Chapter Seven
Vance
One Month Later
Magnolia was true to her word. I made a single attempt to mention our kiss the next day, and she shut me down, saying only, "We're not talking about it. It never happened."
I let it go. It didn't fit my plan to start something with Magnolia when she'd just lost her fiancé. I'd been giving her time, occupying myself by switching between plans for our first date and fantasies of what she'd look like naked.
I had to be sneaky about the date. I couldn't just ask her out. She'd say no. I was going to have to take her by surprise. My current favorite plan was to invent a business trip. We had a few investment opportunities that could require travel.
I had a feeling it would be easier to change things between us if I could break the pattern of our daily lives. Little did I know how true that would be.
I was forced to stick with fantasy and plans for the moment. I had a show coming up in a few weeks, and between that and some problems with a project we'd invested in, we'd been putting out fires right and left over the past few days.
Things had been so crazy we'd missed lunch. I'd stopped for groceries on the way home from a meeting and was hoping I could talk Magnolia into letting me cook for her at my loft.
I called it my ‘loft', but really, I own the whole building. On a short block of mixed-use development in Midtown Atlanta, the building had been an auto shop and a supply warehouse, then vacant before I'd snapped it up and renovated the entire structure to suit exactly what I wanted.
The first floor was my studio and garage, the second floor my living space, and the roof was a custom-designed garden. My gym equipment was split between the studio and the rooftop.
It was modern and open, with huge windows on the second level and garage bays on the first that let in fresh air when my work got too hot.
The building had one other thing I required. Privacy. Sinclair Security had designed my system, and it included both a sophisticated alarm and video surveillance.
I was a Winters. That meant I had to deal with a certain amount of media attention. It didn't help that I hadn't lived a quiet lifestyle for most of my twenties.
So it wasn't entirely a surprise to turn the corner onto my block and find a strange woman lurking outside my front door. I drove past the building and slowed to turn into the alley that led back to my private garage.
Magnolia hit the button on the remote that opened the gate. Both of us noticed the stranger mark our entrance.
"I don't see a camera," Magnolia commented. Neither had I, but the woman had been carrying something.
"Don't worry about it," I said. "If she's a pap, she missed her shot. And if she wants something else, she'll ring the bell, and we can tell her to get lost."
Magnolia's brow furrowed, but she didn't say anything. She didn't like media scrutiny any more than I did, but she was used to it by now. Everyone knew she worked with me, and they didn't bother her more than the usual. I pulled my Range Rover into the garage and parked.
"I'll grab the groceries," I said.
"I can help," Magnolia offered. I shook my head, not hiding my grin.
"I've got it, Sugar." Magnolia graced me with an absolutely brilliant scowl. I wasn't much into pet names. I never bothered with them for the women I was sleeping with. Everybody called Charlotte Charlie, so that didn't count.
When I did call Magnolia something other than her name, it was usually Babe. She thought that was a generic term I used with every woman. She hadn't realized that she was the only female I've ever considered worth a pet name, even something as common as Babe.
When I wanted to get a rise out of her, I always called her Sugar—a reference to the Grateful Dead song she so despised.
I didn't use it very often. She would have beaten me senseless if I had, but every once in a while, I couldn't resist. Thanks to my teasing, she ignored me as we left the garage and crossed my studio to the freight elevator.
The chimes from the front bell were already ringing when we exited the elevator on the second floor. Maybe we should've checked the door while we were down there, but I'd been hoping it wouldn't be necessary. No such luck.
Magnolia went to the keypad beside the elevator while I headed for the kitchen to put down the groceries. She tapped the button to activate the camera at the door.
The screen flashed on to show a young woman with long, dark hair and a washed-out complexion, her expression annoyed. Something about her was vaguely familiar.
Pressing the speaker button, Magnolia said, "Can I help you?
" in her best British headmistress voice.
She refused to admit she had a faint British accent from her years spent living in England, but when she used that starchy tone, it came out.
It was intimidating as hell, even when she used it on me.
The woman at the door said, "I'm looking for Vance Winters. I'm Stephanie Albert, Amy's sister. I need to talk to Vance."
Magnolia looked at me. "Fuck," I swore under my breath. "Tell her I'll be right down."
Magnolia came with me, refusing to let me handle Amy's sister on my own, out of curiosity or protectiveness. Probably both. I hadn't seen Amy in a while. Close to a year.
We'd tried getting back together after we both went to rehab, but sobriety revealed that we had absolutely nothing in common. She'd been doing okay last time I'd seen her.
Still, a sense of foreboding filled me as I unlocked my front door and opened it.
Stephanie Albert looked like a faded version of Amy. The same petite fairy-like frame, dark hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. But where Amy's hair was inky black, her eyes sapphire blue, Stephanie's hair was dark brown, her eyes a watery shade and less attractive than her sister's.
We'd only met once, and I barely remembered it. Mostly since I'd been drunk at the time.
"Stephanie, it's good to see you," I lied. "What can I do for you?"
Stephanie leaned down to pick something up off the ground. "I need to talk to you," she said. "I have your daughter, and you need to take her."
I blinked and shook my head as if I could somehow clear my vision and ears at the same time. As if I could erase the sight of Stephanie Albert holding a baby carrier.
What the fuck? My daughter? Since when did I have a daughter?
She was probably expecting me to say something. I had no words.
I had zero words.
All I could do was stare at the sleeping infant in the baby carrier. She was tiny, with a chunky scrunched up little face and a trail of drool coming from her rosebud lips.
For the first time in months, I desperately wanted to drink. Beside me, a throat cleared. In her best crisply British tone, the accent more than faint, Magnolia said, "Why don't you come in, Stephanie? It seems we need to have a conversation."
Mute, I held the door open to admit my unwanted guests, following behind as Magnolia led Stephanie back to the elevator. We rode up in silence.
The second the elevator doors opened, I stalked out, heading for the kitchen. I could not have a drink. I was not going to have a drink. I'd been sober for well over a year, and I wasn't going to fuck it up now.
Ignoring the three females following me, I poured a glass of cold water and drank the entire thing. It wasn't whiskey, but somehow, it seemed to clear my head.
Magnolia led Stephanie to the kitchen, where she set the baby carrier on the island. Crossing the room to stand behind me, Magnolia looped her arm through mine and turned her attention back to Amy's sister.
"I'm assuming you're implying this is Amy's child?" Magnolia asked in her starchy best. Stephanie's back went ramrod straight, and her eyes narrowed.
"Of course it is. She's not mine. I never slept with that man-whore.”
Her words hit, then skidded off me. I've been called worse. And I didn't care what Amy's sister thought of me. Magnolia ignored the insult.
"If this is Amy and Vance's child, then where is Amy? It seems more sensible for Vance to deal with—"
"Amy's dead," Stephanie said in a flat, empty voice.
The strength drained from my muscles. I braced my palms on the island to hold myself up, my head dropping forward, my eyes staring blindly at the countertop.
Dead? I wished I were more surprised. I didn't need to hear the answer when Magnolia whispered, “How? What happened?"
It could've been an accident. She could've gotten sick. But I knew that wasn't what had killed Amy. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and gritted my teeth when Stephanie said, “She overdosed,” in that same flat, empty voice.
"Oh, God. I'm so sorry," Magnolia said, her voice thick with tears. "When? How long ago?"
She tucked her body into mine, pushing her shoulder under my arm and wrapping her arm around me, sliding her hand under my shirt so that her palm rested on the bare skin of my back.
I leaned into her, grateful for the anchor of her touch when everything I knew was suddenly spinning out of my grasp.
"Why didn't she tell me?" I asked, still staring at the countertop, my voice low and ragged.
"I wanted her to," Stephanie said. "She said she wasn't ready. I think she wanted to be sure she could stay sober."
"Was she? Sober? The last time we were together, she said she was clean."
I had to force the words out. I wasn't surprised Amy was dead, but fuck, the thought of it hurt.
"She was. She was clean the whole pregnancy. She relapsed right after Rosie was born. Just once. Then she stayed clean for a few months until last week—" Stephanie broke off with a choking sound.
"So, what do we do now?" Magnolia asked gently. "Since you're here, I'm assuming that you want Vance to play a role in his daughter's life."
"He's on the birth certificate. He's her father, and he needs to take her. I love Rosie, and I loved my sister, but I can't do this. I can barely support myself. I can't take care of a baby."
Slowly, Magnolia said, "I don't want to make this more difficult, but just because Vance is on the birth certificate, it doesn't mean he's the father. I assume you want more than just for Vance to take the child?"
Stephanie straightened, and in a hard voice, she said, "I want fifty grand, and you can have the baby."
"What the fuck?” I said.
She'd flipped from grieving sister to extortionist in a breath. Magnolia was right. Just because they said I was the father, it didn't make it true.
Amy was a fun girl. We had some good times together, but she wasn't exactly a nun. I wasn't the only guy she slept with on a semi-regular basis back in the day. Fortunately, Magnolia was thinking, even if I wasn't.
"Obviously, we’ll have to do a blood test before there's any discussion of payment. If she is Vance's daughter, and he agrees to take custody, you'll have to sign papers agreeing as well. He's not going to be open to blackmail."
Stephanie's shoulders sagged. "Look, I'm not trying to be a bitch here.
It's just that I'm a waitress, and I'm trying to go to school.
I blew more than half of my savings on hospital bills for Amy, and the funeral pretty much wiped me out.
I can't afford to take care of Rosie, and I can't pay next semester's tuition.
This isn't my problem. You got her pregnant, and she left me with the baby.
I don't deserve to have my whole life fucked up because of it. "
"I understand," Magnolia said in a crisply dismissive tone. "I need you to excuse us for a moment." She nudged me in the ribs to get my attention. I grunted in response. "Vance, I’d like to talk to you in the office."
Obedient for once, I followed her into the office, saying nothing until she shut the door. My mind spun. Amy was dead. I was a father. I couldn't get a handle on it all.
I braced for Magnolia to cut into me. Instead, she said, "Sit down. You look like you're about to pass out."
I sat, resting my elbows on my knees and letting my head hang as I stared at the floor.
"I don't think she's lying," Magnolia said, her voice barely above a whisper. The office had a door, but the walls didn't extend all the way to the ceiling. I nodded, responding in the same low tone.
"I don't think she's lying either," I said. "Fuck. How the fuck did this happen?"
Magnolia leaned against the desk and surprised me with a wry laugh. "Considering how many times I've woken you up with a naked woman in your bed, I'm pretty sure I don't need to explain how this happened."
"Bite me, Sugar."
"I don't think so," she said tartly. "Look, I'm going to call Dr. Whitmore's office. The first thing we need to do is determine that she's your daughter. If she is, what do you want to do?"
"What you mean, what do I want to do? If she's my daughter, I want her. She's mine. It's bad enough that her mother died. No way in fucking hell will I walk out on her."
Magnolia’s eyes filled with tears. One fell over her lashes to skate down her cheek before she lifted her hands and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes.
Sucking in and blowing out a quick breath, she said, "Okay, good. So, that’s settled. I'll call Dave Price and get him to put together papers so Stephanie can relinquish any rights, assuming the blood test comes back showing that you're the father."
"I'll call Dave," I said. "But I'd appreciate it if you could get on the line with Dr. Whitmore's office and have them agree to rush the blood test. If that little girl is my daughter, I want to get this wrapped up as soon as possible."
Magnolia nodded and walked out of our office. I picked up the phone and dialed my attorney. While I was waiting, Magnolia came back in, pulled out her own phone, and got on the line with the doctor's office.
There were downsides to being a Winters. Most people didn't see them. They saw the money and thought we had it all.
The truth was, a lot of it sucked. Dead parents, dead aunt and uncle, and the media ripping us apart on a regular basis before we could even walk. But at times like this, being a Winters made life so much less complicated.
The tests to show paternity could be done in hours. Dave was already drawing up the legal work. If that little girl was mine, we'd know it by morning.