by Paige Rion
“You see nothing,” she said, but she glanced away, knowing he was right and hating that she was so transparent.
“What about your future? What are your plans?” he asked.
Rachel shrugged as a knot tightened in her chest. What plans? She wanted to say.
Instead, she ran her finger over the scratches on the surface of the old wooden table and let herself feel. Just for a moment, she allowed herself to be honest with someone, other than herself, about what it felt like to be Charles Beaumont’s daughter. As if knowing she would open up, Rex waited.
“His job...It just consumed us. Our whole family, our lives. Some of us in different ways. In one respect, for myself and my mother, it still takes over our lives. My brothers got off easier. They graduated, left, and went to law school—but my whole life, it’s as if my role was as some sort of prop. Just this thing that was useful to make him look good.”
She stared into her glass as she continued. “‘Nod your head and be pleasant.’ That’s what he used to say to me when we went to events. Even now, I’m expected to act a certain way, dress in the manner he feels appropriate, and appear at his functions when he says to. Maybe that’s why, in my off time, I do things to spite him.” She shook her head. “I was never given choices like my brothers or groomed into going into law or having a career. And, sure, I suppose there’s a lot of pressure that comes with that for them. But...” She trailed off, stopping herself from saying more.
She bit her lip. She’d shared way too much. She was supposed to make him fall for her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hold back.
“Sorry,” she murmured when he didn’t say anything.
He reached out and placed his fingers under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “Don’t be sorry. I like hearing about you. A life like that must’ve been hard.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been a lot luckier than most. I know that.”
“Still, growing up like that has its own set of hardships. It wouldn’t be easy.”
“I think having to follow his plans and his direction has taken its toll,” she admitted. “I have no plan for the future, and since high school, I’ve found myself rebelling in small ways, with things I can get away with. That is, when I’m not playing the role of mayor’s daughter.”
“Like?” He eyed her, a grin playing on his lips. “What’s the rebellious Rachel like?”
“Like, sneaking out of the house growing up, skipping school, some of the clothes I wear...”
“And the men you date?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re here with me, aren’t you?”
She felt the rise of blush in her cheeks and glanced away, thinking about the way he put his hands on the man outside—Rex, her mother’s loan shark, a criminal. No, her father certainly wouldn’t approve. Would he?
“That’s a recent development,” she said, turning her gaze back to his. “Normally I date the type he would approve of. I just tend to do things with them that he wouldn’t like.”
“Ah...” He nodded, as if this made perfect sense. “Let me guess. Rich boys. Ivy league, preppy types that aren’t quite so proper in the bedroom?”
She raised a brow, fighting a grin. “Maybe.”
“So, what do you want for your life, Rachel? And what is it you’re doing now to get it?”
The question hit her like an arrow to the heart because what she wanted just a day ago when she met him was for her family to be okay. She wanted her mother’s debt to be forgiven, for her father to keep his cushy seat at the mayoral office, and for everything to remain the same. That was why she was there. That was why she was with Rex at that very moment. She planned on manipulating him to get what she wanted, and for the first time—maybe ever—she felt the bitter edge of guilt at the thought. But she snapped herself out of it because Rex was a manipulator too. He preyed on her mother and he deserved whatever heartache might befall him at the end of this.
When she opened her mouth to finally speak, she looked him straight in the eyes, sinking into the soft hues of gold and green. “I don’t know what I want.” It was a partial truth, because of course she knew she wanted to save the family name. But when it came to her own life—what she wanted solely for herself, she had no idea.
“I was never really asked before. And that’s the whole problem. I wasn’t expected to go to college or support myself after high school. Nothing was expected of me except my cooperation with family matters, with campaigning. I turned to my friends and boys in my free time because there wasn’t much else. And now I’m stuck, not a child anymore, no longer a teenager, but a woman. And I’m a woman who has nothing but her family and their money to back her. Which is why my mother’s debt to you threatens not just my father, not just his job, or my mother, but me. Because this,” she said gesturing in the air around her, “is all I have.”
She said too much. She really did. And there was no taking the words back now. She had to only hope he found her honest, endearing, and not pathetic. That by being truthful, she had earned his trust. And just as she brought her wine glass to her lips and drained the remaining cocktail, Rex moved his hand to her face. He stroked her cheek and their eyes locked, before he dropped his gaze to her mouth. And she knew what he wanted in that moment because, suddenly, it was the same thing she wanted too.
The warmth of his touch, the tenderness, and the sheer look of understanding in his expression had her wanting to kiss him more than anything—plan to seduce him or not.
He skimmed his thumb over her lower lip, brushing it gently. “Rachel?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I think I’m ready for that kiss now.”
She swallowed hard, somehow finding the statement so much sexier than any impromptu end-of-the-night kiss in the car or on her front porch.
Ducking his head, he moved his lips over hers, softly at first. She could feel the heat of his breath, and when he slid his hands to the nape of her neck, then into her hair, he kissed her with more urgency. She felt the gasp in her throat, but couldn’t hear herself over the frantic thud of her pulse in her ears.
And as she kissed him, she asked herself, for what felt like the hundredth time since she met him, what in the world she was doing.
CHAPTER FOUR
The sun reflected over the ripples of the lake like hundreds of tiny mirrors shimmering atop the water. It was a beautiful morning. Though the air was crisp, the bright blue sky served as a reminder for the promise of spring.
Colton leaned against the railing of the terrace of his condo and stared out at the water, a cup of coffee in his grip. The sound of the waves lapping at the stone of the shore below soothed his nerves as he pondered the Beaumont case. They had so much evidence. Colton personally made deals with the mayor, exchanging money for his silence and support of the underground gambling scene. But they needed to figure out where the money was going once in the governor’s hands. Sure, he used some of it for his campaign, but Colton was sure it also went to an offshore account somewhere. Yet no amount of searching had turned up anything. It was the last piece of information, of evidence they needed to expose the world of underground gambling on the skirts of Callaway Cove and blow the lid off the mayor’s racketeering scheme. No matter the evidence, they needed a map of where the money went once it was passed on to the mayor and how he was holding it. And the one way Colton knew he could get the information was through Rachel—particularly through access to her home, where he knew would turn up the invaluable evidence he needed. But in order to get an invite inside the Beaumont estate, he needed her to trust him—for her to care for him.
Rachel.
What a surprise she was turning out to be. He had pegged her as superficial, dense, and selfish. Yet he saw her in a different light yesterday. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he judged her too harshly. The poor woman seemed stuck. It was obvious her father valued her less than her male siblings, and because of that, he had neglected her future and put her at a di
sadvantage. He had a feeling the confident woman at the casino was just a front for a woman who was far less sure of herself than then she let on.
Behind him, the sliding glass door opened, then snapped shut. A gust of warm air from within hit him and with it, came the scent of chocolate chip muffins.
Turning, he grinned at the sight of his five-year-old daughter, Molly. Her blond hair hung down the middle of her back, curling around her pale face like a halo in the sun. Both the curls and her coloring were features inherited from her mother, so opposite from his own olive complexion and black hair. The only features they shared were their green eyes.
She yawned as she stepped closer to him, the flannel nightgown he got her for Christmas nearly brushing the ground as she walked. In the crook of her left arm, she clutched her favorite baby doll dressed in matching pajamas. She rubbed her eyes with the opposite hand, her little balled fist erasing the last bit of sleep.
“It’s cold. You shouldn’t be out here, at least not without a coat and shoes,” he said, glancing down at her tiny toes, painted a pale pink he somehow managed to slop onto her toenails without making too much of a mess.
“You’re outside, and you don’t have a coat on,” she said.
Glancing down at his hoodie and jeans, he pursed his lips. “Good point. Come on, let’s go inside and see if those muffins are ready.”
“Okay.” She twirled around, and he opened the door for her. Following behind her, he listened to the soft padding of her feet across the hardwood, until they traversed the living room and entered into the kitchen.
“Are they chocolate chip?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with hope.
“Of course,” he said as he opened the oven and peered inside. “And, they’re done.” He grabbed a worn potholder, pulled the pan from the oven and set it on the stove. Turning it over, he dumped the muffins out and then flipped them right-side-up on the rack to cool. He winced as the hot tin singed his fingers. “Let’s give these a couple minutes.”
“Okay.” She sighed and climbed onto a barstool at the giant granite-covered island and placed her face in her hands, as if waiting five minutes was like waiting a lifetime.
“What do you want to do today?” he asked.
“You don’t have to work?”
“I’m not supposed to. You never know though. If something comes up, I’ll have to go in for a few hours, but otherwise, today is yours.”
She smiled brightly, then said, “There’s that Brownies meeting at school.”
His own expression faded. “I told you, Mol. I wish I could take you, but that’s usually a mother-daughter thing. I’d be the only guy there. I don’t even know if they let men go. They do field trips and overnight stuff and those are all things I can’t do with you and a bunch of women. I’m sorry. I wish...” His voice trailed off.
Ever since the school sent the kids home with fliers for Brownies and Girl Scouts, she had been bugging him about allowing her to join. Colton would move the earth for her. He’d do anything. But producing a wife, a mother, just wasn’t possible. And with his job, having to periodically travel for an investigation, the chances of him meeting someone anytime soon was unlikely.
“I know, but I really want to do it. All my friends said they’re gonna join, and—”
“There’s no way. I’m sorry.” He shook his head, his stomach twisting at the disappointment in her eyes, the pleading in her voice. “We’ve got you in dance. How about we sign you up for something else? What would you want to try? Swimming? Gymnastics?”
“Just forget it.” Her lower lip trembled slightly with the words.
Swallowing, Colton turned away from her and grabbed a plate. He hesitated and pressed a hand to his forehead, then plucked a muffin from the rack and pulled back the wrapper. Turning around, he handed it to her. “Here.” It wasn’t much of a peace offering, but it was all he had. Then he moved to the refrigerator where he poured her a glass of milk.
He took a sip of his coffee and watched his daughter pick all the chocolate chips off the top of her muffin and eat them, one by one, before taking a bite. She was so beautiful. How could anyone not want to be a part of her life?
But it was the same question he always asked himself at times like this. Times when he wished he had chosen someone other than his off-and-on-again girlfriend of two years to have unprotected sex with one night after too many drinks. It wasn’t the most glamorous way to conceive a child, but it happened. And Colton had accepted the responsibility, gladly, while she had not.
“We’re too young, yet. I don’t want to be tied down. I want to travel. I don’t even know where I want to live, what I want to do with my life.” Those were all her excuses, reasons not to keep their daughter. While she was only twenty, he was twenty-three. And in the end, he succeeded in convincing her to have the child, but she bolted anyway. She only lasted the first month before the sleepless nights and the 3 a.m. feedings took their toll and she bailed, leaving him a twenty-three-year-old single father.
But Colton wouldn’t have changed a thing. Other than his grandparents, Molly was the one and only constant in his life. She was his reason for everything. And he had done well for them—at least he liked to think so. He enrolled himself in a couple cooking classes and learned how to prepare a decent meal. Several dozen burnt cakes and cookies later, he even learned how to bake. Because eating take-out for every meal was for the life of a single man or a busy working couple, of which he was neither. He was a plus one. A bachelor with a daughter.
Over the last few years, there had been a learning curve. He finally discovered that you needed to separate the lights from the darks in the wash, and what kind of laundry detergent to use for Mol’s sensitive skin. He learned all the nursery rhymes and lullabies to soothe her to sleep, and how to kiss boo-boos to make the tears subside. Most of all, he discovered the joy of being a parent. All in all, he had done well for them, so even when his work stressed him out or the day-to-day responsibility of caring for a daughter got too hard, all he had to do was take one look at her—unsuspecting, asleep, engrossed in a cartoon, or coloring at the table with the tip of her tongue skirting her lips in concentration—and he knew it was all worth it. All the effort, the sheer frustration when it came to braiding hair, his bafflement at which side was the front or back of her tights, and arguing with her that she was, indeed, too young to wear makeup, or his struggle to get her to pick out just one outfit to wear to school, they were all a part of the most spectacular thing in his life. A little slice of the pie. The hard parts of being a single father were easily erased by the reward of it all.
But in times like these he saw the truth of their situation: Molly needed a mother. There would come a day when he could no longer help her. This role he had filled the last five years, morphing into half-mom, half-dad when needed, would no longer work quite as effectively. Sure, she would always love him, but as she grew older, she would see his limitations. There was only so much he could give, and the advice from woman-to-woman, mother-to-daughter, was beyond the confines of his parental abilities. When she blossomed from girl to woman, he had no way to relate, no genuine advice to give. He couldn’t tell her what feminine products worked best, or how to make menstrual cramps disappear. All he could do was fill her in on the logistics of it all—red-faced—knowing it wasn’t quite enough, and all the while being unable to do anything about it.
He pushed away from the counter, trying to shrug off the depressing thoughts, and topped off his coffee. Then he perched next to her on one of the stools. Taking a sip of the hot brew, he tried to think of something fun they could do today to make up for not being able to join Brownies and wondering if he’d forever be trying to make up for the fact that she had a nonexistent mother.
“We could go ice skating,” he suggested.
Molly took a bite of muffin and wrinkled her nose. “Nah,” she said, spraying the counter with crumbs as she chewed.
“Okay...”
“Dad?”
; “Yeah, kiddo?”
“If you met a girl. I mean, a woman, and you liked her, could you get married?” She glanced up at him, head cocked, eyes alight.
Colton frowned. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“How so?”
“Well, first of all, you need to more than like each other. You need to be in love. And even then, there are things to consider.”
“Like?”
Sighing, he hesitated and ran his hand through his hair, feeling, once again, out of his element and uncomfortable with the direction their conversation was headed.
“Like compatibility. Where you see your lives headed. Geography—.”
“Geoga-what?” Molly scrunched her face.
“Geography. Where you live. For example, we live here now, but we’ll likely be going back to Florida in a few months, which is pretty far away. And even then, I sometimes have to travel for work and am gone for months at a time. Most women wouldn’t like that.”
“What if we didn’t move?”
“There are still other factors...”
“Like?”
Colton groaned, and took hearty a bite of muffin, trying to stall. Then, turning to her, he tucked a curl behind her ear and said, “Like you.”
“I’m the reason you can’t find a wife?”
“No, no. Of course not. But I can’t trust just anyone with you. It would have to be someone incredibly trustworthy. Someone who likes children. Someone who’s good with you, and you’d have to love her just as much as I do.”
“Okay,” Molly said, nodding as if it all made complete sense to her. “So, if I did...like her, I mean, and everything else you said...And you married her, would she be my mom?”
Colton swallowed, surprised at the lump that seemed to have formed in the back of his throat. “I suppose. If you would want her to be.”
Molly’s green eyes brightened, looking cat-like in the light of the kitchen. “And I could join Brownies, and then Girl Scouts, in a few years. Wow,” she said, as if she just discovered the cure for cancer.
