Page 17 of Mase
“Your stepsister,” Gareth offers, and I only now realize I spoke aloud.
I shake my head, my mind whirling. “What the fuck?” Fury strikes through me, and I want nothing more than to launch my chair through the office window. Instead, I practice the same techniques I have on Tara all these years, breathing in through my nose and out my mouth in small, sharp bursts.
“She gets impeccable grades,” Gareth tacks on with a snakelike smile, making him appear deranged. The sight causes something to twist inside me.
“He left me a kid?” I blurt out bitterly.
“Only until she finishes school,” Oliver offers, as if it makes everything better. It doesn’t. It absolutely doesn’t.
“She won’t be any trouble.” All three nod in unison, and it’s only now I acknowledge the third man in the room, Lenard Strong, chief executive of the company. I sneer in his direction; the man is a weasel. He’s probably trying to keep me on his side so I don’t sell up. No chance of that now, not yet anyway.
“You could get her a nanny?” he suggests. “Someone to watch over her while you go back to New Jersey.” He smiles, then looks toward Gareth, whose eyes dance with glee. They’re enjoying this.
A sharp pain hits my chest when the enormity of my situation sinks in. I now have a child to take care of, and I live in fucking New Jersey. We’re in Los Angeles. Shit, the poor kid’s world is about to be turned upside down. Surely, she has her own family, right? “Where’s the mother?” I ask Gareth, and he shakes his head solemnly. “Her biological father?” I ask Oliver. He shakes his head. Great, the kid’s practically an orphan, which means she’ll have issues I don’t have time for. “Her family?” I ask Lenard with hope, but of course thefucker shakes his head grimly, like someone killed his latest mistress.
“Your father kept custody of her when her mother died,” Oliver adds.
Part of me resents this kid already, the unwelcome responsibility being forced on me and creating a stumbling block in my quest to regain control of my mother’s assets and reinvent her legacy. But to be left with my father as her only parent, how fucking shit her life must have been.
A heavy ball of responsibility to be better for her sinks to the bottom of my stomach. This was meant to be a quick visit, to retrieve access to my mom’s legacy and move on, not be lumbered with what is bound to be a traumatized child.
“Here are her files pertaining to her welfare. Her name is Summer Campbell.” Of course he married her mother, another wife. Oliver pulls a manila folder out of his briefcase and slides it across the table toward me with a guilty expression. My heart pounds against my rib cage with the weight of the responsibility.
A fucking kid.
I drag a hand over my head.
My mind whirls, thinking about how I can shirk this responsibility. Maybe she can go to a similar boarding school I went to. That would solve things. For now, she’s going to have to have a nanny. I’ll speak to my father’s butler, Hugh, first, then ask the guys for advice.
“Here’re the keys to the property. You know the access codes to all the others,” Oliver drones on while I’m left stunned, almost too overwhelmed to take it all in. “I’ll touch base with you next week.” I nod and scoop up the files along with my phone and keys, then head toward the door, ignoring the shared looks of concern.
“Mase?” Reluctantly giving Oliver my attention, I lock eyes with him. “This might be the best thing to ever happento you.” He looks at me with hope in his eyes, and a knot gathers in my throat.
“Doubtful,” I respond.
The only time I ever came close to feeling that way was when I had her in my arms, and she walked away from me.Because you paid her, you idiot. You were a transaction, nothing more.
I chastise myself for the hundredth time.
She came in the form of an innocent blonde girl, too pure to taint with my demons.
EIGHT
MASE
After leavingmy father’s office building, I went straight into town, found the nearest bar, and began drowning my sorrows while ignoring the foreboding feeling of dread creeping up my spine. The bastard is even fucking with me from beyond the grave.
The bar I’m in is busy but gives me the perfect opportunity to wallow in self-pity, and thankfully, the server has the good sense to continue delivering me a bottle of beer each time I finish the last.
My phone has been buzzing in my pocket on and off all evening, and I know it’s Owen checking in on me, so with a heavy sigh, I pull it from my pants.
Owen: You good?
Owen: Brother?
Owen: Can see you’re at a bar.
Owen: You need me. Call me, yeah?
