The Perfect Illusion

by Winter Renshaw

  He wants me to tell him I still want him. And part of me does. But I can’t say it. Not until I know for sure.

  “Are you scared, babe?” His tone is softer, comforting. “I was scared too. But imagining standing at that altar watching you walk down the aisle makes all those worries go away.”

  “It’s not that simple.” Making decisions based on an idyllic daydream fantasy isn’t the brightest. “And let me remind you that you wanted a break from me. Kind of rattles my confidence in us for the long-term. It’s forced me to look at things from a different angle.”

  “What about your father?”

  My skin heats. I can’t believe he’s going there.

  My bottom lip trembles, my eyes burning as they refuse to meet his gaze. Jeremiah releases my wrists and cups my chin. He lifts my eyes to his.

  “Not talking about it won’t change anything.” His words slice open the scabbed wound I only pick at in my darkest hours. “He’s in poor health, Sam. He’s not getting any better. He wants to walk his youngest daughter down the aisle. He wants to make sure he leaves you in good hands before he goes.”

  “Don’t.” I don’t want to hear what I already know. Inhaling a lungful of thick air, I push past Jeremiah and grab my keys and bag. Stepping into my shoes and blinking away tears, I know if I say another word it’ll come out as a string of nonsensical sobs.

  “Sam, where’re you going?”

  I shake my head, my shoulders shaking as I turn to face him. “Do not use my father’s health to guilt trip me into marrying you, Jeremiah.”

  My eyes close and in that moment, I’m transported to the top of the stairs of my parents’ house. An assortment of photos in every size and frame available covers the wall in perfect harmony. My sisters and brothers are all married off, all of their wedding photos hanging happily side by side. The spot on the end is saved for me, I’ve been told. But the possibility of my wedding photo not including my father is as real as it’s ever been. The man can hardly breathe thanks to his emphysema. The doctor’s keep threatening to amputate his feet if he doesn’t get his diabetes under control. He’s a good man with heart of gold. All he ever did was live his life to the fullest.

  “I’m sorry, Sam.”

  Jeremiah comes toward me, but I place my hand up to stop him. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know.” I slip out the door, craving the cool night air on my face.

  When I return two hours later, Jeremiah’s gone.

  Chapter 27

  BECKHAM

  “These are for you.” Odessa enters my office Monday morning with a pale pink bag and a sly smile on her face. She drops it on my desk and stands back.

  “What’s all this?”

  “A few things I picked up in Vermont.”

  Reaching into the bag, I retrieve a pale pink blanket. It’s the softest thing I’ve felt in my life, and the word “princess” is embroidered along one side with cream thread.

  “I thought it was fitting,” she says. “Your name being King and all.”

  Great minds.

  “I call her Sadie,” I announce. “It means princess.”

  “Seriously?” Odessa laughs, her face lighting up.

  I pull out a myriad of other baby items, most of which I can’t even identify.

  “Thank you,” I say, folding up the blanket and putting everything back into the bag. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”

  “Don’t worry, it all went on the company card.”

  I glance up, my hand freezing with an expensive-looking and completely frivolous silver rattle in it.

  “I kid.” Her green eyes flash as she fights a smile. She’s extra happy to see me today. Dare I assume she missed me? She pulls up a chair and sinks down. “Charity Falls went well. They warmed up to you the second I said you were at home with your newborn baby on paternity leave. They like that you’re a family man.”

  “But I’m not.”

  “It’s called PR, Beckham.” Her legs cross as she leans in. “And you’re a family man now, whether or not you want to be.”

  “She cried all night last night,” I lean back in my chair, shaking my head. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. Part of me thinks she’d be better off with a foster family. Maybe I can’t give her what she needs?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Odessa sits up, hands splayed across the edge of my desk. “What are you talking about? I know you’re short on sleep, but you’re making no sense. Newborns are hard, Beckham. You don’t just throw in the towel because you’re not getting any sleep and the baby cries too much.”

  “She might not be mine.” My thumb slicks across my brow.

  “What? Then why are you doing all this? Taking care of her? Being involved?”

  “Her mother isn’t well.”

  Odessa falls back, examining me as if we’re two strangers meeting for the first time.

  “So you’re taking care of a baby for some woman you used to sleep with out of the kindness of your little black heart?” Odessa’s eyes flash, and she bites away an amused grin. “Do I know you right now? Who are you? Who the hell is Beckham King because apparently I had you all wrong.”

  “I’m glad you find this entertaining.” I don’t return her smart-mouthed smile.

  “I’m sorry.” She still smiles. “It’s just that, I’m having trouble understanding what this is all about.”

  “It’s not for you to understand.”

  “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry.” She stands, slipping a strand of hair over her shoulder as her smile fades. “My weekend drained me emotionally I think. That or I’m still jet-lagged. Everything is funny to me. And your situation isn’t funny. I know it’s real life. I shouldn’t make fun. You’re doing something most other men don’t have the balls to do, and I respect you for it.”

  She slips out from between the chair and desk and shuffles toward the door.

  “I better get to work. Five more days…”

  “Are you counting down?” I call after her, following after her before I have a chance to stop myself.

  Odessa halts, turning on her heel until we’re face to face in my doorway. A single brow lifts. “As opposed to counting up?”

  She’s lucky I don’t punish that smart mouth of hers.

  “My question wasn’t meant to be taken literally,” I say, tracing her jaw with the tip of my index finger. My palm cups her chin a second later, my thumb grazing her lower lip. Her tongue rakes across her pout, following the invisible line.

  For a second, we’re just Beckham and Odessa.

  And then real life smacks me across the face.

  Or maybe it’s her hand.

  Her face hardens as she backs away. Warmth stings my left cheek.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” she says.

  “Done what?”

  “Made me want to kiss you when we both know all we’re ever going to be is friends.”

  She’s right. I don’t want to date her. I just want to fuck her. I want to fucking lose myself in her. Bury my cock deep inside that pristine pussy of hers and smash her mouth until the rest of the world fades away. Odessa has a way with making all the bullshit temporarily disappear when she’s around.

  Flirting with recklessness is grossly irresponsible of me. I know better.

  I let the sting of the slap burn into me, feeling it all before it’s gone. “Fair enough.”

  “Believe it or not, I was starting to like being friends with you.” Her words soothe and insult all at once. Her green eyes radiate against the sunlight trickling in from behind. Odessa’s auburn hair is particularly shiny today, straight and draped down her shoulders like she spent extra time getting ready this morning.

  “What are you doing after this?” I ask. “After Friday? Do you have any other jobs lined up?”

  She shrugs. “I’m a free agent. I can make some calls. Find some work, I’m sure. The city’s full of places needing p
eople like me. Not everyone can spin straw into gold.”

  “Work here,” I say. “We’re hiring a VP of Public Affairs and Marketing. You’d be perfect.”

  Her rosy lips pull up halfway. “Wow…I don’t know what to say.”

  “You can start by accepting and finish by naming your salary. The job is yours if you want it.”

  “Can I think about it? Let you know by the end of the week?”

  “What’s there to think about?”

  Her gaze falls to the side as she worries her lip.

  “It’s Jeremiah.” Fucking Jeremiah. “He doesn’t want you working here anymore.”

  “I’d never allow a man to dictate where I work.” Her hands cross at her heart. “It’s just that something about me working with you makes him uncomfortable, and I’m trying to figure out why that would be.”

  “He’s insecure.”

  “It’s more than that,” she says. “I spent the weekend asking myself some pretty tough questions. Didn’t come up with a single answer. I hardly recognize half the things my heart tells me to do anymore. Maybe I’ll go back home for a bit. Spend time with family. Take some freelance jobs I can do remotely.”

  “Walking away isn’t going to solve your problems.” I speak from experience. “It tends to make them worse.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Phil.” She playfully punches my arm. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

  Once again, I’m back in the friend zone. She shut me down. The distance between us widens, but maybe it’s for the best. Getting attached to anyone right now is irresponsible.

  “Did you get the nursery put together this weekend?” I’m almost relieved for the change in subject. “Or is she still sleeping in a bassinet in your room?”

  I’m in survival mode. Cribs and butterfly nursery art are the least of my concerns. “Not yet.”

  “What?” Odessa’s brows furrow. “Why not?”

  “I’m a little preoccupied. Still getting a handle on this whole dad thing.”

  “Do you want help? I planned my niece, Aubrey’s, nursery when my sister in law was on bed rest and my brother was in Afghanistan.”

  “I was going to hire this company to handle it, but yeah, I guess so?” I scratch my temple. A second ago she was slapping me and now she’s planning Sadie’s room.

  “Give me your credit card.” Her palm extends toward my face. “I’ll have everything shipped to your place. We can put it together later this week. Sadie needs a room of her own.”

  My lips separate as I debate telling her I’m terrified of not hearing Sadie in the middle of the night. My place is huge. The walls are thick and soundproof. If she needs me, if she needs anything, I want to be right there.

  “And don’t worry about not hearing her.” Odessa reads my mind. “That’s what video monitors are for. You’ll be able to see and hear everything from anywhere in your home.”

  I stave off an amused grin before pulling my wallet out. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  “Here you go.”

  Odessa disappears into her office, and I return to my desk to answer the ringing phone. My chest pounds for a second as I assume the worst. Something’s happened to Sadie. Eva’s out of the hospital. Nothing worse than scooping my broken little world up into my arms only to have it all fall apart again.

  Dane’s number flashes across the caller ID.

  “What’s going on?” I cradle my desk phone on my shoulder, simultaneously texting Elizabeth to check on Sadie before I get too busy and forget.

  “It’s Uncle Leo.” Dane’s voice is flat. Blood whooshes in my ears and my mouth dries. I can’t swallow, and I can hardly breathe. I’ve never lost anyone I loved before, not through death.

  Oh, God.

  Last weekend, Dane texted me to let me know he’d gotten sick shortly after we left Utah. He was admitted to the hospital while I was still figuring everything out with Eva and the baby.

  I should’ve called.

  I should’ve fucking called.

  “He’s in hospice.” Dane is a mastermind at hiding emotion in his voice, but I know deep down, he’s taking this harder than I am.

  “He’s still alive?”

  “Yeah, but the doctors say it’s going to be any day now. You need to come home.”

  “Fuck.” I slink back in my chair. “He was fine two weeks ago?”

  “That’s the problem with pancreatic cancer. They tend to find it when it’s too late. He’s stage four, Beck. The doctor’s say this is how it usually happens. They’re fine one day, sick the next. You don’t always get a warning sign.”

  It’s not enough that the old bastard spent years battling lung cancer and coming out on top like a goddamn beast, but to have his legs knocked out from under him with this? He doesn’t deserve it.

  “I’ll be on the first flight out tomorrow.”

  “Hey, what do you think of this?” I glance up to find Odessa strutting toward me, her iPad in her hand with a picture of a round crib on the screen. “I wanted to get your permission before I order this. It isn’t cheap. And I wanted to know if you wanted white or espresso.”

  Dane rattles off in my earpiece. I’m caught between two worlds: one where Odessa’s picking out baby furniture and the other where the man who made me who I am today is lying on his deathbed.

  “Dane, I’ll call you back.” I hang up.

  “I can come later if you want,” she says.

  I can’t speak. I can only picture my uncle.

  Odessa chuckles. “What’s wrong? You look like someone told you you’re going to be a father again.”

  “Uncle Leo is in hospice.” I rise though I’m not sure why. I need to go somewhere. The jet should be in the New York hangar. I could call the flight service and book a pilot immediately. “Sadie.”

  “What?”

  “Who’s going to stay with Sadie? I have to go to Salt Lake City.”

  “Can you bring her with you?”

  “Do people do that? Do they travel with twelve day old babies?”

  She shrugs. “I’m sure it happens all the time. You could always ask her doctor.”

  Right. If I knew who that was.

  I toss a pen across my desk and lean back.

  “Take her with you. Bring the nanny. People do that all the time. You’re flying private. I assume you’ll be staying with Dane again. She won’t be exposed to too many germs. I’d do it.”

  I wish I had her carefree attitude. Mine abandoned me the day that baby was placed in my arms. Now I care about everything, all the fucking time.

  “I’ll come with you,” she offers. “If you’re busy with your uncle and the nanny needs a break, at least you know she’ll be with someone you trust. Assuming you trust me.”

  Recalling Dr. Brentwood’s speech about friends and family, I blurt, “I trust you.”

  “Okay. Let me run home and pack. Send a car for me, and I’ll meet the three of you there.”

  Gone are the days of hopping onto a jet and flying anywhere in the world on a moment’s notice.

  “Tell Elizabeth to pack for Sadie,” she reminds me as she turns to leave. “No offense, but you’re kind of new at this and the last thing we need is to show up in Salt Lake City with two bottles, three diapers, and one change of clothes.”

  Her eyes widen and her posture lifts. She wears the look of a sexy, confident woman taking charge, and in this moment, she’s everything I need.

  “I might be new at this, Dess, but I’m not a moron.”

  I just called her Dess…

  That came out of nowhere.

  “No one said you were, Beck...” She points her finger at me, winking before disappearing behind her door.

  Chapter 28

  ODESSA

  “I need a word with my brother,” Beckham says when we arrive at TEH headquarters. The flight was smooth and uneventful, and baby Sadie only cried once. We settled her in with Elizabeth at Golden Oak and headed to the office.

  “Not a problem,”
I say. “I’ll set my things in the spare office. Got some emails to return. That article from Charity Falls should be online today too.”

  Beckham heads toward Dane’s office and I make a beeline for the ladies’ room to freshen up.

  I plunk my bag on the counter and whip out some lip balm and hand lotion and a compact of touch up powder. Leaning over the sink, I hear what sounds like crying from one of the stalls behind me.

  Eight stalls behind me are empty. The ninth has feet. I click across the tile until I get to that door, and the sobs pause.

  “Excuse me, are you crying in there?” I ask.

  It’s quiet just before it gets loud again. I’m worried that poor thing in there is two seconds from hyperventilating.

  “Hello? I hear you in there. Open up.”

  The sound of ripping toilet paper is the only response I get.

  “I’m Odessa,” I say. “You going to come out?”

  I stand on my toes.

  “I’m really tall, and I can see over the door, so you better come out,” I say with a tease in my tone. “Okay, never mind. I’m not that tall.”

  The click of the lock precedes the whipping of the stall door, and out emerges a baby-faced blonde in a cinched pencil skirt with shiny flaxen waves dripping down her shoulders. Her crystal blue eyes are rimmed in red and glassed with tears.

  “Thank you. Yes. There you are.” I follow her to the mirror. “Got a name?”

  She sniffs, staring ahead at her reflection. “Bellamy. You work here?”

  My nose wrinkles. As soon as I get a chance, I’m accepting the job Beckham offered me. I quietly decided on the flight over here.

  “Sort of. I’m based out of the New York office.”

  “You work with Beckham?” The blonde asks.

  “You know Beckham?” She looks like the type he’d go for, at least before fatherhood was thrust into his lap. “Or do you, like, know Beckham...”

  “Not sure I follow.”

  I bat my hand. “Forget I said anything.”

  She washes her hands, drying them on a paper towel and dabbing her face with cool water.

  “You’re crying over a guy, right?” I step closer.