Her hands curled into tight fists, desperate to shove every single word back down his throat.
“Don’t worry. I won’t chase you. Keep running, Calista.”
Damn him! She stood rooted to the spot while he continued to his car and his bodyguards, completely aware he stole her epic departure.
Chapter Two
Three Weeks Later
T he time between employment was the most angst filled hours, days, and months one could spend. Especially when one was in a field not found on an internet database.
Maybe I should place an ad in the classifieds? Unemployed bodyguard seeking employment. Has body count and own weapons.
Calista wasn’t broke, per se. She’d saved most of the money she’d earned working for Julius. It was easy when they’d spent a good deal of time traveling and he’d provided for all her needs.
Her mind dipped into memories she desperately tried to lockdown. Memories of them in the shower, on the stairs, at the dining table. Memories of his lips on her sister. Screeeeeech! Brick wall. Full stop. Can’t keep doing this to myself.
After the shoot-out on the yacht, she walked away, had too. Her heart didn’t do heartache, didn’t do liars, didn’t do cheaters. No matter how many times he’d called, sent flowers, stopped by, it was over. Fuck the tears she had shed alone in the dark. Each teardrop could go to hell.
She wasn’t about to be pitched out onto the street with the clothes on her back; however, the money dwindled, siphoned away by the nursing home caring for her mother. Six months, that was her estimate to being destitute. Maybe seven months if she started eating freeze-dried ramen immediately. It wasn’t her favorite in college, the short time she’d spent attending. Maybe they’d improved the recipe, she thought, pulling the ramen out of the microwave and taking a mouthful once it cooled.
Maybe not.
Being between jobs wasn’t all bad. It enabled her to spend time with her mother, even though there were no more walks to the park. No more cooking lessons and little chats, also known as lectures. These days, Calista visited with the newspaper to read to her mother. Afterward, she’d go for a long run, or the gym to hit the weights and punch the bag, or play tourist around the city.
Yeah, she was bored out of her mind.
Laverne barged in with Allie on her hip. She used her key to enter the house though she knew Calista was home. Allie clung to her grandmother. The eight-month-old’s grip was tenacious, until she saw Calista.
“You know the doorbell works.” Calista took the squirming bundle of Baby Magic joy out of Laverne’s arms.
“I was hoping to catch you in a compromising position again.” Laverne snickered. When would she stop reminding Calista of the one time she caught her and Julius in the shower? Probably never, especially when Laverne didn’t know Calista had quit.
Her cousin thought she knew everything. In reality, Laverne knew what Calista told her. And she wasn’t sharing the details leading up to the shoot-out. Laverne didn’t need to know Calista had found Julius with his tongue down Erica’s throat. She didn’t need to know Calista had quit her well-paying, all-expenses paid job, and now she couldn’t even collect unemployment, not that it would amount to much, but something was better than absolutely nothing.
Laverne knew about Harvey’s death and the funeral, and nothing else because her cousin was incapable of leaving well enough alone. Calista refused to volunteer for torture, and that’s exactly what it would be when Laverne found out.
“Keep hope alive, I always say.” But that’s never happening again. Julius anywhere near her was over.
Laverne laughed and headed to the kitchen with a Panera take-out bag. “H. O. P. E. Hold On Pain Ends. Saw that on a meme. Thought it was apropos.” She unloaded two small salads and two soups, plus two mango smoothies onto the dining table. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you’re dropping weight like Miss America on pageant night.” She retrieved forks and spoons from the cutlery drawer. “And don’t think I don’t know you’re unemployed.”
Goddamnit! “How do you know that?” Calista’s ass hit the dining room chair.
“Flowers in the trash. All your suits in your hamper for days, instead of at the cleaners,” Laverne said smugly.
“Wow!” Calista clapped back, just as smugly. “I’m impressed. Real CSI stuff,” she said in a singsong voice to Allie, who drooled happily. No need to clarify the flowers had ceased after the blow up in the cemetery.
“No. It’s the mom thing, which when I think about it, is the homegrown version of CSI,” Laverne said proudly.
Every time, all the time, that was Laverne’s answer. “I’m job hunting.”
Laverne bustled around the kitchen. “You’ll find something. Not worried.”
That meant she was worried. She was subtle, yet glaringly obvious. “How’s Jentry?” Calista tickled Allie’s double chin.
“Good since you pistol-whipped her ex.” Laverne cackled and slapped her thigh. “She quit the warehouse job and is waitressing at a restaurant downtown.”
“Which restaurant?” Maybe she would stop by and leave Jentry a nice tip.
Laverne shrugged and stopped to tickle her granddaughter. “Don’t know. Probably one I can’t afford if it’s in lower Manhattan. As long as it brings in a paycheck. Grandma is tired of buying diapers.”
“You need money?” Whatever Calista had was Laverne’s. She had her cousin’s back, front, and sides.
“Nah, we’re good. Aren’t we, Allie? Gerald gets plenty of overtime at the hospital. Another year and we pay off the mortgage, then he’s buying me a new car.” She did a happy dance. “Well, a new-er car. I doubt my fifteen-year-old Chevy makes it to next month, never mind next year.”
Hope and Prayers, that was the nickname of the car. Calista had time on her hands to go to the city auction and view what cars were on the block for unpaid fines. Maybe, just maybe, she’d find something more drivable than Laverne’s jalopy. Something that didn’t cost a kidney. She winced. Bad analogy.
The doorbell rang.
“Who are you expecting?” Laverne demanded as if she were the parent and Calista the child.
“No one.” The last thing she wanted was more company.
“Julius maybe? Coming to apologize for what you won’t tell me.” She sniped as Calista headed to the front door.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. The job was done and we split on amicable terms.” Lies. What Laverne didn’t know, or accurately guess, wouldn’t hurt her, the know-it-all heifer.
Calista peered through the peephole at a courier holding a small manila envelope. A white van with Quiky Courier emblazoned on the side was double-parked in front of the house.
“Ms. Calista Coleman?” he asked when she opened the door. He was a young guy, slight frame, mid-twenties, acne scars on his cheeks. Not a threat.
“That’s me.”
“I need to see some ID to verify identity before handing over the package.”
Strange, especially since she hadn’t ordered anything. “Hold on a sec.” She closed the door and retrieved her wallet from where she’d tossed it on the coffee table.
“Who is it?” Laverne hollered from the kitchen.
“Courier with a package.” Calista opened the door with her driver’s license in her hand.
The guy looked it over, compared the picture to her face, then handed her a clipboard with a release form. What the hell was in the manila envelope for this amount of security? Nothing from Amazon.
“Here you go, ma’am, and have a nice day.” He handed over the package and jogged down her three steps. She watched as he opened and latched the gate behind him.
“Whatcha buy?” Laverne was behind her with Allie bouncing on her hip.
“Nothing.” Calista shook the package. “I have no idea what it is.”
“Well open it and see!” Laverne ordered full of excitement as she leered over Calista’s shoulder.
“Can I get inside the house?”
; Calista returned to the kitchen for a pair of scissors. Carefully, under Laverne’s watchful eyes, she opened the package and dumped the contents into the palm of her hand. A small black flash drive. Nondescript. Nothing to tell her where it originated or what was on it. And a small silver key with the numbers 235 stamped on it. A peek inside the envelope revealed a slip of paper. She pulled it free and read the three typed words
From Your Father.
That’s it. That’s all it said.
Calista had no idea the length of time she stood rooted to the spot holding the note in one hand and the flash drive in the other when Laverne’s voice snapped her out of her stupor. “Well, whatcha gonna do?”
By the not so gentle prodding, it was longer than a few seconds. “I-I need my laptop, I guess.” She headed for the stairs. With Laverne and baby in tow.
“Excuse you!” Calista rounded on her cousin. “Why are you following me?”
“Because I’m nosy and I don’t trust you to share or tell me the truth. Now keep moving.” Allie gurgled in agreement. Such a happy baby. Calista couldn’t help smiling at her.
Calista had learned a long time ago arguing with Laverne was pointless and exhausting. She was always right, even if she was absolutely wrong.
Calista marched into her bedroom. The laptop was on her bed. She stretched out on her stomach over a patchwork quilt her grandmother had made decades ago and flipped it open. Laverne and Allie joined her. The laptop booted up and she plugged the flash drive into a port. Less than ten seconds later the media player started.
Harvey Bryn appeared on the fifteen-inch screen.
“Hello, Cali.”
“My God, he hadn’t aged well,” Laverne murmured. “When was this recorded?”
Judging by the lightly lined face and salt and pepper comb-over, a while ago. He appeared healthy, stately, in a crisp black suit, white shirt, and burgundy striped tie. A man in control of his destiny.
“I, Harvey Bryn, of sound mind and body, on this date, October 6, 2015, proclaim that Calista Coleman, born in New York on October 6, 1990, is my biological child,” he said with conviction. “A DNA test confirming what I always knew proves it.”
DNA test? Her mother had never mentioned anything about a DNA test.
“As my biological child, I am granting her fifty-one percent of the shares I personally own in Bryn Conglomerate. The rest of my state property and all furnishings in their entirety will go to my second-born daughter, Erica Bryn, with the exception of the Fifth Avenue townhouse and furnishings. Those are to go to Calista. This is my final will and testament.”
The recording went dark and before Calista gathered her wits, Harvey was back again, this time withered from age and sickness. His skin weathered and pasty. Eyes sunken. Frame skeletal. Exactly how he was when she last saw him.
The picture behind his head, she remembered that from the Fifth Avenue townhouse. How recent was this new recording?
“Hello, Cali. You left about an hour ago. I knew it wouldn’t go well, but I tried, and I succeeded in saying my piece of the story. Not the most pleasant experience, yet it had to be done, and I’m glad to be unburdened. Though, I suspect you don’t feel the same. Forgive me. You have every right to feel our meeting wasn’t about you but was about me and my need to atone. You would be correct.” He paused and inhaled a shaky breath. “I will go to my grave without your forgiveness, a reality I have accepted. Though you said you forgave me, I know you didn’t mean it. I’ve been a piss-poor excuse for a father. I can’t take that back and the steps I’ve put in place will not ameliorate, exonerate, or change my many failings. However, you are my child. What I leave behind, you deserve a share. Once you receive this video, expect a call from my attorney Layton Haskell, the executor of my estate, personally. There’s a trust, opened to get around the inheritance tax. It’s all legal. Layton will explain the details. He’ll hold your hand and walk you through everything.” A cough wracked his body.
“The stocks are yours to keep or sell as you wish, as is this house.” He glanced around the room. “The townhouse is yours. Actually, it was your first home, though you won’t remember it.” His tone was wistful, nothing but sad. “Is this an attempt to buy your forgiveness? Yes. Not that it matters anymore. My time is short. Maybe someday time will soften my edges and you won’t judge me so harshly.”
“You’d have to get amnesia for that to happen.” Laverne harrumphed.
“Goodbye, Cali. I love you.”
This time the recording went dark and stayed that way, as did Calista’s vision. Darkness framed the edges, creeping toward the center. She wasn’t a fainter, but damn if the blood hadn’t drained out of her head to pool in her stomach like she swallowed lead.
“So, whatcha gonna do?” Laverne barely let a second go by before demanding answers Calista didn’t have.
“Don’t know,” Calista croaked, her throat suddenly dry. Those were the only two words she could generate and the absolute truth. She had no idea how to process what she’d watched, how her father had irrevocably altered her life.
“Okay.” Laverne patted her shoulder. “I’m going downstairs to feed Allie else she starts screeching like a hungry bird.”
Calista waited until the door closed behind her to play the recording again, then again. Then a fourth time. Only after she’d memorized every frame and could repeat his words verbatim, did she close the laptop and roll onto her back.
Before a week ago, she had clear-cut, black-and-white opinions about her father. He’d abandoned her. Never loved or wanted her. Was a cold-blooded, capitalist bastard. Everyone had exceptions, and Harvey was hers, her line drawn in the sand, even though her professional life dwelled in the gray areas with the underbelly of humanity where the Harden Gages of the world paid a living wage. Everyone did what was necessary to survive.
Everything Harvey said, she believed, especially when the entire thing wasn’t a deathbed epiphany. His wanting to do right by Calista preceded his pancreatic cancer diagnosis three years ago.
However… Am I really about to toss back all that money because of pride?
Hell no! She couldn’t do that when the money would make her mother comfortable and take the boot off Calista’s neck.
Erica.
What did this mean for her? How would her sister react to the news she had a sibling? Would she even be told of Calista’s existence? “Hey, you have a sister. She’s six years older than you. Biracial. Badass. You two met before. You got in her face, treated her like a servant because that’s what she was. A servant. Beneath you.” She mimicked the conversation. “And then you kissed her lover.”
Don’t blame the other woman. Blame the man who said he loved you.
“Calista!” Laverne hollered from downstairs. “Your phone’s ringing.”
That’s what voicemail is for. Ugh! Wasn’t worth arguing with Laverne. Calista jogged downstairs and caught the ring of her phone just, as predicted, it went to voicemail.
“Who is it?” Laverne hollered from the kitchen.
“Don’t know,” Calista hollered back instead of telling her to mind her own damned business. “Unknown phone number. Probably a bill collector.” There were a few outstanding bills on her mother’s account. She could take care of them now.
I can take care of everything now!
Her phone chimed. Yep, she had a voicemail. She clicked the app and read the transcript. It was Layton Haskell, Harvey’s attorney and the executor of his estate. He wanted to meet. Today.
Chapter Three
B lack on black, Calista dressed in her last clean undertaker suit. Laverne had a conniption! She threatened to pour bleach on every stitch of black clothing Calista owned. Calista promised to buy Laverne her dream car, a Porsche Cayenne SUV that she’d drooled over for five years. That got her cousin to swallow her threats and turn the banshee into a soprano.
“I’m Calista Coleman. Mr. Haskell is expecting me,” she said upon entering the West End office. The office was surprisi
ngly low-key straight out of an IKEA catalogue. Functional and comfortable. Not the high-power chrome, glass, and marble she’d expected.
She sat, opened her jacket and crossed her legs. Comfort wasn’t afforded without her gun on her side, foregone for this trip to the lawyer. Primarily because, after today, she was out of the bodyguarding profession.
“Ms. Coleman, good afternoon.”
Calista looked up to find a petite Asian woman approaching. She climbed to her feet and towered over the doll-like female.
“I’m Nina Sato-Haskell. Allow me to escort you to my grandfather-in-law.”
Oh. She was about to comment on her meeting directly with Layton, not a lackey, and felt guilty. “Are you also a lawyer?”
Nina smiled politely. “No. I’m a financial advisor.”
Oh!
“Layton and Mr. Bryn thought it wise to have a financial advisor on hand for the initial meeting.”
Made sense, especially with large amounts of money involved, plus stocks, plus property. This was definitely out of her wheelhouse. Nina knocked once and waited for permission to enter.
Layton Haskell was portly with a shock of white hair and a rounded face. He looked jolly, a reminder of the Christmas season on the horizon three months away. All he needed was a fake beard and a red-and-white suit. He rose from behind his simple pine desk with a single file resting in the center and extended his hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, as if he knew everything about her and more. Probably more than he should.
How much had her father kept track of her? How much had he invaded her privacy without her even aware? Whatever, it was too late to care.
“Have a seat.” He pointed to the single chair in front of the desk while Nina took the seat next to him. “Excellent, you met Nina, my grandson’s wife. Excellent financial advisor. The whole family uses her.”
Calista didn’t like the way he put that, but she wasn’t here to reeducate the boomer generation. “I appreciate that.” Calista took the only seat available, opposite the two who couldn’t be more opposite if they tried. It made her wonder what the grandson looked like. She guessed he looked like his grandfather, hopefully without the belly.
Plain and the Billionaire's Seduction (Plain Jane Series Book 3) Page 2
