay for my bartenders to attend training classes.”
Nothing was ever good enough for him, but then that was the attitude that made him ten times the success of anyone in his family. He and his two brothers had divided the extensive number of restaurants, bars, hotels, and resorts after their father’s death, but only Clay had spun his inheritance into a legacy of his own. “I had dinner at your new location in West Hollywood on Saturday,” I told him. “You did well.”
“Oh, so that was you.” When I arched an eyebrow, he explained, “There was chatter about a last-minute reservation made by a personal friend of mine and how it meant pissing off the guest who already had that time reserved.”
“You pay attention to shit like that?” Travis Knight laughed, slouching in his chair and loosening his tie. “I didn’t know you were a micromanager.”
“I pay attention to everything,“ Clay retorted, narrowing his dark eyes that glittered dangerously. “Nobody gets away with slacking off when they know the boss is watching.”
“How do you have time to… well, do this?” Travis asked, touching his glass to Clay’s before drinking deep. As if he wasn’t just as busy, if not more, being stuck with his daughter once his ex-wife had decided to skip town. It meant his life was always hectic, though I would never have described himself as being stuck. Four-year-old Quinn was his little princess.
“Time management. You should learn about it.” Clay snickered, making Travis groan while the rest of us laughed. We used to joke that he would be late for his own funeral, and stepping into the vice presidency of his family’s shipping company hadn’t trained him out of it. He was the sort of person who needed four alarms in the morning.
“So…” I caught the way Lex winked at the others, then turned his attention to me. “How did things go with Rowan? Is she who you took to Clay’s new restaurant to show off?”
“Rowan? Who’s that?” There was curiosity in Clay’s question, along with a knowing snort that told me my friends expected the typical story. Meeting a woman, getting into her panties, rinse and repeat. The same tale we’d been sharing with each other from those early days when I first met Clay and Lex at school to years later in China when Travis worked at the desk across from mine as a favor between our fathers.
“Somebody I knew years ago,” I explained. “I happened to run into her while I was babysitting at an awards luncheon last week.”
“Fuck off,” Lex fired back, laughing. “ Babysitting. You’re so full of shit.”
“Last I checked, you asked me to come along to keep you from either falling asleep out of boredom or drinking too much out of boredom and getting handsy with the wrong girl. Go ahead and tell me I’m wrong,” I challenged, knowing he couldn’t.
“Did you close the deal or not?” he settled for asking.
I’d done more than that. I found out I’m a father.
It was on the tip of my tongue—the looks on their faces would be worth it. Instead of blowing their minds and facing a hundred questions, I settled for a shrug. “We caught up over dinner. That’s it.”
Lex sighed. “I’m disappointed, but don’t be discouraged. There’s plenty of willing pussy around here tonight.” He was speaking to me, but his attention was focused on a curvy blonde standing at the bar. “Hey, she looks a little like Rowan. You can get it out of your system with her.”
I used to say things like that, didn’t I? Hell, I still would have if our positions were reversed. It was easy to make an offhand, smartass comment when I wasn’t the one going through shit.
Things were different now. The blonde did nothing for me. If it hadn’t been for the constant distraction of memories throughout the day threatening to get me hard at a moment's notice, I might have wondered if my dick was still working.
The strangest feeling swept over me, making me shift uncomfortably in the leather club chair. My friends were unaware, looking around the room, sizing up their options for when it came time to take the party elsewhere. All I could do was think about Rowan.
What was she doing tonight? What about Hannah?
“Where are you going?” Travis watched with the others as I stood, patting my pockets to make sure I had everything.
“I forgot a call I wanted to make tonight. The patent,” I added, since clearly they weren’t satisfied with my excuse. Let them think it was about business.
“Fuck, I was hoping you’d have better news about that by now,” Clay mused, swirling the ice in his glass harder than necessary. “That fucker. Some people would be doing the world a favor if they stopped breathing.”
“You sure your studio doesn’t have those mob ties it did back in the day?” Travis joked, nodding to Lex. “Maybe you could take care of this problem for our friend here.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” Lex wasn’t joking anymore. I watched his jaw tighten and his eyes narrow. “We don’t fuck around like that in this day and age.”
“It was a joke, man. Didn’t mean to offend.” Sometimes, Travis didn’t know when to stop. It was almost enough to make me reconsider leaving when I did, in case Lex decided to retaliate, but they were big boys and could handle themselves.
Besides, I needed to go. Suddenly, an activity I had come to look forward to and even rely on at times as an escape had become tedious.
I knew where I wanted to be.
I was barely outside when I placed the call to my pilot. “Last minute flight,” I explained as I waited for the car. Another Bentley. When I found what I liked, I stuck with it. “I’m on my way to the hangar now.” I paid him enough to be ready at a moment's notice, and he didn’t sound surprised at the sudden announcement.
While flying back to Beverly Hills, I did a little research. Rather, I let Bruce do it for me, calling him once I was in the air. “I need you to find an address. It’s in the valley. The name is McNulty.” He called me back not fifteen minutes later with an address for a Mr. and Mrs. Charles McNulty, who had apparently lived there for more than three decades. I could hardly imagine living in the same place that long, but I was glad they had. It made this much easier.
Within the hour, I was on the ground, behind the wheel, after having my car brought to the hangar in advance. With the address in my phone’s GPS, I drove to the valley for the first time in as long as I could remember. It was barely past nine by the time I arrived, turning down their street and noticing how quiet it was. Peaceful. That was good. I wanted her to live someplace peaceful. Her mother had grown up here, and she had turned out pretty well, in spite of my interference.
The house in question was as modest as I had imagined. It couldn’t have held more than three bedrooms on two floors and featured a small front and side yard, which I could observe once I parked a few houses down and across the street. A chain-link fence ran in front of it, but that was the only utilitarian feature. Somebody had painted the exterior a shade of yellow that was probably cheerful in the daytime, while the shutters were bright green. There were flowers in the front yard, plus potted plants on the porch. A pair of high-backed wicker chairs were out there, along with a swing big enough for two. There was a book sitting on the swing, and I wondered if my kid left it there.
I couldn’t believe how much I wanted to go up there and find out which book it was—the smallest way to be connected to her.
I knew so many men my age, in my line of work, or at least wealthy and not looking to share that wealth with anybody. They would have shit their pants on the spot if they found out they had a kid. If the kid’s mother told them not to bother trying to be involved, they would’ve gladly taken them up on it. It would have been like winning the lottery.
Not me. I didn’t know that about myself until now. It was the sort of thing a person couldn’t predict about himself, how he would react if the situation were more than hypothetical.
Somewhere in the little house, my daughter was living and breathing. Part of me existed outside my body. How could I not want to be part of her life?
How was I supposed to deal with her mother wanting nothing less?
My thoughts wandered as I drove away. A car like this would be spotted before long—minivans and late model sedans were more the speed around here. But I would be back.
Nothing would have kept me away.