More Than This Read online

  A block from the last house, she pulled over. The itchy pantyhose drove her crazy. She opened the door and looked up and down the street. Not a soul in sight. Reaching under her skirt, she tugged the nylon from her body. Once she dragged it to her thighs, she sat on the edge of the driver’s seat and rolled the pantyhose down. A slight breeze kissed her skin and she sighed.

  Just as she pulled them off and stood barefoot on the street, a revved engine caught her attention. The silver Jaguar pulled up beside her. Could the day get any worse?

  “Everything okay?” Griffin asked through the open window.

  “Yeah.” She balled the nylons into her fist and stifled a laugh. She didn’t care enough to be embarrassed, but she scrambled for an excuse.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. I pulled over to take a call.”

  “With no phone?” His gaze raked down her body again and stopped at her bare feet. “And no shoes?”

  She sighed and held out her pantyhose. “You caught me. I couldn’t wait to get out of my pantyhose. The heat was strangling me.”

  His laugh echoed on the empty street and relief washed over her. Her own smile followed. If Richard had caught her stripping off her pantyhose on the street, he’d be mortified.

  “Next time, leave them at home. Your legs are sexier without them.”

  “Flirting will get you nowhere,” she said and leaned against the door. Even to her own ears, her remark sounded hollow. The air-conditioning tickled her arms and she repressed a shiver.

  One eyebrow rose above his sunglasses. “When something interests me, I go after it.”

  “Even if it’s unattainable?”

  “Nothing is unattainable.”

  She straightened. “We’ll see.”

  He slid his glasses to the top of his head. Dark brown eyes bore into her and no longer held amusement. “Be warned. I always get my way.”

  He pulled away. She wanted to be pissed, tried to feel indignant and angry, but failed. She would do whatever was necessary to make Griffin Walker happy.

  The office door flew open. Griffin looked up from the file to meet his publicist’s eyes. Kendra was one of few people who would enter his office unannounced. Some days she stopped in to say hi. Today she looked pissed.

  “What’s wrong now?” He settled back in his chair. Every time she had that look, he imagined lightning bolts shooting from her spiky blond hair.

  “What’s wrong? Didn’t we spend hours talking about your image and how you appear in the press?”

  “Yes.” It had been the longest afternoon of his life. Almost as bad as the time Sister Mary Bridget lectured him about how discussing a problem didn’t involve fists.

  “Then what is this?” She slapped the society page of the newspaper on his desk. “A reporter? Not your smartest move, Walker. Especially with the mom brigade downstairs telling the world you’re bad for their kids.”

  “Huh?” He’d already managed to avoid the rally point for whichever parent group hated him today. Every few months, a group showed up at his office building and picketed. He never thought creating video games would be so controversial.

  He focused on the picture and smiled. “That’s Moira O’Leary, Ryan’s sister. She wasn’t a date; she just wanted to get into the benefit.”

  “But now you’re linked to a reporter, someone looking to make a name for herself.” She slapped a second paper down. Kendra had a flair for the dramatic. The headline read: THE BOSTWICK CHARITY: AN INSIDER’S VIEW.

  Moira had gotten a byline in the Times. His chest filled with pride, as if she was his sister. “So? I got her in the door; then I left.”

  “You were photographed with her, and then she wrote the story. If that’s not bad enough, they have another picture of you with a senator’s daughter.” She tapped a small photo on the bottom of the page.

  “This is an old picture. I haven’t seen Ashley in over a month.” He pushed the paper toward Kendra.

  Kendra growled. “You don’t get it, do you? This is how people see you—different women at every turn. You can’t commit, you’re not loyal, you’re not trustworthy.” She drummed her fingers on the photos.

  “That’s bullshit.” He flicked the paper away and stood to pace.

  “We agreed absolutely no politicians.”

  “Who her father is shouldn’t matter. She wanted a good time.”

  “Which is even worse. We talked about this. Given your history, we don’t want anyone to dig. The story is going to come out sooner or later and we need to be prepared for it, but we don’t want to offer up fuel. All we need is one person to link you to political families.”

  Griffin didn’t respond. Kendra was right. His past would come back to bite him in the ass. Too bad he hadn’t been smart enough to hire someone like Kendra ten years ago. “I never did anything wrong.”

  She inhaled a slow, deep breath. “Look, I know it’s bullshit. It doesn’t matter if you were right or wrong. All that matters is how people perceive you. I know you and I know what you want to accomplish. You’re a good man, but it’s not me you have to convince.”

  “So I’m supposed to give up my social life?”

  Kendra laughed, the sound tinny and hollow. Kendra was so good at her job, he never knew when she was being genuine.

  “Like that would happen. Discretion, Griffin. Don’t date the flighty socialites who enjoy posing for the society page. Keep your social life out of the limelight. When people Google you, this is all they see. We need to change that perception.”

  He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Fine. I get it.”

  She moved to stand next to him. “That’s what you said before. The idea for your foundation is fabulous. The program will make a huge difference in the lives of those kids. If the public doesn’t trust you, you might as well just keep throwing money in and leave it as that.”

  “It needs to be more.”

  “I understand,” she said, her voice soft. “It will be, but you have to believe in me. I know what I’m doing.”

  He thought of his own childhood and what a program like this could’ve done. Money alone couldn’t make the differences he wanted.

  “That’s why I hired you.” He pointed at the newspaper. “I helped a friend, so I don’t regret it, but I am sorry it threw a wrench into your plan.”

  “And Ashley?”

  “Has moved on down the list of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors. No hard feelings.”

  Kendra rolled her eyes. “Are there ever? I have a feeling you con these women into thinking they’ve left you brokenhearted.”

  He gave her a half-shrug. “It’s a gift.” A skill he’d nurtured after the one and only time he’d fallen in love had ended in a spectacular fiasco.

  She turned and went back to the desk. “Any luck finding a house so you can get rid of the bachelor pad?”

  “No.” Thoughts drifted to Indy and her bare legs.

  “You know that’s an integral part of the plan.”

  He nodded and returned to his chair. “The house will be a bachelor pad, too, since I won’t be getting married.”

  She shook her head at him.

  Waving the papers, she headed to the door. “I’m going to see what I can do about this.”

  Kendra was one of the best PR people he knew, but she was a pain in the ass. He’d listen to her, though, because she understood his goal.

  He’d been working toward the creation of this foundation for years. Helping troubled teens gave him a goal. If he could pass on his knowledge and skills, it could change their lives. He was finally in a position to make it happen.

  As long as he didn’t let his dick screw it up.

  He looked over the notes he’d taken on each of the houses he’d visited with Indy. By pinpointing why they weren’t the right ones, he should be able to find what would make it right.

  He wanted the O’Leary house on a bigger scale. Ryan O’Leary had been his best friend since first grade when he’d p
unched Ryan in the nose. He’d spent more time at the O’Leary house than he had at home.

  At the O’Learys’, loneliness was impossible. Six kids, two parents, and however many friends filled the house to bursting. They ate dinner together. Fought over the TV together. Shared victories and suffered defeats together. Home.

  That’s what he wanted in a house. He had no idea how to explain that to Indy.

  His mind wandering to her bare legs didn’t help. His mouth watered at the image.

  She’d been stiff but professional throughout their meeting. Unlike the steal-the-spotlight woman he’d seen at Ryan’s bar, Indy, the agent, was a different person. At least until he’d caught her stripping off her pantyhose.

  When he saw that, he wanted to help her loosen the rest of her outfit, starting with her hair. She’d had it all pinned up and neat. He preferred the wild long hair of Indy the singer. He’d been attracted to her from the first time he laid eyes on her, but she’d kept her distance. Being rejected, even subtly, stuck in his gut. He found himself wanting to press the issue just to see if he could change her mind.

  His secretary buzzed, interrupting his less than professional thoughts. “Mr. Walker, there’s a Mr. Malcolm on line one. He wouldn’t give a reason for his call. He said it was personal.”

  Malcolm. He knew only one person with that name.

  “Mr. Walker?”

  “Sorry. I’ll take it.” His finger hovered over the Hold button. He prayed that for a change, his gut would be wrong. “Hello?”

  “ ’Bout time. How do you like that Mr. Malcolm business? I know how much it bugs you to share my name.” The pride in his cleverness sang across the line.

  Griffin’s shoulder muscles knotted. Dad. As if his life needed more complications. “What do you want?”

  “Now, is that any way to talk to your old man when we haven’t spoken in three years?”

  “With you it’s always the appropriate response.” Griffin pinched the bridge of his nose, grasping for composure.

  “I thought I’d stop by for a visit, but you have some crazy protesters in front of your building . . .”

  Malcolm obviously wanted to make it clear that he was already in town. Griffin’s mind raced. Everything with Malcolm led to one thing—money. “It would be better if you didn’t come to my office. We have a lot going on right now.” And the last thing I need is questions about who the hell you are. “Do you still have the address for my condo?”

  “Of course.”

  “Meet me there later. Nine o’clock. Don’t call me at work again.”

  After they hung up, Griffin paced his office. He wanted to throw something across the room and smash it, but he didn’t want to draw attention. He’d actually thought his father was gone for good. Maybe even dead. No contact for three years. Before his mother had died.

  If he knew Mom died, he would know that he doesn’t have a hold on me anymore. He wouldn’t be back looking for more. Tonight Malcolm would learn. No more handouts. No more contact. No fake father–son bullshit.

  Griffin pushed down the innate desire to have a real father. Being a bastard was better than being Malcolm Walker’s son. He’d get rid of his father one last time.

  No one would know Malcolm Walker existed, just as it always had been.

  Griffin leaned hard against the drywall and screwed it into place. He wasn’t sure how Ryan had suckered him into helping, but it actually felt good. He hadn’t done much manual labor since college. Back then he’d worked any job he could to pay tuition. Today it felt like coming home, a nice escape before having to meet with Malcolm.

  Ryan’s drill whirred away on the opposite side of the room. The radio blared over the noise of their power tools. Kid Rock sang about being seventeen. Before slapping up the next sheet, he grabbed a beer from the cooler on the floor. Having a friend who owned a bar had its perks.

  The room came together. Ryan and his brothers had spent many hours over the last month to get this first apartment above O’Leary’s Pub fit for habitation.

  After taking a long drink of beer, he hefted the next sheet of drywall into place. “So what’s the rush with the wedding?”

  Ryan answered over the sound of the drill. “When it’s right, you know it. Besides, you know my mom.”

  Ryan’s brother Michael crossed the room to the cooler. “Don’t listen to him, Griff. The old man just wanted to beat me to the altar.”

  “Is the bathroom done?” Ryan asked.

  “No, slave driver. It’s hotter than a three-alarm fire in there.”

  “Being the big, bad fireman, you should be able to tough it out.” He took the open beer from Michael’s hand and drank.

  Michael took another beer and disappeared back into the bathroom.

  Ryan turned a bucket over and sat on it. “Quinn’s pregnant,” he said quietly.

  Griffin stopped, holding the drill poised for driving in a screw. He finished the sheet and took a seat on the floor.

  “You have nothing to say?”

  Shit, he didn’t know how to respond. “Congratulations?”

  “Is that a question?”

  “Seriously. I don’t even get the marriage thing. Now you’re talking about a kid.” He didn’t think he could be faithful to only one woman for the rest of his life. But being a father. That was a forever thing. “How do you feel about it?”

  He looked at Ryan. No one hid stress better.

  Ryan took a deep breath. “I’m happy. Mostly I’m scared shitless. What do I know about being a dad?”

  “You’ll be fine. You had a great role model. If you’re half the father your dad was, you’ll already be better than most.” The conversation brought Malcolm back to the forefront of his mind. And he couldn’t tell his best friend.

  No one could know about Malcolm and the secrets he brought.

  “Thanks, but it doesn’t make me feel better. What’s been going on with you?”

  Work. Always a safe topic. “Same old. Production’s flying on the new game to get it out for the holidays. Gamers are already buzzing about it.”

  “You don’t sound too excited about making another million.”

  “I have some group bitching. It’s evil, bad for kids, too violent. Same old crap.” But the noise could impact the new phase of the foundation.

  Ryan laughed. “Whenever you want to give up the corporate life, I’ve got plenty of work to do around here. Three more apartments after this one.”

  “Have you and Quinn decided where you’re going to live?”

  “We’ll stay at the loft for now. She wants to sell it. Indy thinks she should rent it. It’s one of those places that’ll always retain value. Indy’s looking for houses near Twilight.”

  Thinking about Indy proved to be a better distraction than anything for getting his father out of his head.

  “I hear you’re finally looking for a house.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not having any luck. The houses Indy’s showing me are . . .” He searched for the right word. Pretentious? “Not right.”

  He finished his beer and pushed to his feet. Feeling the chalky dust on his hands gave him an idea about house hunting. He made a mental note to call Indy later. “Hey, grab me some more screws, wouldya?”

  Ryan kicked a box across the floor.

  “Thanks, Dad.” He smirked at the thought of Ryan holding a screaming baby.

  Ryan chucked a small piece of drywall and it bounced off Griffin’s shoulder. “Not so loud. No one else knows. We’re not saying anything until after the wedding.”

  Griffin snorted. “You don’t think Quinn’s already told Indy and Kate? Get real. I don’t get the impression they have too many secrets.”

  “Just keep your mouth shut.”

  Griffin scanned his living room to make sure it held nothing of value his dear old dad could pocket on his way in or out. Small things lay around, none important. His dad couldn’t take anything from him now.

  Ten years ago, he’d thought he’d hit the j
ackpot. His life was going exactly as planned. He’d fought to be at the top of his field, one of the youngest to reach that kind of success. He had Selena in his life; then his father reappeared.

  Even then, he’d held no expectations about some great relationship, but he figured he at least deserved some answers about why his father had left, to get his side. If nothing else, he could rub his success in his father’s face. Show Malcolm that he didn’t need him.

  But he didn’t have much of a chance to do any of that. Malcolm had gotten the better of him. He charmed his way into Griffin’s life, talking about how he’d wanted to get in touch for years but didn’t know how. How he had felt ashamed to come back.

  All part of his game.

  Griffin swallowed the last of the whiskey in his glass. Having more than one before facing Malcolm and things would get uglier than he could afford. The doorbell buzzed at nine-thirty. Just like Malcolm—keep everyone waiting.

  Griffin answered the door, and the shock at seeing his father registered in his brain. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror that instantly aged him.

  Malcolm looked good. Thinner than Griffin remembered, and grayer, but the charming smile, so much like his own, was the same.

  “Griffin.” He entered the room with his arms spread.

  Here came the deplorable exaggeration of affection. Griffin stepped back to allow Malcolm plenty of room and to make his feelings clear. “Malcolm.”

  “I see you’re still doing well for yourself.”

  Griffin closed the door, trying to hold back anger and resentment. He’d done well despite his father’s absence. His mother had carried the load for both parents. He’d promised himself he’d stay calm and get rid of Malcolm for good. A business transaction. One last time.

  He turned to the man who was the object of his disgust and watched Malcolm appraise the room the same way he had ten years earlier. As far as Griffin knew, Malcolm hadn’t come back to town since then. Every transaction since happened via phone and wire.

  “I guess business is good, eh? I mean all the kids are playing some kind of game or another, right?”

  Griffin tucked his hands in his pockets and waited. Sometimes silence was his most effective tool.