It'll Be An Adventure (Masters of the Shadowlands #15)(93)
Author: Cherise Sinclair

 

“As it happens, she’s sitting with your daddy.” Murphy’s father sauntered over. Chaykovsky’s smug expression just called for a fist to wipe it out.

 

No, Halvorson. Then his words registered. “My father?”

 

“Mmmhmm, your daddy the producer.” He rocked on his toes, his smile widening. “My girl talked him into making her books into a TV series. Gonna be rich.”

 

The words hit Saxon like a boot straight to the center of his chest. Right over his heart.

 

No. No, she wouldn’t. Murphy was no mercenary bitch. She wouldn’t do this.

 

Spinning on his heel, he strode toward the raffle room.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’d better get moving and find Saxon.” In the raffle room, Murphy stood. “He got a vet call, and I was to meet him at the entrance. He’s going to think I drowned in the ladies’ room.”

 

John Halvorson laughed and rose. “I’ll walk you there.”

 

As they entered the ballroom, the man answered her questions about his early days of being a director.

 

Wasn’t it odd that she couldn’t find it in herself to stay angry at him. He’d been absent most of Saxon’s youth…yet had managed to get his son’s forgiveness. Admittedly, he’d known he wouldn’t be a good father and had been betrayed into having a child. Still, he should have at least tried.

 

She sighed silently. And who of us is perfect? How many times had she failed people? Especially her brothers.

 

As they neared the entrance, John was hailed by a group of older men. Stopping, he held up his hand to acknowledge their call and turned to Murphy. “I need to talk with them. Thank you for telling me about the problems my fame has given my son.” His eyes darkened. “There were times I couldn’t understand his behavior. It’s good to know why.”

 

“I’m glad—and at the same time, I feel as if I shared more than I should have.”

 

“While defending him. Shall we just forget we had this discussion about him—and about any film series?” He held out his hand.

 

She shook his hand firmly. “We have a deal.”

 

As he joined his friends, she headed for the entrance, looking for her man. Since she was leaving tomorrow, she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

 

And there he was. She gave him a little wave as she approached. “Hey, I was just coming to find you.”

 

“Were you.” His words weren’t a question, more of a statement. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—they held hurt and anger.

 

“Saxon.” She put her hand on his arm and felt the muscles tense under her palm. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

 

“No. No I am not.” His words sounded as if they came out through gritted teeth. He pulled his arm out of her reach. Then he shook his head like a dog shedding water. “You got what you wanted. Congratulations on getting Dad to make your books into a TV series.”

 

It took her a second, then another, and her mouth dropped open. “You think that I…that I…” He thought she’d played him. The sheer horror of what he insinuated took her another long moment.

 

“I would never have believed it of you.” The hurt showed in his eyes for a moment. “If you’d asked me, I would have helped. But you went behind”—a muscle flexed in his jaw— “I need a minute.”

 

Without waiting for an answer, he headed out the door.

 

Oh god. She stared at his back as he disappeared into the night—and followed him outside.

 

He genuinely thought she’d taken his father’s offer? Had betrayed him like that? How would he even know his father had asked her? Her brain felt as if it was going to explode.

 

How could he possibly believe she’d lie to him, use him to get, what—money? Fame?

 

The realization hurt worse than being battered against concrete rubble. She’d have no bruises this time—instead, her heart was bleeding under the blows.

 

Somehow, she managed to straighten her spine despite the pain. She was a person, one deserving of respect, of consideration.

 

This would not do. He was the one who always insisted on talking things out, on being honest. If they were going to break up, then they’d have a damn fight first—and he’d listen to her. Or she’d punch him.

 

Her lungs felt lacerated, but she pulled in enough air to speak. “You said you loved me—but you…you don’t know me at all. Not if you think I could hurt you like this.”

 

 

 

 

 

Costin Chaykovsky stood just inside the door of the ballroom and grinned.

 

The interfering son of a bitch who’d been taking up Murphy’s time had walked right away from her. Disappeared down the sidewalk.

 

His daughter was standing beside the line of taxis, staring after him. All broken-hearted. Wasn’t that a crying shame. She sure wouldn’t be fighting to keep him now, not his wimp of a girl.

 

Costin dusted his hands off. Excellent job if he said so himself.

 

His daughter would be available once again. Might even move back. It’d be good to have her cleaning the rooms again. The maids he hired didn’t do nearly as good a job.

 

“Hey, Pa. I’ve been looking for you.” Farran walked up.

 

Just behind him was Dugan and that girl he’d come with. Whatever her name was.

 

Farran glanced at the door. “What’re you doing out here?”

 

“Taking care of a little problem.” Chuckling, Costin revised his words. “Then again, he’s hardly little. I’d have to say, he’s one big blond bastard.”

 

In the middle of talking to his woman, Dugan frowned. “You mean Murphy’s Saxon?”

 

“Don’t think he’s hers any longer.” Nope, the bastard was done and gone.

 

Unable to keep from smirking, Costin rocked on his heels. He hadn’t been the only one unhappy about the influence the asswipe had on Murphy. Weeks ago, Farran had called to rant about how Murphy’s new boyfriend had shut down a party at her house. “I fixed it. Fixed him.”

 

Farran tilted his head. “How’s that?”

 

Grinning, Costin filled them in.