After his little drop-in, this past week had been a confusing one. When he’d asked to see Alivia again, I was a bit surprised that he accepted the pathetic excuses I threw at him. Showing up at my apartment not once, but twice, threw me off guard. I needed time to think. Little did I know he’d spent that time buying a car and securing a financial safety net for my daughter and me. As far as I was concerned, it only complicated matters more than they already were.
One day he was a single gazillionaire with no responsibility besides getting his ass on stage when required. And in a blink of an eye, I’d thrown a grenade into his self-centered existence, yet he’d barely flinched. It all made me very nervous.
Besides making it clear he wouldn’t sign custody over, he’d basically taken off running in a full sprint into fatherhood… or his version of it, at least.
It was easy to move some money around and buy a car when you were wealthy. However, organically growing in your new role as a father, developing feelings you never knew existed, and cultivating a loving relationship couldn’t be bought.
All that took time, patience, and understanding… none of which he had displayed yet. Trey needed to prove to me he was willing and able to do that. It had only been a week, but from the looks of it, he was trying to use his bank account to amend for six years of absence in seven days.
Charming my friends, buying my daughter presents, or gifting me a car wasn’t the proof I needed. And having said that, I had to be careful in the methods I chose to prove my point. Once again, money couldn’t buy what I was searching for, but it could buy him a victorious custody battle.
When Trey requested that I go to his place for this discussion, I’d immediately become suspicious. He assured me there was a reason why and asked that I please trust him. I had no idea what to expect.
But thanks to my friend’s critical comment, one last check in the mirror had me debating whether I should go and change. “This isn’t a date,” I reminded my reflection and grabbed my bag before taking my indomitable self out the door.
After locking up, I swung around to see a black SUV idling behind the sedan Trey had delivered. Leaning against it was the same man who had been with Trey the night I confronted him outside his building.
“Miss Deron,” he said with a nod as I approached. “I’m Alec, Mr. Taylor’s driver. I’m here to take you to your appointment.”
Oh, for God’s sake. “Why?”
“Mr. Taylor told me to tell you that he didn’t trust you would drive yourself, and he’d prefer you not to take public transportation.” I wasn’t sure what annoyed me more, Trey’s ridiculous condition or the fact this man repeated it word for word. But wanting to reserve my ire for my “appointment” with Mr. Taylor, I conceded by wordlessly getting into the back seat.
Trey opened his door with a smirk. He wore black jeans, black lace-up boots, and a black T-shirt that molded over his broad shoulders, showing off the tattoos that colored the skin on both arms.
“Thank you, Alec,” he said to his manservant beside me. “Did she give you trouble?”
“Not at all.”
The gall on this man. I folded my arms, shooting daggers at his smug face. “Can you stop discussing me like I’m a child?”
Trey’s response was a deep chuckle before he waved his hand toward the space beside him in the doorway. “Come on in.”
My exasperated huff and annoyed stomp served only to amuse him further. As he spoke a few unintelligible words to Alec, I glanced around the amazing apartment he called home.
The view of the park, framed by one enormous window, served as its own priceless artwork. All the furniture was black leather, and the tables were made in dark woods. On one wall, an impressive collection of black bass guitars hung on their own hooks. On another wall, a massive TV was centered and mounted above a long modern credenza.
There wasn’t a decorative piece anywhere to be found—not a pillow, a lamp, or even a tchotchke. No appliances sat on his granite countertop. There wasn’t an area rug to warm up the cold gray marble floor. A hotel lobby had more personality than his place. The only thing that personalized the room was a single photo on the side table of his late wife.
When the door slammed shut behind me, I twisted around with purpose. “I don’t appreciate you patronizing me,” I ranted as he sauntered closer. By stepping directly into my personal space, the back of one couch prevented me from adding distance between us.
“I’m not patronizing you.” Before I could argue, he made me feel like a drama queen by simply asking, “Can I get you something to drink? I don’t keep alcohol here, but I have just about anything else.”
“Water, please.”
With a dip of his head, he turned toward his kitchen, but not before giving me a glimpse of that cocky smirk that drove me nuts for several reasons. I hated that confidence consuming him, yet it never failed to transport my thoughts right back to the night we met. It was that sly lift to the right corner of his lips that turned me on like no man ever had. There were men who possessed a carnal sensuality capable of making every word spoken sound erotic, every move made ooze of sexuality.
Trey had that ability in spades.
Less than a minute later, he was right back in my face, offering me a tall glass of ice water complete with a coaster beneath it. “Thank you.”
The longer I awkwardly stood while holding the glass with both hands, the more amused he became. “You can sit down. My furniture doesn’t bite.”
I gave him a sarcastic, toothless smile and sat in one of the leather chairs farthest from the couch. But, of course, he plopped himself down directly beside me.
With him close enough to smell his masculine cologne, any confidence I’d held coming into this vanished. There wasn’t one thing I could think to say that would give me some sort of upper hand in the argument I wanted to present. So, I continued to sit silently, trying to decide how to start this necessary discussion.
Meanwhile, Trey’s eyes never left my face while he strummed his fingers on the chair’s supple leather arm. My eyes caught on the tattoo of his wife’s name he had on his ring finger, and I wondered if she had had his name on hers.
After what seemed like an hour, he lifted a remote on the side table and pointed it toward the credenza. Music began playing, and then, when another click on the sleek gadget dimmed the lights, I asked, “What are you doing?”
His pale-blue eyes refocused on my face, causing a nervous flutter in the pit of my stomach. “Just trying to make you feel more comfortable. You look a bit uptight,” he said, ending with that sexy wink.
Instantly, the flutter turned into something much more intense, but it also served to rekindle the fight within me. “I’m uptight for a reason.”
“Sexually frustrated?” he asked, mock concern creasing a line across his forehead.
I could literally feel my cheeks tingeing pink under his scrutiny, but thankfully the determination he brought out in me was stronger. “I don’t appreciate you buying your way into our lives. It doesn’t work like that.”
A slow smile spread over his face. “Yeah, I’m not apologizing, nor will I promise not to continue to do so.” He tossed the remote onto the table and relaxed back into the chair. “You’ve been with her all these years, and I was cheated out of that.” The intentional pause that came next was no doubt his way to drive home the point that I had kept his daughter from him.