"In Your Face, that family business with the designer jeans for the teen market, is more viable than we'd even hoped," Phillip said, his voice fired up with excitement. "It's a strong product, and they have great designs for some future expansion."
Griffin nodded. "I expected that." He'd been watching In Your Face for several years, and that company was part of the reason he'd decided to divest himself of Free Love, so he could be in a position to acquire it.
"Here's the deal," Phillip said. "They want to sell, and they've already got a lot of interest. We'll have to move fast. I sent you an extensive report on their financials. Can you look at it tonight?"
"Yeah, I'm on it." Griffin booted up his computer, and the electronic beeps felt discordant with this woodsy setting. He should be back in his office, dealing with work, not languishing in Maine. "But I'm not rushing just because there's someone else interested."
"Agreed, but this is a good one. It's hot, and we need to move now."
Griffin swore. He couldn't return to Boston until he'd retrieved Brooke. "I can't go back yet." He opened his email program and saw the messages from Phillip.
"Then get your daughter and get down here. We don't want to miss this." Another line buzzed, and Phillip said, "I need to take that call. Call me back after you've looked at the file."
Griffin disconnected without replying as he opened the first email from Phillip. He wanted that company. He needed to step it up, but he was not leaving town until he had his daughter—
A loud shriek of laughter from Katie jerked his attention back to the present, and he felt a stab of frustration. No doubt Hillary and Brooke were having that same kind of bonding moment that Katie and Clare were having, and that was why Brooke hadn't answered the phone. Hell, for all he knew, Hillary had taken Brooke's phone so he couldn't reach her. Dammit. He needed to at least talk to his daughter—
He suddenly noticed the landline sitting beside the bed. He contemplated it for a moment, then he looked down at his own phone. Would it be that simple?
He tossed his phone on the bed, picked up the landline, and dialed Brooke's phone. She answered on the first ring. "Hi, Katie."
The sound of his daughter's voice was like a sling straight to the gut. For a moment, Griffin couldn't even speak, so overwhelmed by the realization that his daughter was there, talking to him, connecting with him. Then he realized the implications of her answering the phone when he'd called on Clare's land line. Son of a bitch. She'd been screening his calls. That familiar ache jabbed his chest, but he shoved it aside and kept it light. "Hi, Brookie. It's Dad."
There was silence.
"Brooke?"
"Why are you at Katie's house?" she asked without preamble. No greeting. No reaction at all to hearing his voice for the first time in months. She actually sounded a lot like Hillary. Cold, unemotional, distant.
He gripped the phone tighter, frustration mounting. "I'm in Maine, Brookie," he said, keeping his voice casual, not wanting to give her an excuse to shut him out. "How about dinner tomorrow night? I'll be by around six—"
"I can't," Brooke interrupted. "I'm busy."
Griffin set his hand on the bedpost and dug his fingers into the wood. "Then what time? I can come earlier. Later. What works?"
"Nothing works! I'm busy!"
"Brooke—"
"Hello, Griffin."
He stiffened at the sound of his ex-wife's cool, emotionless voice. He'd forgotten how low and hard her voice was, or maybe it was just in comparison to Clare's light, warm tones. "Hillary."
"Brooke has a life now," Hillary said. "She has a family now. Let her go."
Griffin's hand slipped off the bedpost, and he swore as the tightness crushed harder in his chest. "She's my daughter, Hillary. You can't take her away from me."
"You haven't seen her in a year," Hillary said. "I'm not taking her away from you. She doesn't want you. She wants this life, and this family."
Griffin ground his jaw and paced over to the window, but the breeze was no comfort now. "I haven't seen her because you took her away from me, carting her off to Maine—"
"It's okay, Griffin. You don't need to feel obligated." Hillary's voice became softer, almost gentle. Not like Clare's, of course, but there was an element of acceptance he hadn't heard from her before. He barely recognized it. She'd never spoken that way to him before, as if she actually recognized that he was a human being.
"I'm not obligated," he said. "I want to be with her—"
"You're free now," Hillary said, her words devoid of acrimony, judgment or recrimination for the first time in years. "Brooke has a father. I have a husband. We are loved, and we are taken care of. Your daughter is good, Griffin. She's found her peace. Go live your life. You don't have to play the role anymore. We grant you your freedom."
"I don't want my freedom," he snapped. "I want my daughter—"
"Do you?" A familiar challenge returned to Hillary's voice, the edge that had grated on him for so long. "Do you want that beautiful spirit that belongs to Brooke, or do you simply want to be able to claim success at fatherhood?"
"I—"
"Griffin," Hillary said firmly. "You aren't meant to be a husband, and you aren't meant to be a father." She sighed. "I've finally accepted that, and it's okay. It really is. You're great at business, but you've got nothing when it comes to family." Those were the words she'd thrown at him for years, but this time, there was no hate or anger behind them. Just acceptance, like she'd given up on him.
Screw that. She wasn't going to manipulate him into walking away from his daughter. "I'm a good dad—"
"You're not, and it's time for you to accept it. I have. You won't be happy as long as you're trying to force yourself to be the man you aren't. Let yourself go back to Boston. You deserve to find peace, and so do we. Good-bye, Griffin.
And then she hung up on him.
The phone buzzed in his ear. What the hell had just happened? In their sixteen-year marriage, all he'd gotten from Hillary was grief about his work schedule, and now she was saying it was okay? She was telling him he had no chance to be a decent dad? Screw that. He was Brooke's father, and he wasn't some washed up bastard who didn't deserve her. Griffin scowled and began to dial Hillary back—
A light knock sounded at the door, and he looked over to see Katie standing in the doorway. She grinned at him, her eyes gleaming with delight. "Dinner's ready," she said. "Jeremy and Sara are here. Mom made lasagna and garlic bread."
The teen was wearing a faded gray sweatshirt, and her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, just like Brooke used to do. Sudden sadness bit at him, a sense of loss so deep it almost staggered him. He remembered how Brooke had answered the phone, asking him why he was at Katie's house. If they were friends, maybe Katie could give him some insight on how to reach her. "Do you know Brooke Friesé?"
"Of course, I do—" Katie paused, and her eyes got wide. "Brooke is your daughter? You're the dad who took off on her?"
"I didn't take off on her," he snapped. What the hell? Was there no such thing as privacy in this damned town? "How do you know her? Are you good friends with her?"
Katie's eyes narrowed, and there was no mistaking the sudden coolness of her tone. "She lifeguarded at the Wenopequat Beach last summer, and I hung with her at some of the lifeguard parties." She gave him an accusing look. "She said you abandoned her."
Griffin swore. "I was working—"
"You left." Katie lifted her chin, an old, deep-seeded loneliness flaring in her eyes. "You had a daughter who wanted you, and you walked away. Maybe you should have traded spots with my dad, who actually loved me but didn't get to hang around." The accusation in her voice was bitter, too damned similar to what Hillary had flung at him for so long. "If you were dead, at least you would have an excuse for ditching your own daughter. My dad at least had a reason for leaving me." Then she spun around and flounced off, her pony tail bouncing as she strode down the hall.
Son of a bitch. What was it with all these people?
He hadn't left. They'd walked out on him.
Griffin scowled as he heard Katie stomp back to the kitchen. Her laughter with her friends and Clare drifted down the hall, a world he didn't fit into. He'd walked into a thousand boardrooms in his life, but he had no idea how to walk into that kitchen with all those people.
And he didn't need to. Not anymore.
He wasn't in Maine to play family time with people who judged him. He was there to get his daughter back. Hillary didn't know what she was talking about. Katie didn't know him. He would be there tomorrow at six to reclaim his daughter. Period.
And in the meantime, he was getting his business back on track. When Brooke came home with him, he was going to show her that he could give her anything she wanted. Anything. He looked at the necklace again, and set it on the bed. Tomorrow she would see. Tomorrow she would realize that she was wrong about him.
Of course he wanted to be her father.
Of course he saw the beauty of her soul.
He always had, dammit. Just because he worked long hours didn't mean he didn't get it.
As more laughter drifted down the hall, Griffin grabbed his laptop, his briefcase and his phone, then walked out his door. He paused in the hallway just outside the kitchen. Three teenagers were sitting around the table, munching on French bread, but he barely noticed them.
All he could focus on was Clare. Her hair tucked in an adorable, messy bun, she was unwrapping foil from what smelled like hot garlic bread. She looked domestic and happy, her eyes dancing as she chatted with the kids. He almost smiled, drawn in by her obvious peace with the moment. He didn't remember Hillary ever looking that soft or appealing. He felt like he could stand there all night and watch her.
"When's Griffin coming?" Jeremy asked. The kid was wearing jeans and a red tee shirt, and he was watching Katie with an interest that made Griffin want to go in there and toss the kid out on his underwear-clad ass.
Katie looked up and saw Griffin. Her face hardened. "Griffin isn't coming to dinner," she announced.
Clare turned quickly to her daughter. "He's not coming to dinner? Why not?"
Griffin's sense of peace retreated swiftly. It was the same thing all over again. Why wasn't Griffin coming to dinner? Why wasn't he participating in the family event?
Dammit. Hillary was wrong. She was wrong. He deserved his daughter, and he was going to get her back.
"Is Griffin sick?" Clare wiped her hands on her jeans. "I'll go check on him—" She turned toward the door, and Griffin ducked out of sight.
He booked it out the side door and was already at his truck by the time Clare pushed open the screen door and came out on the back stoop. He met her gaze, and for a moment he hesitated. There was no recrimination on her face, just concern.
But that was how it started.
The hostility and accusations always came eventually. He didn't have time to be reminded of his failings. He had a daughter to rescue, a business to buy, and a life to reclaim.
He did not need to invest himself in some small town in Maine, or in a woman whose blue eyes could suck the life out of a man...or give him enough fuel to survive anything. A woman who could make him feel like he owned the world, and then rip it out from under him the moment she deemed him unworthy. No, he didn't need that again.
He yanked open the truck door and set his gear inside.
"Griffin?" Clare walked down the stairs. "Is everything all right?" Her voice was gentle and worried, and her eyes were filled with warmth. She barely knew him, and already she was opening herself to him, bringing him into her circle. She'd done it when she'd announced to the entire store that he could stay at her house, and she was doing it again.
For a split second, Griffin was tempted to let himself accept her concern, to yank her into his arms and breathe in the purity of her essence. But for what? So she could take it all back the moment he spent too long at the computer? Screw that. No more loss for him. He wouldn't start down this path again, not when he knew where it would go. Clare was all about home and family, and she would eventually hate him just like Hillary had. "I have to go."
Her forehead furrowed with concern, with worry, utterly without judgment. "Where?"
But he wasn't going to fall for it. "I just need to go." He started the truck, shifted into reverse, and peeled out of her driveway without looking back.
He would not go back to a world of accusation and blame.
There was only forward.
Only forward.
Only forward.
Chapter 7
The Ox Hill Pub loomed dark and moody as Griffin sped down one of the side roads that had led off Main Street in town. Neon beer signs flashed in the window, and there were a scattering of pickups in the dirt parking lot.
Not the same as the bar at the Four Seasons, but he'd take it for now.
Briefcase in hand, Griffin yanked open the door of the bar and headed inside. Dark wood beams bisected the white ceiling, and the walls were bare wood, decorated with black and white pictures that seemed to document a hundred years of history. Farmers with their pitch forks. Old tractors. A couple of guys in hip waders holding some bass.
The low-lit bar smelled like a wood stove and fresh bread, and he was surprised by the hum of energized conversation. There were dining tables to the right filled with families who'd taken their kids out for an early Sunday dinner. But to the left was a bar. Quiet at this hour on a Sunday, and exactly what he wanted.
No one seemed to be attending the door, so Griffin headed inside, grabbed a table in the corner and set up his office.
Two beers and a burger later, he was immersed in Phillip's file and the world of teen fashion. The creators of In Your Face jeans had expanded into jackets, and he was damned impressed. The two Berkeley grads had taken their start-up into impressive places, and were selling their product to some powerful outlets. They were onto something, and it smelled the same as Free Love Slippers had when he'd first scented that gem.
He clicked on a pair of jeans with the IYF logo on the hip—
"You're a fashion guy?" Jackson Reed, the guy with the good tires, leaned over Griffin's shoulder, peering at the computer screen. Jackson had spiffed up with a pair of dark jeans and a collared shirt. His hair was slicked back and the man was freshly-shaven.
"It's a business I'm thinking about buying," Griffin explained. This was his comfort zone. Business talk with a guy who invested in good tires. No one ever accused him of failing to deliver when it came to work.
"Yeah?" Jackson pulled out a chair and sat down. "I'm thinking about buying out my boss. Risky shit, going into business on your own, isn't it?"
Griffin couldn't help but grin with satisfaction. "It's the best deal on earth." He hadn't been accountable to anyone in years, and he would never go back.
"Yeah?" Jackson cocked an eyebrow, folding his massive arms over his chest, the body of a man who lived by hard labor, much like Griffin's dad had. "What if it goes belly up? You lose everything?"
Griffin shrugged. "It's a risk, yeah, but not likely if you know what you're doing."
Jackson barked with laughter. "Yeah, if it was that easy, everyone would be doing it. Hell, I'd have started my own company years ago."
Griffin leaned back in his chair as the waitress set another beer in front of him. It felt good to have a little man time. "What's your business? Construction?"
"Yep." Jackson tipped his chair back and propped his booted foot on an empty seat. "Been with the same company since I was eighteen. Jeff Green took me on when I showed up here on my way to nowhere, and I've never left. This town was the best thing that ever happened to me."
Griffin didn't bother to comment on that. "Why don't you buy it?"
"Well, yeah." Jackson let the foot fall back to the floor. "Jeff's retiring, and he wants to hand it off to me." He shrugged as he helped himself to one of Griffin's fries. "Can't do it now, though. Things being what they are and all."
As if he had any clue what Jackson was talki
ng about. "Why can't you do it? It's always the right time to go out on your own."
"Why can't I?" Jackson grinned suddenly, his face lighting up. "Shit, man, how do you not know? You've been in town for twenty-four hours. Everyone knows."
Griffin ground his jaw. "Yeah, well I'm not tapped into the gossip chain yet." At least when it came to others. Apparently, his personal life was a well-covered topic.
"Just giving you grief, my friend." Jackson slapped him on the shoulder, then grinned. "Trish's having a baby, big guy. A baby!"
Griffin blinked. "Trish?"
"My wife!" Jackson looked so proud Griffin half expected him to leap on the table and start beating his chest. "I'm going to be a damned father. Can you believe that shit?"
Griffin couldn't help but grin at Jackson's enthusiasm, and he raised his beer. "To the new dad."
Jackson slammed his drink against Griffin's so hard that the amber liquid sloshed over the table. "Hell, yeah, man. Hell, yeah."
Griffin eyed the other man as Jackson took an enthusiastic slug of his beer. He couldn't quite remember what his reaction had been when he'd found out Hillary was pregnant. In fact, he couldn't even remember finding out. Just one day, his daughter was there. But he was pretty sure he'd never been as fired up as Jackson.
"So, now you see why I can't buy out Jeff," Jackson said.
Griffin tried to figure out the connection between the baby and Jackson's inability to buy the business. "I'd think that now would be the time to make the move. Get the security of being your own boss—"
Jackson shook his head instantly. "And risk Trish and the baby? No chance."
Griffin frowned. "How does buying out your boss risk them?"
"Don't you get it, Griff?" Jackson leaned forward, his face serious. "They're counting on me now. I have to provide for them. A house, food, clothing, all that shit. If I sink all my savings into a business, then I've got no security for them to count on. And what if the business tanks? We've got nothing." Jackson shook his head. "Different story if I was single, but when you're single, what the hell does it matter anyway? Who are you doing it for? The dog?" He grinned and his face was at peace. "I've got a new job now, and it's not the one that pays the bills." He slammed his fist on the table. "I'm on it, Griff. I'm going to be the best damn father any kid has ever had and—"
Unexpectedly Mine (Birch Crossing Book 1) Page 8
