“Ain’t that the truth.”
“Maybe until now, but the buck stops here. She doesn’t have a leg to stand on. You’re in control of the show.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah—”
“Let me in!” I hear a woman yell. “I need to talk to Holt Christensen. Now!”
“Tim, I have to go.”
“She’s already there?”
“She is.”
“This is ironclad, Holt. You didn’t make the decisions.”
“Perhaps, but I’m the one who has to tell her life as she knows it is over.”
“She’ll huff and puff, but eventually she’ll get over it.”
“I doubt it.”
“You got this. Call me when you’re done,” Tim says.
“I will.”
I hang up and slide the phone back into my pocket.
“Holt! Holt Christensen, come out here and face me like a man. How dare you?”
I shake my head.
Fuck.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the gate or else I’m going to call the police,” the security guard warns.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Honestly, I don’t give a damn. I gave you an order, you follow it, or you deal with the police.”
“Fuck off, you steroid-inflated ape. Let me in! Holt!” she yells louder.
Well, this should be fun.
I turn on my heel and head back towards the security gates to put an end to this circus. My heart jumps out of my throat when I catch sight of the blonde yelling at my security guard. Even with the warning, it’s still unsettling to see her standing there. From a distance, she looks like the same impulsive rich girl who caught me in her web and insisted on keeping our unplanned child because she couldn’t wait to ‘play’ mommy. Yeah, it was a game to her. How ironic because when the shit got real, she walked out on her three-month-old baby.
True, she’s only twenty-seven. Still, the years have been kind to her despite all her partying. Freedom from responsibility lightens one’s load. Of course, life has always treated her like the princess she is. Well, until now.
As I draw nearer, I can’t help but acknowledge she’s still a gorgeous woman. Her long, expensively tended-to blonde hair is up in a high ponytail. Her makeup is kept to a minimum. She’s dressed from head to toe in high fashion. Like always. Her French designer handbag cost as much as my Range Rover. I should know. I bought her an orange one for her birthday when she was expecting Naomi. She already had a closet full of them, but that color was missing. Price has never been a deterrent for her.
No doubt she still turns heads. The difference between now and then is I know her beauty doesn’t go past the surface. Underneath the polished exterior hides a black heart.
Blood runs through my veins. Ice runs through hers.
When she sees me approaching, she shifts her attention to me. Her green eyes flash a deadly stare like weapons ready to discharge poisonous daggers aimed at my heart.
This isn’t going to be a walk down memory lane. It’s going to be an all-out UFC Tapout fight. One confrontation in a day is enough. Two? Let’s hope I’m still standing when this is over with.
“Let me in, Holt! We need to talk!”
After four years, that’s all she has to offer.
“Your aggressive tone and demeanor do little to persuade me to bend to your request. You want to talk? We can do it here.”
“Behind a closed gate? In front of a stranger?”
“Oh, silly me. Were you here for high tea?” I ask sarcastically.
“Fuck you, Holt.”
“It’s good to see you too, Lauren.”
Lauren Sinéad Kavanagh O’Broin is Naomi’s mother.
“Why are you doing this?” she demands, her blue eyes burning with fury.
“You’re going to have to be more explicit.”
The security guard takes a long step to the side, giving us some privacy.
“I want to know why the hell Daddy’s bankers, accountants and lawyers seem to all think you hold the purse strings to my life?”
Notice how she doesn’t ask about Naomi.
“They’ve been trying to reach you since the funerals. You left after. You didn’t even bother showing up at the reception. No one’s seen you since,” I tell her.
“I needed time. I was seeking solace in a monastery in Nepal for two and a half months. I was looking for inner peace in the wake of everything that had happened to me. It worked for Jace. I figured it could work for me.”
“Did it?”
“Not really.”
Surprise, surprise.
“And since you’ve been back to Ibiza, you never thought of checking in?”
“How do you know I live in Ibiza?”
“I’ve known since you ran off on me, Lauren.”
Her look of surprise is quickly replaced with indifference.
“Well,” she shrugs, “I didn’t think it was necessary to be in contact. I assumed my father had set things in place. It’s not as if I was going to run the family company after his passing. He has very educated people in place to do that. I thought it was best to stay out of their hair.”
“Lauren, your entire family died and other than a cameo appearance at the funerals, you remained steadfast in your decision to stay away. That’s your lame excuse?”
“Like I said, I needed time.”
Still no mention of her daughter.
“And now you’re here demanding answers.”
“Damn right I am. I ran out of the money my grandparents left me. Shouldn’t I be getting money from my father’s estate?”
“No.”
“Wh—what are you talking about?”
“It isn’t my decision, Lauren. It’s all spelled out in your father’s will.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “I don’t believe it. There’s no way he would’ve left me without a penny. I get that we didn’t see eye to eye on certain things, but I’m still his daughter.”
“Had you been at the lawyers’ office you would’ve known—”
“Stop saying that!” she yells.
“What do you want me to tell you?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes for a breath. With an exasperated exhale she says, “That you’ll give me the money I’ve grown accustomed to every month.”
“Won’t happen. It’s not part of our budget.”
“You can change that,” she argues.
“No. That goes against your father’s will,” I counter.
“We’re going around in circles. It’s very simple. You’re at the helm of my father’s company now.” She fakes a smile. “One phone call to the bankers and they’ll wire me a little money.” You mean a lot of money. Lauren has been living off sixty thousand dollars a month every month since she was twenty-one.
“Not happening,” I repeat.
“Stop being an asshole, Holt. I need to cover my living expenses.”
That sets me off.
“Jesus Christ, Lauren. Do you realize we’ve been arguing for the last twenty minutes and not once have you asked about your daughter? You’re interested in knowing how you can get your hands on money from the company she owns, but you have no interest in finding out how she’s doing. Even after four years, you don’t give a damn. I thought with age came wisdom. Clearly, that logic goes to waste in your case. Do you hate Naomi that much?” I yell.