Seeing Red (17 page)

“And you use that now to design missiles?”

“Missiles. Small airplanes. I’m more interested in rockets, though. That’s where the space component comes into play. About a quarter of what I do is try to develop private space-faring craft that can travel farther into space than what’s available now.”

“Wow.” Of all the thoughts and pictures fluttering in her mind, that was the best she could come up with. She thought she was doing impressive things writing booklets telling people how to program their remote controls. “I feel like I should have known that.”

His expression softened, and he opened his mouth but seemed to think better of what he was going to say. Instead, he put fork to plate and shoveled up a heap of green beans.

She looked down at her own meal and had no appetite for grilled chicken and rice pilaf all of a sudden. In fact, she didn’t have much of an appetite for anything at all.

“If you were closer,” he said after eating half his meatloaf, “I’d suggest you check out the school on the corporate campus where I work. Employee benefit. I hear it’s a great program for inquisitive kids, but I haven’t had reason to look into it. I can if you want.”

“Down in Fayetteville.”

He nodded and brought his beer to his lips. “Two or three days a week, nine to two, I think.”

“Hmm.” The idea was intriguing, to say the least, and two days per week wouldn’t be that much of a hassle if it were the right program for Toby. While he was in school, she could hang out at a coffee shop or in a library and get some work done. Go exploring.

“Would you like me to find out more? I think there’s some information on the company intranet site. There may be some space left for this coming term, but you’d have to hurry.”

“If it’s no inconvenience. I’m curious about it.”

“No inconvenience.” There was a bit of an edge to his words that made Meg look up. The kind expression from earlier had morphed into something less placid. Maybe even a bit aggrieved.

Maybe she deserved it. He was trying to help her in some small way, and she was committing the pet peeve Sharon was most vocal about—refusing help. “Don’t be that person!” Sharon always shrieked. She did that shriek every time Meg dropped Toby off at Sharon’s office so she could go to the gynecologist or complete any number of errands that needed discretion. She always apologized, profusely, when she dropped him off and then made sure she didn’t have to do it again for a long, long time.

“And I’ll be around if he has a problem. That’s the point of having the facility right on-site.”

Definite perk. “I’ll be around.” And those words were none she could ever expect Spike to utter. The man didn’t have the spirit of volunteerism anywhere in him, even when it came to his own son. If he perceived inconvenience on his part, he’d beg off. Sometimes Meg thought the only reason the man was present for his son’s birth was because he was hungover and knew there’d be someplace to lie down at the hospital.

“Maybe he could stay over Tuesday and Wednesday nights or something. Give you a break.”

“Oh.” She scoffed and pushed her plate back. “That’s right. I forgot for a minute that we have special considerations.”

Their considerations were so easy to forget, too. When they were together like this, having meals, talking, her brain made the logical leap in assumption that this was their normal.

It wasn’t.

And she was broken enough to admit at this point that she wanted it to be her normal…whatever that meant. She didn’t know how to make that happen and how much they’d have to go backward first in order to go forward. Did they need to start from scratch to make it work, or just go forward with expectations in check? How did those happy people in arranged marriages let down those walls—go from resignation to infatuation and the irreversible emotions beyond?

What she felt couldn’t be turned back, and it pained her to no end that she had no control whatsoever over yet another thing in her life. But at least this time, no one was going to call her “Poor Meg” over it.

“Yeah.” He set his fork on the plate edge and tipped the dessert menu off its little stand without breaking eye contact. “I think you need an ice-cream sundae, Megan. With sprinkles.”

She nodded, and whispered, “Okay, order it,” before edging off her bench and walking with a forced ease to the ladies’ room.

Wouldn’t do for them to see her cry and think it was over the ice cream.

Chapter 15

“You don’t think this is…deceptive?” Seth rubbed the glass that had earlier contained a vodka shot between his palms and eyed Stephen warily.

“No, no.” Stephen put his hands up and shook his head. “I know Meg. She’d be more annoyed that we bothered her with something we could work out on our own. Unnecessary stress and all that.”

“And you trust this guy?”

“Not as far as I can throw him.” He accepted the whiskey shot the bartender pushed across the counter and brought it to his lips, forehead furrowed in contemplation.

Seth had taken Curt’s advice and called Stephen regarding the paperwork he’d been served. It turned out to be bogus—a ploy orchestrated by Spike’s longtime manager.

They must have thought he was some kind of idiot. Had they really thought he’d go straight to the lab and have his cheek swabbed? Some photographer would catch him on the way out, and there’d be even more fodder for the gossip bloggers. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t Toby’s father. All people needed to write their own truths was a spark of doubt. One questionable photo, and Meg’s veracity would be questioned yet again no matter what the science said.

“Before they show up, let me tell you I did some poking around. Contacted a few of my old classmates who have clients in that industry, and there’ve been some rumblings the band’s income is drying up. They’re becoming stale. Old.”

“Guess that makes me a fucking mummy,” Seth said with a groan.

“You know what I mean. I’m right up there with you, remember? I certainly can’t forget with Mom’s nagging. Anyhow, he’s playing games. Trying to get some attention at Meg’s expense. Toby’s just an unfortunate unintended victim of the fallout. I think it’s revenge on his part.”

“How so?”

“Meg wouldn’t sign off on a documentary due to film shortly before they separated. Didn’t want her life and Toby’s being scrutinized, and the production company wouldn’t do it unless all the band’s immediate family members signed off. Everyone but Meg agreed. They had to reframe what the documentary was about. Instead of rocker home lives, which is ironic because Spike didn’t really have one, they changed it to a tour diary. Bombed spectacularly at the festivals because nobody cared. People could read about the same backstage tripe on Twitter.”

Seth whistled low. “So they all hate Meg now.”

“Yeah. And because Meg is Meg, and she’s got that blue-blood class, she’d never speak out about it. She’d rather people think what they want, because she thinks people believe what they want to believe.”

“I happen to agree.”

“Good. And this is neither here nor there, but…our parents like you. I was surprised.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Not what I mean. When Meg brought that fucker home after they got married, Mom cried on and off for days. At first I thought it was because he wasn’t cut from the same cloth, you know?”

Seth cocked up a warning eyebrow. When did he become so territorial, anyway?

“Calm down, big boy. I know you like her, and that’s why I’m helping, remember?”

“Go on.”

“Right. Turned out it wasn’t his breeding, or lack thereof, that set Mom off. She never said anything until the divorce finally went through. I guess she thought Meg wouldn’t go through with it, but that’s the thing about Meg. Once she sets her mind to doing something, there’s no stopping her. Anyway, Mom told me she’d overhead Spike on the phone during the visit and he told whoever it was he was talking to that there was no way he’d be able squeeze any blood out of the stone.”

“What?”

“Meg didn’t have a viable trust fund. He must have thought she did, but my parents were always really careful about that. She’s cute, you know?”

“She is.”

“Dad was adamant no one would ever take advantage of her that way. Princess Meg. She actually has a trust fund, but it doesn’t mature until she’s thirty-five. Dad figured she would have shaken off most of the snakes by then. Part of the reason he sent her to the South for college.”

“That backfired.”

“No shit. Anyhow, she probably doesn’t even know about the fund. She may have known once, and thinks it was used to finance her education or whatever. If Toby lets her live to see thirty-five, she’ll be a wealthy woman.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“I know you don’t. You live for life, not for money.” Stephen gave Seth a hearty thump on the back and tipped his head toward the door. “The fucker’s here. Let me do the talking unless the conversation escalates to shouting, which it does fifty percent of the time when we’re in the same room. In that case, have at it.”

The men slid off the bar stools and met the greasy-haired rock star and his manager at the aisle between the bar and adjoining restaurant.

Staring at Spike gave Seth pause. Not only was he shorter than Seth had imagined, but he was damn near spitting image of Toby, minus the red hair and freckles. Same stubborn chin. Same high foreheads. Same green eyes. The resemblance was unmistakable, and anyone who denied it had to be smoking something much stronger than those little green weeds Spike happened to reek of at the moment.

Stephen pressed his fist against his mouth and coughed. He smelled it, too. “Let’s have a seat, shall we, gentleman? Mr. Rozhkov has a real job and has to be at it early in the morning, and I have a nonrefundable flight to catch in three hours, so I hope you won’t consider me rude if we move this along.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” the pipsqueak said and pushed his dark shades up his nose.

Who the hell did he think he was? Bono?

The four converged at a table in the center of the room, and when the waitress came by, Spike drew her in by the waist and said, “Do you know who I am?”

Her smile was a strained one. “Yes. I know all about you.”

“Good.” He let her go with a slap to the rear that made her jump back.

Seth poised to stand, but Stephen put a hand on his forearm in warning. He didn’t have to look Seth’s way for Seth to understand his motivation. Let Spike dig his own hole. But still, Seth couldn’t let this woman be harassed for half an hour or however long just to build a case.

He cleared his throat. “We have drinks from the bar. We don’t need anything further. Thank you.”

She exhaled, nodded, and strode away before they could change their minds.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Stephen said, looking first at Spike, then his manager, who hadn’t bothered to introduce himself to Seth because he was on his phone cutting a deal or arranging a haircut appointment. Seth couldn’t tell which.

Stephen obviously didn’t give a shit. “Serving Mr. Rozhkov with bogus paperwork was a dirty trick. We all know the truth of Toby’s parentage. Even you, Spike, because if you really, truly believed he wasn’t yours, you would have fought to extinguish your parental rights during the divorce. You didn’t. I don’t know why, but I suspect it’s because you always like having a trick or two up your sleeve.”

Spike bobbed his eyebrows.

“Well, let me say this not as the Rozhkovs’ attorney, but as your former brother-in-law. Toby is not a commodity to be bought, sold, or traded. He’s a child who is wanted very much, not only by his mother, but by his stepfather.”

A cold prickle of realization rolled down Seth’s spine. Legally, that’s what he was. He was Toby’s stepfather, regardless of how he’d come to be it. That meant he not only had a moral responsibility, which he’d gained that day he’d taken Toby to the beach in Bermuda, smeared sun block onto his cheeks, and got him to breakfast, but a legal one as well. He’d be damned if he ever gave up either willingly.

“Point being?” Spike asked, now looking at them both over the top of his sunglasses.

His manager finally disconnected his call and set his phone atop the table. “What, no drinks? Well, whatever. We’ve got a sound check at seven. Listen, here’s the deal.” He tapped the tabletop, then bent at the waist to pull up his briefcase.

He handed a stapled bundle of papers to Seth and one to Stephen.

Stephen scanned his at what seemed to be record speed, probably just looking for keywords, but Seth got caught up on the very first paragraph.

Sergei Rozhkov to be paid $100,000 for a term of one year. During that time, the aforementioned may not address questions about the paternity of Tobias Coffman to any members of the media or other…

He closed his eyes, shook his head, and read the same bullet points again and again. The scenario didn’t seem any more clear than when he’d started. This time, he knew there wasn’t something being lost in translation. This guy—this asshole—wanted to turn his own flesh and blood into a publicity stunt. To give him the notoriety Meg had carefully shielded herself and her son from. To draw attention toward an indiscretion Meg did not commit.