by C. C. Piper
Still, I hedged my bets by offering instead of assuming this time around, hoping not to get off on the wrong foot.
Again.
“Some wine would be lovely.”
“Make yourself comfortable,” I called over my shoulder on the way to the kitchen, purposely not watching her distinctive sway. I needed all my wits about me, which meant leaving my blood in my brain instead of behind the zipper of my pants.
I stood at my granite kitchen island and filled two wine glasses with the rich burgundy liquid, noticing where she stood in my living room. She was staring at the pieces of art there. In London I’d begun to grow fascinated by art and had become a regular staple at Sotheby’s. I collected American artists who worked in blues, greens and golds, pieces that would grant some relief for my homesickness.
It worked to a certain extent. Some were abstract, some were landscapes, some had nautical themes, and putting them in place had offered me solace.
Well, except for the ones in my bedroom. Those – nudes of the female form – served a different purpose.
“These are nice,” Roxy remarked, her tone carefully polite.
“Thank you. I enjoy them.”
I carried the wine over to her, averting my gaze from her as I did. Even still, I couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t overly made up. Nor was her attire low-cut or provocative. She smelled the same as she had last time, like a type of flower I couldn’t seem to put my finger on. The perfume floated around her lightly, detectable but not overpowering. It mixed well with her natural scent, a fragrance I was intimately familiar with.
Don’t go there, Liddell.
Her gaze kept flitting around as if searching out items from a scavenger hunt, and after catching her for the third consecutive time, I called her on it. “Looking for something?”
Her eyes widened for a second, then she let out a breath. “I just wondered if anyone else might be here.”
I thrust out my lips in contemplation, trying to determine why she wanted to know. “I moved in not long ago, but my decorator has been finished for a few days now. I have a housekeeper, in-home chef and a gardener, but they don’t live on premises.”
There was a crash outside, and Roxy jumped, startled. I strode past her to investigate and found a black cat with bright golden eyes. He’d knocked over one of the smaller pots my gardener had recently filled with sprigs of mint, but other than spilling a bit of soil onto the concrete, it hadn’t made that big of a mess.
I put the pot back to rights, then went to the kitchen to retrieve some tuna and a bowl. The creature looked half-starved. I served the pitiful thing and was just rising to my feet again when Roxy spoke.
“Is that yours? The kitty?”
I felt my lips quirk upward into a smile, another memory assaulting my senses. She’d had about four different felines that she’d adopted back in the day, and she referred to each one of them as kitties.
“I think he must be a stray.”
“But you’re feeding him.”
I shrugged. He wasn’t really mine, but I wondered if I should instruct my chef to add cat food to the shopping list. A list of possible names entered my mind. Spooky. Salem. Boots. Coal. Which was silly since I didn’t generally do the whole pet thing. I’d never been able to. Maybe it was time to change that, too.
The name Midnight popped into my head.
Ooh, I liked that one.
Come on, Liddell. Focus.
“Are you wondering why I…” Hired you again. “Invited you over?” I asked her.
“You could say that.”
“Our last dinner didn’t go as planned and…” And you’re Roxy, for Christ’s sake. “And I wanted to give this another go.” She said nothing, choosing to peer into her wine glass instead, as if it held all the answers to the universe. I took a deep breath, but I had to say this. “I didn’t lie to you, Roxy. I swear that I did everything in my power to-”
“You’re a father,” she blurted out, interrupting me.
“What?” I asked, nonplussed.
“You are a father.”
But I must’ve misunderstood her. Had she just asked if I was a father? “No, I’m not a father. I have no kids, no wives and no girlfriends. No one important.” At least, not since you.
She sighed, setting her wine down on the end table that ran along the back of my leather sofa. “That’s not what I… Listen to what I’m saying, Jax. You are a father. When you left for London, I was pregnant.”
9
Roxanne
Jax gawked at me, his blue eyes staring holes right through me.
I’d been so upset after our last discussion that I thought about not telling him about Callie after all, but I couldn’t hold such crucial information from him. He’d claimed to have tried to reach me, to contact me, and even though I knew that couldn’t be true, his gaze had been steadfast and unwavering.
Then, he’d fed that adorable little kitty and suddenly I’d wondered if my Jax was inside this man somewhere. If there was even the slimmest chance of that being true, I had to reach him. To let him know.
“You have a daughter. Her name is Callie. She’s four.” Still, he stood there frozen like a statue. “She’s beautiful and smart and…”
“What are you doing?” he asked me, his features a study in blankness.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you saying this?”
“Because it’s true.” Okay, this is a lot to take in, so maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt. “You need to know. You deserve to know. I wanted to tell you the other day, but…”
“But what? You didn’t get what you wanted the first time?” A change had settled over him, but instead of a release of the shock I’d hoped for, his face became hard. It was as if he’d been mummified into something as stone-like as the façade of his home. “What is it you’re after? Huh? Money? What am I saying? Of course, it’s money. It’s always fucking money.”
Money? Blindsided by his accusation, I took a step backward, bumping into the wrought iron table in the living room where I’d placed my drink. The motion shook the surface and tipped the wine off-balance. Before I could catch it, the merlot sloshed onto the shiny parquet flooring, the delicate glass shattering and the maroon liquid spreading out into a wide, splattered stain.
Horrified at making a mess at a time like this, I glanced at him. His features had twisted and warped into an expression of ugly outrage, making him appear almost demonic. I dashed into his kitchen, hunting for supplies I could use to clean up with. Locating some paper towels, I yanked the whole roll off the dispenser under his sink and skidded to a halt next to the wine.
I’d just reached forward with a wad of them when he yelled, “Stop”.
The sound of his voice was so loud, I jerked involuntarily, losing my footing. Somehow, before I realized what was happening, two thick arms grabbed me, shuttling me sideways. I fell hard enough to probably end up with a bruise, and when I looked up, I saw Jax on the floor just a couple feet away.
He’d caught himself with his forearm, but he’d also landed directly on top of the broken glass. Blood blossomed from the sleeve of the white linen shirt he wore, and I gasped at his injuries.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, frantic, my hands out in front of him but afraid to touch him for fear of making everything worse.
Jax had repositioned himself, sitting in his jeans next to what was now spiky shards, red wine and drops of bright crimson blood.
Finally, my panic subsided enough for me to make a move. Seizing more paper towels, I stepped toward him, taking care to avoid the glass. “Don’t move. Let me see if I can help.”
“Get out,” he said in response, the muscles along his jaw bunching and his voice low.
“But you’re hurt. Why don’t you let me-”
“I think you’ve done quite enough, don’t you? Now, get out.” This demand was just as quiet as his first, but it sounded more like a snarl.
Freaked by the over
all spectacle and by the look of absolute fury written all over his face, I backed away from him. When I reached the doorway, I turned, and needing to escape the horror of what I’d done, sprinted out the door.
I jogged a few blocks before I became rational enough to realize I was close to a bus stop. Raina had needed my car, so I’d taken a taxi, and now I sat on the bench, trying to slow my galloping pulse. When a red and green trolley car approached, I hopped aboard, glad to put some distance between myself and what had happened.
As the driver called attention to various points of interest, I blocked out his voice and replayed everything that had transpired during my recent interactions with Jaxson Liddell, both of which had gone straight to hell.
I hadn’t thought things could get worse than our first “date,” but they had. In fact, our previous get-together had lasted longer than this one had. The only thing I’d managed to accomplish was to tell him about Callie, but even that hadn’t gone well. By the time I left, he’d been injured, livid and even further removed from me than before.
What a disaster.
Taking so many deep breaths, it was a wonder I didn’t overinflate my lungs, I sat there and engaged the most ruthless, rational part of my brain. I broke down every fact that I knew.
Jax had hired me through the Wish Maker’s services, which meant I couldn’t reach him directly. He’d contacted me twice, which meant even though we couldn’t seem to make much forward momentum together, he’d wanted to see me. He now knew he had a daughter, despite being in apparent denial over it.
So, now what?
I kept catching these brief glimpses of the Jax I’d known. A soft look in his eyes, a gesture of his hand or an act of kindness. Him feeding the stray on his porch had been such a Jax thing for him to do. And the reason he’d been sliced open himself was because he’d pushed me out of the way. If I could only blast a hole in the walls he’d put up, maybe I could reach the boy I’d known.
He was in there somewhere, I was now certain of it.
By the time the trolley had made its slow start and stop journey across the city, I’d devised a plan. I got off at the nearest place I could to my home, my brain filled with possibilities.
“Your date end early?” Raina asked me as soon as I came in, and hearing her, Callie raced toward me.
My daughter flew into my arms, two of her dolls held firmly against her. I pulled her close, pressing my cheek to the top of her downy hair to center myself. Whatever happened between Jax and I, I had one guiding principle to follow no matter what. My daughter and her needs had to come first, and she needed to know her father, even if it made things difficult for me.
Callie is worth it.
“Something like that,” I intoned to Raina, not ready to go into it.
“Mommy, I helped Aunt Raina with the dishes.”
“Did you?” I asked her, breathing in her baby shampoo and detecting some other fragrance mixed into her dark hair.
“Uh huh. I dried.”
“She also blew bubbles with the dish soap,” my best friend informed me, and from the soapy wetness of Raina’s top, I could tell. “It’s why Callie just got out a fresh change of clothes.”
That explained that. “Thanks, Rain. I’m actually going to take her out with me for a while, so you can take a shower in peace.”
Raina mouthed, “Thank you,” to me, and I put my daughter down. Collecting some things for her and placing them in a large bag, I led her to her car seat in the back of the Volkswagen.
“What are we doing, Mommy?”
“We’re going on a little trip to see an old friend of mine.”
“Will I like your friend?”
“I’m sure you will,” I told her in my cheeriest voice. Or at least, I hope so.
Feeling like I’d just run a marathon, I finally made it back to Jax’s massive three-story home. I rang the doorbell again and again, but to no avail. I’d been so focused on getting Callie here that I hadn’t even entertained the idea that he might have left home.
And why wasn’t he here? The possibilities were myriad. I didn’t have his number, and even if he had mine, I didn’t know if he’d call me at this point. I pulled out a small notepad and pen from the large handbag, scribbled out a note with our address on it, and wedged it up into the seam of his fancy storm door.
My only hope was that once he had our address, he’d come investigate for himself. I took Callie’s pudgy hand in mine and headed back to our apartment, disappointed by the fact that he wasn’t home but knowing I’d done everything I could. He’d either seek out the truth about his daughter or he wouldn’t.
Now, all we could do was wait and see.
10
Jaxson
I couldn’t understand why Roxy continued to play these games with me. To refuse to speak to me years ago was bad enough, but to taunt me with the concept of some unknown baby? What was she thinking? The cruelty and deceitfulness of her words kept coursing through me like battery acid. I never would’ve thought Roxy capable of this.
And yet, I kept giving her opportunities to strike out at me.
If I’d just stop attempting to spend time with her, I wouldn’t be feeling this way, like she kicked me in the nuts as hard as she could. To realize that Roxanne Miller had become one of the long line of women who looked at me and saw nothing but dollar signs…
I’d been down this road before, with a woman who’d thrown claims of a fake baby at me. It had been hellish to go through the ordeal; it gave me heartburn just to think about it. And now imagining Roxy doing the same?
Fuck!
I clenched my fists and felt a sharp pain shoot up my right arm. Though I’d bled like a stuck pig for a minute, the cuts were superficial for the most part. Only three of the gashes had needed anything but adhesive bandages from my medicine cabinet, and even those stopped bleeding once I cinched them up with butterflies. Now, if I could remember to quit moving that arm so I wouldn’t set them off every two seconds, everything would be awesome.
Okay, not awesome. But better.
I’d had such high hopes for coming back home, but it turned out that I’d landed myself into a shitfest. My mother was still aloof. The guy I always thought of as my best friend was actually sort of a douche-nozzle. And the girl I loved was willing to tell me any insane thing she could think of in order to make me into her own personal piggybank.
The worst part was I felt genuinely tempted to give her what she wanted. Well, within reason. Now that I was CEO, I had billions at my disposal. If Roxy was so desperate that she’d make up tales about having my imaginary children, her life must have really been in the crapper.
But then, all signs indicated that she must have been having some pretty extreme difficulties. Why else would she willingly prostitute herself? I hoped to God that she wasn’t involved in something even more nefarious or damaging like drugs or something similar. Even the concept of that made me want to pound whoever might’ve done this to her into a pulp.
Roxy had been the one person I’d hoped to reestablish a bond with, and now…
Maybe I would give her the money. If it rescued her from such a dangerous line of work, it’d be worth it. I could just say it was for old time’s sake. Besides, my instinct was still to protect her, despite the callous method she’d employed to break up with me.
After doctoring myself, I went into the office for a few hours. I needed to get away from the scene of Roxy’s “revelation”. What a joke. While we’d definitely had sex plenty of times, we never had unprotected sex. So even if I wanted it to be true, it couldn’t be. It’d simply been a strategy of hers to make me put my guard down.
Sadly, I already had my guard down with regards to her.
Like so many, she must have thought that money would solve all her problems. As someone born and raised with more than enough of it, I could assure her that it wouldn’t. In fact, in the past I had assured her that it wouldn’t.
She’d witnessed how distant my parents had been w
ith me, how little they cared. The business had always outranked their son in every way that mattered. It still did. There was nothing like knowing that the two people you’re supposed to be able to count on most would uproot you at the drop of a hat, and all for the sake of the company’s bottom line.
Sometimes, I hated money.
If I could give up every penny of it just to have the girl I loved back, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Especially now that all that cold hard cash had corrupted her against me.
As my driver drove me home, I peered out at the city. Night had fallen, and certain structures like the blue Superdome, Gallier Hall and St. Louis Cathedral had been lit. New Orleans was significantly smaller than London. My hometown had less traffic, fewer skyscrapers and a wholly different kind of urbane sensibility.
After spending four and a half years blaming my loneliness and depression on the fact that I’d been forced away from my country of origin, it was tremendously disillusioning to find out that I felt just as lonely and depressed here as I did there.
The only relief I’d found there had been in the form of the occasional one-night stand while scoping out this underground club I’d discovered. It catered to people like me, people with similar sexual appetites. But I hadn’t indulged in that for several months before my departure. It never satisfied me on the most fundamental of levels. The only thing that ever had was sex with Roxy. Probably because it had been more than sex.
Or, it had been for me, anyway.
My driver parked in the attached garage, opened my door, then headed for the house to unlock the deadbolt. I followed behind him, my mind replaying every recent moment I’d shared with Roxy over the past couple of weeks, the good, the bad and the ugly. But then I veered off. Waving at him in dismissal, I wandered around the grounds, terraces, and interconnected patios taking in the surroundings.
