Along Came Love

by Tracey Livesay

  He’d finally gotten a devastated Indi to settle down. She’d apologized profusely after the incident, had even offered to replace the ruined plants with “new, clean flowers.” Not that she knew anything about gardening, she’d informed him—­weakly fighting off his efforts to tuck her into bed—­but she’d worked at a plant nursery one summer after high school. It had taken over an hour and a promise to go to the Barton Point Farm & Garden Store later, but she’d finally slipped off to sleep.

  He’d lingered there for several minutes, watching her sleep, her arm curled around her belly protectively. She claimed she’d be unable to raise Nugget, but her actions showed a woman who’d already grown to love the life she carried within.

  “Hey.” Morgan leaned against the wall, her fingers flying over her phone.

  “Hey.”

  “Dad’s waiting for you in the study.”

  As he got closer to her he saw the scripted C—­the Computronix’s logo—­carved into the back of the device. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, her fingers never ceasing on the screen. “I’m not posting the video of your girlfriend upchucking in our bushes.” She finally looked up. “Although I could have. It was priceless. Especially the look on Dad’s face.”

  Mike could easily imagine his father’s clenched jaw and curled lip, though he’d missed seeing it, having run after Indi to make sure she was okay.

  He’d gotten there in time to gather her braids away from the mess.

  “And I thought the drama this weekend would come from you and Dad voicing your concerns in stereo about me studying abroad.”

  “You want to study abroad?”

  “Didn’t Mom tell you?”

  He shook his head. “She said you wanted to take time off from college.”

  “That’s what Dad’s calling it because I’m breaking away from his plan.” She pounded a fist against her thigh and pushed away from the wall. “He acts like I intend to bum around Europe with a backpack, picking up guys and smoking weed. I’ll still be pursuing my education and getting credit that will go toward my degree.”

  His father’s viewpoint wasn’t surprising. Robert Black had specific aspirations for his children and their own feelings were rarely part of the conversation.

  But maybe his father had a point this time. Morgan had never mentioned studying abroad before.

  The first ­couple of years attending a university could be overwhelming. Adjusting to the academic differences between high school and college, making new friends, and negotiating living with a roommate, learning general life skills like laundry, preparing a budget, shopping for food—­these were experiences that could paralyze even the most intense student. Was Morgan running away from the stress of her new situation instead of buckling down and overcoming the challenges she might be facing? He would be doing his sister a disser­vice if he played into her capitulation.

  He tousled Morgan’s hair. He knew how much she hated it, but its thick, razor-­straight texture reminded him of when she was a little girl and she’d first come to live with them. She’d stare up at him, awe brightening her eyes. “Jjog-­eulo,” she’d say—­which they learned was Korean for up—­and hold out her chubby arms. He’d pick her up, cuddle her close, and promise her that nothing bad would ever happen to her again.

  Plus, big brother, little sister. Annoying her was an integral part of their familial bond. He couldn’t help himself.

  “Why do you want to study abroad?”

  “I—­” She licked her lips and her gaze veered away from his. She exhaled. “It’ll look great on my transcript. And in today’s competitive market, international skills and knowledge will help me stand out to potential employers.”

  A pat, impressive answer but Morgan’s hesitation—­her overall aura of shiftiness—­set off his bullshit meter.

  “Stanford is consistently ranked as one of the top five best universities in the world. There’s no expertise you can acquire from studying abroad that you can’t get, and in superior quality, from here.”

  She straightened, her shoulders falling back into a strong, defiant posture. “But if I study abroad, I’ll have access to classes and subjects that wouldn’t be available to me at Stanford.”

  “That’s what the internet is for. Whatever interest you have, you can find an online webinar to suit your needs and fit around your class schedule.”

  “What about the educational and personally enriching benefits of immersing myself into a new culture?”

  “There are language and culture houses on campus. If you’re interested in a particular country, I’m sure you can find other students from that region.”

  Morgan scrunched up her face. “There’s more to learning than what you find in books.”

  “Say slackers who think hitchhiking across the country or weaving yarn bracelets should count the same as attending lectures and passing exams. They have their benefits but parlaying them into college credit isn’t one of them.” He flicked a finger against her chin. “I’m sorry but you haven’t given me a valid reason to support your leaving Stanford.”

  “It’s only for a year!” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “You know, Mike, you sound just like Dad. If no one has had the balls to tell you this to your face, I will: You don’t know what’s best for everyone!” She flounced away in those awful wedge sneakers.

  Someone had recently told him something similar and he could confirm she was pretty ballsy.

  Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. One uncomfortable conversation down, one more to go.

  There were many occasions when he’d sat in the study, listening while his father voiced lecture after lecture as if on a mission to download his morality into his son’s mind. Mike never remembered the details, only the gist—­use your fists as defense, never offense; treat women the way you’d want someone to treat your sister; greatness is for those who never settled for good enough—­but the night of the accident was the sole standout. Though it had happened sixteen years ago, he remembered everything, his torn and muddied clothes, the stinging scrape on his elbow, his mother’s sobbing in the background, the shocked disappointment on his father’s face. That evening, the oak paneling and cherry bookshelves seemed to be closing in on him, punishment for the fatal consequences of his lapse in judgment.

  He swallowed, knocked on the door, and waited until he heard the familiar, “Come in.”

  His eyes widened as he looked around. The dark paneling had been removed in favor of light-­colored walls, and the beautiful hardwood floors from the hallway were on display.

  Robert read the incredulity on his face and grumbled, “Your mother couldn’t stop after the west wing. She renovated it earlier this year. Claimed it wasn’t a gentleman’s club.”

  Robert was a formidable man, but Barbara was more than his match. That parity was what Mike had been looking for in a wife, what he’d hoped to model his own marriage after.

  “Been following the performance of the HPC.” Robert tapped his knuckles on the desk. “Very impressive. The stock has risen steadily since the presentation.”

  Did his father believe he wasn’t aware of that information? Mike settled into a beige armless, tufted chair. “Yes, it has.”

  “The added publicity of Adam proposing to his wife was a boon.”

  He crossed his right ankle on his left knee. “I can assure you Adam didn’t do it for promotional purposes. He doesn’t think that way.”

  “Maybe not, but it helped. I’m sure his wife appreciated it as brilliant strategy. She’s in PR, right? With Beecher & Stowe?”

  Mike wasn’t surprised his father knew about Computronix’s major players. The other man often extolled the benefits of doing research and obtaining as much information as possible.

  “The harder you w
ork, the more preparation you do, the luckier you’ll be.”

  “She just made partner.”

  Robert nodded. “Adam picked well. With his Asperger’s, it’s good for him to choose a woman who’s communicative and sociable. You’d do well to pick in a similar vein.”

  Here we go.

  He remained silent, knowing his response wasn’t required.

  “You’ve been dating Skylar Thompson for a while.”

  “I have.”

  “She’s a beautiful woman, very accomplished.”

  He tilted his head back and met his father’s stare. “Yes, she is.”

  “Exactly the type of woman a successful businessman should have by his side.”

  “That’s your opinion.”

  “Is it one you share?”

  He did. And until very recently, he’d been the businessman in that scenario. However, the scenario was shifting, as was his image of the person who should be by his side.

  “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Skylar discussing a business proposition between Computronix and ThomTexteL.”

  “What kind of proposition?”

  “One I can’t discuss with anyone outside of a few key ­people in the company.”

  Robert frowned. “But I’m your father!”

  The Father Maneuver. “I know who you are.”

  His father straightened in his chair. He hated having his goals stymied. “Who is this woman you’ve brought to our home?”

  Add graying hair and eighteenth-­century clothing and Robert would be right at home in a Jane Austen novel.

  “I’m sure you already know this because Mom filled you in. Her name is India Shaw and she’s Chelsea’s sister.”

  “I wasn’t aware Chelsea Bennett had any siblings.”

  “Why would you be aware of anything regarding Chelsea’s background?”

  “She married the CEO of Computronix and as a shareholder—­”

  The shareholder card.

  “—­I have a right to know about anything that would affect my investment.”

  Researching Chelsea’s professional life? Maybe, although it still felt intrusive. But digging into her personal life, her upbringing . . .

  Had his father always been this arrogant and controlling? He’d valued Robert’s opinions, appreciated that his father helped to instill most of his core beliefs. Because of his father, he’d learned honor, ambition, and confidence and believed the older man epitomized those traits.

  But as he sat across from Robert, his judgmental attitude on display, Mike realized the negative aspects of those traits and began to wonder if Adam and Jonathan didn’t have a valid point about the weight he placed on emulating his father’s choices.

  With Morgan’s accusation of his resemblance to Robert ringing in his ears, he leaned forward and rested his elbow on his bent knee, his father in his crosshairs. “Adam and I own the company—­you’re a small shareholder. Your interests gives you zero right to investigate the ­people who work at Computronix, or anyone on the periphery. That’s our job. If you’re concerned about the way we’re running the business, you do have the right to sell your shares. I’d be happy to take them off your hands at full market value.”

  It was the voice he used to establish his position in meetings with older executives new to dealing with Computronix. The ones who assumed he’d fall for anything they offered because they’d been around longer than he and Adam.

  Those men were quickly disabused of that notion.

  He had to give his father credit: he couldn’t hold his son’s gaze but he didn’t back down. “Was my report wrong?”

  “No,” he allowed after a brief interval. “Indi’s not her biological sister. She’s her foster sister.”

  “Foster sister. So she has no family?”

  He stiffened, aware Indi would find Robert’s questions and tone of voice insulting. “She has Chelsea. And now Adam.”

  “No biological family?”

  “As the father of an adopted child, I’m surprised you’d make the distinction.”

  “Yes, well.” Robert cleared his throat. “What does she do?”

  “She’s not here for a job interview. What does it matter?”

  “If you’re thinking about dating her—­”

  “We’re not dating”—­technically true, though he’d consider their current situation a great deal more intimate—­“but if we were, it’d be my business.”

  “Why then would you bring her to our home, especially for this event?”

  “I didn’t want to leave her by herself in the city. She knows only Chelsea, Adam, and me.”

  His father narrowed his eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Now it was his turn to glance away as he shrugged.

  “I’m the head of this family and this is my house,” Robert insisted. “How can I protect you all if I’m missing pertinent pieces of information?”

  He recognized the irony of his father telling him the same thing he’d told Indi. He stood. “Then we’ll leave.”

  Robert waved his hand. “No need for the dramatics. Sit down.”

  He stayed, but remained standing, bracing his arms on the back of the chair he’d just vacated, his tolerance at an all-­time low.

  “I saw the picture. There’s something between you.” Robert held up his hand when Mike would’ve interrupted. “I’ve got eyes. She’s a beautiful woman, but she’s not the one for you. Send her back to San Francisco. Trust me, son. I only have your best interests at heart.”

  A part of Mike understood that now. If he ever believed Nugget was making a decision that would bring him harm, he’d do everything in his power to steer him in the right direction. He basked in the feeling of kinship with his father. “I know.”

  “And we didn’t survive the disastrous fallout from the accident only to have you throw all of your accomplishments away by following your johnson instead of your brain.”

  Irritation over his father’s newest tactic warred with amusement over his choice of words. The irritation won by a landslide.

  It had been a while since his father had felt the need to mention the accident.

  “Is this where you blame me again for sneaking out?”

  Robert was calm. “I never blamed you. I simply said it was a school night. You should’ve been home.”

  He clenched the back of the chair so tightly his knuckles whitened. “Greg didn’t die because I snuck out of the house. He and the guys were already wasted when I got to the park.”

  “Which is exactly why you should’ve said something when they decided to climb the cliffs.”

  “I did!” He pushed away from the chair, the force of his reaction causing it to tip precariously on its side, before righting itself. “I told them not to go.”

  Robert stared at the chair before fixing his gaze on his son. “How hard did you try? They were drunk—­you weren’t. You should’ve been the responsible one that night. How many times had I told you to do what’s right, not what’s easy?”

  Apparently, his conscience blamed him as much as his father did.

  “At least you don’t need to concern yourself with the consequences of my decisions anymore.”

  “Don’t I?” He could tell from Robert’s look and tone that he was referring to Indi.

  “No. I’ve been doing a damn good job for years, starting with going into business with Adam.”

  Instead of with you.

  He didn’t say it, but they both knew that’s what he’d meant.

  Robert’s lips tightened until his mouth resembled a crease between his nose and his chin.

  An uneasy silence settled between them. Mike cleared his throat and raked a hand through his hair. Robert toyed with the cap of his Brooks Brothers fountain pen, the one he’d often used du
ring his time as mayor. It sat mounted on an acrylic block in a place of honor on his desk.

  Finally—­

  “I’ve scheduled us for a round of golf in the morning at the country club.”

  Mike sighed. “I haven’t held a club since the last time I was here.”

  “I promised several of the town council members and our county board supervisor that you’d play a round while you were here. You know the whole town is proud of you and your accomplishments.”

  He knew. Barton Point was small, with a population of just over five thousand. He’d known most of these ­people his entire life.

  “What about Indi? It’s rude to invite her here and then abandon her.”

  “She’ll be fine. Your mother will take care of her, especially now that she’s sick,” Robert muttered, shaking his head. His desk phone rang and he glanced at the caller ID before picking it up. “I have to take this. Think about what I said.”

  His own phone rang as he closed the door behind him.

  “Sully. Give me a second.”

  He crossed the great room, slid open the glass panel, and stepped out onto the balcony. He was welcomed by the slightly hypnotic sounds of chirping nocturnal creatures intermixed with the waves softly lapping against the shore. He inhaled deeply, the bracing tang of the salty air a hit of rejuvenation. How many ­people could claim part of the Pacific Ocean as their backyard? Nestled among the trees, the vastness of the water before him, he could be master and commander of the world.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I found an attorney for you. Kenneth DeRosen. He comes highly recommended. Specializes in fathers’ rights.”

  “Fathers’ rights?” He braced a hand on the stainless-­steel railing. Had Sully lost his fucking mind? Mike wasn’t interested in associating with bitter men who ranted about “feminazis” out to castrate their manhood. “Not those men who call themselves victims and advocate kidnapping their children or burning down courthouses?”

  “No. DeRosen has carved out a very successful and well-­respected practice representing men in divorce, child custody, and child support cases. He was booked solid for the next five months, but I managed to get you an appointment in a ­couple of weeks.”