Chapter 2
Cal
Do I really want a blue slushy or is it more of a raspberry afternoon?
It sort of feels like a blue day. Though I don’t know that I want to deal with an electric- blue stained tongue.
Red’s a bit more natural. It might be the way to go since there’s a chance I’ll have to stop by Judge Espadrilles’ chambers today.
She’s always gawking at my mouth. It won’t do me any good to give her more of a reason to stare.
I’d never go there, don’t worry. Even I have my limits.
“What do you think?” I ask the boy by my side.
Kid’s cute. Brown hair, blue eyes. Kind of looks like me when I was younger. He’ll go far in life.
The little guy stares up at me like he doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about.
Oh. I chuckle to myself. Probably because I didn’t say the first half aloud. “Should I go for a blue slushy or a red slushy today?”
He blinks up at me, his long lashes fanning over his cheeks.
Lola squeaks, pulling my attention to where she’s looking at the note, eyes wide. Lola’s got the greenest of eyes. When she’s happy, they’re light like the color of a soccer field when it’s bathed in sunlight. When she’s mad, like she so often is when I speak, they’re more of a deep emerald.
Right now, they are definitely gem colored.
She shakes her head, making her pretty red thick braid sway, and tosses the note onto Brian’s desk. “Ninety days,” she practically hisses as she turns to me and the little guy.
She’s glowering, like maybe she’s angry, but I can’t be certain, since that’s how she always looks at me. I’m not terribly worried. There’s a chance the expression is because, as it always is, her hair is secured in a braid and the tightness of it pulls on her face.
Though when she looks down at the little boy her expression softens, those green eyes warm and her lips tip up in a genuine smile. She’s brilliant with kids. Really fucking brilliant.
Sometimes I wish I was a kid so she’d look at me like that.
“Want to come with me to get slushies?” she asks in a soft tone.
The boy reaches for her in the same way I want to, both arms outstretched. She takes one hand, and then they disappear.
“Don’t forget my blue slushy!” I holler after her, then think better of it. “Actually, a rednone. And chips.” I watch the two of them disappear into the corridor.
Lola’s tiny, practically pocket sized, which probably makes her seem more approachable to kids. Her shoulders are narrow, her waist is small, but she’s some still got an hourglass figure that makes my mouth water even now when I know she’d murder me with a serrated knife if she caught me looking.
She never does though. Lola Caruso has no idea of my little obsession and I’d like to keep it that way.
On the other side of his desk, Brian clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him.
He’s blinking rapidly at the paper in front of him. He looks stressed. He could definitely use a pick me up.
“Get Brian an ice cream soda, too,” I call, gripping the doorframe and sticking my head into the hall. “But no whipped cream, he gets gassy.”
Even-keeled Brian makes a weird strangled sound deep in his throat.
Stunned by the sound, I haul myself back and whip around. “Did you just growl at me?”
Brian does that blinking thing again. “Have you ever slept with a woman named Brandy?”
Amusement courses through me. “Oh that’s where we’re going this morning.” I huff a laugh. “Did you have a snog with a Brandy last night?”
He scowls, one hand balled into fists on his desk, the other crinkling the note a bit. “Do I look like I would sleep with a Brandy?”
I take a moment to study him, since that’s what he’s always asking me to do. Take his questions more seriously. Think before I speak. I’d tell him—my brother too—to maybe think a little less and live a little more, but then he’d probably growl again.
He leans forward in his leather chair and I can’t stop from staring at the vein in his forehead that’s pulsing aggressively.
With red hair that’s a bit deeper in color than Lola’s and that Irish skin tone, I’d say yeah, he looks like the kind of guy who’d shag a Brandy.
If she had green eyes and freckles, they’d make cute kids.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tosses the paper onto his perfectly organized desk.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to decide if I think you’d shag a Brandy. And picturing your kids if you did.”
I scratch my head. “But in all these years, I’ve never seen you with a woman. Do you date men?”
He scoffs and straightens, his chair squeaking. “Focus, Cal.” Finger tapping the paper, he zeroes in on me. “Six years ago did you sleep with a woman named Brandy?”
A hint of confusion worms its way in, but I hold tight to my humor. It’s my go-to response and what he expects from me. “Jesus, take me out for dinner before you get so personal.”
He presses on his temples and rubs aggressively. Then his amber eyes slide shut, a sure sign that he’s trying to keep from yelling.
Fine. Let me think. I exhale and tilt my head.
Have I ever shagged a Brandy? Fuck, if I know.
And six years ago. I barely remember what I did last month let alone who I slept with six years ago.
And why is he asking me such a ridiculous question?
We have a new case to get started on. Normally he and Lola take our emergency guardianship cases more seriously.
This guy seems more concerned about my sex life than a poor kid whose world has been turned upside down.
Looks like my dad was right. We need to get back to our roots.
He was a cute kid, too. Maybe five or six. Lips pressed together, I survey Brian’s office while I replay the moment I spent with him. Wonder what happened to his parents.
I hope he orders a blue slushy. Then if he doesn’t finish it–
“She’s a model.”
“Who’s a model?”
“Brandy,” he grits out, his face reddening.
I fight back a scoff. We’re still hung up on her? “I thought you said you’d never sleep with a Brandy?”
“Fuck, Cal you make this difficult.” He throws himself back in his chair.
Difficult? I avoid that kind of shit as much as I can, so honestly, I’m not trying to be.
I replay the last ten minutes again. I walked in here with a kid, handed the note to Lola, who acted like I’d done something wrong–nothing new there–and then Brian asked me if I’d ever slept with a Brandy. No, he asked if I’d slept with a Brandy six years ago. Six years?
Could it, no…that’s not…
“According to this note”—he flicks the paper, causing it to move closer to the edge of his desk—“Brandy dropped Murphy Macallister here to be taken care of by his father. Apparently, she got a part in a movie and has to be in Bali for filming. And her opinion is that kids belong in school, not on film sets, so she needs Murphy’s father to take over his care.
” Fingers steepled, he leans back in his chair.
His focus is intent and fixed on me the entire time, his words slow, precise.
Macallister. Why is that name familiar? “Okay, so we need to search for his father?”
Brian nods, his eyes full of all kinds of unspoken words. I just have no fucking clue what they’re saying.
“His name is Murphy,” he eventually says.
My lips twitch. “It’s a great name.”
“Whose name is Murphy?” The question comes from the door behind me.
I spin and discover my brother Sullivan looming on the threshold.
Blueish silver eyes narrow, and the lines on his forehead bunch as he runs his hand through his salt and pepper hair.
I used to tease him about going gray prematurely, but the joke’s no longer funny.
He’s aged since Sloane left him. He’s rarely smiled these last few years but these last few months have been brutal.
“This cute kid who was dropped off at our office for an emergency guardianship.”
Sully’s eyes bore into me. “That’s not how it works.”
Brian shifts forward and rests his arms on his desk again. “I’ve been trying to explain how we’ve run our business for the last decade, but Cal doesn’t seem to be picking up what I’m putting down.” He nods at the paper on his desk.
My brother stalks into the room and snatches it from the mahogany surface.
As he reads, his expression, which is always stoic, grows more severe, his scowl so deep I can’t help but comment on it.
“Still haven’t tried the cream I left on your desk? You should. It really does wonders for wrinkles.”
I wait for his reaction, Sully always gives me one.
This is my fun. My fingers itch, the energy once again building up inside me needing release.
I scan the room for the ball I tossed when I came in, but it’s nowhere to be found.
Dammit. I don’t like just standing here while the two of them have a conversation with their eyes, leaving me out of the loop completely.
My brother squeezes the paper so tightly it crinkles in his hands. I wait with bated breath, anxious about what he’ll say. Why, I have no fucking clue, but suddenly, the air in the room has gone thick, like a bomb is about to be dropped.
“You’ve got a fucking kid.”
My heart stutters, and I blink. Me?
No. He’s got a kid. I’m kid free.
He thrusts his hand out, shoving the note at me.
Instinctually, I reach for it. “We need that information to find the father. Don’t you two know how this works?”
Sully makes a low, rumbling sound. “You are the father.”
Breath held, I snap my head to the side, eyeing Brian, who is leaning forward, watching me like he’s waiting for my response. He closes his eyes and exhales, clearly not impressed by the reaction.
“So very Star Wars of you,” I say to Sully.
“Bloody Hell Cal, focus.”
“Are you taking the piss?” I tease.
The only reaction my repartee garners is a glare. From both men. The two of them would be far more suited as brothers than Sully and me.
With a sigh, I admit defeat and give him my full attention.
“Six years ago you had a one-night stand with a woman named Brandy,” he starts, one brow cocked.
“Actually,” I say, holding up a finger, “we haven’t established that?—”
His angry glare has me closing my mouth.
“And she gave the kid your sur name as a first name.”
“I’d remind you that Murphy is your name too. Are you sure you didn’t have a romp with a woman named Brandy?”
Brian growls. “For fucks sake, Cal, your brother did not have an affair with a woman named Brandy.”
“I never had a fucking affair.” Sully’s nostrils flare and I swear smoke billows from his ears. He’s been quite defensive since his wife left him. From the beginning, he’s claimed that he has no fucking idea what he did wrong.
“Maybe he’s Brian’s?” I suggest. “You always wanted to be a Murphy.” I waggle my brows. “I could see you using our last to ensure the woman couldn’t track you down.”
He gives me a flat look. “I assure you, I’ve never used your last name to get laid.”
A bark of a laugh escapes me. “That’s because you don’t get laid, we’ve already established this.”
“And he wonders why our father put the damn firm into a trust,” my brother grumbles.
He steps up close to Brian’s desk, and the two of them speak in whispered hisses and curses.
I stay where I am, running my hands through my hair. It takes a fuck ton of control to remain calm. I’m not an idiot–even if I’d rather play one right now. In a matter of seconds, I’ll have to accept the fact that my life has just irrevocably changed.
When I’m certain I can’t deny the truth any longer, I drop my hands. “I’m a father,” I rasp.
My throat constricts violently.
Okay, that kind of hurt. Let’s try it again.
“I’m a father.” The words are a little bit firmer this time.
I clear my throat. “Okay.”
They’re still talking, ignoring me, though they do peer over at me every few seconds, matching annoyed expressions on their faces.
“Hello,” I say louder.
They’re still ignoring me.
“Gentlemen please!”
That gets their attention. Both men straighten and blink at me.
“Did you just call us gentlemen?” If I thought he had it in him, I’d swear Sully almost smirks.
I shake my head. “Better than the wankers you’re acting like.”
“We’re the wankers?” My brother says, a hint of amusement in his tone.
Shit. As terrifying as the conversation is, as hard as it’s become to breathe with the truth pressing down on me, I’m determined to continue it. I haven’t seen my brother smile in months, and if this is what it takes, then so be it.
Sucking in a ragged breath, I nod. “Talk to me, not about me.”
Brian motions to the pair of chairs on the other side of his desk. “Take a seat and we’ll tell you how this is going to go.”