“Maybe something happened that you don’t know about?”
“Maybe, it’s just…odd.” I scrub a hand over my face. I’m so tired. “I should talk to a custody lawyer so I can get a handle on all of this.”
“It’s probably a good idea,” Felix replies.
“I’m going to have to talk to the lawyer who set up Emme’s trust, too, since I can’t seem to find anything but the initial draft, which should be fun.” I recall the way Kailyn reacted to me the last time I was in her office. She seemed less than excited to see me, which was strange since I’d kind of had a thing for her back then, and I’d thought it was mutual. “My life is so fucked right now.”
“It’ll get better,” he assures me.
I nod, but I have a feeling it’s going to get a lot worse before that happens.
Chapter Four
Fangirl Resurrected
Kailyn
Cara, my regular assistant, who is never allowed to go on vacation on weeks that don’t coincide with mine again, knocks on my office door and pops her head in about thirty seconds after I sit down at my desk. I’ve had a hell of a morning. It’s been meeting after meeting and I finally have a breather.
Cara holds a takeout cup from the café down the street and her tablet. “Nonfat, double-espresso, two-pump vanilla latte with extra cinnamon?” It’s framed as a question.
I raise a brow. “Is there some kind of emergency you’re buttering me up for?”
“I’m so sorry, but there’s a drop-in appointment, and Beverly said it was urgent so…”
Beverly is my boss, and she’s highly aware my schedule doesn’t permit for drop-ins. “I only have an hour until my next meeting.”
“I know. I’m so sorry, Kailyn, but she said you would see him—”
“Him who?”
“Beverly wouldn’t give me a name.” Cara clutches her iPad to her chest and glances over her shoulder, possibly checking for interlopers. “I think it might be someone famous.”
“Someone famous?” I parrot. It’s LA; there are a lot of famous people in this city.
Cara pushes her glasses up her nose. “I only caught a glimpse of the back of him. She brought him to the conference room about half an hour ago and she won’t say anything about who it is. I tried, Kailyn. I know how much you hate surprises.”
“I’ll just stop by her office before I go in there.”
Cara’s gaze darts around the room for a second before returning to me. Her cringe isn’t reassuring. “She’s in a meeting.”
“Shit. Okay. I guess I’m going in blind.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I give her what I hope is a genuine smile. She’s a fabulous assistant, and if Beverly is being mysterious, it’s certainly not Cara’s fault. “I’ll just be a minute and then I’ll head to the conference room.”
“Okay. Great. When you’re finished with the mystery client, we can review missed calls, and I’ve already adjusted your schedule for the afternoon just in case the meeting takes more of your time than you anticipate.”
“Perfect, thank you.” This is why I love her.
I wait until Cara leaves before I pull my compact out of the drawer and check my reflection, frustrated that I have no idea with whom I’m meeting or why. The last time this happened I embarrassed the hell out of myself. I smooth my hair and reapply my lipstick. Appearance is half the battle in this world. Appear poised and successful, and people will believe you are. Visualize success. I smile at my personal mantra. It’s gotten me where I am, albeit with a few bumps in the road.
I adjust my glasses one last time and scoop up my tablet but leave the coffee on my desk so as not to appear as though I have time for chitchat. Cara is already behind her desk, typing away frantically. This whole thing has probably stressed her out and understandably so; I’m particular about how things are run, and while unexpected situations arise, this unpreparedness is exactly the kind of thing I prefer to avoid.
I approach the conference room quietly, hoping I’ll get a peek at whoever is in there. A man in a slightly rumpled suit stands facing the windows, with his hands shoved in his pockets. I take in the broad shoulders and sandy hair, a little unkempt, and realize Daxton Hughes is back in my office.
I lean against the doorjamb. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” My tone intentionally lacks warmth.
He turns away from the window, eyes slow to follow. I take in his typically gorgeous face with those piercing blue eyes, and the cut jaw with what I would guess is two days’ worth of stubble. He looks…rough. Maybe he’s been on a bender.
He blinks a few times, like he’s clearing his head, and rounds the conference table. He takes my hand in both of his. It’s disarming and unexpected. His voice cracks and he turns his head, clearing his throat before he tries again. “Thank you for agreeing to see me without an appointment. I know you must be very busy, so I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.”
I’m not the least bit moved by this show of false sincerity. “Beverly insisted it was rather urgent.” And I assume she fell prey to his pretty face; even as rough as he looks, he’s still stunning.
“It was. It is.” He clears his throat again and motions to the chair across from his. “Can we sit?”
“Of course. I don’t have long, though.” I drop into the chair and cross my legs, fighting not to do the same with my arms. This man seems to bring out all my worst traits, which includes excessive fidgeting and flailing.
“Right.” He runs his palms over his thighs and exhales, eyes moving slowly over my face. It feels intimate and searching. “I have a personal custody issue.”
Maybe Holly was right and there is an illegitimate love child. I can see the headline now: WASHED-UP FORMER CHILD ACTOR DAXTON HUGHES KNOCKS UP DEBUTANTE. “I don’t deal with paternity issues. I deal with trusts.”
His brow furrows and he shakes his head. “It’s not a paternity issue. And it has to do with a trust, the one you set up for my sister.” He rubs his lips with his fingertips, drawing my attention there. “I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult week.” He rests his elbow on the table and bows his head, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He swallows thickly and his voice cracks again. “My parents…”
I’m thoroughly enjoying his discomfort, and how hard this seems to be for him, until the next words come out of his mouth.
“They were killed in a car accident last week.”
It’s like being slammed in the chest with a bowling ball and doused in an acid bath of guilt. “Oh my God.” I reach out on instinct and cover his hand with mine. It sends an unexpected jolt through my body, so I draw back immediately. “I’m so sorry, Daxton.”
His eyes drift closed and a weak smile touches his lips before it falls again. “I don’t know when it’s going to get easier to say that out loud.” He rubs his hands together, as if he’s trying to rid himself of that staticky feeling, too, before he lifts his head. “Uh, anyway”—he pushes a set of papers toward me—“I need to review the trust you set up for my sister, and all I can find is the draft form of the contract.”