From the beginning, she’d fought for Drake. “That’s my girl.”
A smile tugged at her mouth. “I almost didn’t tell him about the baby. I almost kept it quiet. But I didn’t want to look over my shoulder my entire life, wondering if he’d find out. Wondering if he’d want Drake. It was my window to negotiate and I took it.”
“So he’s gone.”
“He’s gone,” she whispered. “And unless I need that man’s kidney or liver or any other organ to save Drake’s life, I will never speak of him again. One day, I’m sure Drake will ask. But that’s a worry for tomorrow. I don’t want him anywhere near Oliver’s life.”
“Good.” I blew out a deep breath and pulled her closer. It was better this way. And if Drake ever needed a kidney or a liver or any other organ, he could have mine, assuming they were a match.
“Not good.” She pulled away, flopping onto her back to stare at the ceiling. “Someone knows.”
“What?” I stiffened. “Who?”
“I don’t know. But that’s the reason my parents are here. A woman is blackmailing Dad. She said she’d go to the press and say I had Oliver’s baby.”
“Fuck.”
“Pretty much.” She rubbed at her temples. “I was afraid to ask too many questions today. Mom and Dad suspect Oliver, but I wasn’t going to confirm it. There’s a whole convoluted history there. It’s rumored that my grandfather had some mafia ties when he started Ward Hotels. If it’s true, Dad severed those decades ago. But it has him spooked.”
“Shit,” I muttered. “What happens if this woman goes to the press?”
“I’ll deny it. Oliver will deny it. But speculation will run rampant. And his wife will no doubt suspect we had an affair.”
“That’s her problem. What about Drake? What kind of agreement did you make?”
“I have a signed document stating he’s waived all parental rights. But . . . it’s not notarized. It’s not filed. I’m banking on the fact that he’ll never change his mind. If he does . . .”
“If he does, he’ll have one fucking fight on his hands. He’s not getting Drake.”
“He’s not getting Drake,” she repeated.
“What about your parents? What are they going to do?”
“I have no idea.” She groaned. “I’m sure this trip was not what Dad planned. He probably expected to come here, find me poor and miserable and grateful to be flown back to New York in their private jet. Instead, I told them to shove it.”
When she stuck out her tongue, I chuckled. “You did the right thing, staying quiet.”
“I hope so.” She sighed. “My dad knows of Oliver and his connections. He also knows that any tie to them would damage his reputation. That’s the only child he actually cares about. His precious reputation. Best case scenario, he pays the woman to stay quiet. He’ll probably use the money from my trust fund.”
“Worst case, this blows the fuck up.”
“Yep.” She put her palms to her eyes. “What a goddamn mess.”
“Who do you think this woman is? Did your dad tell you?”
“He doesn’t know.” She sat up, scooting to the end of the bed to look at Drake. “Maybe it’s an employee. Or another mistress.”
The son of a bitch had probably been with other women while he’d been with Memphis. He’d had a treasure, a pure-gold treasure, and rather than cherish her, he’d used her for his own greed.
His loss. My gain.
“Do you think the woman who contacted your dad could be his wife?” I asked.
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Though why would his wife need to blackmail my family for money? She’s got plenty. She could just divorce Oliver’s ass and take his money too.”
“Unless he’s got a prenup.” I climbed off the bed. Or, if the mafia was as ruthless as I suspected they were, she’d get her family involved and inherit his assets upon his untimely death.
“There’s more. Something happened, right before I left,” she said. “I was in the middle of packing, loading up the Volvo. I came out of my townhouse carrying a box and there was a woman waiting. An FBI agent.”
My stomach dropped. “Is the FBI investigating Oliver?”
“I don’t know. Probably. She showed me her badge and asked if I knew Oliver MacKay. I said, ‘Who?’ and excused myself to go check on Drake. I watched from the window as she walked away. The next day I was on the road.”
I rubbed my jaw. “An FBI agent wouldn’t blackmail your parents for money.”
“No. It’s got to be someone close to Oliver. Someone he pissed off. And someone who knows my family has money.” Memphis wrapped her arms around her waist. “Why won’t this go away? I just want it to end.”
I sat beside her, pulling her into my arms. “It will end.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, honey.”
“Maybe I should just go back to New York. Find out who this woman is. Pay her—”
“No. It’s not an option, Memphis.”
She looked up at me, those brown eyes full of apology. “I never meant to drag you into all of this.”
“You didn’t drag me anywhere. I came willingly. Out my front door, up a staircase and into your loft, remember?”
Memphis gave me a sad smile. “Knox, I can’t put this on you.”
“You’ve never been able to count on anyone, have you?”
She blinked, like the reality of her life had just hit her in the face.
“You were so alone that you left. Because you had no one. But you’ve got me now. And like I told you the other night, I’m not going anywhere.” Maybe if I told her enough, she’d believe it.
“Promise?”
I dropped a kiss to her mouth. “I swear it.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MEMPHIS
Eloise was checking in guests as I approached the front desk so I hovered back, waiting until they had their key cards and passed me for the elevators. She plopped into her seat and tucked a stray hair behind her ear as I walked over. “Phew. It’s been nonstop today.”
“You weren’t kidding about the holiday rush.”
Over the weekend, nearly every room in the hotel had been filled. The last of the guests had arrived today. We were fully booked for the entire week with visitors in town for Thanksgiving.
I’d been tidying occupied rooms all today, replacing towels and bedding and straightening up. The hallways had been vacuumed, the elevator cleaned. I’d just finished mopping the break room. Anything to keep busy. Frantic work and a maddening pace had been a godsend. It had allowed me to channel my nervous energy and keep my mind off of the unknowns.
My parents had checked out of The Eloise last week—not long after our discussion, according to Mateo. They’d probably left while we’d been in Knuckles. I hadn’t heard from them since.
Months and months of my mother’s constant calls. Now nothing but silence. Maybe she realized just how badly she’d hurt me. Maybe Dad had told her to stop calling. Maybe she’d given up.